The Stag Lord (22 page)

The old question haunted him:
Did Elizabeth marry me for my lineage or for myself?

But now, there was Shay. If Elizabeth had been high heels, black tie, and the tink of martini glasses, Shay was barefooted mornings, faded jeans, and fresh coffee in a thick mug.

Shay Doyle. There was something about her that soothed the burn of the hell he had been living. He found himself wanting to know her. Her thoughts. Her opinions. Her dreams. He wanted to know what made her laugh and what made her weep.

To be sure, he also found himself
wanting
her. To explore her body in the coracle of the night and have her explore his.
If she appeared and beckoned for me to join her in her bed, would I go
? He snorted.
The question is not would I, but how swiftly would I run
?

As if on cue, her door opened.

Bann held his breath.

Max appeared. The dog trotted past him toward the kitchen, the beat of
gottapeegottapeegottapee
in his gait. An unaware Shay stumbled after him, yawning. Hair tousled around her face and shoulders, she was dressed in a plain cotton camisole and a pair of plaid flannel boxers. Although baggy, they were short enough to trap Bann's gaze.

Which was good, since the cami was stretched tight across her breasts. And the morning air was cold. From the looks of things under said shirt,
really
cold.

Fumbling with his own shirt, he pulled it over his head to blindfold himself. A faint squeak of surprise. The whisper-hiss of bare feet scampering away. By the time his head poked through the neck hole, the hallway was empty. From the kitchen, Max whined.

After letting the frantic dog outside, Bann flipped on the coffeemaker. As it spat and complained, he made a lap around the island, trying to think of anything other than Shay.

Shay's smile.

Shay's voice.

Shay's body.

“What are you, man?” he muttered to himself in Gaelic. “A besotted, downy-cheeked boy?”

“They say talking to oneself is a sign of mental illness.” Shay appeared, barefooted like himself, and dressed in jeans and a hoodie, much to Bann's disappointment. And relief. But mostly disappointment. “Especially if it's in Gaelic.”

“I wasn't—”

“Liar.” She moved toward the back door. “Sorry Max and I woke you up.”

“I was already awake.” Bann snagged two mugs from the cupboard. “Coffee?”

“Please.” As he poured, Shay slid the door open. Max bounded in, banging into the glass and almost knocking it off its runners. He scampered over to his food dish. At the sight of the empty bowl, he looked up at Shay with a
what the hell
expression.

“It's like having a child,” she grumbled. She picked up the bowl and disappeared into the pantry where she stored the forty-pound bag of dog food.

“Care to trade?” Bann called, rummaging in the refrigerator for the cream.

“Dad?”

“Ah. Speak of the devil.” He turned at his son's voice.

Wearing an old T-shirt and sweat pants, Cor leaned his elbows on the island's countertop, face wrinkled with pain. He cradled his head in his hands, fingers buried in his hair.

Bann winced in sympathy. “Another one, eh?”

Shay appeared with the dog's bowl filled to the rim with dry kibble. “What's wrong, kiddo?” After placing it in front of an ecstatic Max, she walked over to Cor. “Not feeling well?”

“He often wakes up with right fierce headaches.” Bann explained. “I do not know what brings them on, but they have plagued him since he was a toddler.”

“Migraines?” Shay cupped Cor's chin in her hand and peered into his eyes.

“The Healer back home said no—the symptoms are not the same. And, anyway, Fey are not prone to migraines.” Bann joined them. “They usually last an hour or so, then dissipate. The
sláinte
potion has no effect on them.”

“Hmm.” Shay leaned against the island. Drumming her fingers on the Formica, she studied the boy. “Only in the mornings, Cor?”

Cor nodded, then grimaced at the movement.

“Sometimes, he gets them after a nap. What?” Bann asked when Cor glared up at him through his pain.

“I don't
take naps
.” Cor curled his lip. “I'm not a baby.”

“Of course you're not.” Bann hid a smile behind his mug.

“I've got an idea. A remedy we can try, at least.” Shay fished a hair band out of her pocket and pulled her tresses back into a ponytail, the act signaling Healer mode. “Cor, go lie down on the sofa.”

As Cor shuffled over, Shay took a gulp from the mug Bann had handed her, then returned to her storeroom. He could hear the tinkle and rattle as she moved bottles and other objects about. Something fell to the ground with a dull whump.

“Son of a—” She bit back the rest of the curse. “I really need a ladder in here. Or longer legs.”

The phrase
longer legs
had Bann moving toward the pantry. To be of help, nothing more. He paused in the doorway of the tiny space.

“Watch your feet.” Shay was on her knees, sweeping up pea-sized nuts strewn across the floor and dumping them back into a small burlap bag. After cleaning up the mess, she tossed the bag into a trash can and rose. Dusting her hands on her jeans, she sighed. “Well, that was a waste of some perfect good piñon.”

“Can I be of help?” he asked.

“Yeah, can you get that for me?” Looking up, she pointed to a Mason jar on the highest shelf. “The one with the purple label.” She scooted closer to the shelves to give him room.

Bann squeezed in behind her. He tried to ignore the warmth of her body against his. Tried to ignore the brush of her butt against his thighs. Tried not to breathe in the scent of her shampoo, or her soap, or just the scent of
her
.

Okay. To be honest, he didn't try very hard.

Reminding himself that his son was just a few yards away, he reached over her head and grabbed the container half-filled with a pale liquid. It gurgled and sloshed in the jar as he edged sideways out of the room. Shay followed.

“Thanks.” Taking the jar from him, she walked over to the counter and unscrewed the lid. She held it to her nose and inhaled deeply. “Oh, that's nice.” She sniffed again with a smile. “Got this idea from the mortals.”

Intrigued, Bann leaned around her and took a whiff. Summer filled his nostrils. “What is it?”

“Lavender oil. According to humans, the aroma is supposed to soothe headaches. I thought I'd try it on Cor. Figure it can't hurt, and it just might help.”

Bann trailed her over to the sofa. Not sure what to do, he hovered to one side as Shay sat down by Cor's knees and placed the open container on the coffee table. His son lay with his eyes screwed tight, hands fisted on his chest in misery.

“Cor?” The Healer reached over and uncurled his fingers, holding his hands flat between hers. “You need to relax. You're only making it worse when you tense up your body that way.”

“Hurts,” Cor whimpered. He squinted up at her. “Make it stop.”

“I'll try.” She let go. Dipping into the jar, she moistened the tip of her finger. “Okay, I'm going to rub some oil on your temples. It'll feel a little cold at first.” With that, she dabbed the lavender on the side of his head.

Bann sank down on the arm of the nearby chair and watched as she rubbed Cor's head in a slow, circular motion. The aroma of a late June morning filled the room. She dipped again and applied the oil to his other temple.

Gradually, Cor's body relaxed. His face smoothed out. He took a deep breath, then another, and sank farther into the sofa's cushions.

“Better?” Shay whispered.

“Better,” Cor whispered back. Blinking sleepily, he smiled up at her, then closed his eyes.

“Good.” She wiped her hands on her jeans. Leaning closer, she brushed the hair off Cor's forehead as he dozed. Her gaze was fixed on the boy's face.

Bann's was fixed on hers.

By all the gods, she is beautiful
, he thought.
And not just on the outside
.

“Loosen, ye son of a bitch.” Squatting by the camper, Bann fought to unscrew the cap on the wastewater tank, the afternoon sun autumn-warm on the back of his neck. Thoughts about nothing more pressing than obtaining a Colorado driver's license, ordering plate tags, and opening a bank account drifted through his head. He grinned as he wrangled a vise grip around the cap.
May the mortals never find out how easily we Fey can procure illegal documents when necessary
. The vise grip slipped, and he scraped his hand along the undercarriage. Wincing, he examined the wound. Each knuckle had a neatly rolled spool of skin on top. He glanced along the east side of the house. Making sure the Healer wasn't in sight, he licked the beads of blood welling up. Her voice drifted from the backyard, mingling with Max's barking and Cor yelling commands at the dog between fits of giggles.

Bann smiled at the sound as he worked.
We should do something today. The three of us. Something simple and pleasurable, like a meal out. Maybe stroll about downtown afterwards. Something that has nothing to do with killer gods and vengeful monsters
—

A shadow fell across him like a shroud.

Bann's knife was in his hand before the vise grip hit the dirt. Every nerve in his body screamed at him.
Strike! Strike now! Drown your blade in the shapeshifter's blood!
The war cry swelled in his throat, almost choking him. He whirled around.

Quinn Tully stood a few feet away. Even with the sun casting his face in shadow, Bann could see the traces of the bruises he had put there ten days ago. He wondered how the younger Knight had managed to approach Shay's secluded house without his knowledge. Furious with himself for allowing it to happen, he shifted his feet under him. Ready for battle. “What are you doing here?”

Quinn's eyes darted once to the weapon in Bann's hand, then toward the backyard and Shay's disembodied voice. “I've come to talk to Shay.”

“No.”

Quinn snorted. “Screw you.” He started toward the side of the house.

Bann slapped a hand on the younger man's chest, halting him in his tracks. “I said no.”

“Back off.” He knocked Bann's arm aside. “Or—”

“Or what? Ye'll strike
me
? But, no, ye would not dare.” He crowded closer. “Ye only hit women.”

For a long minute, they stood chest to chest. Quinn's breath was a mix of nerves and beer fumes and whatever processed meat he had had for lunch. A voice in Bann's head, one he always associated with the warp spasm, began whispering to him. It coiled around his neck like a lover's arm, lips close to his ear as it murmured, urging him to attack first and attack hard.
Preferably by breaking Tully's nose. Or jaw. Or both. Perhaps loosening a few teeth along the way. Then a knee to the balls with another blow to the face as the bastard collapses in agony. Just to make certain he understands us, eh? Just to make certain he never raises his hand against Shay again
. A feral smile bared his teeth.

Quinn blinked.

Ah, victory
. Bann's smile widened when the younger Knight eased back a step, clearly sensing the Knight's willingness, nay,
eagerness
, to beat the crap out of him. Again. “Leaving so soon, are ye, then?”

“Just remember, Boru.” Quinn's lip curled. “Certain
people
know where you are. And know where your kid is.”

Dread punched Bann in the gut. Willing his expression to hold fast, he raised his chin. “Is that the best ye can come up with? Why, I've been more terrified of me auld grandmam when she's had one too many nips.” When the younger Knight started to speak, Bann took a step toward him. “Get out of here.”

Hesitating just long enough to show he had a spine, Quinn glared back, then turned around and walked away. Bann watched him until he turned the far corner and disappeared. Lightheaded from the surge of adrenaline, and with his pulse drumming like a
bodhrán
, Bann fought the desire to go after him. An engine roared to life beyond the neighboring houses, then rumbled away, fading after a long minute.

“Dad!” Cor called from the backyard. “Come see this. It's really cool!”

Unclenching his fingers from around the knife haft, Bann took a deep breath, willing his heart to slow.
Do I tell her
? he wondered as he walked around the house.

Cor stood at the far end of the patio, a stick as long as his arm in one hand, Shay next to him. On the other side of the concrete slab, Max sat at attention, ears pricked and eyes fixed on the boy. A smile split his muzzle in greeting when he glanced over his shoulder at the man.

“What's with the knife?” Shay asked as Bann joined her and Cor.

Shite
. “I, um, the cap to the water tank was jammed. I needed to use the point of the blade to loosen it.” He shoved it back in the sheath. “So. Cor. What is it you wish to show me?”