“Sorry. I forgot that’s not a thing here. This is how we drink it where I’m from.” She turned to leave.
“Dinna go.” He reached for the glass. “Thank ye for yer kindness.”
As their fingers touched, the same jolt of energy that had traveled between them when he was in his wolf form crackled once again.
Her eyes flared open wider, but she didn’t jerk away. “Uhm…static electricity. Sorry.” As soon as he took the glass, she wiped her hands on the seat of her trews and shoved them into her pockets. After a nervous glance around, she nodded at his handiwork. “So I noticed you don’t use mortar here. Wouldn’t it be sturdier if you did?”
“A drystane dyke will last centuries. Scots build them this way because ’tis not only handier but longer lasting. Mortar eventually crumbles, and whatever it holds fails. A well-built dyke rarely tumbles to pieces.”
“I see.” A few more moments of uncomfortable silence passed before she threw up her hands. “Well, I guess I’ll go inside and leave you to it. I’ve got lots of unpacking to do.”
“I can help ye, mistress.” He wedged another stone in place, tapping it securely with the heel of his hand. He preferred that to the hammer he’d used to shape the bits of rock. “I’m nearly finished here.”
Her gaze settled on his untouched glass of tea. “No, that’s okay, thank you.” She picked up the glass. “Is there something else you’d rather drink? I couldn’t help but notice you’re hot…er…sweaty…uhm…warm out here in the sun.” She huffed and rubbed her eyes as if suddenly stricken with a pain in her head. “Would you like some water? Without ice?”
Moving closer, he took hold of the glass, purposely covering her hand with his so she couldn’t help but feel the ancient connection of their lonely souls crying out to be rejoined. “Nay, mistress,” he said softly. “This is fine. Thank ye for thinking to care for me.” Then he sipped the tea, surprised at its cold sweetness.
“Do you like it?” She sounded almost hopeful.
“Aye, ’tis different but nice.” To prove he meant it, he drained the glass, then handed it back to her. “Thank ye, mistress.”
“You can call me Calia. Mistress sounds so…wrong.”
“Wrong?”
Dubh groaned. “Kiss the woman. This ridiculous chatter is painful.”
Mathison ignored him. “I promise ’tis meant as a sign of respect.”
“I know.” Visibly ill at ease, she fidgeted in place, passing the glass back and forth between her hands, making the ice chunks rattle. “But it’s okay for you to call me Calia.” With a nervous twitch of her shoulder, she adopted a tense smile. “Besides, if you live around here, we’re neighbors, so there’s really no need for such formalities. Uhm…do you live near here?”
Noting how her gaze kept drifting to his bare chest, he lifted a larger, much heavier stone, flexing his muscles as he did so. “I dinna live close. Eventually, I shall return home.” And it was his sincerest hope that she would return with him.
“Oh.” The faintest hint of disappointment shaded her tone, pleasing him more than he thought possible.
“I dinna belong here, lass,” he said ever so softly.
She lifted her gaze to his, locking eyes with him as if trying to discover the secrets of his soul and deem him worthy of her trust. Then, a barrier shuttered down between them, a dark curtain woven from the pain of her past. Once again, she became detached and resumed her earlier chilling politeness. “I understand.” Clearing her throat, she backed up a step, then tossed another casual glance around the garden. “By the way, if a black dog shows up, don’t run him off. He’s welcome here.”
“So, ye take in strays, do ye?”
“In his case—yes.”
The abruptness of her answer made him smile. “I am not a stray, m’lady.”
“Calia.”
He bowed. “Calia.”
A bank of dark clouds rolled in, blotting out the sun. Eyeing the thunderheads and the speed with which they gathered, Mathison suspected Mairwen’s hand in manipulating the situation. Lightning flickered through the gray swirls, and thunder softly rumbled.
“Wow.” Calia frowned up at the darkening sky. “That storm’s moving in fast. Your day of chores is about to be over.”
Then, a blinding flash of lightning split the air and unleashed the downpour.
She ran for the house. Even in the deluge, he couldn’t help but admire how she leapt around the statues of Mairwen’s watchers with the grace and agility of a Highland deer. When she reached the door, she looked back at him and seemed shocked. “Come on. You’re getting drenched.”
He wasn’t about to pass up that invitation. Once inside, he remained close to the door, not wishing to soil her floor any worse than he already had. He remembered well how women felt about muddy boots on their clean floors, not only from his mother but also from the housekeepers of Shadowmist Keep and Wraith Tower.
