“I mean, keep the ones you like.” I hold up a thin blade with a bunch of glittering rubies embedded in the hilt.Are those real? Is it normal to have a bunch of expensive jewels stuck in a sword?“But this one is all bent. Do you need to keep the bent ones?”
Alaric takes the sword from me. “Mortimer’s Cross,” he murmurs.
Mortimer’s Cross? Why is that name so familiar? Isn’t that a famous battle?
Alaric has been so decisive with his belongings up until now. But he stares at the sword in his hands, lost to a memory.
Suddenly something occurs to me. “Alaric,” I say. “Did you make these swords?”
He nods.
“Years ago, I built a forge in one of the outbuildings,” he says woodenly. “You don’t want to go in there. I surrendered it to the spiders. They are theforge overlords now.”
Even that doesn’t explain his reaction. Alaric is so critical of the things he makes, that he’s consigned many of his projects to the rubbish pile for the smallest imperfections. But these swords are hard for him.
I move beside him, reaching out to touch his arm. He shrinks away.
Shame burns in my chest. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know they were important to you. You should keep them.”
Alaric shakes his head. “You’re right, they are broken, useless things. Toss them all.”
He turns his head away from me.
“You’re allowed to keep them.” I swallow, upset with myself that I’ve made him feel like this. “It’s okay if you’re not ready to part with these things.”
The sword falls through his fingers. Alaric turns back to me, his chin raised, eyes clear and cold. “I wish them gone. I shall have them removed by the time you return tonight, with the exception of this.” Alaric draws a long, curved blade from the pile. “Take this with you. For protection.”
“And put it where? Drat my luck, I left my sword-concealing pants back in London.”
Alaric rolls his eyes, tosses the blade over his shoulder, and picks out a short dagger. “This one, then.”
“I don’t know. I’ve never carried a weapon around before. What if I sit on it and accidentally eviscerate myself?”
“Please, Winnie. It would ease my mind.”
I can’t refuse him after I upset him, especially not when those onyx eyes are brightening again.
“Fine.”
As I reach out to take the blade from him, my hand brushes his finger.
Alaric’s skin is exactly as I remember – cool to the touch, impossibly smooth and soft. I put the coolness down to wandering the halls of this huge, draughty castle after his swim.
Alaric’s eyes burn into mine. He doesn’tdraw his hand away.
No.
What am I doing?
He’s a client. He’s technically my boss. And I’ve already made a complete fool of myself in front of him more than once.
I close my fingers around the hilt of the blade and drop it into my tote. “Thank you for the knife.”
An hour later, I leave Alaric in the ballroom tossing even more swords into the growing rubbish pile, and huddle beneath the portcullis, wrapping my arms tight around my body as the wind howls through the ancient stones. The car huffs and burbles as Reginald brings it around. I climb in, bracing myself for the drive into the village.
“Reginald?”
“Yes, Ms Preston?”
