Page 53 of The Witch's Shifter
How badly I wish for that not to be the case.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been standing there when the kitchen door opens and Rowan’s sleepy voice calls, “Aurora? Are you all right?”
Steeling myself, I turn to face him, and I hope he can’t see the sadness written across my face—especially not after last night, after he lavished my body in care and attention, taking me to a height the likes of which I wasn’t sure I’d survive when I came crashing down.
“Just feeding the girls,” I say, then scatter the last remains from the basket in my hand.
Rowan leans on the doorframe, hair vibrant in the early-morning sunlight, and watches me with a downward turn to his lips.
I’m sure he knows. He must.
But he says nothing as I step into the doorway beside him and loop my arms around his waist in a hug, and for that I’m grateful. Today is the harvest festival, and I don’t wish to dwell on things that make me glum.
Trying to shake the gray energy away, I tip my head back and regard Rowan with a mischievous smile.
He arches a brow suspiciously. “What’s that look for?”
“Today’s the festival, and you know what that means?”
“Ale? Pumpkin pie? More ale?”
“Itmeans”—I lift onto my toes and brush my nose against his—“I’m finally going to get to dance with you.”
Rowan didn’t join any of the dances on Beltane, but I’m not letting him wriggle his way out of this one. He’s going to lead me through at least one dance, and that’s final.
A gentle laugh rumbles in Rowan’s chest, and he catches my lips with his. When he pulls away, he whispers, “If my queen demands.”
ALDEN ARRIVES AT THE COTTAGE just as Rowan finishes twisting two tiny braids into my hair, one on either side of my face. He’s surprisingly good at it, and when I asked him how he learned, he told me a story of how he used to braid Lucy’s hair when they were children, and I felt honored to receive such special treatment. It makes me smile to think of him braiding our child’s hair, the two of them sitting in the fairy meadow beneath the golden sun, dragonflies buzzing all about them. What a lovely thing that would be.
I greet Alden with a kiss as he steps into the kitchen, his curls windblown and his cheeks pink from the chill autumn air.
“Happy harvest festival, little witch,” he says as he wraps his arms around me, enveloping me in his cloak and his woodsy smell.
“Happy harvest festival,” I say back. I relish his warm embrace and the sturdy beating of his heart beneath my ear. Many times recently, I’ve caught myself gazing at him, wondering how Belinda could’ve let such a man go. And to know she tried to take him back, only for him to deny her... Not for the first time, I think of how unbelievably lucky I am to have him.
“Am I taking all of this out?” Alden asks, his gaze shifting to the goods filling the kitchen table and counters.
I give him a small nod, and he immediately gets to work.
I spent last week preparing goods to sell at the festival—baskets of excess produce from the garden, breads and pastries, and even wreaths twined with forest grass and adorned with flowers and pine cones I collected while out in the woods with Harrison—and Alden and Rowan begin carrying everything out to Alden’s cart in front of the cottage. While they’re busy, I stare out the kitchen window at the forest line, trying not to let Faolan’s absence bring me down on a day I’ve been looking forward to for so long.
I just wish I understood him a bit better. Why is he gone? Why didn’t he just speak with me before leaving? And is he okay, out there all alone?
The door opens in the foyer, accompanied by Alden’s and Rowan’s voices, and I turn from the window just as the two of them appear in the kitchen doorway.
“Your carriage awaits, Your Majesty,” Rowan says. His smile is bright in the morning light, his red hair hanging long and straight around his shoulders. He’s wearing another fine tunic this morning, this one deep maroon, and it makes his verdant eyes that much brighter.
“Are you ready to go?” Alden asks. “We should get there a bit early to set everything up.”
They’re both so beautiful standing there, waiting for me. It makes me smile, and I give them a small nod. “Yes. Let’s go.”
Rowan fetches me my cloak, and he drapes it around my shoulders as Alden holds the door open. Just before I can step out, though, a thought strikes me, and I hesitate.
“There’s just one last thing I need to do,” I say. Rowan and Alden exchange looks, and then I hurry up the staircase and into the bedroom.
Harrison is asleep on the bed, curled up atop the blanket, and I try to be quiet as I open my armoire and pull out a set of clothes for Faolan. We bought him a few pairs in town, and I run my fingers across the soft tunic before folding it and setting it atop the trousers and thick socks. Then I carry the bundle of clothes downstairs and deposit them upon the low table in the parlor.
If he does return home while we’re gone, the clothes will be ready and waiting for him.
