“Where anyone could walk in and grab you? Absolutely not,” he declared. He reached into his boot and withdrew a knife. “Here’s a solution.”
Heather stepped back, more puzzled than alarmed. “Excuse me?”
“To protect yourself. I’ll sleep on the floor, but you’ll feel better if you’re armed. Right?”
“A knife?” She’d likely cut herself in her sleep!
“Or you could write another letter,” he suggested. “They do seem to be a good weapon for you.”
Heather laughed, but he offered the knife again, hilt toward her. “Take it. Keep it with you tonight. And if I—or anyone else—tries anything improper, use it.”
She reached out and took it. Her fingers touched his as she accepted the weapon. “It’s not a cursed blade, is it? I don’t want to wander the hills of northern England as a shade. A shade with a blade.”
“What sort of books do you read?” he asked, smiling. “I promise it’s an ordinary knife. Absolutely not anything stolen from the fairies, or a graveyard, or the object of a blood oath gone wrong. But it is sharp. So be careful.”
“It’s a very nice knife,” Heather said, looking it over. It was lightweight and carved with an intricate design along the blade. The hilt was ivory-colored and felt comfortable in her hand. “Not that I have much expertise in the matter.”
“Well, I’ll do my best to ensure that you won’t need to practice using it tonight.”
Heather hoped so. She didn’t want to stab him in the chest…but she would if she had to.
Chapter 5
They talked a little more, but Heather started yawning again. The room was warm and dry and dim, and she was so comfortable that it was difficult to keep her eyes open. Niall announced that he would go downstairs for a half hour, allowing her to wash up and prepare for bed in privacy.
“I’ll knock three times before I open the door,” he said. “If it’s any other number of knocks, you’ve got the knife.”
“Indeed I do.”
He left. Heather was amused by how conscientious he was. She honestly couldn’t have asked for a better rescuer. It was a shame that their lives were so far apart. She would have liked him for a friend.
She washed her face in the basin, appreciating the pitcher of hot water that Maisie had brought up after dinner. Then she removed her gown and folded it carefully—it was her only outfit for six weeks. Ugh, it was so frustrating that she couldn’t touch her own money until she was twenty-one. It wasn’t as if she was going to be frivolous with it. Heather knew well that she couldn’t afford to be. She’d manage whatever income she got very carefully so she could travel and live as she wished. On her own terms.
“No more Uncle Cyril telling me what to do,” she whispered out loud. “Noone will tell me how to live my own life!”
But not until her birthday. Sighing, Heather slipped into the bed. The sheets were soft and the blanket thick enough that she felt quite sheltered in her little nest. She left the candle burning on the table, and then realized that she’d left the knife on the table as well. She was just about to get out of bed to retrieve it when three soft knocks sounded.
Heather pulled the covers up a little higher for modesty. “Come in!” she called.
The door opened a crack, and Niall stuck his head in, looking around. The sight of his disembodied head made her laugh out loud.
“Allof you can come in,” she clarified.
“I just wanted to be sure I wasn’t, er, interrupting.”
“Interrupting what?”
“I don’t know. Who knows what eldritch rituals women perform to prepare for bed, or to stay beautiful?”
“Eldritch rituals has quite a nice sound to it,” Heather said, secretly wondering if his words meant that he thoughtshewas beautiful. “I’ll have to learn some.”
“You can brew potions while living with your dozen cats. I believe there’s a term for that sort of woman.”
“Entrepreneur?”
He covered a laugh, shaking his head. Then he pointed to the table. “You forgot your knife.”
“I noticed just as you knocked. Please bring it to me?”
