Chapter 20 #2
My face burned. I was humiliated at my oversight. I should have fixed Miles’s clothing first thing. Of course, a self-sufficient woman like Kathleen would have a sewing kit to use. I should have asked last night.
I was already failing at this whole relationship-but-not-a-relationship thing.
“Yes…” I took the pants. “I’ll fix them. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” She closed her hands over mine and leaned forward until her face was in my vision. “I want you to try something.”
“What is it?”
“When you work on this, I want you to focus on Miles—and what you want for him.”
I turned my attention back to her hands. My heart beat loudly in my ears, and—if I wasn’t entirely crazy—it was almost as if the ground at my feet began to hum. “W-what do you mean?”
“What you think he needs,” she said. The sunlight seemed to dim, and the air grew heavy. “What you expect.”
“I don’t expect anything,” I whispered.
“I don’t believe you,” she answered, a mysterious smile touching her weathered face.
I wrinkled my nose, and her grin grew wider as her eyes twinkled. “There it is.”
“What?” My voice was still low. There was no particular reason why—but this moment still felt profound.
“I can see some of my son’s mannerisms in you,” she said. “I don’t know what happened to make you angry, but you must have been close once.”
“Not really…” I looked away first, breaking the spell with my stilted response. “I want nothing to do with them.”
She made a sound of understanding, and her expression softened.
“The three of you will have to settle this. I don’t need to talk to them to know they consider you theirs. It was obvious from the moment I met you. You can’t run from destiny forever.”
“They don’t…” I muttered, barely able to breathe at her implications, twisting my fingers in Miles’s pants. “Think I’m theirs…”
There was no way.
“They wouldn’t even let me take their name,” I added. “I’m a Brosnan… kind of.”
I might be Dubois now, but my marriage to Bryce didn’t count. I’d asked to change my name when I was first adopted, but they’d refused.
“Brosnan?” Kathleen’s frown twisted.
“K-Kieran,” I explained. “He helped raise me for a while.”
“Then, of course, they wouldn’t let you change your name,” she replied. “That’s disrespectful.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, the suffocating lump weighing over my chest loosening slightly.
“The Brosnans might not be noble, but they are well-respected among the fae.” Kathleen glanced toward her house.
“They are one of the two guardian families that protect the realms between the courts. They are also warriors and mercenaries. Kieran Brosnan was your mother’s bodyguard and your father’s best man.
He was the one who introduced the two of them. ”
“How…” I began, squirming. I’d known that Kieran’s last name was Brosnan, but I had no idea it was so important. “How does it all work?”
“Ask Gregory,” she replied. “He’ll be able to explain it better than I. In the meantime, this brings us back to our original conversation: witches raised you.”
So everyone claimed, but I never thought of my adoptive parents as such.
“They must have taught you a thing or two,” she continued, looking down at my lap. “Why don’t you mend those pants, and we’ll see what happens?”
I stared at her. Well, they would no longer be ripped. What else would happen?
“Just trust me,” she said, shakily pushing to her feet and brushing off her skirt. “Just think about Miles and believe in yourself.”
But why over complicate such a simple task? I didn’t have a chance to ask before she limped away.
At her departure, the atmosphere seemed to lighten, and I tore my eyes away from her retreat and toward the garment in my hands.
I had done a thorough job in destroying the leg. It’d been necessary at the time, but now Miles desperately needed covering. It wasn’t like he could traipse around in his boxers. He would freeze, and it would be entirely my fault.
The guilt would be all-encompassing.
Kathleen had left behind a small tin containing a sewing kit, which rested on the dirt beside my knee.
The ground around me was humming in the aftermath of her presence—or maybe it was just my nerves.
I wasn’t sure, but the feeling grew stronger as I pulled the open tin to me and reached for the black thread and a needle.
It wasn’t a perfect match by any stretch of the imagination, but it was all I could do. Unfortunately, Miles was not going to get professional-level service from me.
But I would do my best.
The shifting shadows of the sunlight streaming through the branches lulled me while the atmosphere seemed to fade as I moved to repair the garment, focusing on my goal.
The cabin’s warmth caressed my skin as I stepped back into Kathleen’s kitchen. Miles was sipping tea at the table, and he turned to me as I approached him and thrust his pants into his arms.
“Here,” I told him. “I fixed them for you.”
“What?” he asked, glancing at his arms. “ You did this?” he continued in the most ungrateful manner. The disbelief in his voice was almost insulting, especially as he ran his fingers over the dark threads.
“But how?” He turned wide-brown eyes to me.
“The normal way,” I muttered, crossing my arms over my stomach.
Kathleen was at the hearth, stirring a deep purple something in her cauldron. She’d barely looked up at my arrival, but at Miles’s question, her attention moved briefly in our direction.
“That’s some marvelous work,” she said, her voice mild. “She must really like you.”
“It’s not…” I began. Their sudden attention to my work frayed my nerves, and I shuffled my weight to my other foot. “It was my fault to begin with. Sorry, it’s not better.”
“But…” Miles ran his index finger down the mended rip at the knee. “How?”
I frowned at him. The nervous energy swirling in my stomach made it impossible to think. Why couldn’t he just get dressed? At least he had a shirt on for once. But his thighs were not any less distracting than his bare torso.
And what did he mean? I stabbed a needle through some fabric; that was how sewing worked.
Unless, of course, he was referring to how they might have gotten destroyed in the first place. I didn’t think he’d gotten brain damage, but it was always a possibility.
“I ripped off your clothes,” I reminded him. “Remember? It was after you dramatically fell and smashed your head against the ground.”
Miles’s amazed expression morphed into a flush. “I did not smash my head into the ground.”
Well, at least he wasn’t denying that I unclothed him.
“Sometimes it feels like we’re having two separate conversations,” he continued, still unable to meet my eyes. “You’re so hard to follow.”
I bit my lip and slunk into the chair across from him. Should I be upset?
Kathleen banged her spoon against the lip of the cauldron, breaking the awkward silence. “Miles,” she commanded. “I need your help with this.”
His face was still red as he moved to her and asked, “What is that, hydrangea?”
“It’s for a spell,” she replied, stirring the purple potion. “I only have a few hours left to get it right.”
“What kind of spell?” he asked, peering into the mixture.
Instead of answering, she only hummed under her breath, and the conversation shifted as the two witches conversed softly as they worked over the fire.
The rest of the day passed slowly as Miles and Kathleen spoke and stirred. Although Kathleen never answered Miles’s question about what they were working on, she did manage to give him a lesson on witch etiquette.
I found the whole thing somewhat soft and fell asleep at the table mid-lecture.
They let me be there until dinner. I woke up on the bed when Miles shook me awake, and the three of us sat around the table, wolfing down potato stew.
“We’re headed out tomorrow,” Miles said as he lowered his bowl and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He nodded to Kathleen. “Thank you for your help, but we need to get back.”
Kathleen’s brows drew together, and she looked into her coffee. “I expected,” she replied. “Thank you for visiting. It was an honor to have this meal with you both.”
Her voice held a sense of resignation, and I lowered my coffee mug from my lips.
Even Miles had picked up on the strange statement. “Kathleen?” He pushed his seat back from the table. “Is everything okay?”
“It’s getting dark,” she replied, covering her mouth. “Miles, could you please fetch me one more thing? I have something left that I need to do.”
His sharp gaze moved over her slight form. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing unexpected.” Her shoulders tensed as the light from the hearth grew brighter, lightening the shadows that spread through the room.
She moved her hands to her lap as her words rushed out breathlessly.
“I only need some hydrangea root—you used the rest earlier. Please get it for me. It’s in the grove where I found you.
Do you remember? You should be okay to walk that far. ”
“Why tonight?” he protested, voice wary and brows furrowing. However, despite his doubtful expression, he’d already moved to his feet. “Can’t it wait?”
“No, but don’t worry,” Kathleen said, standing. “Everything will be ready by the time you get back.”
A chill seemed to pass through the air, and Miles and I exchanged an uneasy glance.
I waited until Miles limped out of the house, grumbling under his breath before I turned to Kathleen. I twisted my fingers in my lap. “Do you think it’s okay for him to go out?”
“He’ll be fine,” she answered, returning to the cauldron.
She grabbed a checkered rag and grasped the handle.
“I’m more certain now than ever before.” She returned to the table, setting the pot over a crocheted burgundy potholder.
Then she lifted the lid, waving her left hand through the smoke as she breathed in the strong lavender and eucalyptus scent.
Despite pressuring Miles to leave quickly, she didn’t seem to be in any hurry.
The sense of foreboding that had all but vanished since yesterday returned ten-fold.