Blaire blushed with pleasure at the praise. Last Soren heard, she’d easily passed her exam with high marks, and Maeve insisted on her buying a new gown in celebration.
Last of the siblings was little Keeley—although she seemed less little every time Soren saw her. She was at that tender age between a child and a youth, her cheeks still rounded but her legs growing longer. One day soon, she’d grow like a weed.
Bouncing forward, she grinned cheekily at him. “Hullo, Mister Soren,” she sang, “I’m ready for that flying now.”
“Well, uh…” Soren cleared his throat. “Perhaps after luncheon.”
He’d been putting the eager Keeley off for a while now, her mother disapproving of her being flown anywhere. She was too young, and he suspected her family worried that once she began, she’d never want to stop.
“You keep saying that.” Keeley glared suspiciously. “It’s alwaysafterorlater.”
“That’s because he’s being polite,” Maeve informed her.
“Wellyouget to fly.”
“That’s because I’m older and his fated mate.” Leaning down, Maeve adopted an imperious arch to her brows. “Besides, he knows it’d make meveryjealous to have him fly around with another woman.”
Keeley rolled her eyes, making a disgusted sound, but seemed to accept the answer.
Finally, it was Maeve’s parents. Soren had spoken with Aoife, the mother, several times before and found her to be an agreeable, if harried woman.
“You’re a brave man, Mister Soren, taking on our Maeve,” she said.
“I’m a lucky man, Mistress Brádaigh,” he corrected. “It will be the honor of my life to support her in everything she does.”
Aoife nodded in approval. “I expect her to do many great things, so I’m glad to hear you’re up for the challenge.”
The father, Sir Ciaran, didn’t look impressed.
The old knight took Soren’s hand in a firm, hard shake. The steely look he leveled Soren with had theturukstanding up to grumble. He couldn’t help how his pupils shrank at the sight of a possible threat.
“You’ve got a home and vocation,” said Sir Ciaran at last. “That’s more than the other boys she’s brought home can say.”
“Papa,” Maeve groaned. “Soren’s not a boy.”
“I can see that.” Sir Ciaran looked Soren up and down. “Thank fates for that. A man is what she needs.”
Soren nodded in agreement. “I aim to be everything she needs.”
“Good. Very good. Then let me tell you what I told Orek and then we can eat.” Stepping in closer, Sir Ciaran dropped his voice to threaten, “I’m personal friends with Lord Darrow. There’s not a judge for two hundred leagues who’d prosecute me. So take care of my girl.”
“I understand.”
“Excellent!” Sir Ciaran stepped back, laughing and jolly, an utter shift from his ominous demeanor a moment ago.
It left all the women in the family rolling their eyes.
“Papa, don’t scare him off.”
“If he’s scared off just by that, he doesn’t deserve you, chickadee.”
Maeve huffed and puffed but gave her father an affectionate kiss on the cheek. “He’s too good for me, papa. I promise.”
“I’ll never believe that,” Sir Ciaran whispered back. Peering at Soren over Maeve’s head, the old knight said, “So long as he’s made of strong stuff, I suppose he’ll do.”
A tightness in Soren’s chest eased at his words.
Aoife clapped and announced, “Time to eat!”
