The Falconer (Elizabeth May) (15 page)

He presses his body close to mine and I inhale the sharp, heady scent of soap and whisky that lingers on him. I love that smell. It reminds me of how we were before he left, when he used to tease me at afternoon tea and tug on my curls. It reminds me of everything I felt back then, when I wished he would see me as a woman and not a girl.

‘Let’s try again, then, shall we?’ Gavin says. ‘I haven’t seen you in two years. How could I not steal you away?’

I laugh in spite of myself. ‘A valiant effort. I suppose you don’t care about the gossip?’

Gavin raises an eyebrow. ‘Not at all. Since when did you?’

‘More
whiiiiiirling
!’ Derrick sings.

Gavin levels a severe gaze at Derrick. ‘What the hell is wrong with your pixie?’

I almost stumble in shock. Gavin holds me closer and smoothly whirls us again. ‘You can see him?’ I whisper. ‘You’re a Seer?’

‘Seer,’ Derrick says in delight. His wings beat faster against my neck, then he giggles again. ‘Can’t fight like a Falconer. Can’t do anything but see. Bloody useless, aren’t you?’

‘Is he . . . my God, is he
drunk
?’ Gavin says.

‘On honey,’ I say distractedly.

‘Not drunk!’ Derrick hugs my neck. ‘I love you. Aileana, I love you. I love your dressing room. All of my things are in there. Beautiful things, nice things, things to mend, things to lie on.
Thiiiings!
’

Gavin does not look amused. ‘Would he mind removing himself from your person?’

I’m still reeling from the knowledge that Gavin can see faeries. ‘What? Why?’

‘When the dance ends,’ he says, squeezing my hand, ‘meet me in my study.’

I can’t. I promised Catherine I would stay and complete my dances. I promised my father I would behave properly and I can’t afford any more blasted gossip. Gavin will want answers I won’t be able to give. The pixie on my shoulder is the least of it.

‘No,’ I say, and shift my cheek so I can feel Derrick’s soft, comforting wings.

‘Please,’ Gavin says, ‘come when you can. Use the back entrance and go to my study. Leave the pixie.’

Chapter 16

I
sneak out of the ballroom during the break for refreshments. Derrick remains perched on my shoulder as I descend the terrace steps into the garden. The night is moonless, and the garden is so scantly lit I almost trip over my feet. My slippers squish through wet, muddy grass. I wish, and not for the first time, that ladies would be permitted to wear sensible shoes to a ball and not these useless things.

I avoid a deep puddle as I approach the back entrance of the house. ‘Wait for me here,’ I tell Derrick.

‘Hmm,’ he says, plaiting a section of my hair. ‘I have a duty. Don’t I have a duty? This feels wrong.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ I reassure him. ‘I shan’t be long.’ I’ll limit myself to ten minutes, just before the next dance starts. Surely a faery couldn’t find me that quickly if Derrick leaves me.

‘Well. All right, then.’

Derrick flies into one of the trees, his halo illuminating the branches around him.

I push the back door open and walk through the rear wing of the house towards the study before he can change his mind. When I reach the thick oak door, I take a breath before opening it.

Gavin looks over from where he’s sitting on a leather settee. A glass of amber liquid rests on the mahogany table next to him. ‘Come in.’

It’s a comfortable room. The carpet is so thick that my slippers whisper across it. I run my fingers along the detail of a tapestry hanging from the wall, tracing the stitched curves in the design of a thistle. I haven’t been in this room since Gavin’s father died.

The study is dimly lit, smelling vaguely of wood fire and cigars, the kind Gavin’s father used to smoke. The furniture is all glazed mahogany and red leather. Three painted-glass windows face the garden at the back of the room. Next to them, a bookcase rises to the ceiling, stuffed full of the old nature volumes Gavin’s father collected.

Gavin’s mussed blond hair is shining in the firelight from the hearth beside him. He has removed his waistcoat and gloves, and the topmost buttons of his shirt are undone.

I try to avoid outright staring. I’ve never seen him so . . . informal. It isn’t proper to be in such a state of undress with an unmarried gentlewoman. But then it isn’t proper for us to be alone, either.

‘I shouldn’t stay long,’ I say. ‘I need to be back for the next dance.’

He picks up his glass and downs the contents. ‘You know,’ he says, ‘it’s been a while since I last attended a society function, but I don’t recall ladies carrying around pet pixies.’

I’m once again startled by the reminder that he’s a Seer. I’ve never met one before. Derrick told me they were so rare, he believed them all to be dead. ‘He doesn’t accompany me all the time. Too unruly.’

Gavin stands, opens a wood-panelled cabinet to remove a decanter and pours himself another dram of whisky. ‘He has a loud voice for such a wee thing. Nearly deafened me.’

‘You think
that
was loud?’ I laugh. ‘Pray you never hear him at his worst.’

‘Well,’ Gavin drawls, ‘at least now I know what to do if that ever happens. I’ll throw a jar of honey and run like hell.’

‘I’ll have to try that next time.’ He appears to be taking this rather well. Then I notice his hands shake slightly as he sips his whisky. ‘Are you all right?’

Gavin downs his drink in a single, quick gulp and pours another. ‘The pixie startled me. I’ve never been that close to the fae before. I keep my distance from them.’ He tosses down another glass.

It’s unnerving to watch him refill it again, although it’s completely understandable, given the circumstances. Gavin is trembling so badly that a dribble of whisky sloshes onto the carpet between his feet. He doesn’t appear to notice.

Unable to bear it, I look away and continue tracing the tapestry stitching. ‘Did you . . . did you always have the Sight?

‘No,’ he says quietly. ‘Not always. You?’

I shake my head. ‘When did you know?’

‘Shortly after I arrived in Oxford,’ he says. ‘Believe me when I say I regret ever leaving here.’

‘What happened?’

He’s silent for the longest time. ‘Pneumonia, the physician said. I had the Sight throughout my illness.’ His laugh is bitter. ‘I thought it was hallucinations brought on by the fever, but when I became well again, it didn’t go away.’

I know precisely what that means: Gavin died sometime during his illness.

In the Highlands, they call the Second Sight
taibhsearachd
. I’ve also heard it referred to simply as The Curse. The potential for it is quietly passed down the male line, dormant until the ability finally manifests – something that happens very rarely. The Sight can only be awakened when one of them dies and is brought back to life. Derrick once told me that when a potential Seer dies, he is able to experience the other side, to see beyond the veil of the human realm.

If brought back to life, he becomes a
taibhsear
, a Seer. One of the cursed. I would never wish it on my worst enemy.

‘No one even told me you were unwell.’

‘No one knew.’ At my frown, he says, ‘I couldn’t write. Not to you, Catherine or Mother. What could I say? That rather than studying, I spent half my time poring over superstitious nonsense to find out what was wrong with me?’

‘Perhaps you should have come home.’

‘Yes, brilliant idea,’ he says, scowling at me. ‘And what did I find? My oldest friend in possession of a pixie, despite the rather disturbing fact that the fae kill humans without remorse.’

I push away from the tapestry. ‘Derrick is my friend.’

‘The fae don’t have friends,’ he snaps, slamming the glass down onto the table. I jump, startled. ‘That pixie will betray you. It’s in his nature. They’re monsters. I’ve seen—’ He stops and shakes his head.

The silence between us stretches vast, filled only by the crackle of wood from the fireplace. I want to say that I know what horrors he’s seen, because I’ve witnessed them all myself.

I sit on the leather couch across from him. ‘Tell me why you asked me to come.’

‘Aileana—’

‘Tell me,’ I say again. I almost reach out and grasp his hand, but stop short. ‘It wasn’t just to chastise me.’

‘No.’ His fingers trace the rim of the glass, along the pattern etched there. ‘It was to caution you. If you keep that pixie, you’re already too deep in their world. You should get out now.’

Get out now
. It’s too late for that. I’ll never get out even if I decide I want to. They’ll find me, hunt me down to the furthest reaches of this earth because I’m apparently the sole person alive who can fight them. Gavin doesn’t know that I’m in this until I’m dead.

‘What’s it like for you?’ I whisper.

He stares into the fireplace. ‘I have visions of the kills before they happen, see the events as if I were there.’ He finally looks at me. ‘I feel what they do, over and over again. I die each time.’

I swallow the lump in my throat. I knew Seers had visions, but not how real they could feel. I’ve never seen Gavin look so haunted and vulnerable and utterly alone.

‘All of them?’ My voice almost breaks. I almost ask if he saw my mother die. If he was forced to live through what I witnessed that night. God, I hope not. Only one of us should be burdened by what happened.

‘No,’ he says. ‘The visions are limited by distance.’

I should be relieved, but I’m not. The manner of my mother’s death was but one example of the ways in which the fae kill, and they can be so creative in their torture.

‘I’m sorry.’ Such an inadequate thing to say.

Gavin refills the glass and sits down across from me again, saluting me with his drink. ‘I appreciate the obligatory, unnecessary apology.’

‘It’s the best I can do, I’m afraid.’

I don’t know how to comfort someone. I can’t reassure Gavin with words or empathetic expressions. I don’t have the words, and I’ve lost all ability to be gentle.

Gavin shifts closer, leaning over the table between us. ‘Your turn.’

‘I changed. After my mother died.’

When I’m calm, it’s easier to distance myself from the memories. I can pretend my damage is less serious than it is. I can be simple. I don’t have to tell him that if I let go even for a second, the guilt and pain from that night become so unbearable that they could crush me under their weight.

Gavin pauses, whisky halfway to his lips. His gaze softens. ‘Catherine wrote and told me. My sincere condolences.’ He drinks again. ‘But you’re evading the question. What the hell are you doing with a faery?’

‘I told you. He’s my friend.’

‘Are you purposely being obtuse?’

‘It’s the only answer I have, Gavin.’ He’s been gone two years and I’m not obligated to tell him anything. My story won’t fit into a ten-minute conversation, anyway.

Gavin’s jaw tics. ‘Fine. If that’s how you want to leave it.’ He throws his head back and downs another glass. I’m surprised by how sober he still is after all that whisky.

‘Does that help?’

‘Dulls the visions,’ he says. ‘Would you like some?’

I hesitate. I’ve had whisky many a time, but I’m not one to drink to excess. I always have to be alert and ready to fight at a moment’s notice. But perhaps it could help soothe my anger, suppress it for just a while, so I can pretend I’m not really broken.

‘Aye.’

Gavin pours more whisky and hands me the glass. The liquid burns when I drink, leaving behind a warmth that scorches down my throat. ‘Oh, this is good,’ I say. This tastes different from my father’s stock. Stronger.

‘Ideal for brooding.’ He sits and crosses his legs. ‘And it makes society events almost tolerable. It might even work for unruly pixies, too.’

I ignore his obvious attempt to shift the conversation back to Derrick. After all, Kiaran is a master at switching topics, and I have learned from the best. ‘Best stock up. I foresee many more such events in your future.’

‘Do you?’

‘Indeed.’ I take another sip. ‘Lady Cassilis has plans for you.’

Gavin pales. ‘What do you mean? What plans?’

‘She intends to marry you off this season. Congratulations.’

Words that could strike fear in the heart of any bachelor with a title. ‘She told you that, did she?’

‘Catherine did. Your mother and I continue our reluctant tolerance for one another.’

‘Mother reluctantly tolerates everyone. You just happen to be her nearest victim.’ He leans forward. ‘Tell me. Which poor lass has she deemed a suitable match?’

‘None yet. Do you have any idea of your mother’s requirements? I’d be shocked if she found anyone who fit them.’

‘Just a moment.’ He closes his eyes and takes a swift drink. ‘All right, let’s hear them.’

I take another sip myself, then put down the whisky and tick off each finger. ‘Fluent in French and Latin; adept at the pianoforte; dances well; comes from a family of good breeding – preferably Scottish; stitches competently; possesses a modicum of intelligence – but not more than you; is pleasing to the eye; and – most importantly – sufficiently terrified of her future mother-in-law. Now I’ve run out of fingers. There you have it.’

Gavin blinks. ‘You didn’t include “wins every game of croquet”, “reads to the orphan children” and “tames kittens”.’

‘If I had more fingers, they would have been, I assure you.’

‘If this woman exists, I’m not sure whether to be impressed or apologetic.’

‘Both. Definitely both.’

He laughs and his eyes meet mine. For a moment, he looks so much like the boy from my childhood that I fancied myself in love with. Then I see past the smile and realise he’s not that boy, not any more. There is a sorrow that hasn’t left his gaze since the moment I walked through the door. We’ll never be the same, he and I. We’ve seen too much ever to be the people we once were. We can’t go back. I’m beginning to wish we could.

‘I missed you,’ he says suddenly.

‘I missed you, too. You never visited.’

‘Fewer fae in England.’ He rubs his eyes. ‘The visions are worse the closer I am to Scotland. I visited Mother in York over a year ago and didn’t sleep at all. I doubt I’ll be here long.’