Page 63 of Bane Bloom

I waited for him to go on, but of course he didn’t. “How characteristically cryptic,” I grumbled. He let out a quiet sigh.

I folded my arms over my chest like the child he had once accused me of being, and we rode on in silence.

When we reached the bluebell glade, I loosened a little, though it was hard to take as much pleasure in the enchanting scene after the previous day’s literal enchantment. I had watched for the queen when we left this morning, and I watched again now.

“Will we see her again, do you think?” I asked him.

His gaze moved around the glade. “I will for a certainty. You may or may not.”

“Why do you say ‘for a certainty’? Does she appear to you often?”

The corners of his lips dipped lower. “Oftener than I would like.”

Perhaps she has a fondness for Vikings. I felt a twist of unease.

“And has she suggested that you try the Elfbloom?”

“She knows I never will.”

I studied him. “And what might happen if you did?” Do you have a heart’s desire?

“I don’t know. Though I’m certain it would be something I would regret.”

This was another most unsatisfying answer, but we were almost home now, which meant he would soon be able to flee my questioning, and there was something I’d been wanting to ask him since the churchyard.

“Are they kind to you, Thomas?”

He glanced at me with narrowed eyes.

“I mean these . . . these otherworldly beings. They seem to be the only family you have left, and I wondered whether they are kind to you.”

He sat a moment in thought. “They’re not like you or me, lass,” he reminded me.

We’d arrived at the stable, and the cart drew to a halt. He looked at me. “They can be kind if it suits them. But they don’t have a Bible that tells them they must. And their kindnesses are often fragile. They might offer to lead you to treasure but get distracted along the way and leave you to be swallowed by a bog. Nor do they form the same sorts of attachments that men do. Or if they do”—his gaze slowly shifted away—“it may easily take a dark turn.”

I sat there stunned by this un-Thomas-like outpouring of explanation while he climbed down and came around to my side of the cart. He put one hand on the seat and one on the board, boxing me in, and my heart began to thump.

“The May Eve festivities go late into the night,” he said, “which I cannot stay for, but if you truly wish it, I will go with you for the earlier part of the evening.”

A smile spread over my face. “I would like that very much.”

He leaned closer, holding my gaze, and my heart thumped faster. “Before you decide, you must think about what people will say. You must think if you truly want that.”

Sympathetic Magic

I recalled the awkward moment at The Mill, when I’d stopped myself from asking him to sit with me. If people weren’t whispering already about Thomas Bane and the lady botanist, they would likely begin to after we appeared together at the village festivities.

But then I thought about Annie, and how earnestly she’d encouraged me to bring him. If she saw no impropriety, why should I? Besides, after spending a few days here, I had a reasonable degree of certainty there wasn’t much—if any—communication between the Society and the citizens of Buttermere. Could village gossip really hurt me?

It’s not as if I have marriage prospects to damage.

“Let them say what they like,” I replied at last. Though I had tried for a breezy tone, it came out shaky. The unspoken part of this was that we’d already done plenty to justify any gossip about us, and both of us knew it. My gaze flickered to his lips, and he shifted to one side so I could step down.

“I imagine you’ll want to go back to your work in the glasshouse,” he said, “but I’d feel better if you’d wait for my return.”

After yesterday, the request was hardly unreasonable. Or unwelcome. But I asked, “Where are you going?”

He glanced out toward the lake. “To check my net. I thought to make a fish stew. I know it’s Sunday, and it will probably be simpler than what you’re used to.”