Page 28 of The Musician and the Monster

“Will we light the candles?” Ceridwen asked, attempting to push away thoughts of her family.

Gwen’s smile dimmed. “Not in every window. I doubt Lord Winterbourne would approve of that, but if you want to light some here”—she gestured to the wall of windows along one side of her room—“I will have some extras brought up.”

“Please. Wide ones.” No point in risking one falling over and setting the drapes ablaze.

The hem of the dress swished against the stone floor as Gwen escorted Ceridwen to the dining room. Jackoby stood outside the doors, an uncharacteristic smile on his face. The expression stripped away the years and gave a hint to times of joy and laughter that had faded or been hidden behind a thick mask of formality. He dipped a bow to them as they approached.

Ceridwen curtsied in return, careful not to let the flower Lord Winterbourne gifted her during their tour of the gardens slip from behind her ear where she’d placed it before dinner. It felt right to wear it, as if the outfit were incomplete without it. Besides, she couldn’t waste such a gift.

Roasted ham tickled her nose and sent a rush of saliva to her mouth, though the door to the dining room remained closed.

“Dinner is served.” Jackoby pushed open the door behind him, giving Ceridwen a view of the room beyond.

A tall candelabra stood in the table center with deep-blue candles, the traditional color to honor the Goddess after the first snow. A rich array of foods already steamed in their dishes, more than two people could ever consume, but none of those things were what caused her mouth to gape open and her eyes to fly wide.

At first, she didn’t recognize the young man who rose to his feet from his chair and walked the short distance of the table to hers. His unruly shocks of dark-brown hair had been trimmed and styled, falling around his ears. The beard, too, had been tamed, revealing smooth skin marred by a few scars along his chin and right cheek. Without the mass of hair, she could make out his lips as they pulled up in one corner.

Air filled her lungs as she remembered to breathe. Lord Winterbourne looked like the noble he claimed to be and, though she was loath to admit it, was quite handsome. The strong jaw and cheekbones, lips that—

Behind her, Gwen chuckled, breaking Ceridwen out of her reverie. Even so, her feet refused to cross the distance to where he waited with the chair pulled out like a gentleman. “There’s so much for just the two of us,” she said instead.

“Don’t worry,” Gwen replied. “We won’t let it go to waste.”

Jackoby nodded along. A smile still pulled at the corners of his mouth.

With forced steps, Ceridwen entered the room, her heart racing much faster than the slow pace of her body.

“Ceridwen,” Lord Winterbourne said. “May the Goddess keep you warm in winter.”

The traditional blessing brought a surge of fire to her cheeks and nearly caused her to stumble.

“May the Goddess keep you warm in winter, Lord Winterbourne,” she said, stopping just before him.

“Drystan.”

“Drystan,” she echoed, daring to meet his mirthful gaze. His name rolled over her tongue, more delightful than the scents that had her mouth watering before she entered.

His answering smile stole her breath. For a moment, she almost forgot who he was, seeing something past the wild man she’d once thought him, the noble she knew him to be, or the reclusive lord who’d appeared to disregard the people he’d been assigned to watch over.

For the first time, she saw only Drystan.

He coughed gently, clearing his throat. “Would you like to be seated?”

Ceridwen accepted the offered chair and let him settle her at the table before he returned to his own.

Often they ate in companionable silence. But tonight, Ceridwen’s gaze kept wandering up from her plate to the man across from her. And though they sat on opposite sides of the table with a mountain of food between them, his nearness unnerved her. Especially each time she found his gaze lingering on her as well, stirring up a mess of butterflies in her chest that fluttered faster than her racing heart.

“You wore the flower,” he said.

A blush touched her cheeks as she squirmed under his attention. “It didn’t match the dress at all, but I… Well, I wanted to.”

“I’m glad.” His smile mirrored his words. “It’s one of my favorites.”

He’d carefully trimmed the violet rosebud of its thorns before handing it to her earlier that day, a treasured piece of his most prized rosebush.

She tried to focus on the rich delicacies, but the feast didn’t prove a sufficient distraction. Unable to focus on her food with the feel of his regard pushing against her ribs from the inside, she broke the silence the only way she could think of. “Do you have a favorite song?”

Safe. Music was safe. Though he’d requested a few songs, she’d never asked if he preferred one above all others.

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