Autumn Moon (4 page)

Oh, that was
so
unfair. How many times had she imagined him professing those very words over the summer, only
for more intimate reasons other than this?
Don't go there!
Elen mentally shook those dangerous threads from her thoughts. She mustn't presume what he may or may not want from her, for the sake of her sanity, not to mention her heart.

Thankfully Dylan saved her from making a response. “That's settled, then. Cormack, you'll go with her now. I'll inform Sarah of what's happening. Report directly to me. Elen has a secure landline in her kitchen. Use that for communication. Porter will watch the boundaries while Sarah prepares the villagers. I'm posting Gabriel and John between Rhuddin Hall and the cottage. I'll update you on further plans once I discuss the situation with my wife.”

“Understood,” Cormack said.

Her brother's gaze landed back on her, black like their Roman father's had been before his death, and just as stern. “If Pendaran finds a way through our guards, under no circumstances are you to go with him. No matter what he offers or who he threatens—you
will
resist him. Do you understand?”

Hearing him plan for the possibility made her stomach churn, and rightly so. “Of course.” Because she knew the consequences were she to fail.

The late-morning sun set the forest ablaze with the rich colors of autumn. An emerald carpet of moss lined the packed clay of the trail, while oak trees formed a ceiling of glimmering copper and gold. A paradise, if there ever was one. Cormack allowed himself a brief moment to appreciate the view, well aware that his senses were muted in his human form, that the pine was less pungent and the rustle of woodland creatures reduced to whispers of scurrying feet. And that Elen marched ahead of him in a flurry of silent scorn.

He was home, or nearly there, since her cottage was around the next turn. And the rightness of it defied all challenges to come. If she continued to ignore him, he would correct her soon enough. Their enemies would arrive by evening; of this he had no doubt. But for now he watched her from his new perspective, standing a head above instead of waist-high and looking up.

His gut tightened as memories flooded his thoughts, made more poignant by the danger that threatened them. How many times had they walked together along this trail to her cottage? Hundreds maybe? Even thousands? He remembered when this path had been the only passage to her home, named Emerald Trail for its endless carpets of moss. But then his observation had been through the eyes of a wolf, keen in ability but useless for what he desired most.

From either viewpoint, there was no sight in this world more beautiful than Elen in her forest. This place
belonged
to her. Dylan may be its defender, but she was its master. Her fair hair danced in the wind, as if the element of Air couldn't resist touching a flowing part of her. Slender but sturdy, she kept her shoulders back and her face forward—or any direction away from him.

He scanned the area for anything amiss, but the only disturbance he found came from her. Now that they were alone, her obvious resentment thickened the air like poison. Was she even aware that trees wept as she passed? Of course she was—or might have been, if fury hadn't muddled her judgment. Leaves still green, not ready to fall, wilted on their branches in her wake, trickling down like weak rain.

“You're angry with me,” he voiced aloud as humans found necessary. Dylan had advised him to talk, so he would to breach this dangerous silence.

“I'm not,” she clipped without lessening her pace. She wore a simple top over a printed skirt that wrapped around her waist, held together by meager strings that formed a bow by her side. One tug would unravel it.

Did she not know how such things tempted a man? “Now you're lying.”

She whipped around so suddenly he almost plowed into her. “I'm hurt,” she corrected, “not angry. There's a difference.”

Maybe there was one, but he couldn't make out the distinction just then. Not when storm clouds held less turbulence than her gaze. “I never meant to hurt you.”

A delicate frown marred her features as she studied him for a long while. “What are you about, Cormack? You wanted nothing to do with me for six months, and now . . .” She waved her hand about in a frantic gesture as if trying to grasp his reasoning from air. “And now you volunteer as my personal guard. I don't understand you.”

“What's there to understand? I've always protected you.” From the day she'd served him dinner on a porcelain plate and not thrown scraps on the floor, he'd been hers. She'd given a wolf dignity at the price of his trapped human heart.

“Not since last spring, you haven't.” She folded her arms under her chest, and the delicate mounds rose with her breaths and heated accusations. “You want me to act as if you never left. Well, I can't. I can't go back to the way it was.”

Yes, he much preferred this perspective. “Neither can I.”

When her lips pressed together, he realized he'd said something wrong. Her gaze held more sadness than the entirety of a barren ocean. They called to him, those eyes, as they always had. A color not uncommon to their race, they were the blue of winter horizons, so light they sometimes appeared gray, but rare because of the kindness within. And they were finally seeing him as he'd always wanted to be seen—as a man.

“Because of what I did to you?” she asked on a broken whisper. “I'm sorry. Had I known—”

“Don't!” Cormack wanted to drag her into his arms but resisted the urge. Less than a pace away, her scent rose to tease his sanity, a mixture of moonflowers that bloomed in her garden and the sweetness that was her.

“Don't what?” She leaned forward and almost drove all thoughts of resistance from his mind.

His body was weak,
and impatient
, considering her nearness after all these years of waiting; it awakened an inconvenient response. He may be new to this business, but even he understood it wasn't a good time for that. Regardless, he could correct a misunderstanding without making her aware of his uncomfortable predicament. “Don't regret what you've given me. You
freed
me from a half existence. I'm not sorry. I'll never be sorry.”

Her gaze returned to meet his, filled with uncertainty. “Then why?” She lifted her hands in a helpless gesture. “Why haven't you told me this sooner? Why have you stayed away? Why have you avoided me?” The questions flowed like rivers in spring. “I thought we were friends.”

Her last insult saved him from babbling like an idiot. She wasn't ready to hear what desires haunted his soul. Like boiling blood through his veins, he wanted her with a fierceness that would frighten her. “I needed to learn how to be human.”

“But I would have helped you.”

“I know.” He cringed at the thought. “But there are some things a man needs to learn on his own. Private things.”

“But we're Celts.” She scoffed as if he'd made a tasteless joke. “Since when do you value privacy?”

Since I've been given a chance to have you.
Needing to put an end to her questions, he provided a reason she couldn't refute. “Yes, I am a Celt, which is why I deserve to have my will respected.”

And, more importantly, his pride.

That first week in an unfamiliar body was not a story for her ears, or the months that followed. Accounts of him dripping soup down his chin or fumbling with buttons and shoelaces.
Forming his first words and bumbling the sounds. Or slicing his leg while learning how to swing a sword. Having his face crisscrossed with cuts like an adolescent teen after shaving.

Or enthusiastic body parts that arose every morning without fail. And, yes, their race was known to openly love without shame, and not to judge, as it should be, but Celts also respected each individual's journey and preference.

And his was, and always would be, Elen. He'd waited centuries for her. Was it too much to ask that she wait a few months for him to be worthy of her?

“I'm a doctor,” she added when her first argument failed. “And I was a healer long before that title came about. I can assure you there's nothing I haven't seen.”

He hadn't needed the reminder. His loneliest times had been during her excursions to learn various medicinal techniques. She'd studied at monasteries, temples, conferences, hospitals and universities. And he hadn't been able to travel with her without attracting dangerous attention.

“Let it go, Elen . . .
please
.” When she winced, he realized he'd spoken too harshly. Was an apology in order? He believed it was, but if he offered one, would it put an end to her questions—or welcome more? He wanted her to see him as a worthy mate, and not an invalid to be nursed. But her heart was too pure to understand, so he kept silent; a safer option that saved him from sticking his tongue farther into the mud.

“Fine,” she eventually said. “You obviously didn't want my help six months ago, and I won't force it on you now.” She turned and continued walking.

Cormack ran a hand through his hair. This business of talking was a complicated thing. He'd hurt her again, he knew. If not an apology, he probably should say something at least. “Thank you.”

He didn't receive a reply.

*   *   *

Tears gathered in her eyes, and Elen quickened her pace before they betrayed her. She'd experienced her share of pain, but none this useless; it was an ache that held no physical substance but felt as if rocks pressed against her heart nonetheless. Worse, it hurt in a way that none of her medical training could fix.

And all because his evasive attitude reminded her of a certain wager. She suspected exactly what
private things
he didn't want to discuss, at least not with her.

Avon's residents found enjoyment gambling over irregular circumstances, and Cormack's had certainly been that. Regrettably, she'd learned about the obnoxious wager involving him, or rather his pursuers; more specifically, which one of them would be the first to introduce him to the carnal functions of his new body.

When Elen had left, a woman named Tesni had been a favorite to win. If only she could stop picturing them together, she might have the depth of character to rid herself of this mental torture. But jealousy was a selfish emotion, and like all things infectious, once it festered, it wanted to stay.

A wilted leaf brushed her cheek on its way to the ground, prompting her to change her focus away from self-serving motives. After wiping her eyes, she let the wind dry whatever dampness remained. She must calm her emotions before causing more damage, and she included her relationship with Cormack in that assessment. He still cared, or else he wouldn't be here now, and she found comfort in that.

If only he didn't look so damn self-assured, she might be able to find more. He formed an intimidating figure as he marched beside her with graceful strides. His sword swung
from his side, the belted scabbard hanging low off his hip, with his eyes sharp and searching for potential threats.

He'd left her as a gentle friend but returned to her as a warrior. And why did that make her stomach flutter as if a thousand butterflies danced to his song?

A question for a later time, she decided for her own peace of mind. And after inhaling a deep breath for composure, she tactfully changed the subject. “Are you hungry?” It was still late morning, so she offered, “I can whip us up some coffee and muffins.”

He sighed as if relief was a weighable substance and she'd just removed a boulder from his chest. “I would like that.”

“Apple muffins?” she asked. “Or pumpkin?” The trail opened to her grain fields, and she hurried on, anxious to cook for someone other than herself again. Ms. Hafwen didn't count because she was too particular toward sweets and only ate crumbs she deemed worthy.

He thought about it for a moment. “The pumpkin ones with the white crunchy stuff on top.”

“Pumpkin streusel?”

“Streusel,” he said, testing the word on his tongue. “Make extra.”

His smile was infectious. “I can do that.” As they made their way through rows of apple trees with low branches heavy with ripened fruit, she had a ridiculous urge to giggle. It seemed she had little control over her emotions around him; one moment she wanted to cry, and the next she acted as if she'd never been with a man.

Which, of course, she had. But not one who held her heart so firmly in his grasp.

“What's so funny?” He kicked a fallen apple out of her path.

“Nothing.”

“Tell me.”

“Truly, it's nothing.” Only the fact that hearing him talk back would take some getting used to, but she didn't think he would appreciate her humor on the subject, not so soon after their last bout. “I've never had to answer your questions before.” She snuck a peek at his profile. “Or received answers to mine. I like it.”

A sheepish grin turned his lips. “I'm glad.”

She stubbed her toe on a jutting rock because of that grin. His mouth was made for pleasure. Thankfully, she caught herself before falling on her face in more ways than one and made it to her cottage without any further embarrassments.

Unlatching the wrought iron gate that led to her front portico, she announced, “We're home.” The sentiment spilled out naturally because she'd said it countless times over the years. However, she'd never once heard him repeat it back as he did just then.

“We're home.” He inhaled a deep breath as if to savor its scent.

The butterflies in her stomach began to dance again.