Page 17 of Consumed
I observed in quiet amazement as he bought a cloak from the disgruntled man at the stall. Eoin tossed the fabric around my shoulders and tied it in front. I snatched his hands before he could pull away. Although the cloak did little to ease my suffering, my shivering lessened.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“I wish I could afford something thicker for you,” he said, gently pulling his hands away. “Are you well, Miss? What is your name?”
“Aisling,” I breathed, the name spilling out naturally.
“Where did you come from? Are you with those traders from Donegal?”
I shook my head. His brow furrowed, eyes darting around us thoughtfully. “So you must live nearby. Do you have someone who can help you, lass? You don’t look well.”
“I’m alone,” I said, swallowing hard. “And I don’t need healers or aliaig. I’m here to helpyou.”
He gave me a strange look, scanning me up and down—the frail stranger who had staggered into his village without even a cloak on her back. “I’ll confess I don’t know what you mean. You… We’ve never even met.”
Spots danced in my vision as I took two excruciating steps closer to him. “Let me show you,” I rasped.
His eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, I wondered if he recognized me beyond the illusion. He had to, even in a small way. After years of visiting me in the forest, Eoinknewme, the way I knew everything about him.
“Eoin, there you are, lad!” Someone broke away from the bustling vendors and craftsmen boasting their wares in the square to cut toward us. He was a hefty man with a scraggly blond beard and simple clothes, belted at the waist. He clapped Eoin on the back, giving him a well-meaning shake.
“Come along, the tavern’s packed to the gills. They’ll be waiting on you for the toast by now.” His grin dropped as he looked at me. “Who’s this wee thing?”
“That remains to be seen,” Eoin said, though not unkindly. He smiled and gave the man an amicable shove toward the tavern that sat on the corner, with ribbons hanging from the wooden rafters. “Tell them I’m just steps away. I know better than to keep Collin from his ale.”
They shared a chuckle at this, and with another curious glance at me, the man departed. Impatience resided in Eoin’s gaze when he focused back on me, but he seemed to push it down in favor of hospitality.
“It appears I’m late to my own betrothal party.” He backed toward the tavern, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s nothing extravagant,but there will be food and warmth, a bit of ale. Perhaps I’ll see you there, if you like.” He smiled over his shoulder and gave me a small wave before striding off purposefully.
Always so kind, my Eoin. I would not lose him. I willed my legs to move, following after what was mine by right.
As I trailed after him, my racing heart distracted me from the white-hot pain that shot up my legs. Today was his engagement party—and even on such a momentous occasion, mere hours beforehand, he had come to seemein the forest.
The thought of what we had nearly done there made my mouth turn dry.
Why else would he do such a thing if he didn’t truly care for me? If he didn’twantme to do something so drastic to follow after him? He was a lost soul—and this wretched woman was leading him astray, away from what he desired. Even under her illusion, a part of him must have wanted me to see this madness and put a stop to it.
Eoin hid his discomfort expertly as he entered the tavern, dimples flashing as he smiled widely at the crowd at the threshold. I watched him be pulled inside, into the roar of a welcoming throng. His concern for the feeble stranger he’d encountered evaporated from his face.
Breathing heavily, I leaned my weight against the wide window at the front of the building. The door was inches away, but I could not bring myself to set a foot insidedespite Eoin’s invitation. There was relief in finally holding still for a moment; the pain eased, if only a little bit.
I watched the celebration unfold. Despite the crudeness of it, unmistakable joy flowered in the air. Mince pies, barley loaves, and poached pears were laid on a wide table. Amber bottles were lined up in a row, plucked up to ensure every goblet was brimming.
My stomach twisted, my fingers pressed to the weathered exterior of the building—was thisgrief?
There was longing and loneliness, yes—but something more, too.
Have I been here before?
Aisling.
Where had that name come from? It was too simple, toomortal, to have any right to feel so familiar to me. I must have heard it on the lips of a human who had wandered near the forest, or perhaps from Eoin when he spoke of his village.
The thought of him sent me searching for his face through the packed tavern. My eyes landed upon him, seated at the head of the center table. His hand rested upon the wooden surface, fingers entwined with those of a woman’s. His smiling gaze was fixed on the man who’d intercepted him in the market. Glasses were raised as the man gave a speech.
I paid his words little mind as my gaze slid to Eoin’s bride—Brianna. Mylips curled back. She was squeezing Eoin’s hand, practically pinning it to the table. Her long brunette hair was plaited with ribbons and flowers—flowerstorn from the earth to feed her vanity. Her cornflower-blue dress stood out brightly amongst the other fabrics surrounding her.
The tavern erupted with cheers and applause as the speech came to an end. Several men clapped Eoin on the back after they all drank deeply from their goblets.
