The Falconer (Elizabeth May) (20 page)

‘Do you have to sound so satisfied about it?’

‘Why not?’ he says cheerfully. ‘It’s not every day I get to carry a lady.’

I glare at him. ‘I should have let the
sluagh
take you.’

‘Ah, but then you would be left alone on this beach, cold and wet with no one to swing you up in his strong, waiting arms.’

‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’

‘Immensely.’ Gavin lifts me, shifting so I’m cradled against the front of his body. I’m surprised, he did it very well. I wonder how many ladies he’s carried away from freezing beaches.

My spine remains entirely straight and stiff as I rest there. Where am I supposed to put my blasted hands? I clumsily pat his shoulder and settle on grasping the fabric of his shirt. What do other women do when they’re held? Swoon a bit?

‘Er,’ I say, a bit awkwardly, ‘thank you?’

Gavin’s finger brushes the outside of my arm. A reassuring gesture, but it feels intimate, utterly familiar. I tense at first, then relax and settle more comfortably against his chest.

‘You hate asking for help, don’t you?’

For once in my life, I want to be honest with someone. What would it be like not to hide or pretend? I’ve kept too many secrets from him already and that almost got him killed. But I’ve already grown so used to lying, I don’t think I can do anything else.

‘I have to take care of myself,’ I say.

Gavin pauses. ‘I know.’ He stares down at me, serious now. ‘But you shouldn’t turn down an offer to be cared for. Some people aren’t fortunate enough to receive one.’

Chapter 21

‘
Y
ou know,’ Derrick says from his perch on my windowsill, ‘I think I have something of a headache this morning. I didn’t think faeries got them.’

He glows softly in the morning light that filters through my bedchamber window. I notice him eye the shiny parts of my lightning pistol, which I’ve taken apart to clean after my swim in the Forth. If I don’t watch him, he’ll steal some of the pieces and I’ll find them tucked away in random places around my dressing room.

‘Perhaps it’s a honey-ache,’ I say. I put aside the ramrod and pick up the pistol’s barrel to push a small bristle brush inside. ‘That’s the result of eating too much of what wasn’t yours.’

I pause to massage my temples, grimacing when I catch my reflection in the far mirror. I look like I’ve been hit by a locomotive.

Worse, I’m the throes of a fever that hurts my head and makes my body ache. My injured hand looks absolutely disgusting under the gloves I’m wearing, with my palm all torn and blistered. I had to dress myself again to hide my various injuries from Dona. One more morning like this and the poor lass might think she’s been sacked.

‘But your friend offered it,’ Derrick complains. ‘So she might not have explicitly
said
, “Derrick, please eat all of the honey in my kitchen,” but it was implied by the mere fact that she
has
a kitchen.’

‘Do you know,’ I say, ‘I don’t think there was a word of sense in any of what you just said.’

‘I think I’m still fuddled.’

‘Now
that
makes sense.’

‘So,’ he says brightly, changing the subject, ‘how did our Seer do last night? I don’t think I like him, you know. He’s too well groomed. Never trust a man without some indication of chaos, I say.’

‘You spent five minutes with him.’

‘One can learn a lot in five minutes,’ he mutters and squints at me. ‘You have sand in your hair. It looks silly.’

I pat the top of my head and cringe as some grit falls to the floor. I’ve washed my hair three times already and apparently I still haven’t got it all out.

Casually, I brush the sand off the table. ‘Thanks for that.’

‘You’re welcome, precious.’

With a sweet smile, I ask, ‘And how was your adventure with Kiaran last night? Nothing quite like killing faeries to form an everlasting bond, aye?’

Derrick glares. ‘Could you possibly form a working relationship with someone who isn’t so crabbit all the time?’

‘What did he do?’

‘Stole all of my intended victims! There I was, getting ready to fly around and collect my trophies, and he jumps in and swings his blasted glairy-flairy blades and kills everything.’ Derrick snorts. ‘Damn the
daoine sìth
. Smug, arrogant bastards.’

Someone taps at the bedroom door.

‘Come in.’

Dona enters, her head down. She dips in a silent curtsy, as if waiting to be acknowledged. Her demeanour is rigid, even shyer than usual. She hasn’t looked like this since the day she came to live here three weeks ago. I tilt my head to try and see her expression properly.

‘I beg your pardon, Lady Aileana,’ Dona blurts.

My maid isn’t particularly chatty, but she usually offers me a tentative smile when she visits. ‘Are you well, Dona?’

Dona flinches. ‘Indeed. My lady,’ she adds hastily. She sounds so formal that I wince.

‘Bloody hell,’ Derrick says and flutters over to Dona. ‘Do we have to break her arms to get her to state her purpose?
Why. Are. You. Here? We. Are. Deconstructing. Weaponry!
’

At least Dona’s sensitivity to the fae is inactive right now, or she’d hear him screeching in her ear and then we’d never get a word out of her.

‘Is there anything I can help you with, then?’ I ask.

Dona clears her throat. ‘Lord Douglas requests your presence in his study.’ She visibly swallows once and hesitates before adding, ‘Directly.’

I straighten in my chair, immediately alert despite feeling hellish. I’ve been dreading this moment all morning. ‘I don’t suppose you could tell me what kind of mood he’s in?’

Explosive anger, calm anger, deadly anger, or I’m-sending-you-to-a-nunnery anger? I wonder if I should escape through my hidden bedroom door and hide somewhere until he calms down.

Dona’s head snaps up and she blinks those wide blue eyes of hers at me. Then she takes a step towards the door and fidgets. ‘Um. Well.’ She sounds unsure. ‘My lady. He’s . . . I’m not certain I can describe it, exactly.’

Oh dear. I rise from my chair, ignoring the wave of dizziness that threatens to engulf me, and nod once. ‘All right. I suppose I’ll have to get this over with, then.’

‘What’s he going to do?’ Derrick asks, flying out of the room behind me. ‘Set fire to you?’

I walk slowly down the hall and cringe in anticipation of what Father will say. ‘I’m sure he’d find that a very tempting proposition.’ I keep my voice low, in case Dona is still close enough to hear.

‘Well, if you want, I can eat his ears. I like ears.’

At any other time, I would have laughed. Now, all I can do is say distractedly, ‘Not necessary.’

‘The offer stands.’

I wave him off and he flutters back upstairs. I continue towards the door of my father’s study. Father sits behind his thick oak desk, pen scrawling rapidly across his letter-paper. He doesn’t look up when I stop at the doorway.

His study has never been warm and welcoming, not even when my mother was alive. The heavy, dark furniture looks too big for the room. Even with the large window and the curtains open, light never seems to brighten the space. I study the shelves crammed with massive law books and journals and the travel journals he collects. Next to the window is a dark brown leather couch, and on a table in front of it is a whisky decanter with a single glass next to it.

I glance at my father in surprise. It’s not even noon and he’s already drinking. This cannot be good.

Tapping the doorframe, I say, ‘Father.’ Drat. What were the first words of the excuse I rehearsed again?

He nods to the chair across from his desk. ‘Sit.’

‘Father—’

He puts up a finger to silence me and continues to write. I shut the door behind me and wait for him to finish. I try to control the tension in my body, inhaling and exhaling deeply. As he writes, I only grow more anxious and my head is already pounding.

Finally, Father puts down his pen and laces his fingers together. He raises his eyes and . . . my word, they’re harsh and intense.

‘Do you know why you’re here?’

I nod slowly, fighting my first instinct to watch my toes instead of meeting his gaze. So much for my rehearsed speech. How is it that, in the matter of a few minutes, he can make me feel like a mere child?

‘Of course you do,’ he says, his voice hard. ‘It has occurred to me that I have been far too lenient with you since Sarah died.’

I gulp. ‘I don’t—’

Father stands, and his wooden chair creaks against the floorboards. I wince.

‘I’ve indulged you,’ he continues, without acknowledging my interruption. ‘I’ve given you an allowance without any objections to your spending. Ignored the gossip about your unconventional hobbies and your improper behaviour.’ He walks to the window and looks out. ‘Even though you’ve shown little respect for what I’ve done for you, I’ve given you chance upon chance. I lied for you. I defended you. A wasted effort, was it not?’

My heart speeds up, painfully fast. ‘I can explain,’ I whisper.

I’m still not certain what he’ll do to me today. This is the first true emotion my father has ever shown me, and it’s terrifying.

Absent father, broken daughter, dead mother
. I can’t miss what I never had.

Father turns from the window. ‘Oh, you can explain? You can tell me why you left the ball last night? Why you were nowhere to be found until this morning, when you apparently arrived home in your ornithopter and several people witnessed you in an indecent state of dress with Lord Galloway?’

I’m painfully aware of every second that ticks by, every movement my body makes. It feels like an eternity before my fever-addled mind processes what’s happening.

Oh, God.
Oh, God
. I thought this was just about leaving the dance. I hadn’t realised someone had seen me with Gavin when we came back. How could I have been so stupid not to notice anyone about?

If I had been in my right mind – if the damn fever hadn’t started the moment Gavin set me in that ornithopter – I might have. I would have come up with a plan to get us both home unnoticed.

There’s not even the slimmest chance of a gentleman offering for me now. I’m utterly ruined. My neighbours saw me dirty and wet and freezing, wearing a scandalously torn gown. I had clutched Gavin’s shoulders once before stumbling into the back garden. The gossip must have spread like wildfire.

I could have explained my absence from the ball. I could have said that I wasn’t feeling well and had to leave. But I can’t give a reason for why Gavin and I were in Charlotte Square in the early hours of this morning, especially with me dressed like that.

I shake my head. The words won’t form and I can’t even think up a lie to save me. ‘I-I wasn’t—’

‘Wasn’t what? Dressed indecently? With Lord Galloway?’

It doesn’t matter what I say. His opinion of me won’t change. He’s never had any use for me and now he’s burdened with the daughter who let his wife die, who he’ll never marry off now.

‘Those things are true,’ I whisper, closing my eyes briefly. ‘Father, please. Gavin – I mean, Lord Galloway – he—’ My voice shakes and I steady it. ‘He has been nothing but honourable towards me.’

My throat is already swollen from the illness, so it hurts to swallow. I cough once, repress another. My eyes burn.

I should be relieved that I don’t have to pretend to be proper any more. I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t. But ruin is the thing all noble ladies fear the most. My future may not include surviving on the charity of others, but I’ve shamed my mother’s memory. Father and I are stuck with each other now.

‘Irrespective of that,’ he says, ‘Lord Galloway has graciously offered for you. I have accepted on your behalf.’

I barely register his words, unable to properly piece them together amid my fevered thoughts. It can’t be true. Surely it can’t. ‘Pardon?’

‘I accepted his offer,’ Father says. ‘You are to be married forthwith, before the talk intensifies.’

‘No.’ I say the word before I can stop it. This isn’t right. Gavin doesn’t deserve this, especially not after helping me.

Father leans forward. ‘Understand this, Aileana. Galloway has agreed to wed you in a fortnight. You
will
marry him.’

I stand and have to grasp the arm of the chair so I don’t fall. ‘This is
my
future, not yours. Am I to have no say in the matter?’

‘The only other choice I had,’ he says coldly, ‘was to put a bullet in his heart from forty paces.’

‘If my honour needs defending,’ I say, ‘I can do it myself.’

Father looks tired. ‘Do you think this is only about you?
Your
honour?’ He closes his eyes. ‘One night of thoughtless frivolity and you have managed to tarnish our family name, my standing, and your mother’s memory. What would
she
think, Aileana?’

My resolve almost shatters. ‘Please don’t. Don’t make me do this.’

Father returns to his papers, picking up his pen again. ‘Marriage to Lord Galloway is the only option you have.’ He looks past me again, same as always. ‘Now, I’ll be busy this week making the arrangements. In the meantime, I expect you to conduct yourself in public in a manner befitting your future husband. Duty first.’

‘And what I want isn’t important,’ I whisper to myself.

Chapter 22

I
stare through the window of the drawing room, listening to the pattering rain outside as heat from the fireplace warms the back of my neck. Raindrops fall onto the windowsill and splash onto the carpet. I don’t care how much the cold draught from outside makes me shiver, even with the fire roaring in the hearth. Because I feel nothing, empty. For once, I relish the lack of emotion. Every pretence I’ve built around myself is perfectly intact.

A couple walks by the steps leading up to the front door, their umbrellas dripping. They stop and the woman whispers into the man’s ear, discreetly nodding to our house. They both shake their heads. Society, it appears, is more accepting of a rumoured murderess than a ruined woman, whether she’s reported to be engaged or not.

I rub my moist temples. The dull headache has returned, exacerbated by the fever that continues to burn. Absently, I reach to my shoulder blade to scratch the wound the
cù sìth
gave me. It doesn’t hurt any more, but it itches like the devil.