“But?”
“I don’t have my equipment.”
Her lips curve up into a grin. “We have a studio in town. I don’t like sitting in those stuffy things. Plus, women like me, witches, we were taught that the camera would steal our magic. Seeing you, I know that it is not true. You have magic in spades. I can feel it coming off of you in waves.”
“You can?”
“I can, Birdie. We must figure out how to harness it, how to control it and how to teach you to use it on command. Magic is a wonderful thing, but if you cannot control it, then it is useless.”
Pressing my lips together, I wonder if I can control it. I couldn’t earlier, not even a little. I haven’t been able to since I’ve been here and apparently, I’ve been using it and I haven’t even known it.
“How can I control something that I don’t even know I’m using?”
“That, my dear, is what I am going to help you with. It will take us some time, but we will figure it out, together.”
“If it never happens?” I ask on a whisper.
Her lips twitch. “It will, just be patient.”
Maybe I should tell Florence that I am not a patient person, not by a long shot. My sister, Liv, she’s patient. Even Sybilla has patience above and beyond me, but I don’t have any and I think Dru has even less, but she’s such a closed book, I couldn’t even truly guess.
Thinking about my sisters sends a wave of sadness throughout my entire body. I miss them and I’m worried about them, worried about where they are and what is happening to them. I try not to think about it, try to push the thoughts from my mind, but it doesn’t work. That’s also another trait of mine that isn’t the best, lack of patience and I’m a worrier on top of that.
Letting out a sigh, I turn to Florence. “Okay, teach me how.”
Her lips curve up into a grin and she nods her head. “Then let’s get to work. But we should go out back, things could get messy.”
Chapter Fourteen
COLT
I leave Birdie alone for the remainder of the day. I’m not sure what she does, but I hear a lot of squeals, growls, and stern talking from her and Florence out behind the house. I wanted nothing more than to spy on them, but I thought it prudent to stay away. Not for her sake though, for my own.
I’m falling for her.
Fast.
Too fast.
I clear my throat as I wait for her appearance at dinner. Ernest doesn’t say anything, as always, he stands right behind me and to the side, a silent statue and observer. I should ask him what he thinks about all of this, and perhaps I will, but not yet. Not while I’m still trying to figure out the truth of it all.
“Ernest,” I call out.
He steps forward a few paces, then turns to me. “Yes, sir?”
“If you could find a way to get a missive to the scholars up north, I would appreciate it.”
He dips his head once. “I can do that.”
“I need a trusted man, not just a simple messenger,” I explain.
“Yes, sir.”
I could send one of my soldiers when they arrive, but I need all of the men that Logan has sent my way for protection, for Birdie. One man pulled away from protecting her could be the end. I’m not going to make any mistakes again.
I did that once, I’m not going to think that other men in times of war are as righteous as I am.
Not all men follow the rules of warfare, or maybe they do, maybe there just aren’t any rules and I’m assuming too much of my fellow human to think that they would not harm the innocent.
The dining room door swings open and Birdie appears. I expect her blue dress from earlier, but instead she has on a green frock. Standing, I walk over to a chair and bow slightly as I pull it out for her.
She sinks down, dipping her chin as her cheeks tint pink. When she is settled, I lift my head and grin at the sight of Ernest helping Florence into her seat before he takes his own. Once we’re all seated, Martha appears with soup.
I hear Birdie groan as soon as the soup is placed in front of her. I watch as she looks longingly at her food. She’s hungry and far too thin. Then, I remember her saying that she wanted food sent up to her room last night.
Drat.
I forgot. I was so consumed with myself, with my thoughts and guilt, that I forgot to take care of her. She is mine now. My mistress. If I do not take care of her, she will suffer and I make it a point not to allow any woman to suffer, especially mine.
When Martha makes her way over to me, I call her down so that only she can hear me. “When we’ve finished, will you bring a plate up to Birdie’s room?” I ask.
Martha turns her head to look at me, then gives me a knowing grin and nods her head. “Yes, sir,” she whispers.
Dinner is spent in mostly awkward silence. I don’t bother asking what the women did for the day, I already know. I also don’t attempt to converse with Ernest, not only do I already know what he did today, I also know that he’s not one to have polite pointless conversation. He’s more of a talk only if you have something to say kind of man.
After dinner, Florence retires to her room, claiming a headache and Ernest retires to his, claiming nothing as is his way. This leaves me and Birdie alone. Smiling, I push my chair out, then make my way over to Birdie’s seat.
Holding out my hand,
