“This one’s full as well,” Padraig said when he emerged from a blue-shuttered pub. “And that place doesn’t look much better.” He pointed a gnarled finger toward a red-and-white cottage at the end of the street with a line of patrons waiting to get inside.
“I know a place that shouldn’t be crowded at this hour,” Tadhg said from a few steps behind.
“Is it far?” I was so hungry I would’ve been willing to eat scraps.
“Not very. Come on.” His arm brushed against mine when he passed.
Padraig kept glancing my way as Tadhg brought us to a narrow back alley behind one of the pubs. The cheers and laughter from the street became nothing more than a muffled buzz.
Tadhg told us to wait by a bunch of crates filled with empty green bottles. He strode to a green door and gave three swift knocks. A moment later, a plump woman with curly gray hair pinned to the top of her head answered. Her cheeks flushed when she saw Tadhg, and she swiped a hand down her grease-smeared apron.
She and Tadhg exchanged a few words before he handed her something and motioned for us to follow him.
With Padraig at my side, I wasn’t nervous. And if I was being honest, I was glad Tadgh was there as well.
The scent of magic was as faint as the light filtering through the frosted lattice windows.
“We’ve only a bit of venison and some day-old vegetable soup left, I’m afraid,” the woman said in a thick northern lilt. Her eyes landed on me and narrowed.
I offered a tentative smile. “Whatever you have would be wonderful. Thank you.”
Her lips flattened. She nodded and suddenly disappeared.
“Did she just—” My eyes must be playing tricks. I rubbed them, but she was still gone.
“Evanesce?” Tadhg’s head tilted as he stepped into the space where she had been a second ago.
Evanesce.
The woman wasn’t human.
“Maeve’s grandmother was a witch. Or was it great-grandmother?” he muttered to himself, rubbing the back of his neck. “I can never keep it straight.”
A witch?
Maeve didn’t seem anything like Fiadh.
“Can”—I had to remind myself to breathe when his piercing eyes met mine—“can you do that?”
“I can do all sorts of things that would impress you,” he purred, his smile cocky and confident.
My stomach fluttered.
Don’t trust the creatures, that annoying voice whispered.
It was sage advice but Tadhg had proven himself trustworthy thus far.
Padraig’s hand settled on my elbow. “Let’s have a seat, shall we?” He escorted me to one of the benches at an empty trestle table.
Tadhg rolled up his sleeves, revealing forearms corded with muscles, and all I could think about was the way those strong arms had felt around me when he pulled me from the lake.
“What would you like to drink, Lady Keelynn?” There was no doubt in my mind that Tadhg had used my given name for Padraig’s benefit. “A small glass of wine? A dram of something equally ladylike?”
He said it like a challenge. Like he didn’t think I could handle my alcohol. I’d been handling my alcohol since I was thirteen years old.
“I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
He chuckled and rubbed his hands together like he was plotting my demise. “A pint of stout it is. Padraig?”
Padraig only nodded, staring at me as though I had sprouted horns.
Tadhg withdrew three large glasses from beneath the bar, set one under the tap, and pulled the black lever. A few minutes later, he returned with three pints of black liquid topped with spongy white foam.
I sniffed tentatively. It didn’t smell terrible. It didn’t taste terrible either. Bitter with a hint of something sweet. Chocolate, perhaps? What I liked most was that the stout’s heaviness soothed my ravenous stomach.
Maeve didn’t return with our dinner until Tadhg and Padraig had started on their second pints. She set down three clay bowls of yellowish soup and a single plate of venison with three forks between. We all thanked her, and she told Tadhg to help himself to anything we needed so long as no one else was there.
With a flick of Tadhg’s wrist, a basket of fresh bread rolls and a tray of pear tartlets appeared. Sugar glistened from the glaze, and I could almost feel the granules crunching between my teeth.
They were clearly enchanted.
Padraig reached for a roll. I knocked it out of his hand. “It could kill you,” I reminded him under my breath.
Padraig’s expression fell.
“Is our food not good enough for your refined human palate, Lady Keelynn?” Tadhg grabbed one of the rolls and shoved it into his mouth.
“No, no. It’s nothing like that.” I glanced at Padraig for assistance. He kept his gaze on the rolls. How did I say this without offending Tadhg and breaking the tentative balance between us?
“Humans cannot ingest enchanted food,” I explained.
“Enchanted? This?” He gestured to the rolls and tartlets. I nodded. “My dear, ignorant human. There is no such thing as enchanted food. Poisoned, yes. But not enchanted.”
Could it be true? My hand itched to reach for a tartlet.
“And before you ask,” Tadhg said, nudging the tray toward me, “no, I did not poison it.” He snagged a tartlet and popped it into his mouth. “See? Perfectly safe.”
Padraig picked one up and took a small bite.
I took one. Sniffed. Ripe pear and sugared pastry. Not a hint of magic.
Death by dessert seemed a good way to die.
Oh. Oh my.
I closed my eyes to erase everything but the rich flavors bursting on my tongue. A moan escaped as I chewed. If I died right now, I would die happy.
I opened my eyes and found Tadhg staring, the tartlet in his hand frozen halfway to his gaping mouth. Padraig kicked him beneath the table, and Tadhg’s mouth snapped shut.
I felt my face flush and quickly turned my attention to dinner. Warm, savory vegetable soup. Venison seasoned with cloves, so tender, it melted on my tongue. Every bite was better than the one before it.
Tadhg picked at the venison and slurped a few spoonfuls of soup. Then he polished off three more tartlets.
“Where did you steal—I mean, shift these from?” I asked, reaching for the final pastry.
He chewed thoughtfully, avoiding looking me directly in the eye. Eventually, he said, “They came from my own kitchen.”
His cook must have been some sort of wizard. My stay felt so tight, the boning cut into my ribs with each inhale. “Why was I taught that your food would kill me?”
Tadhg flicked his wrist, sending the dishes back to wherever they belonged. “Probably because we don’t want you humans eating all of our provisions,” he said with a smirk, lifting his drink as if in toast.
Two pints led to three. Three led to four.
Knowing better than to try and keep up with the men, I sipped slowly, savoring the way the stout warmed me from the inside out.
A pooka came in at some point, nodded to us, and sat at the end of the table closest to the door. It had the ears of a rabbit, face of a wolf, and talons of a hawk, like it wasn’t sure which animal to be, so it decided to be all of them.
It was so fascinating. How did it shift? Did it hurt? Could it only be an animal, or could it look like a human as well? Sharp yellow eyes landed on me. Panic seized my chest. The pooka nodded and went back to his pint. He didn’t seem to care that Padraig and I were here. Did he feel the same way about humans as Tadhg?
Shortly after, a woman arrived. She would have been beautiful, with straight, strawberry-blond hair dusting her shoulders, but for her bulging blue eyes and elongated pupils. When she blinked, her lashless eyelids weren’t in sync. Although she sidled up next to the pooka, she kept her unnerving eyes on Tadhg.
He saluted her with his drink.
Padraig didn’t seem the least bit fazed by any of it, like he was used to consorting with creatures. On his f
ifth pint, with his eyes glazed, he removed his pipe to smile at Maeve. He had been trying to convince her to play cards with him since she had brought the last round.
Padraig sighed wistfully at Maeve as she cleared and cleaned tables. “Did you know my first love was a faerie?”
He’d loved a faerie? But Padraig’s wife had been a human.
“What was her name?” Tadhg set his pint on the table and licked the foam from his lips.
His lips . . .
They were almost too perfect.
Like they’d be too soft.
Padraig’s pipe tapped against the table, breaking whatever spell had come over me. I inhaled a tentative breath but smelled no magic. My fingers tightened on my pint, and I took a deep drink.
“She was called Binne.”
Tadhg’s smile was small and secretive. “Melodious Binne.”
“Voice of an angel.” Padraig blinked slowly, his face serene. “Legs for days.”
Tadhg snorted but nodded in agreement. It made me wonder how well he knew this Binne person.
“Aren’t faeries really small?” I asked, catching my frowning reflection in my glass.
“Not always,” Tadhg said in a faintly amused tone. “I’m half-fae and no one’s ever called me small.”
Half-fae. That explained the ears and the magic.
I considered him as I drew a line in the condensation on my glass. So confident. So cocky. “I’m sure other faeries find you quite adequate.”
Stout sprayed across the table. “Milady!” Padraig scrubbed the drips from his chin with his shirtsleeve.
Those perfect lips slowly lifted. “Oh, I like drunk Keelynn.”
“Whatever’s in yer head, boy, get it out.” Padraig caught Tadhg’s arm across the table. “She’s had it hard enough since that wretch—”
“Thank you, Padraig.” I squeezed his wrinkled hand. Defending my honor was pointless. I was on a mission to kill someone; I had no honor left. Still, that didn’t mean I wanted Tadhg to learn about my past.
“You’ll hear no argument here.” Tadhg lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Any man with eyes in his head can see she’s far too good for me.”
Nodding, Padraig patted my hand before excusing himself and limping toward the privy.
Tadhg stared at me from across the table, an unreadable expression on his face.
Stout and dinner sloshed in my stomach as I shifted on the bench. “Why are you looking at me like that?” Surely there was somewhere else he could direct those unnerving eyes.
“You’ve confounded me.” Tadhg’s lips pressed into a disapproving line. Such a shame. They weren’t nearly as kissable when he did that.
“Don’t do that with your mouth.” Where was my pint? Oh! There. I picked it up and had a sip. Stout was my new favorite drink.
Tadhg rested his elbows on the table and leaned until his chest met the wood. “Don’t do what with my mouth?”
“When you get annoyed, you do this.” I did my best impression—which lasted all of three seconds before a fit of giggling took over. Tadhg’s eyes widened. “And it’s a shame because you have a lovely mouth.” My fingertips brushed against his lips.
Not too soft. Just perfect.
“No, you have a lovely mouth.” His thumb grazed my bottom lip. “Whereas I have a wicked mouth that does terribly wicked things.”
Heat pooled in my stomach. Lower.
I didn’t want to know.
No, I didn’t.
Didn’t.
Did.
“Like what?” I whispered.
Coins slapped against the table, and Tadhg held a hand toward me. “Come with me and I’ll show you.”
This was a terrible idea.
Why were my fingers lacing with his, letting his callused palms press against mine?
“Not so fast, boy.” Padraig was there. Where had he come from? Why was he tugging my hand free? “I’ll take her away. Ye can stay here.”
Tadhg’s smile tightened and his hands flexed at his sides.
“I don’t mean to overstep, milady.” Padraig linked our arms and led me unsteadily toward the door. “But believe me when I say that nothing good will come from . . . associating with someone like him.”
Maeve appeared, a tray of empty glasses balanced against her stomach. “Leaving so soon? I was hoping ye’d stay a bit longer. We could have that card game,” she purred with a flirtatious wink.
Padraig tensed. “I need to see my lady safely to the inn.”
“Allow me to escort her.” This time, Tadhg offered his arm.
“I don’t think—”
“Ye should stay—”
“What are you—”
My head swam on a sea of stout as the three of them argued. Accusations flew between Padraig and Tadhg. Maeve tugged on Padraig’s sleeve, pleading with him to stay.
I couldn’t keep up with the insults and snide remarks and—
“Enough!”
Three pairs of eyes locked on me.
“I am an adult,” I reminded them, bracing my hands on my hips. “I will make my own decisions.” I turned to Padraig and smoothed a hand down his lined cheek. “Stay with Maeve.” After all he had done for me, he deserved a night with someone he obviously fancied—even if she was a witch. “Tadhg will escort me to the inn, won’t you Tadhg?”
He grinned at Padraig. “I will, of course.”
Padraig looked murderous, but then Maeve put a hand on his elbow. He offered her a tight smile before catching Tadhg by the collar and pulling him close.
After a moment of whispering, Tadhg frowned and nodded. “You have my word.”
Padraig wished me good night, took the tray from Maeve, and hobbled toward the bar. She gave him the most adoring smile before trailing after him.
The heat from Tadhg’s body warmed my entire left side as he took my arm and pulled me close. Fresh, crisp air hit my over-warm cheeks when he threw open the door.
“What did Padraig say to you?” I asked, stepping into the night.
Glancing at me from over his shoulder, he grinned and said, “He made me swear not to bed you tonight.”
10
The revelers were still out in force on the streets, dancing and singing. Musicians lifted the audience into a pulse-racing reel.
But it wasn’t the music that made my heart feel like it would burst from my chest. It was the half-fae whose thigh rubbed against my skirts with each step, whose arm felt strong and defined.
He made me swear not to bed you tonight.
Tonight.
What about tomorrow?
The thought flitted through my mind, unbidden. I halted next to one of three fiddle players to catch my breath. The man’s eyes closed as he violently sawed the strings with his bow.
I was supposed to hate Tadhg.
I did hate him.
The fact that he had saved me and made me laugh after a few pints and was the most handsome being I had ever encountered didn’t change what he was. I wouldn’t have been taught to fear the Danú if there wasn’t some truth to the danger.
Fiadh had been malice incarnate.
And the Gancanagh had murdered my sister.
But . . .
A grogoch had helped Padraig with the wheel.
The pooka in the pub had seemed polite enough.
Maeve had magic, but she’d been kind.
And Padraig had loved a faerie.
I peered through my lashes at Tadhg. He watched the musicians, tapping his foot to the beat of the hand drum. There was darkness in him. I had seen it swirling in his eyes. Forgetting that could only end in disaster.
“What do you suppose they’re celebrating?” I asked, disconnecting my arm from his.
I needed mundane small talk.
I needed something else to focus on besides him.
“It’s Lughnasa.”
The name sounded vaguely familiar. “Isn’t that a pagan holiday?” It certainly wasn’t celebrated in my village. But the east co
ast of the island had always been more refined because of its proximity to Vellana. The west coast was known to be wild and lawless because of its border with Tearmann.
Dancers weaved in and out, around and around. An entrancing pattern as old as the dance itself.
“It was centuries ago,” Tadhg said, both boots tapping. “Now it’s more of an excuse for a party than anything religious. I imagine there would’ve been some competitive games earlier in the week, and from the looks of it”—he inclined his head toward a couple caught in a passionate embrace against a darkened doorway—“a handfasting or two as well.”
Handfasting. An ancient ceremony where vows were exchanged over a couple’s bound hands, signifying the start of a trial marriage lasting a year and a day.
A year and a day.
The same as a curse.
It couldn’t be a coincidence.
Music swelled into the night. Sweat dripped from the fiddler’s brow onto his gleaming instrument.
“I think all marriages should start as handfastings,” I confessed.
“Really?” Tadhg stepped forward, blocking the musicians and dancers from view as he crossed his arms over his chest. His shirt gaped at the neck, revealing a swath of smooth, tanned skin beneath. “And why is that?”
“Because sometimes people make mistakes,” I said, thinking of my own miserable marriage. “And it’s unfair for them to have to pay for those mistakes for the rest of their lives.”
Shadows flared across the sharp planes of his face. His eyes. His lips.
A melodious hurricane spun around us, but we were in the eye of the storm, a place of peace and stillness. A place where everything else faded away until it was only the two of us.
Danú and human.
A man and a woman.
“You truly believe that?” he asked quietly, reaching to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. His tongue darted between his perfect lips. The soft pink skin glistened in the lamplight.
“I wouldn’t have been able to say it if I didn’t.”
He blinked, then shook his head as if snapping out of a trance. “Right. Yes. Of course.”
I glanced around the street to where the dancers clapped, sweat shimmering on their faces. The music was replaced by quiet laughter and the colorful banners softly flapping in the breeze as the musicians packed up their instruments.
A Cursed Kiss (Myths of Airren Book 1) Page 10
