Page 54 of Keeper of the Flame: Orrick

“I don’t think so,” she said, sounding leery of him, probably thinking he was naught but a dirty old man who wanted to try to kiss her.

“Please, Hope,” he begged her. “I promise you I’d never hurt you. There is just something . . . something I need to tell you.”

“Well, all right,” she finally agreed, brushing past him, leading the way to the tower room. She was an amazing girl and in the best of shape not to have even hurt herself after that steep fall.

She picked up the basket at the top of the landing and hurried into the room. He followed, closing the door behind him.

“Is it necessary to close the door?” she asked, keeping her distance, standing over by the burning hearth.

“Aye, it is,” he said. “There is something I need to show you and I don’t want the entire castle witnessing it.”

“I think I’ve seen more than enough, Orrick,” she said, turning her face from him, holding up her hand to hide her view. She hunkered down before the fire with her back toward him as she dug into the basket.

Orrick slowly crossed the room, coming up behind her as she fumbled with something in the basket and then quickly closed it up again. He reached out and laid his hand on her shoulder. She slowly stood up and turned to face him. Then he put his hand in hers. “Look at me, Hope. Please.” He wasn’t at all sure he was doing the right thing, but he no longer wanted to keep secrets from her.

“I came to see Sir Rick,” she told him. “Do you happen to know where I can find him?”

“Aye,” he said, swallowing the lump in his throat, feeling more vulnerable than he ever had. He wasn’t used to feeling so . . . so . . . mortal or human. “I know where you can find him.”

“Where?” she asked, turning her head to look at him, trying to pull her hand away from him, but he wouldn’t let go.

“Right here, my love,” he answered, shifting back into his younger self, still holding on to her hand.

Her eyes opened wide and, at first, she looked frightened. But when his shift was over and he stood before her as the younger Sir Rick, a slight smile raised the corners of her mouth.

“So, it is you,” she said. “But are you . . . old . . . or young? I do not understand, Sir Rick.”

“Just call me Orrick,” he told her. “Perhaps we’d better sit down and I’ll tell you all about it.”

“I’d like that.” She bit her lips and the tip of her tongue shot out to lick them. “Orrick,” she said, testing the waters. “But let me see to your hand as we talk. That wound needs to be addressed.”

Without bothering to put on any more clothes, and since she didn’t seem to mind, Orrick sat down at the table in his braies. Hope sat across from him. She unbound his wound and studied it, taking balms from the basket. “I didn’t know sorcerers could get hurt.” Her eyes lifted. “You are a sorcerer. In both forms. Aren’t you?”

“I am. Hope, I’ve wanted to tell you about this for a while but I wasn’t sure how you’d take it.”

“How old are you, Orrick? Or shouldn’t I ask.”

“I think I need to start at the beginning.”

“All right.” She cleaned his hand with a wet rag that caused him to wince when it touched the burned skin. “I’m sorry.”

“Never mind. I’ve felt more pain than this, but it wasn’t physical.”

“What does that mean?”

“I was a child when I was abandoned, so I don’t know my real parents. I was taken in and raised by the old sorcerer Merlin for a while.”

“Merlin?” Her eyebrows arched in surprise. “I thought he was a myth.”

“He’s not.”

“Plus, that story is very, very old.”

“Some sorcerers are invincible and immortal,” he told her.

“Are you?”

“I thought so. But then again . . . mayhap not.” He held up his hand to prove his point.