“I like the way what ye’re reading makes yer brows draw together with concentration.” He drew his own brows in mock demonstration. “And I like it when ye pause at something and glance away, as if ye’re contemplating it before committing it to memory.”
A pretty blush warmed her fair complexion. “Ye noticed all that about the book, eh?”
“Aye. Which makes it the bonniest one I’ve ever seen.”
The fox-man arrived soundlessly before the table. “Will ye take yer supper in here again?” His golden gaze held steady on them.
Duncan nodded and the man slipped away as quietly as he’d arrived.
It had become their custom to eat in the large room filled with books on mythology and magic, ideas Duncan had always perceived as frivolous fancies of thought. The reading of them, however, had been fascinating.
“What have ye found today?” Duncan asked. Information had been plentiful initially, but as the days wore on, the readings had become redundant.
“Morrigan has a place for her daughters. They stay until the age of fifteen and then are released into the world.” Her eyes sparkled with excitement. “If I can get in there, I could meet her. My mother.” She said the last two words with reverence.
Duncan lost himself in the radiance of her joy, basking in it the way one does the sunshine on a chilled day. “Does it say where it’s located?”
Evina shook her head. “Nay, I couldna find another reference inside. Mayhap Gillespie will know.”
While they had been researching information on Morrigan, Gillespie had been combing through his other supply of books under the auspices of discovering what Evina could do to aid Duncan in his curse.
Of course, both men were well aware of how she could break the enchantment, but they couldn’t very well tell her. She would need to love Duncan of her own volition.
“We’ll ask him when he arrives later,” Duncan agreed. At least now the servant would have a legitimate task. “And ye owe me another story about your travels.”
Before she could begin, the cook swayed in with her wide-legged gait, pushing a small cart laden with food. The herbaceous scent of rich gravy flavored the air and left Duncan’s mouth watering in anticipation. The cook placed a trencher in front of them. Veal stew. No fowl, he noticed. Never any fowl with this cook.
He thanked her for her efforts, and the woman waddled off.
Evina watched the servant depart, her gaze sharp with curiosity, but she did not voice any concerns she might have had.
“In Edinburgh,” she said. “The streets slope at such an angle, yer knees almost touch yer chest when ye walk them.” Evina lifted her hand and slanted her forearm drastically in illustration.
“Buildings rise up on either side of the street, high in the air and so close together, ye canna even make out a thread of light between them. The air at the market is sweet with baking pastries and smoky with roasting chestnuts. It makes yer mouth crave their taste as much as yer hands long for the heat of holding them.”
She didn’t eat while she spoke, and Duncan didn’t either. For while she was too engrossed with telling him of the places she’d been, he found himself transported there in his mind. Through her, he traveled over turbulent seas to the magnificent cliffs of Ireland and the exotic beauty of the Orient, rich with spices and silks. Evina had seen the world and she fed it to Duncan one delicious story at a time. Each bite more savory than the last.
He remained quiet while she led him through the paved city of Edinburgh, and up to the statuesque castle perched atop the highest hill, so all of Edinburgh could bow before it. While the stories fascinated him, they left him with a swell of heartache.
He had never been willing to go to the places she had been. No, he’d remained rooted in front of a window, a witness to every leaf falling from the gnarled branches of his rowan tree. His absence would not have made them fall faster.
A complete waste.
His life had been a complete waste.
And it was then he suddenly realized that in the last six days he’d spent with Evina in researching her mother, he had not once gone to the window to gaze at the rowan tree.
EVINA’S WORLD WAS GLOWING.
The smile on Duncan’s face gave her a strange, pleasant warmth, as if all the hurt and loneliness were melting into something more.
Her initial desire to lay with him had not lessened, but her fondness for him had left her unsure of herself. Dare she say shy?
She found herself studying his lips as he talked, and had on more than one occasion discovered his stare locked on hers, but the nervous fluttering in her stomach restrained her from encouraging physical intimacy with him. Never had she been able to take her time with a man like this before. But then, never had she met a man like Duncan.
“I enjoy yer stories,” he said when she finished telling him of Edinburgh. “Ye paint it so completely, I can see it in my head as if I’m there.” His brow furrowed and he frowned slightly. “It makes me appreciate what I’ve missed. Ye’ve had the world, and I’ve had this.” He lifted a hand to do a flippant, all-encompassing wave.
It had been too easy to forget Duncan’s confinement when travel was as much a part of her own life as breathing. The constant shifting of scenery, and faces, they flew by in a blur of weeks and months and years. Her palate was rich with the spice of exotic foods and her mind colorful with cultures and their people.
Yet for the wealth of experiences she’d had, she was a hollow void within. No home, no companionship. Merely a great void, echoing her perpetual loneliness.
She endeavored to smile, but knew it wilted beneath the hearty weight of her sorrow. “It isna as lucky as
