Page 74 of The Washwoman at the River’s End

Lolly soars overhead as I work, her roar a melody that calms my soul.

“I can’t believe it either,” I tell her, picking up stick after stick.

By the time I'm done, body aching from exhaustion, a stack of wood two feet high sits near my bed. Enough to last a few days, if not more. I pick up a few twigs, still somewhat damp from the rain.

My dàn for warmth flares to life, knowing my intention, and my hands grow hot.

The stick I’m holding steams, the moisture in it evaporating until it becomes almost brittle. I laugh, joy popping in my chest like bubbles in the river. I do the same to several more sticks, then make a pile. Focusing on them, I will them to ignite, but nothing happens.

I bite my lip, placing my hands on the bundle, but still, nothing. I sit back on my heels, frustrated. Dàn are supposed to become a part of you—intuitive. That's the magic. You don't have to be taught how to use them. But maybe because they weren't given to me, because they were stolen from their rightful owner, it’s different.

A gust of wind blows my hair around my face, but I don't shiver. Instead, I listen to it, allowing it to guide my body forward as if I’m bowing to pray. My skin prickles as an idea comes to me, dropped into my mind like a pebble in the river.

I lift my chin, take a deep inhale, and then, focusing at the base of the sticks, I blow. Softly. Tentatively.

A spark ignites, and the twigs catch. The fire grows warm in an instant, the orange glow lighting up my smile. It is not dark quite yet, but it will be soon. Brennen will return before night comes, and when he does, I can at least offer him this. Some sort of warmth as an apology for stealing what was his.

It’s not long before the sound of hooves echoes through the glen, and Brennen emerges, saddle bags full. He’s wearing a thick cloak, but even with it covering his body, I can see the outline of his broad shoulders and corded arms.

My belly flutters, my cheeks heating, and I look away. What is wrong with me? A few days with a man in my glen and suddenly I’ve lost all sense?

He removes the bags and saddle, feeding Sable a few sugar cubes. My mouth waters as she crunches on them, Brennen stroking her nose. Shame and embarrassment heat in my gut.

I’m envious of a horse.

“Wasted no time using my dàn, I see,” Brennen rumbles, clearly cranky from the cold. “Though really, you don’t need it. The magic will keep you warm with or without it.”

“I um…” I stutter, inexplicably uncomfortable. “Well. It feels nice. I’ve been cold for quite some time. But actually, I built it for you.” My blush spreads down my neck, and I twist, trying to hide it from him. “The weather is turning, and it will get colder through the night.”

“I’ll be fine,” he says, stubborn as ever, as he grabs another blanket from his satchel.

I sigh. “It seems a bit bullheaded to be cold for no reason, doesn’t it?” I ask, but he pointedly ignores me.

I study him as he unpacks, his movements stiff and tight. His frustration feels like a ball of snakes in my chest, and I rub at my sternum to try to soothe it. He won’t look at me and is making a point to stay outside of my chain’s reach.

“What’s wrong? Afraid I’m going to light you on fire?” I tease, and Brennen freezes, his grip tightening on the blanket he’s holding.

“More like you’ll steal more dàn if I get close enough.”

I lift my hands toward the fire, relishing the heat. “Och, hush. I’ve been close enough to touch you many times now, and I haven’t. It’s you who seems to be unable to resist touching me,” I say with a teasing smirk. Brennen’s jaw ticks.

“Why do you think it is that it’s only my touch that transfers magic to you?” he asks, surprising me.

I smile, relishing the fact that he’s having a conversation with me without accusing me of something horrid. “Now that is an excellent question. Maybe you subconsciously wanted to give them to me,” I say.

He huffs. “The last thing I want is to have less magic, or for you to have any at all.”

I roll my eyes. “I’ve told you many times, you’re welcome to try to take them back.”

He crosses his arms, finally looking at me. “You’d really give up your first taste of warmth in a century for me?”

My lips twist into a small smile. “Well, I made a fire for you. I’d hope if I returned the dàn, you’d offer to do the same.” The flames rise and crackle as if in agreement.

Clouds drift over the sun, and the temperature drops further. Brennen shivers, unfolding the blanket and wrapping it around his shoulders.

“Fates, you’re stubborn as a ram. You can get closer. I’m not going to murder you. And I won’t take your dàn. I’ll stay on my side of the fire like a good wee lass and keep my hands to myself. I promise.”

Brennen studies me for a long time, statue still, his eyebrows drawn together.