My words hung heavy in the air. I wanted to reel them back in, not because I had not meant them, but I felt power dripping off them, stronger than I had intended.
Power I never knew I had, strong enough, perhaps, to summon forth my own fae kin.
I saw shadows on the walls. Would they speak to me now? I shook my head, quick and brief, in hopes they might understand.
The room had gone still. Tavish stared at me, mouth dropping open to expose his rotting teeth. Jamie went quiet, no longer trembling with sobs in my arms.
“Sweetheart, ’tis sorry I am for your father’s cruelty,” I whispered in his ear. “You don’t belong with him. If I could, I would take you away, deep under the hill, and none should raise a hand or say a harsh word to you ever again. You would know neither sickness nor hunger, but dance and play with the pixies all day. Would you not enjoy that, little one?”
Jamie nodded and gave me a kiss on the cheek.
The storm melted inside me. He nestled so warm and trusting in my arms. I gently set him down, crossing my arms across my bosom as I locked eyes with Tavish.
He looked away first and spat on the ground. “Slattern. ’Tis you we ought to leave out in the woods. Let the goblins take you, for no man ever will.”
Yes, let them.
For that may be where I truly belong.
Five
Mairi had gone. So hadthe family, away to their homes now and out of my hair.
Eamon and I rattled around the cruck house as I worked the wool, tended the garden, and looked after the beasts. Perhaps it was my imagining alone, but ever since the priest spoke to him, Eamon’s eyes seemed to be upon me constantly, as if he expected me to grow another head. Ever he came after me with his words of caution: Do not follow in your mother’s footsteps. Stay away from men of ill repute. Be a good daughter and do our family proud. I tried, Mab knows I tried, though his definition of a good daughter and my own did not appear to be the same. The wisest course of action was simply to avoid catching his attention, while being as obedient as I could.
Meanwhile, the time came for ploughing, then sowing, then ploughing again. The Douglases, who owned the largest herd of cattle around these parts, lost some of them to a raid from reavers across the border. Rumor had it, Thomas had helped the Douglases get their cattle back, which made Eamon cluck his tongue, but in my eyes, only added aroguishcharm to the already dashing shepherd. Despite Eamon’s warnings, I began to wonder when I would see Thomas Shepherd again.
It happened one day when I set out to bake my bread at the common oven. Our lord the Baron de Lyne did own the oven operated by Rufus Baker, and all could use it to bake our bread, provided we paid. Eamon had oft talked of us building our own oven at home, but an oven in one’s own house was a dangerous luxury, and not permitted to de Lyne’s tenants. And it hardly seemed worth the effort now only two of us were in the house.
I set out early after making my dough, the March winds teasing my hair from my coif, and tangling my kirtle about my knees. I had half a mind to tie up those skirts to keep them from blowing, and would have, were it not for the possibility of Eamon hearing tell. His concern over my modesty had grown unendurable as of late. Instead, I braced myself against the wind and held tight to my basket of dough, praying I would not drop it.
But then, as if possessed by some spirit who had overheard my very thoughts, a huge gust of wind caught hold of my kirtle, blowing it about in an unseemly fashion. I slammed my hands down on my legs to catch it.
And the basket of dough fell to the ground. “Mab’s tits,” I swore. And, in case some nature spirit had been at fault, and whipping up some mischief, I added, “Hold off, you lot. I am no mortal born, but one of yours.” Half of me was, at least.
“Here, let me give ye a hand.”
I froze in place, not aware anyone had been walking behind me. Slowly I turned around to find a tall figure, hale and broad-shouldered, his teeth gleaming white in his handsome face.
Thomas Shepherd.
Had he heard what I said?
He gave no sign, but bent to pick up the basket, which had fortunately fallen upright and spilled none of the dough. As he handed it to me, my cheeks grew warm. How I must look to him! My shoes were dusty from the journey, my front flecked with flour from mixing the dough.
I tucked wisps of fallen hair into my coif, then tried to straighten my skirts. “I thank you kindly.”
Thomas rubbed the back of his neck, a single dark curl tumbling down onto his forehead. “It is not in my custom to let a lady suffer such distress.”
“I am not a lady. I mean—” The warmth spread from my cheeks to my ears. “I am no noble lady.”
Thomas’s mouth quirked into a smile. “No,” he agreed, not unkindly. “You looked like nothing so much as a forest nymph there in your green kirtle, with the wind dancing about your skirts.”
A forest nymph? Me? More likely some twisted goblin or wizened imp, such as changelings were made from. Or did the shepherd mock me? I narrowed my eyes, attempting to read his expression.
Was it getting warm now, or was it just me?
Eamon had cautioned me against men of ill repute.
