Anne Bishop - The Pillars of the World

Lucian sat back, no longer sure what to do. He’d intended to suggest a couple of things from the Clan’s large trinket box, things that would require no effort for him to provide. He hadn’t found human women tempting enough to often yield to their enchantments, but from what other Fae males had said, those women were a bit like crows—they liked shiny objects. Since the gold, silver, and jewelry usually found its way back to a Clan trinket box, even if it wasn’t the same trinket box, there was nothing there that hadn’t been given before.

He’d known there was no one else in the cottage last night, but he’d assumed they were simply somewhere else for the day. There was so much presence in this place that it hadn’t occurred to him that she was truly alone here. Knowing that, and knowing how much a gift now would disappoint or delight, he had an obligation to give her what she asked for, no matter how greedy the request might be.

Leaning closer, he said, “What kind of present would you like?”

“I get to choose?”

“Yes, you get to choose.”

She smiled. “Sunshine.”

He stared at her. Was that a coy way of asking for a necklace of amber or citrine? Or gold? “Sunshine.”

She nodded. “I have to work in the garden today. Sunshine would be nice.” She frowned. “But not too hot.”

He brushed his lips against her cheek. “Sun that warms but doesn’t burn.” When she nodded again, he said, “What else?”

“More?” After a long pause, she said, “A dragon.”

Lucian sighed quietly. A dragon ? Even if such a creature existed and he could capture one, what did she think she could do with it? “A dragon,” he said heavily.

She giggled. “A cloud dragon chasing fluffy cloud sheep.”

For the first time, he wondered how old she was. It had been obvious that she was young, but it was a woman’s body that he had enjoyed last night, not a girl’s. No matter. Since he hadn’t been the first, she was surely old enough.

He kissed her cheek again. “I have to go now, but I’ll be back tonight.”

“Tonight,” she mumbled.

Moving quietly, he left the bedroom. The saddlebags were on one of the dining chairs, but he still didn’t know where she had put the rest of his clothes—or his boots. He shrugged. He didn’t need them right now, and he’d be back tonight.

It was a man who opened the kitchen door and stepped out of the cottage. But it was a black horse that galloped toward the shining road that led to Tir Alainn.

Che-cheep che-cheep che-cheep.

The birds were celebrating the day with enthusiasm.

Too much enthusiasm, Ari thought as she turtled under the covers to avoid the light streaming in from her bedroom window.

Light?

She poked her head back out and reluctantly opened her eyes. The drapes were drawn back and the shutters were open. Two sparrows and a finch stared at her from the other side of the glass.

Che-cheep che-cheep che-cheep.

Wake up, wake up, wake up and greet the day.

“All right, all right. I’m up,” Ari grumbled, making no further effort to greet the day. It was past time to get up, but once she started the tasks of the day, last night would become last night, and she wanted to savor those feelings a little while longer and think about the delightful dream she’d had early this morning. Lucian had offered to give her a present, and she’d named a silly thing that only a Fae Lord could give.

It was all nonsense of course, just a bit of fun her mind had conjured to amuse itself while her body still slept. Because if he really had offered her a gift in exchange for sex, that would no longer make last night a joining of two people for their mutual pleasure; that would be like being bought.

Not liking where those thoughts were going, Ari rolled out of bed. After stuffing her feet into slippers, she shuffled into the main room. As she opened the drapes and shutters, the sparrows and finch followed her from window to window.

Che-cheep che-cheep che-cheep.

“Shouldn’t you be out catching worms or some other crawly thing?” Ari asked.

Che-cheep.

“Well, just stay away from my lettuce. There are plenty of other things for you to eat without eating my greens.”

Che-cheep!

Smiling, Ari shook her head, then turned to study the hearth. The fire had burned out. No matter. She could tell that the slight chill in the cottage was left over from last night and would be gone once she opened a few of the windows and the top half of the kitchen door.

As she started toward the kitchen, she saw the saddlebags still sitting on the chair where she’d left them.

She knew Lucian was gone. She would have felt his presence if he was still nearby. So why had he left the saddlebags? What had he packed his extra clothing in?

Fully awake now, she hurried down the narrow hallway off the kitchen that led to the pantry and the washroom.

She’d collected the wet clothes and hung them up when she’d gotten up to use the chamber pot. His clothes were hanging in the washroom exactly as she’d left them.

A little troubled, she opened the room’s small window to freshen the air, then went back to the kitchen to heat water for her morning tea.

The hand pump felt a bit stiff and sounded squeaky as she pumped the water to fill the kettle. Probably needed to be greased. She couldn’t remember the last time it had been done. Ari sighed. Just one more thing to struggle with and fill the day. Just one more thing her mother or grandmother had taken care of when there had been the three of them to share the work.

But she couldn’t remember either of them doing that task, so they must have asked someone. Who would a family of witches ask? Certainly no one in Ridgeley. Ahern? But he’d already fixed the door. She couldn’t ask him for more help without being able to give something in return. Neall? He was usually willing to help with small things when Baron Felston wasn’t filling his days with so many chores he barely had time to breathe. But Neall. . . There were reasons why she was reluctant to ask Neall.

After adding some wood to the coals, Ari put the kettle on the stove to heat. Opening a cupboard, she took down a cup. Her hand hovered in front of the jars beside the cups before she chose the one that contained the special blend of herbs.

She could accurately gauge her fertile days by subtle changes in her body. The day before the Summer Moon should have been the last of them, but there was no reason to take chances. Drinking a cup of tea made from these herbs for another couple of days was a sensible precaution—a precaution she’d been taking every month since her mother died. It wasn’t fear that some man might force himself on her that made her diligent about drinking the tea, although the way Royce and some of his friends had been looking at her lately made her uneasy. It was herself she feared, that she might yield to loneliness or her body’s own romantic yearnings on a day when the consequences might be more costly than a few minutes of pleasure.

There were times when she thought it would be wonderful to have a daughter to love and share the world with. There were more days, especially lately, when she was glad it was unlikely that she would ever carry a child. Her daughter would be as much of an outsider in Ridgeley as she was and would be just as unwelcome. The joy of caring for Brightwood couldn’t mask loneliness, and there were times when even the joy felt like a burden. This land was her heritage and her duty, but someone besides the daughter-who-never-would-be would have to take up the mantle once she was gone.

So it was sensible to drink the herb tea for a couple more days to ensure as much as possible that she wouldn’t conceive.