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“But you never found the boy—Matthew?”
Pwyll’s thrum turns into a wail that momentarily silences the singing on the roof. We duck deeper into the shadows until the chorus above us fires up again.
“Take your ease, man. She didn’t mean it as a judgement. It’s me failing not you.”
Pissing off a druid ghost seems like a bad idea. “I’m sorry, Pwyll. This is all very new to me.”
The thrum of their eerie sonic chat rises and falls along with Sion’s head tilting. As quickly as he appeared, Pwyll vanishes. I semi-collapse against Sion.
He threads his arm through the crook of my elbow. “You’re doing well.”
It’s hard to believe him when all I want to do is vaporize like Pwyll and get the hell out of here.
“We’ll go in by way of the kitchen and hunt for the lad.” Sion leads me through the trees and down a slope toward a door that opens to the lower floors of the tower house. “Once I have proof Matthew is here, Pwyll can help lead us to him.”
I appreciate the way he holds my hand, firm and protective.
Jeremy Olk is my type.
Jeremy would be dancing a jig to be here with us.
Smells of onion and roasting meat make my stomach growl as we slip into a cavernous room. Apparently, a peanut bar doesn’t keep you full with a five-hundred-year gap in play. Iron circles packed with candles hang on chains from the ceiling. Their flickering light trickles downward to merge with the crackle of fire roaring and spitting in a hearth as tall as me. We stand in a symphony of flames both tiny and ferocious. At least a dozen people work at loading platters of meat or tend to bubbling cauldrons of what I assume are stews and soups.
I cover my nose with the back of my hand. One awful smell permeates the kitchen above the rest. People. They reek of sweat, flatulence, and body odor potent enough to wipe out an entire town in one whiff. My eyes water, and the bustling kitchen blurs as Sion drags me through an archway.
I dig in my heels in at the bottom of a stone spiral stair. “What are you doing? I can’t go up.”
He clamps his hands on my hips and hoists me onto the steps in front of him. “It’s only one floor. I’ll keep you away from windows.”
Before I can protest further, there are complaints behind us from a serving man juggling pewter pitchers.
Sion hustles me up the stairs. They twist and wind in a tight spiral, making navigation a chore that demands my full attention. The width of the steps is uneven, and I trip in a constant rhythm. Without Sion propelling me upward, I’d be falling and crawling instead of climbing.
Above us, the sounds of a gathering grow louder. Before we reach the source, Sion tugs me through an archway off the stairwell into a space that serves as a compact antechamber to a larger room. There’s a glowing niche in the wall with something stretched in front of what must be candles. The light is gentle and warm. It reminds me of the luminaires I used to make for Halloween parties. Curious, I poke the fabric stretched across a wooden frame in front of the niche.
“Sheep stomach,” says Sion, and chuckles when I yank my finger away. A few feet past us is an archway into a room lit solely by moonlight. Under a desk near the window, a barely audible mewling sound reaches us.
“Kitten?” I ask.
Sion shakes his head. “Child, I reckon. Hiding from the mayhem.”
A flurry of servants streams up the steps, heading toward the festivity. Sion is a runner poised on the block, ready to sprint after them. He ducks his head back into the stairwell but doesn’t resume the climb. Fear tightens his features.
“What’s wron?—”
Instead of answering, he guides me backward against the wall, locks an arm around my waist, and presses his mouth hard against mine. Fingers tangle in my hair, holding me captive. His lips grind with a pressure sure to bruise. I struggle to wrench my hands free and push him off, but I’m trapped. No matter what fleeting thoughts of appreciation I might have entertained at the sight of his bare sculpted chest, I didn’t ask to be jumped. His thighs secure my own against the wall, giving me no chance to knee him.
He shudders at my struggle and tries to whisper something that sounds like an apology against my lips. The kiss shifts from surprise bombardment into tenderness. His mouth brushes gently over mine with the barest hint of desire. Instead of pinning me forcefully against stone, he eases up, molding his body to mine. My initial anger shifts into curiosity. Our position and the heat rising between us aren’t entirely unwelcome. The length of his body touching mine suggests interesting possibilities. But why now?
Before I can examine the sensation any closer and decide what returning the kiss might start, a deep bass more bear than human rumbles throughout our nook. “What sport’s here?”
Sion spins so his back secures me against the wall. He bows his head. Over his shoulder, I see a hulking shape lumber close. The man’s black beard and equally black mane tangle together like a pelt. A lecherous smile reveals broken yellow teeth. Leather and furs crisscross the giant’s frame. He’s no serving man. The three of us crowd the small space.
A slab of a hand covers Sion’s shoulder, and he’s thrust against the archway. “I’ll have a quick go first, lad, and then I’ll leave her good and ready for you.”
A bear would probably smell better than this pervert. The man’s shadow covers me. Fingers with crusted black fingernails clamp around my breast.
Quick as the fox he is, Sion reinserts himself between the beast and me. “I’ll thank you to take hands off my wife.”
