I point to what looks like a mountain of blankets slung over his arm. “Then what’s that?”
“This is your arisaid.”
“My air ofwhat?”
“Arisaid,” he repeats, grinning. With a flick of his hands, he unfurls a swath of wool so massive, the hem of it slaps against the floor. “’Tis a cloak.” He mimics a courtly bow. “For milady.”
“That’s acloak?” I sound so astonished, you’d think he just told me it has magical powers. Which, honestly, would be my second choice after the power of warmth. Because I have never been so cold in my entire life as I have been here. Especially this past week. I’ve shoveled ten tons of snow in my lifetime. Scraped ice in a T-shirt. Trudged through sleet at five a.m. to do barn chores. But New York weather has nothing on the Highlands.
It’s nuts here, and getting worse as winter settles in. One minute, the sky is all sunshine and chirping birds, and the next, it’s steely gray gloom and bitter-cold gusts that slice sharper than any knife. Even with the extra layers Donag gave me, I haven’t been able to shake the feeling that I’ll never be truly warm again.
“You mean…for me?” I reach out then hesitate—like if I touch it, the whole thing will disappear. “Like, I can wear it?”
“Aye,” he chuckles, “that’s the generally accepted course.”
He extends it again, but when I still don’t take it, he simply turns me around and drapes it over my shoulders himself.
The heavy fabric settles around me like a warm hug, and I must make some kind of swoony sound, because he says, “You like it then?”
“Iloveit.”
I grab a thick handful and snug it tighter around me, absorbing the weight of it, the scent of it—woodsmoke and something crisp and earthy, something that smells like him.
“Are you sure this is all right? Who does this belong to?”
Please don’t say Donag. Please don’t say Donag.
“It belongs to you,” he says simply. “To do with as you will.” Still behind me, he reaches around to fasten it at my throat with a thick metal clasp. His hands settle lightly on my shoulders. He leans in, close. His voice brushes the shell of my ear. “Truly, Rosie.”
I shiver, his breath on my cheek, there and gone in an instant.
He turns me back around. His eyesroam down my body, slow and unhurried, taking in the dress, the arisaid…all of me. I feel so seen. So noticed.
Like the only girl in the world.
“Bonnie as the dawn, you are,” he murmurs.
That might actually be illegal. Calling someone bonnie like that.
“I’ll need to be on guard,” he adds, his mouth curving into something that looks entirely too dangerous. “The way you look isn’t safe.” He gives me a slow, predatory smile—then winks.
My brain completely stalls. Before I can recover, he whisks me out the door like this is all perfectly normal. Meanwhile, I feel anything but normal.
I replay every syllable in my mind as we wind down the path.
The way you look isn’t safe.
Was he just being polite? Or did he actually mean it?
I stay silent for too long, so of course, I start rambling. “So, I, um…” I don’t even have an end to that sentence, but I have to say something. Anything. “I’m sure I’m perfectly safe.” I cringe. “Unless we run into one of those malevolent fairies, then all bets are off.”
So lame.
But Callum just laughs, stopping short to look down at me, light dancing in his eyes. “Heaven forfend, lass. Nothing dare threaten you with me by your side.”
Then, as if proving his point, he sweeps his arm around me. Pulls me in.
The world shifts.
