“Father Kelly talked about the Romans when I looked at the bell tower painting with him. He said they went to war against the old religion and won. Do you think the man the druids gave to Goosevar was a Roman?”
“I do. They wanted the creature they’d summoned to have a taste for their enemy’s blood.”
I shuddered. “After what you told me about the disturbed ruins, I had thought Goosevar might be a kind of fairy. My mother believed this heath belonged to the fairies, and that fairies could be vicious in protecting their homes.”
Harker rubbed his chin, thinking. “That may yet be true. He seems to have his roots in nature and the ancient Celtic people, as do fairies. He also reminds me in some ways of the Celtic god Cernunnos, who was worshipped as the lord of nature.”
“Well, whatever he is, it seems he’s outlived all of them—druidsandRomans.”
“And he is still what they made him. He might not know how to be anything else.”
“A blood-drinker.”
Harker got up, stretched his limbs, and tossed more turf onto the fire. The shadows in the room had deepened; outside, night was falling.
“It would be helpful to know whether they had any plan for unmaking what they had made,” he said. “But that knowledge seems far beyond our reach.”
Holding the blanket in place, I sat up and lifted the teapot. Harker’s eyes followed the movement.
“The tea will be cold,” he said, “and bitter. I can make more.”
I smiled, remembering that this was how our first conversation had begun, at The Magpie. I felt less skittish of him now—in some ways. More so in others.
“I don’t mind,” I said, filling my cup with the dark brew.
As he stood watching the fire, something occurred to me. “I wonder if your connection with Goosevar becomes stronger when you drink blood. Maybe that’s why you can see his memories.”
His brow furrowed. “I think that would stand to reason, except that my father never mentioned anything like this. I suppose if he never discovered Goosevar’s existence, he would think them no more than strange dreams.”
“It seems to me our handfasting visions must be related to the connection, too, though they are not memories of the past but—”
“Expectations for the future,” he muttered.
With a sigh he turned and began collecting the dishes, a deep frown on his lips. I finished my tea and handed him the cup. As he took it from me, he froze.
My heart skipped. “What is it?”
His expression flat, he handed the cup back to me without meeting my gaze.
A few leaves had stuck below the handle.
They formed a ring.
Vow
I looked at him. “It’s the same as—”
“Yes, I haven’t forgotten.”
I watched him closely, understanding what kind of fight was going on in his head. I couldn’t bring myself to point out that not just the symbol but also its position beneath the cup handle had meaning.
Not only a wedding, but soon.
He set the dishes on the hearth and sank back down in the armchair. “While I’m not likely to assign a shape in a teacup more importance than your logical arguments and earnest pleas, it does begin to feel I’m holding out unreasonably.”
“Your hesitation is not unreasonable.”
When he looked at me, his eyes were full of the gentle gratitude that was so very Harker. “I don’t know how we would even do it, Mina. For a common license we would need to apply to the bishop at Exeter, some seventy miles from here ... which would be risky for a whole host of reasons. It would be far better to wait out the weeks required for the banns to be read, but I don’t know that we can expect Goosevar to understand our modern way of doing things.”
