“Because you’re trying to kill me!”
“I AM NOT TRYING TO KILL YOU!”
“YOU’RE FRIGHTENING THE PLANT!” he roared.
“YOU’RE A CHILD!”
Asherton backed away, his hands up. “We will discuss this when you’re in a calmer state of mind.”
“Don’t walk away from me!” Magdala called after him. He shook his head and walked to the door. Furious,Magdala grabbed a pillow from the bed and hurled it at him. It struck his shoulders and he stopped short, then turned slowly toward her.
“Do I need to remind you, Devney, that I could have you fired?”
“I wish you would!” Magdala said, snatching another pillow. “Then I wouldn’t have to clean up after you anymore! I wouldn’t have to care for your stupid plants!”
“Stop it, you’ll hurt Anton’s feelings!”
“HE’S A PLANT! And you’re a bad influence on him!” She hit him so hard with the next pillow that he stumbled into the doorframe. She took another, but he crossed the room in two long strides, caught it, and wrenched it from her hands.
“I’m getting sick of you,” he said.
“Likewise!”
Magdala retreated to the bed to arm herself and he chased her, brandishing his pillow. Magdala grabbed another, shielding herself as he slammed his into her. She gripped it and tugged, jerking him forward. Off-balance from the swing, he tumbled onto the bed and she attacked, pummeling him. Feathers snowed down on them, dusting her shoulders and catching in her hair.
Forced onto the defensive, Asherton covered his face and, exultant, flushed with victory, Magdala climbed on top of him.
“Witch!” he cried. He clutched her wrists in one hand, then yanked, and she fell with a shriek onto his chest.He wound his other arm around her back, pinning her against his chest. “You’re a vicious creature, aren’t you?” he said.
Magdala was suddenly aware of her body—her legs entangled with his legs, her chest touching his chest, her red hair curling into his dark hair. She was so near him, she could only see his lovely eyes, like sun-kissed moss. A powerful tugging behind her breastbone pulled her downward, until her lips brushed his again. She drew a shaky breath and tilted her head.
He smelled of cedar and fresh soil, just as she’d imagined he would. His hair was damp, and she wanted to bury her fingers in it. She wanted to run her hands over the taut muscles in his shoulders and back, and feel his smooth skin …
A door slammed somewhere down the hall, and reality struck her like an icy wave. Magdala sat up suddenly, still straddling him. Asherton lay still, staring breathlessly up at her. His pupils were black pools, his lips parted. Magdala scrambled off of him like he was venomous and crossed the room, pushing her hair behind her ears.
“Magdala, I …” he began, but she practically ran for the door.
“I need to go and inspect the grounds,” she said. “In case there’s another assassin.”
Blundering out the door, Magdala rushed through the corridor, down the steps, and out into the rainy garden. Anton had followed her and skipped along contentedly in the grass.
She felt as though she’d stumbled into a hall of mirrors, as if, when she tried to run for safety, she walked had face-first into a wall of glass.
Asherton was beautiful, and she was a young woman who had never been with a man. It was only logical that she wanted him. That he drew her to him with his taut physique and loose curly hair and eyes that reminded her of the hills in the Wildlands she missed so much. But he wasn’t home and he never would be. She’d be crazy not to want to kiss him, but she never could.
But Magdala knew with a rising dread that if Asherton was short with blond hair or tall and red-headed or built like a barrel, she’d still feel this tug behind her ribs, still hear the call of him in her soul. Because it wasn’t his beauty; it was that piece of her old self she saw in him. That flame that had smothered slowly in her father’s cottage in Owlbright, and in training with Huxley, and in each dull court gathering and ball until it flickered out and died.
Asherton still had that fire, and she wanted its heat to burn her cheeks. And maybe, if she lingered near him, a spark from his flame would catch her dry kindling.
“Curse you, stupid, stupid girl,” she growled, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. She ran to the greenhouse and shut herself inside, sitting by a copper basin overgrown with oleander and fern.
He would make a terrible king. He would ruin the country, just like her father said. It was a mercy to force him to abdicate. She had been doing this for her father, but perhaps she was doing it for Asherton, too. Again, shereminded herself that he could find another house, one with new ponds and greenhouses.
But as she looked around at the rain-streaked glass walls, she could no longer imagine anyone but Asherton on Elegy Island.
Chapter 23
Magdala tried to focus on her dinner, but Anton was sitting in a highchair Zephyr had brought down from the attic, and insisted on stealing food from her plate. When she had seen the chair, Madgala had choked, knowing she’d probably sat in the same highchair when she was a baby, her father spooning crushed beans into her smiling mouth.
