“You can say that word in front of me,” Emerald said brightly. “I’ve heard it lots of time, and I also heard the two of you performing that word last night.”
“Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go throw myself on the Yule log now, be right back,” Tamsyn said, standing up from her seat, but Bowen caught the edge of her skirt, tugging her back into her chair.
“It’s not polite to eavesdrop, much less bring it up at breakfast,” Bowen said, doing his best to channel his da or, at the very least, Wells.
It must’ve worked, because Emerald looked a little chastened, dropping her head before looking back up and saying, “I apologize. But I’ll still help you. Even if you won’t teach me magic.”
“And how do you plan on doing that?” Tamsyn asked, but before Emerald could answer, there was a high-pitched shriek from somewhere in the house, and Bowen heard Lady Meredith say, “Well, for Rhiannon’s sake, Madoc, at some point you have to use your own common sense! Yes, yes, Caradoc, I know he’s only four, but that’s no excuse! How on earth does one get trapped in a painting anyway?”
There was a pause, and then, in an imperious shout that could’ve brought down the entire castle, Lady Meredith cried, “EMERALD!”
“Neither of you have seen me, and we’ll talk later,” Emerald said quickly, gathering up her book and rushing from the breakfast room.
For the first time since last night, Bowen was alone with Tamsyn—well, as alone as anyone ever was in a fuck-off big house like this—and he wasn’t about to let the opportunity pass him by.
Hooking his ankle around the leg of her chair, he yanked, sending her tumbling against him, and she laughed even as she let herself be pulled onto his lap.
“Someone needs to talk to you about your tendency to manhandle women, Bowen,” she said, but since her hands were already moving restlessly over his shoulders, her lower lip tugged between her teeth as she looked at him like perhaps he was the one on the breakfast menu, he didn’t think she actually minded all that much.
“Don’t manhandle women,” he told her, nuzzling the side of her neck, sucking in that scent she wore, the one that smelled like orange and cloves, like she was Yule itself. “Only you.”
“Only me,” she mused in reply, sitting back to look into his eyes. “Only me for now?”
She was teasing him, or at least trying to, but he saw that flash of vulnerability in her eyes, that real question, so he answered it.
“Only you,” he said again, looking into her eyes, making sure she understood what he was saying.
Bowen saw her throat move as she swallowed hard, then she leaned forward, kissing him entirely too filthily for this early in the morning, but not like he gave a single fuck about what was appropriate or proper when it came to this woman.
He was just letting his hands slide up her sides, testing the softness of that white jumper, when he heard a discreet “Ahem” from somewhere near the door.
Pulling himself away, he saw one of those endless servants standing awkwardly in the arch that separated the breakfast room from the hallway, and Tamsyn went to scramble off his lap.
Holding her in place with firm hands, Bowen channeled all the icy arrogance of his ancient bloodline to say, “What is it?”
Tamsyn’s hands tightened a bit on his shoulders, so apparently she liked that side of him.
Something he definitely wanted to explore later.
The butler lifted a gloved fist to his mouth, coughed into it, and then said, “There is a visitor asking for you. The both of you.”
Tamsyn looked down at Bowen in confusion, but he could only shrug, then gently help her off his lap. Taking her hand, he led her from the room with as much dignity as two people who’d just been caught groping each other before nine a.m. could muster and walked out into the grand foyer.
Upstairs, Madoc was still shrieking, and Lady Meredith was saying, “It’s a painted goose, darling, how scary can it possibly be?”
But Bowen was looking toward the front door where Lowri stood, still wearing that same moth-eaten-looking cardigan she’d had on the day before and carrying that basket with that infernal cat, who blinked his eyes slowly at the pair of them.
“Lowri!” Tamsyn cried, dropping Bowen’s hand and hurrying to the older woman. “Did you find anything out for us?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Yesterday at the pub, the old woman had seemed cheerful, even amused by their situation, but now she clutched at Tamsyn’s hands, her ancient face somehow even more creased with wrinkles.
And worry.
And, Bowen realized with a sinking stomach, fear.
“Oh, darlings,” she whispered hoarsely, her eyes darting around as though she were afraid someone might be listening. “Yesterday, after we talked, I went back to my cottage and consulted my books. It took ages—as I said, not a usual type of magic, time travel, and I’ve only ever known the one—but I fear I gave you some dreadfully bad advice.”
“What do you mean?” Tamsyn asked, her hands falling away from Lowri’s, and the old woman looked back and forth at them, her lips trembling.
“It’s better that I show you. Come with me. Both of you.”
Chapter 19
The walk to the village was a lot nicer than it had been the day before.
As far as positives went, that was about all Tamsyn had.
Well, that and last night’s truly amazing sex, but even that had lost a little of its luster once Tamsyn saw Lowri’s worried face. Yesterday, the old woman had seemed so cheerful, so sure that everything would or at least could work out.
Now, she was hurrying down the path so quickly that Tamsyn had to run to catch up with her, and the basket at Lowri’s hip bounced enough that Tamsyn worried poor Sir Bedivere might go tumbling into the road.
Of all of them, though, he seemed the least concerned, leisurely licking his paws as his owner practically sprinted down the high street.
Now that she wasn’t facing freezing rain and stolen bikes, Tamsyn had time to admire the village as they passed. It had been decorated for the holidays, too, pine boughs and garlands strung on windowsills and streetlamps, candles burning in windows even though it was midmorning. The smell of baking bread lingered in the frigid air, and as Tamsyn looked around, she thought that maybe it wouldn’t be that bad to be stuck here after all. Ultimate cottagecore.
But then she thought about her little Airstream, about her brother and her family, and no, no matter how quaint and cozy this place was, it wasn’t home.
The main road turned slightly, and there, nestled just at the edge of the forest, was a stone cottage, smoke puffing from its chimney. Lowri opened the little gate in the wooden fence that surrounded the home, leading the two of them up a short slate pathway and into her home.
