Chapter 11
Soren had always prided himself on the control he exerted over his unruly turuk; now more than ever, the daily struggle was a true test of his will against the beast’s. While keeping near Miss Maeve did satisfy the turuk in many ways, it was quickly growing greedier.
They both wanted to know what her reddish gold hair would feel like slipping between his fingers. What would it be like to taste the silky smooth expanse of her skin? At night, he’d imagine what it’d be to have her beside him, singing softly to him, her dulcet voice low and intimate.
Ibás, his fur stood on end just thinking about it.
He found the best way to deescalate was to placate—rather than pouncing on Maeve and licking her head to toe, he observed her instead. Thoroughly. To a degree that might’ve seemed excessive to an outside observer.
As spring bloomed in all its glory, the days lengthening and warming, what Soren noticed was Maeve’s growing distraction. It never affected her teaching or devotion to the children, but whenever she had a moment alone, her gaze would travel far away, her thoughts along with it.
It made Soren worry that something, or someone, was bothering her.
Of course, this infuriated his turuk. Soren had to press his paw over his chest during evening classes to keep down all the hostile growling.
Often, he could hardly pay attention to the lesson and didn’t remember much about what they’d learned, so focused was he on rooting out any potential trouble.
However, after several days of this, Soren was no closer to an answer. It seemed that his walking Maeve home each evening had tamped the most fervent of hopes. Whatever the other single men thought happened on those evening walks, it kept them from pressing their own suits. A small comfort.
But that garnered few answers. He thought perhaps to ask Kiri, as his brother was at least in the classroom with her for most of the day, whereas Soren usually kept to his own realm of the grounds.
However, asking Kiri came with its own dangers—mainly, that infernally smug expression he was developing lately.
Cubs are impossible at that age. So sure they know everything.
Soren was left to consider whether it might’ve been something he’d done, but upon thinking back to their interactions, he couldn’t pinpoint anywhere he might’ve offended or upset Miss Maeve.
He’d striven to be on his best behavior, talking when spoken to, answering questions, and keeping his hands folded behind his back on their evening walks.
Perhaps it was something else, then. Something at home.
“Is there anything amiss with the Brádaighs?” he asked Balar the next time he saw his brother.
Balar stopped to think. “I haven’t heard anything, and Imogen was just visiting with Sorcha the other day. Nothing came up.”
Well, that was good, if unhelpful.
When Balar stopped again, this time to narrow his eyes at Soren and inquire, “Why do you ask?” Soren found an excuse to make himself scarce.
It all remained mysterious, and although Miss Maeve was often talkative, she didn’t mention anything bothering her, and so Soren was left adrift.
The best he could do was plan a nature walk for the students, in the hopes it’d cheer her up—whether that be by walking in the forest or having an afternoon of peace to herself.
He was a smidge surprised, but very pleased, when Maeve received his suggestion with a smile.
“That would be wonderful,” she effused. “The weather is perfect.”
And so it was that Soren planned and organized a nature walk for the students a few days later, after scouting the best routes and removing several large hazards.
He could admit to his turuk that they were both pleased to find that Miss Maeve intended to join them that morning on the walk. She’d worn a shorter skirt, revealing the high cut of her leather boots, as well as her floppy sunhat, the pink ribbons tied in a neat knot under her chin.
Once all the students were lined up from youngest to oldest, with Soren leading the way and Kiri and then Maeve bringing up the rear, off they went into the forest.
It was an easy enough walk, Soren keeping them mostly to the path that Balar had carved through the forest to link Imogen’s land with Danann.
Along the way, he pointed out plants he’d talked to the students about in late autumn, when they had brushed through dried leaves to truffle hunt, discussed safe and toxic mushrooms, and picked the last berries of the season.
There were new things to learn about in spring; different mushrooms, all the bright green leaves reaching for the sky, and the fragrant flowers blooming.
The children gathered round as he showed them a pinecone, acorn, and chestnut, explaining that they were all varieties of seeds for the trees.
They oohed and aahed when he used his knife to carefully prise open each of the nuts, showing which parts were considered the true seed and which were the fruit.
“But apples are fruits, not pinecones,” argued Liese.
“The fruit is the part of a seed used to entice an animal to eat it,” explained Soren. As they continued along, Soren did his best to describe why a seed wanted to be eaten in the most delicate terms.
Once the very thought of feces was introduced, the children broke into fits of giggles.
“You’re doing exactly what the tree wants by eating the seed and…moving it along,” said Soren, taking a bite out of the raw chestnut as the students squealed with laughter.
“So who’s smarter—us or the trees?” asked Kiri, smug little grin in place.
Maeve stepped forward to refocus the students. “Speaking of animal droppings, perhaps we should talk about scat now, Mister Soren.”
“Indeed. This way.”
Along their walk, they found plenty of scat to observe. Little deer pebbles, a bear pile, wolf logs, and even an owl pellet—although, he had to explain how that wasn’t scat. The children gasped and groaned as he opened the dry ball of fur and tiny bones.
A glance over their heads found Miss Maeve watching too, her hand over her mouth. Not to hide her disgust but instead her amusement.
Soren’s heart thumped oddly in his chest. What a strange feeling to have while holding an owl pellet.
The children followed along gamely, delighted when they could stop to eat an edible plant or talk more about animal droppings. They managed to contain their squeals of delight when they all stopped to crouch down quietly and observe a family of wild rabbits crawling through the underbrush.
“Mister Soren,” Grainne whispered, her little face concerned, “do owls eat rabbits?”
“Only the slow ones,” Kiri snickered.
Her eyes grew wide, and Soren did his best to reassure the little girl that an owl usually went for smaller prey and left the nice bunnies alone—while reaching around to smack the back of Kiri’s head with his tail.
As luncheon neared, Miss Maeve declared it was time to return to a chorus of disappointed whines. Soren led the way from the forest, out onto a more used path that ran between the forest and a cluster of farms southeast of Dannan.
Wildflowers bloomed in the tall grasses on either side of the path, inviting dozens of fat bumblebees that filled the air with a warm buzz. Maeve warned the children not to get too close and then stung, using the opportunity to explain bee stingers and their lifecycle.
Soren kept the pace easy, enjoying listening to the musical way Maeve spoke. Honestly, he’d heard her talk about a lot of things, both school subjects and more eclectic topics on their walks home, and he could safely say by now that whatever she talked about, he was happy to listen.
He didn’t realize at first, but a small grin tugged at his lips. The weather was fine, the air was fragrant, the children were happy, and Maeve herself seemed cheerful, too.
That was, until someone called her name.
“Maeve Brádaigh! Is that you?”
They all looked over to a nearby fence, where a young man in loose clothing and a wide-brim hat stood leaned against a post, a rake propped beside him. Golden hair peeked out from under his hat, and a sheen of sweat gathered on his tanned skin.
Soren’s turuk growled in warning, and he watched warily as Maeve strode through the tall grass to greet the man.
“Collin Kenny! Hello!”
Neither Soren nor his beast cared for her friendly tone at all. He and the children watched as she stood on her tiptoes to kiss this Collin’s cheek in greeting.
“I didn’t realize you were back—and teaching. I thought for sure you’d be somewhere like Adrigoll or still in Gleanná,” said Collin.
Maeve’s smile turned brittle, and Soren wasn’t proud of the pleasure he felt at the man so quickly losing her good will. This was a touchy subject, Soren well knew.
“It’s always nice to be home,” she said breezily.
They exchanged a few more pleasantries, their smiles still wide, and Soren didn’t like their familiarity. Was this one of the young men Imogen had alluded to, a past dalliance of Maeve’s?
Come to think of it, wasn’t the name Collin Kenny familiar…?
The children were just starting to get restless when a woman appeared over the rise of the nearest hill. As she drew closer, Soren realized he recognized her. It was—
“Neomi Ahearn, hello!” called Maeve, waving to the woman.
Neomi, Imogen’s younger sister, the one who now worked the Ahearn farm with her husband. Collin. Yes, it was all coming back.
Soren had only ever met Neomi, her husband uninterested in getting to know his sister-in-law’s new family. As Imogen’s sister approached, Soren saw his own unease reflected in Neomi’s expression.
Pretty face pinched, Neomi quickly strode to stand beside her husband, wrapping her arms around one of his.
“Imogen said you were back,” Neomi said to Maeve, far less enthusiastic than Collin had been.
Maeve looked between the pair, her brows rising. “Are you two…?”
“Married? Yes, going on three years now.” Neomi frowned up at Collin. “You didn’t say?”
“I was about to,” he reassured her.
Neomi held onto Collin’s arm tighter, her face strained as she tried to smile politely. Maeve’s own expression had cooled, even though her cheeks burned bright pink.
An awkward silence stretched, one that had even Soren wanting to fidget. Come away, he begged her. Come back.
Looking between Maeve and Collin, Neomi declared, “It’s time for luncheon.”
“Right…” her husband agreed sheepishly.
“We should be getting the children back, too,” said Maeve, already moving away from the fence. “It was good to see you both!”
“Don’t be a stranger!” Collin called after her, to which Maeve merely waved—and Neomi glared.
All the children greeted Maeve with wide, curious eyes. She met them with a forced smile, the good mood from before gone. “Off we go!” she said. “Lunchtime!”
When she met Soren’s gaze, it was with an imploring sort of look. Get us out of here.
Gladly.
Clearing his throat, Soren began to sing the lunchtime song. Remembering their growling bellies, the children gleefully joined in, filling the early afternoon with their off-key notes.
It was for the best Soren was at the front; otherwise, all he would’ve done was stare in concern at Maeve. And then she surely would’ve noticed all his noticing.
Swallowing down his grumble, Soren cast his mind to figuring out how to put the sparkle back in her eyes—while his turuk plotted how to pluck out Collin Kenny’s.