Page 115 of Hand-Fasting and Other Hazards
“You’ve gone through my things?” he asked, arching a brow at her, his tone hovering between teasing and genuinely curious.
“You know I have,” Nia said quickly.
He’d found his shirt under her pillow. He hadn’t said anything, just dragged her under him and kissed her so slowly, from her lips to her breasts, her stomach, and then when he’d nestled between her legs, he practically feasted for a ha?—
She blinked, refocusing. “I just… your pockets are always empty. And I’ve never seen you pull anything out when we might have used a quick spell.”
“Right,” Lochlan murmured, contemplative.
She glanced at him, suddenly uncertain. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” she added, her voice faltering. “I mean, you’re obviously more than capable. It’s just, you never know when a quick spell might come in handy and I figured?—”
“Nia,” Lochlan interrupted gently, pulling her from her spiraling thoughts. “It’s fine. I don’t mind.” He squeezed her hand and kissed her knuckles.
The tension in her chest eased, and she offered a small smile before leading him down the tunnel. The faint scent of dried herbs drifted toward them as they turned a corner, and the golden glow of a familiar shop spilled into the passage.
The air was heavy with magic, and Nia felt it brush against her skin as they stepped inside. Shelves lined the walls, crowded with jars, vials, and tins. Bundles of herbs hung from the ceiling, their scent blending with the bite of salts and potions. Baskets of spell components were scattered on the floor, and the counter held an orderly display of bottles and scrolls.
Nia stepped up to it, pulling a few small tins from her coat pocket, then a couple more from her purse, and finally one last one from a hidden pocket in her skirt. She placed the containers on the counter in a tidy row, her movements precise and practiced.
“I need a stock-up,” she told the shopkeeper, a wiry woman with sharp eyes and streaks of silver in her hair. Then, gesturing toward Lochlan, she added, “And he needs his first traveling spell kit.”
The shopkeeper’s eyes shifted to Lochlan, narrowing slightly as they swept over him. Nia frowned, her gaze darting between the two.
“Hey,” she said, her tone light but with an edge, “keep those eyes to yourself.”
The shopkeeper scoffed, crossing her arms. “I wasn’t looking like that. I’m assessing his needs.”
Nia’s suspicion lingered, but before she could press further, Lochlan stepped forward as his attention was caught by something on the shelf.
“This is an amazing selection,” he said, sounding both impressed and curious. He pointed to a bottle near the top, its pale green label faded but legible. “How do you procure moonlace root? I’ve heard it’s tricky to grow.”
The shopkeeper’s demeanor shifted, her expression softening. “Good eye. My uncle grows them up the coast in his greenhouse. He’s been working with moonlace for decades.”
At the mention of the greenhouse, a shadow of unease crossed Lochlan’s face. Nia caught the way his fingers tensed against the counter, his posture stiffening. Though his expression smoothed a moment later, she had no doubt his thoughts had gone to Dover.
He’d told her about it the night he came home—sleepy and blissed from another round in bed, his guard lowered just enough to let the words slip free. About his sister and her misplaced hatred, about the greenhouse that once meant something and now meant nothing at all. About his mother. There was no grief, only the quiet understanding that what he’d been chasing all those years—the sense of belonging, a place and purpose to be a part of—had never been in Dover.
He told her how he had stood beside Thane, how he was proud of his brother. He’d even showed her the absurdity of the crowd that had gathered for them, the signs waving in the air. Lochlan thought it was ridiculous. But Nia agreed with Thane. She was unsurprised the people of the kingdom would appreciate and admire him, if he let them.
And if she ever saw Dru-bitch-face in person, she’d have a few things to say herself.
When they left the shop, Nia’s pockets were heavier and her purse was weighed down with tins and herbs. Lochlan carried a small, neatly packed tin, turning it over as they walked. He carefully inspected the labeled compartments, his expression unreadable.
“So,” he said finally, glancing at her. “I just… carry this with me?”
Nia hesitated, feeling a bit sheepish. “You don’t have to,” she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I just thought?—”
“No, no,” Lochlan interrupted, his tone soft as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “This is great. Really.” He paused, his thumb brushing over the edge of the tin. “I’ve seen people with these kinds of kits before, but…” He trailed off, uncertain. “I didn’t start doing magic outside of herbalism for a very long time. Not until I met Becket. Even then, I was worried I’d mess something up or…” He sighed. “Look foolish.”
Nia’s heart ached at this. She squeezed his hand, trying to think of the right thing to say. But before she could, a bright, cheerful voice echoed through the tunnel.
“Lochlan!”
They both turned. An older woman strode toward them with the kind of bubbly energy that seemed determined to fill any space.
“Oh no,” Lochlan muttered under his breath, his voice tight with dismay. “Naked Nancy.”
Nia choked on a laugh, nearly spilling her coffee. “What?”
