The Falconer (Elizabeth May) (24 page)

I stand. My cheeks burn with the fever and anger I can no longer suppress. ‘
Out
.’

Lady Cassilis’s jaw drops. ‘I
beg
your pardon?’

‘Was I not clear? Get. The hell. Out. Of my home.’

Even Catherine turns to me, mouth agape. ‘Aileana!’ she gasps.

I never show this side of myself in public, but I can’t hold it back one moment longer. My body trembles from the venom in my blood and my carefully maintained mental control is disintegrating. My rational thoughts are fading . . . gone.

There is only anger, my hot skin, my pounding head, my roaring heart, and people in the room who need to leave.

‘
Go
.
Now
.’ I say it with more force.

Lady Cassilis draws herself up. ‘I was willing to set aside our differences for the sake of my son. But I see I was not at all wrong about you.’ She strides to the door in a flurry of silk skirts. ‘Catherine,’ she snaps, before exiting the room.

‘Aileana.’ Catherine’s hand on my arm is so cool that I flinch. ‘That wasn’t—Good heavens, you’re burning up. Are you ill?’

‘I’m fine.’ I swallow and shut my eyes hard.

‘I can stay, if you need me. If you’re—’

‘
Catherine!
’ Lady Cassilis’s voice comes from the hallway.

‘No.’ I need to lie down. Just as I suspected, my legs can’t hold me. I grasp the arm of the settee to keep me upright. ‘Please. Go with your mother.’

‘If you insist.’ Catherine sighs. ‘I’m terribly sorry for some of the things she said. She was much too harsh with you.’

I almost open my mouth to agree, but decide against it. As much as I dislike Lady Cassilis, she
is
to be my future mother-in-law. It’s best I learn to accept that now. ‘Her only son was just caught in a scandal with a girl she considers utterly unsuitable,’ I say carefully. ‘I understand why she was harsh. Tell her I’m sorry for everything.’

Catherine nods. ‘I shall. Please send word when you’re better. I’ll worry otherwise.’

Her dress rustles as she leaves. It’s the only sound I can hear, other than my violent heartbeat.

Gavin’s hands are on my shoulders then, as he gently turns me to face him. He stares down at me, his eyes so blue, fierce and concerned. He slips an arm around my waist and draws me against his chest. I let out a soft groan of complaint as he places the back of his hand against my forehead.

‘Shall I send for a doctor?’

‘It won’t help.’ I turn my head and his fingers graze my cheek and rest on my collarbone, below my
seilgflùr
necklace.

‘It’s from a faery, then. Isn’t it?’

I let myself rest against him, because there is nothing else I can do. I’m too weak to push him away.

I nod. ‘One of the hounds.’

‘I see.’

What does he see? He has offered marriage to a woman who will always be injured or bruised or bleeding. I will never be rid of my scars, and I’d never want to be. They will always be there, burned into my skin. Brands of my success, of my kills.

I lean back and meet his gaze directly. ‘I don’t want to marry you,’ I whisper. ‘Is that awful of me?’

‘Not at all,’ he says softly. ‘I don’t want to marry you either.’

Chapter 24

I
wake with a start and gasp for air, flailing in sheets soaked through with sweat. Hands grab my shoulders roughly and hold me firmly against the pillows.

I stare up in shock at Kiaran. The taste of his power settles softly against my tongue, not at all overwhelming. His features are shadowed, barely visible in the glow of the street lamps filtering through the open window. He smells so strongly of heather and spring, with a hint of rain from the wet clothes he presses into mine.

‘What on earth are you doing?’ My mouth is dry. It hurts to speak, or move my lips.

‘I said I’d be back.’

I swallow. My throat feels as though it’s lined with blades. ‘You said visit, not
attack
.’

Kiaran releases me. ‘I tried to wake you. You were thrashing in your sleep and scratching your wounds.’

I reach for the button near my bed and the lights near the door turn on with a click. A soft glow illuminates the room and Kiaran’s shining skin, swathing him in a gleaming halo of gold.

My gaze drops to his lips and I think about this afternoon. The way he stroked the scar running down my back, my body pressed against his after our fight—

No, don’t think about it
. I should move away from him. Further away. I whip the counterpane off my legs and try to stand. It takes two attempts. I stumble, but manage to catch my fall by gripping the bedside table.

‘Well,’ I say, my voice shaky, ‘here you are.’ I look at him again and lose all rational thought. ‘In my . . . bedroom.’

Oh, hell. Oh,
hell
, I did not consider this thoroughly when he told me he’d come here. This isn’t something my etiquette lessons covered. Miss Ainsley’s book has no chapter titled ‘What to Do When a Gentleman Visits a Lady’s Private Quarters’.

Kiaran settles on my bed –
on my bed
– and regards me with his usual inscrutable expression. He shouldn’t be here. Surely he knows that people don’t just
sleep
in—

‘Are you feeling all right?’ he asks.

‘I’m fine.’ Is he supposed to be that beautiful? Damnation, my head hurts. ‘Tea!’ I blurt, grasping the first fragment of Miss Ainsley’s lessons that I can think of. ‘Do you like tea? Would you like me to brew some? I have it all the time with visitors.’

Oh my goodness, what is
wrong
with me? ‘Kam.’

‘Which is not to say,’ I continue, unable to stop now, ‘that I have visitors to my bedroom all the time. Who are men. Um. I mean, faeries.’ I wave a hand at the dressing room. ‘Except Derrick, who is . . . out.’

Dash it all, I should never have sent Derrick away. In anticipation of Kiaran’s arrival, I told him to see if his contacts had any new information on the
baobhan sìth
, a task that generally keeps him out all night. He could have been right here, telling Kiaran to get off my damn bed and stitch me up already.

‘And he won’t be back for a while, you know.’ I grip the table to steady myself. ‘So—’ Blast. I can’t even think properly any more. ‘Terribly sorry, I forgot what I was talking about.’

Kiaran is lounging on my bed looking downright entertained. ‘We’re alone, without the bothersome pixie,’ he says. ‘And you’re asking me about tea for a reason I can’t fathom.’

Alone
. Who knows what I’ll do, considering what’s wrong with me. I might do something ridiculous, or say something regrettable. Well, more regrettable than what I’ve already said.

A sudden onslaught of cold strikes me. I hug myself and stumble to the fireplace with my teeth chattering. Warmth. That’s what I need. That will make everything better. I fumble for the switch to light the fire, but my fingers are too numb to work it.

My legs buckle, but Kiaran is there. He wraps his arms around my waist and stares down at me, his body motionless. God, but his eyes are magnificent. I can see every fleck, every star shining within them. ‘Your eyes glow,’ I murmur. ‘Do you know they glow? Like a bloody street lamp.’

‘Shall I take that as a compliment or a criticism?’

‘An observation.’ A soft sigh almost escapes my lips, but I catch myself. What in the blazes? Am I faestruck? ‘Let me go,’ I tell him before I can stop to truly consider it. I try to push him away. If I’m struck, I’d rather not be so close to him. What if I become some mindless beast and start pawing at him?

‘Your legs don’t appear to be working,’ he says. He presses his palm briefly against my forehead. ‘Your fever is worse than before. I should take out the barbs now.’

How can I have a fever when I’m this cold? I want so badly to lean into him, to wrap my arms around him. He’s so warm. I should pull away. I should. I don’t. ‘You can’t be near me right now,’ I tell him. ‘I think I’m faestruck.’ Why did I
say
that? Have I been robbed of all my blasted senses?

He stares at me. ‘No, you’re not.’

‘Aye, I am.’

Kiaran’s gaze is dark and glittering as he leans in. ‘Is that what you think you feel? Faestruck?’ His lips brush my cheek and my breath catches. ‘Do you crave me, Kam?’ he whispers. ‘Do you ache for me?’

I shiver. I almost grasp his shirt and press my lips against his, just to see if he’ll kiss me back.
No
, I tell myself. That would be a mistake.

I pull away from him, as much as I can with his arms still around me. ‘Are you trying to make this worse?’

‘The fever might have lowered your inhibitions, but you’re not faestruck,’ he says. ‘If you were, you certainly wouldn’t be lucid enough to ask about it.’

‘Why do I feel like this then?’ I whisper, mostly to myself. Why else would I want so badly to be close to him, despite everything I know he’s capable of? I shouldn’t be thinking about kissing him or touching him. I should be thinking of the best ways to guard myself against him. ‘Are you certain you haven’t accidentally done something to me? Like with Catherine?’

‘You’re a Falconer. I would have to force you under my influence.’ He looks down at me then, unreadable as ever. ‘And that is a line I would not dare cross with you.’

‘You froze me earlier,’ I remind him.

‘I only prevented you from moving,’ he says, his voice soft. ‘You were defiant the whole time. The faestruck don’t fight back, Kam. They don’t resist. They grovel and beg for our touch. They waste away from it and still yearn for more.’ His eyes are dark, so intense. ‘When a
sìthichean
decides to take a human, it’s not something they walk away from. Not ever.’

My breath catches. ‘Have you done that to someone before?’

‘I don’t have an admirable past, Kam. I never led you to believe I did.’

Kiaran swings me into his arms before I can even protest. Unlike when Gavin held me, the fight leaves my body and I hang limply in Kiaran’s arms, cold and aching. Not even his warmth can seep through my frozen skin. Damn it all. Just for now, I want to stop caring about how I should act, about the pretence of strength that I always put up when I’m around him. All I want right now is to be warm again.

So I rest my head against his shoulder and my fingers on his collarbone. There it is. A hint of heat under my dull, numb skin. I sigh.

‘Better?’ he asks.

I look up at him. I feel lethargic, as though I’ve taken a good dose of laudanum. I take a deep breath and whisper, ‘May I tell you something?’

Kiaran shifts me in his arms, which only draws me closer. He seems unsure what to do with me. ‘All right.’

I press my cheek against his rough raploch shirt. My sense of decency is lost. Warmer, I need to be warmer, to feel something through the numbness. ‘Sometimes I almost forget you’re fae.’

‘Do you?’ He sounds genuinely curious, maybe even a bit surprised.

‘Aye.’ I close my eyes. ‘When you decide to be kind. Like you telling me that you would never faestrike me.’

‘What about everything else?’

‘I’m reminded of why I should never let myself forget.’

He places me gently into bed and eases the counterpane over my legs. ‘Take your own advice, Kam. You’ll find nothing human in me. Always remember that.’

Even with the counterpane covering me, the cold is unrelenting. I shudder under the silk sheets. Or at least I think I do. My body is hollow, numb. The only thing that tethers me to it is Kiaran’s voice, our conversation.

I rub my cheek against the pillow to feel the fabric. Nothing. There are only my words. ‘Are we agreeing with each other? This is a rare occurrence.’

Kiaran pulls my wooden work chair over to the bedside. ‘Tomorrow we’ll go right back to fighting.’

‘A cherished pastime,’ I murmur. My tongue is too heavy to speak properly.

His eyes meet mine, and for a brief second, I feel that connection to him again. An innate understanding. A likeness that I can’t begin to describe or comprehend.

Tell me
, I will him.
Tell me something, too
. I’m compelled to understand those parts of him that he keeps closed off and untouchable. Those brief glimpses into his soul that show how emotions have moved him somewhere in his vast lifetime.

Kiaran tears his gaze from mine and reaches for something beside the bed. He pulls up a brown leather bag and plucks out three small bottles, thread, and a curved needle.

I tense. ‘What are those?’

‘I have to stitch you up,’ he says, as if it should be obvious.

My eyes widen. ‘Are you mad? I have stitchers in my dressing room that could do a far better job, with less pain, than that thing you’re wielding. Put it away.’

Kiaran regards me patiently. ‘It’s this, or you die. You choose.’

I suppose Kiaran wouldn’t stitch me up by hand if he didn’t have to. He’d consider it a waste of time. ‘Fine,’ I grumble. ‘What’s in the vials?’

He opens one bottle and holds it out to me. ‘Drink this one.’

Inside is a milky blue liquid with what looks like thin slivers of glass floating in it. Surely he doesn’t mean for me to drink glass. ‘Am I going to regret consuming its contents?’

‘No. But I imagine you’ll still call me every expletive you can possibly think of.’ He presses it into my palm.

‘I don’t like the sound of that.’ I sniff the vial and scrunch up my nose at a sharp tang that burns my nostrils. Like something that might come out of my chemistry set. ‘Ugh! What’s in this? It smells vile.’

‘I knew a human girl once. She was stubborn, like you. Refused to drink the paltry contents of that bottle, like you . . .’ He pauses for dramatic effect. ‘And she died a horrible, painful death – torturous, really – because she wouldn’t take my advice.’

I scrutinise him. ‘There was no girl who died, was there?’

‘There will be if you don’t drink what’s in that damned bottle.’

I prop myself up and scowl at him. Then I gulp in a breath, hold it and drain the contents.

The liquid burns, like potent whisky. It scorches my throat and races through my body much faster than I expected. I claw at the pillow and gasp pathetically. Intense, agonising pain follows almost instantly. I can’t concentrate on anything else but how much it hurts, and I can’t even say all the profanities that flash across my mind. My tongue is glued to the roof of my mouth, rendered immobile.