But he just stared at her steadily, as though he was searching for the right words to say.
A hoarse, squeaking bellow sounded from behind them. The moment shattered, and when Emily turned, she almost laughed.
A large, pot-bellied pig stood in the centre of the yard, a gate behind it swinging open. Its head swung low, and it made another furious grunting sound that made the hair stand up on her arms.
She had seen plenty of pigs in her life, but she had never seen one that so embodied the concept of rage.
Oliver let out a laugh, and shifted his hold on her hand, gripping her more firmly. “This is Clarabella.”
“So I’d presumed.” She tensed as the pig grunted again. “Will she chase us?”
“Almost certainly. When I give the word, run, or she will be sure to eat an item of your clothing.”
She could not have done this with anyone else. And even though the pig had to be two hundred pounds of solid muscle, something airy lifted inside her—the opposite of the dread that had been plaguing her just moments ago.
“Ready?” Oliver asked.
Clarabella glared at them both. If Emily’s imagination were a little less logical, she might have thought her eyes gleamed red. She squeezed Oliver’s hand. “Ready.”
Clarabella put her head down and snorted.
Oliver launched forward. “Run.”
Chapter Fifteen
Thiswas,regrettably,notthe first time Oliver had run from a pig. This pig, in particular. Clarabella was surprisingly fast, but although she was an ornery demon, she never did any damage that he could see—except to his boot. And, as John liked to point out, that was entirely his fault for his boot having tassels in the first place.
Beside him, Emily let out a shocked laugh as she slipped and skidded across the ice. Her face had regained some of its colour, and he found himself captivated by her.
Her laugh. He hadn’t heard her laugh before—not like this, as though she had no choice but to be happy—and he felt as though he would do almost anything to hear it again.
If the only impact he had on her life was to remind her how to have fun, then he would consider it a job well done.
Her hand in his, he dragged them both across the yard. Clarabella charged from behind, and Mr Chambers emerged from the side of the house.
“Who let the pig out again?” he yelled into the air, and lunged after the disobedient swine.
Oliver was breathless with mirth and exertion as he pulled Emily around the side of the house, ignoring the ice underfoot until it finally got the better of him. His legs slipped out from under him, and he twisted, jerking Emily with him. Unable to use his other hand for balance, his shoulder crashed into the wall. Emily lost her balance entirely and landed headfirst in a snowdrift.
The world swayed. Pain erupted from his arm, and he gritted his teeth through the first few waves as he sought to steady himself enough to assist Emily to her feet. Only, by the time he had regained his equilibrium, she was already back on her feet, her hair wet with melting snow.
“Are you all right? Your head.” He reached for her, but she laughed, backing away with her arms raised.
“Stop fussing! You’re like an old lady.”
An accusation he could say with certainty had never been levelled at him before.
The pain in his arm finally eased to manageable levels, and he bent, scooping a handful of snow and tossing it at her. She coughed in shock, but then a wicked light appeared in her eyes, and she acquired a handful of snow of her own. However, instead of tossing it into his face, she came closer, holding the snow aloft like a threat.
“Emily—” he started, but he didn’t get any further before she took the handful of snow and shoved it down his neck. The icy cold sank into his bones, and drops trailed down his back under his shirt. Her laugh broke free, and before he could help himself, he caught her wrist, tugging her closer.
How could he ever have thought her plain? The chaos of her curls vied against the vivid flush of her cheeks. She could havebeen a fairy from the glens. Wild, utterly untameable, and as likely to curse you as kiss you.
He very much wanted to kiss her.
Half-melted snow slipped from her cheek. He looked from it to her eyes. She was still smiling, but her laugh had faded into something he thought he could read—he hoped he could read.
“Your laugh,” he said, his voice low and intense. He wanted to say something to ease the tension, but nothing came to mind. All he knew was this fairy of a woman was close enough to taste, and he craved to know how she felt against his tongue.
