Like an addlepated twit, she couldn’t tear her eyes off him. The air grew hot and thick. Her body was one galloping heartbeat from complete collapse.
“Wake up!” David slapped at the water, splashing her hair and gown.
Startled, she jumped back before answering his attack with one of her own. He laughed and smacked the water again, catching her in the face. Wiping her eyes, she let out a cry, scrambling up from the river-bank as he waded toward her with a menacing smile.
“Don’t you dare, David St. Leger,” she shouted.
“Or what?” He took another step toward her, the sculpted curve of his hips emerging from the river as he approached the shore.
“Or . . . or I’ll scream.”
He grinned. “Hoping Sam Oakham will come to your rescue? I’ve thrashed him once. I’ll do it again.”
By now the water lapped around his knees and her heart drummed against her chest, her mouth dry. She swallowed, but her feet wouldn’t move. She could only watch as he came closer, striding onto the bank. As he took her hand in his own, fingers threaded, the palm rough. He was inches away, and when she lifted her eyes, she saw how fast his own pulse beat in the hollow of his throat.
“You’re not screaming,” he murmured.
“No,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.
He reached out to touch her temple, a curl of hair behind her ear, a finger tracing the line of her cheekbone. His eyes pulled her in, pushed her under, drowned her. She tried to breathe, but he seemed to suck the very air from her lungs.
He didn’t pull her close. He never moved beyond that tentative study of her face with one finger, but every part of her burned, and she knew he felt the same blood-sizzling need. It was there in his eyes and the way he stood and the very aroused bits of him she was doing her best
“But you aren’t smiling, either,” he said, his voice silken and deep—and solemn.
She gave the smallest shake of her head, all she could manage while caught in this web of volcanic desire.
His expression hardened and his hand dropped back to his side. “What’s happening to me, Fey-blood? Why do I feel this way when I’m with you?”
“What way is that?”
“Confused. Out of my depth. As if I need to run as far and as fast as I can away from you lest you destroy me.”
She chewed her lip, her body aching in ways she’d never felt, a shivering need floating across her damp skin like a chill. “How could I destroy you? My powers aren’t dangerous. They’re barely useful, except as a way to comfort bereft widows or grieving parents. I’m a trickster. A showman.”
His face held a weariness and a sorrow, the same look she’d last seen the night at the Flannerys’ when the sickness gripped him. “And yet I see my death when I look into your eyes.”
She gave a small sound in the back of her throat, barely more than a breath or a sigh, tears taking the place of river water on her cheeks, and her lashes fluttered down as she looked away. “I can pass through into death. I cannot foretell it. It must be Arawn’s shadow you see—the mark borne by all his descendants. That’s all.”
His lips curved into a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. “Perhaps. A relief if you’re right. It was not a peaceful death.”
Footsteps and the crunch of bracken and twigs snapped David’s head up. He stepped back while Callista broke away, embarrassed.
Nancy Oakham emerged from the trees, a bitter smile curving the corners of her mouth as she took in David’s near nudity. “I’ve convinced my brother it’s in our best interest to have you join us. So, if you still need a lift, best hurry up or be left behind.”
David dragged his shirt over his head and sat down to pull on his boots. “How can we refuse such a gracious invitation?”
Nancy’s gaze flicked over Callista before raking David with a long, appraising look. “Remember what I said, St. Leger. We’re letting you stay on for Cally’s sake. But watch your step or watch your back.” With a dark scowl, she departed, the shuffle of her boots through the fallen leaves seeming loud in the silence that opened like a chasm between them.
David rose to his feet, a rakish smile tilting one corner of his mouth. “I don’t know about you, but I have the distinct feeling we’ve gone from frying pan to fire.” He held out a hand. “Come, my lady, our chariots await.”
She gave a jerk of her head, motioned him on. “Go on. I just need . . . need a moment to wash up.”
His gaze dimmed briefly, then with a last flash of his scoundrel’s grin, he followed Nancy up the path toward the waiting caravans.
Callista knelt to splash water on her heated cheeks before staring into the river, seeing the reflection of trees and sky and a bird sitting high in a nearby pine. A breeze ruffled her damp skirts, but it was not the icy cold of death. She felt no tug upon her chest as the door cracked open.
What had David seen when he looked into her eyes?
“I wish you were here, Mother. I have so many questions. So many things I don’t understand,” she said to the breeze and the sky and the rustle of leaves.
A crow flew down to settle a few feet away, its beady eyes fixed upon Callista.
“The bird of death. An appropriate companion for a daughter of Lord Arawn’s line,” she said, rising to her feet with a deep, restorative breath.
The bird ruffled its shiny black feathers and squawked before shuffling a few steps closer.
“Can
With a last squawk, the bird flew off.
But, as a necromancer, had she expected anything else?
David stood just beyond the flickering glow of the fire studying his new traveling companions.
Edward Perkins and his wife, Lettice, performed a magic show together, though David felt no trace of Fey- blood powers from either one of them. Clearly, there was little of magic and much of show about their act. Then there was Big Knox, a juggler and acrobat who spouted Shakespeare while he capered and leapt and spun plates on sticks. Pretty, blond Sally Sweet worked as a dancer, though David would wager she made more money on her back than she ever did on her feet. Finally there was Sam Oakham and his sister Nancy. Despite her brother’s loud, bullying leadership, Nancy appeared to be the real glue that held this motley troupe together. Beneath her hard-bitten facade, she seemed to have a way of handling people, including her brother, that relied less on bluster and more on charm. Too bad she was a female. She’d have made a brilliant general.
Big Knox leaned over and tossed another log onto the blaze. The flames shot high into the air, sparks flying, resin snapping. David stared into the heart of the pyre, watching the twist and curl of the flames as they danced within the circle of stones, feeling the heat against his face even here, where he stood among the trees.
His grandmother had always warned him that he’d end as the main act in a mummer’s show if he wasn’t careful. If he didn’t follow clan law. If he didn’t hide what he was from a dangerous world. What would she say if she knew he was traveling to the Isle of Skye in company with a Fey-blood as a member of Oakham’s Follies? He chuckled, knowing exactly. She’d call him a hen-witted fool and a brainless bag of hammers. Would she be far wrong?
He followed the track of the floating sparks up and up into the sky to be lost among the distant stars on their way through the Gateway.
Gran had passed beyond. He’d been ten when she’d died and his family had returned with her body to the ancestral clan holding in Wales, where her spirit was released with fire and wind. Father and Mother had seemed completely out of place among the Imnada clansmen gathered to assist in the rites and offer their prayers. It was
