Chapter 8
Imogen wasn’t as surprised when, the next morning, Shadow’s ears perked up, his bright amber eyes shifting toward the door before the knock came. She was a little more ready for it this time, even if her nerves were still frazzled from yesterday.
The boisterous manticores had left before suppertime, calling out loud farewells. Balar had lingered, promising to return on the morrow, and Kiriken had to be pulled away from one last game of fetch with Shadow.
Imogen had spent the remainder of her night quietly, listening for any sound of their return.
Heart in her throat, she jumped at every breeze stirring the leaves and each squirrel that ran across her roof.
By the time she climbed into bed, she couldn’t decide if she wanted them to come back, just to put her out of her miserable expectation.
Still, after the strain on her nerves all day, she’d slept well. So she wasn’t quite grumpy when she answered the door, nor was she as surprised.
Although, she had to admit, she was pleased to see he was alone today.
Kiriken, it seemed, had been right.
Balar stood there a step back from her threshold, fists on his hips, shoulders back, smiling brightly. “Good morning to you, Miss Imogen. I trust you are well today?”
“Well enough.” Nodding over his shoulder, she had to confirm, “Just you today?”
“Just me,” he laughed. “Even my hardy brothers found your mulch pile terrifying. They’re all still fast asleep.”
Biting back her grin, Imogen said, “The goats wake early, and so do I.”
“I find the morning air invigorating,” he declared.
Not knowing quite what to say, Imogen watched as the conversation lapsed. They were left to blink expectantly at the other for a few moments too long.
Clearing her throat, she told him, “I’m due back at the Brádaighs’ today. So…no work.”
“Very good. Then I shall escort you and your charges there, yes?” It wasn’t really a question or request, so Imogen merely pulled her thick wool shawl off its peg and joined him outside.
That was how they added a manticore to their little parade.
Balar walked amiably alongside her as they led the way, Shadow bounding happily between them.
The goats seemed excited, knowing that an early morning trek meant interesting eats to come.
The only one not pleased by the turn of events was Chestnut, who still didn’t like Balar and tried to nip him every chance she got.
Oh, and Imogen, of course. She wasn’t unhappy per se, just…unsure.
Once again, he dominated the conversation and she let him.
He just had so much to say and seemed more than happy to say it.
He told her of the early days of their coming to the Darrowlands, how they’d camped on the Brádaigh estate, blundering their way through learning Eirean and miserable in the unfamiliarly cold winter.
He was full of horrible stories of ill-timed molting and nose-running head colds, all of which made him laugh raucously and Imogen shudder.
“Thankfully, though, the molt meant our feathers were new and pristine by spring—ready to show off to females.” He turned to wink at her. “We’ve found that no matter the kind, females find wings fetching.”
“I’m sure they’re absolutely droll to harpies,” she couldn’t help quipping.
“Ah ha! You’d be wrong—harpies are the most taken by them. Their males are even more vain about their feathers than we mantii are.” Smoothing a paw over his whiskers, he chuckled to himself. “Several of them have found Akila’s wings very fetching indeed.”
Imogen peeked at him out of the corner of her eye to find him positively twinkling at her.
Flushing, she nodded, rolling her wrist to tell him to go on.
Everyone loved a bit of gossip, even if they said they didn’t.
Imogen had spent many afternoons listening to Neomi regale her with all the gossip from Granach and the surrounding villages.
As a hermit herself, Imogen had no use for it, but it was always interesting to hear.
Lips curling, Balar filled the rest of their walk with all the best gossip from his otherly village.
For a group as piecemeal as theirs, and so newly formed, they’d already amassed a great deal of drama and gossip.
She supposed that was to be expected with the melding of so many cultures; misunderstandings were bound to happen.
They were making do though, and Imogen had to bite her cheek to keep from giggling to hear about all the antics that went on in the name of courting and mating.
It seemed most everyone in the otherly village was of a similar mind to Balar and his brothers. Human mates were the goal of many, and more than a few had already succeeded.
It was that first success who greeted them at the Brádaigh estate—Sorcha waving to them from where she stood with Orek in the central courtyard. The couple met them with warm greetings, Balar and Orek shaking hands heartily.
“You found each other, I see,” said Sorcha. Her smile was wide, but her eyes were sharp as she looked between Imogen and Balar.
“It wounds me to think you didn’t believe in my abilities, Miss Sorcha,” the manticore replied smoothly, paw over his heart. “We mantii are superior hunters.”
“I suppose so! You’ve been promising you’d find your mate for a long time now.”
“Indeed, and now I have!” Smiling down at Imogen, he extended a wing to mantle just above her shoulders. “We are courting.”
Sorcha’s brows arched, and she turned to look at Imogen.
For her part, Imogen watched the horses coming and going from the stables, tugging her hair lower over her face.
Touching her husband’s shoulder, Sorcha suggested, “Orek, my love, why don’t you show Balar your new project while I take Imogen to the east fields?”
“I know the way,” Imogen muttered.
“I’ll stay with Imogen,” declared Balar.
“What project?” Orek asked.
Visibly holding back her wince, Sorcha insisted, “You know. Your new one—with Connor?”
Grinning stiffly, Orek nodded, even though it was clear he hadn’t the faintest idea what he was agreeing to. “Yes…in the woodshop. We’ve been…working.”
Clapping her hands together, Sorcha waved the men away, and smooth as could be, hustled Imogen off in the opposite direction. It happened so quickly, Imogen’s head spun.
Peeking over her shoulder, she found Balar looking over his at her, a baffled expression writ across his face.
“Sorry for the heavy hand,” Sorcha said, offering Imogen a small pat on the shoulder. She knew Imogen preferred not to be touched much. “I wanted to get you away for at least a moment.”
Imogen nodded, understanding Sorcha, as the eldest of seven, had always been like this. A carer, protector. Used to managing many.
They walked in companionable silence to the last of the fields Imogen’s herd was set to weed. The quiet offered Imogen a valuable few moments to compose herself and prepare for the questions she knew were coming.
Unfortunately, she didn’t have many answers.
As Sorcha opened the wooden gate, Imogen and Shadow drove the goats into the fenced field. With cheery bleats and an imperious Chestnut bringing up the rear, the goats hurried into the overgrown field, rushing to claim the choicest bits.
It wasn’t until the gate was closed and both women stood at the fence that Sorcha asked, “Has he been behaving himself?”
“He’s…large. And loud.”
Sorcha huffed a laugh. “He is.”
“And his brothers are just as large and louder.”
Sorcha grimaced. “Met all of them already, have you?”
“They worked on my land all day yesterday.” When Sorcha made an incredulous sound, Imogen explained a little more, describing the surreal day. “They…wanted to get a good look at me.”
“Most likely. They’ve all made quite a bit of noise about wanting to find mates.
Word is they’ve thoroughly searched every pub from here to Mullon and back.
” Sorcha snickered to herself before looking at Imogen with horror.
“I-I mean, some more than others. Everyone always talks about how noble and polite Balar is. I’m sure he hasn’t… ”
Imogen shrugged. It wasn’t really any of her business what he’d done before they met. It was entirely his business if he wanted to search for a mate in every bed from here to Gleanná. In fact, it wasn’t even really Imogen’s business now.
But then…why was she so annoyed thinking about him flirting with some pretty barmaid in Granach?
Clearing her throat, Sorcha pressed on. “Well, in any case, I’m sure it’s a lot all at once. I just wanted to see how you’re getting on with the idea. And him.”
“He seems set on the idea.”
“Everyone knows how much he’s been wanting a mate,” said Sorcha.
“There are more than a few women who’ve hoped for years it’d be them.
But word is already spreading about you, I’m afraid.
He came here more than once asking about you.
Many will be more than pleased for him that it’s finally happened. ”
That burning in her chest traveled up her throat, and Imogen clenched her jaw hard against the sudden sting of tears.
Good for Balar, finally finding his mate. Too bad about her face.
And good for Imogen, too. Found someone finally. Too bad the fates chose, not him.
“So I should go along with it? Because he’s wanted it badly enough?” The questions were as irrational as her thoughts, but still they slipped out into being, not to be drawn back.
Although she didn’t dare look Sorcha’s way, she could feel the woman’s frown. “Absolutely not. You get a say in this, too.”
“Do I? This mate business sounds quite final for them.”
“For them, maybe.” Sorcha sighed. “They know it’s different for humans.”
“I don’t need the town coming with torches and pitchforks if I say no.”
Sorcha nudged Imogen’s shoulder with her own. “They couldn’t anyway. No one knows where you live exactly.”
She appreciated the try at humor, and while it did loosen the tightest knot of Imogen’s trepidation, it felt as though nothing could stabilize the shaky ground she now tread.
“I think I understand what you’re saying,” Sorcha said gently. “No one would fault you for being uncertain. And most would understand if you ended up deciding you don’t want this. But if that’s your choice, you must tell him, before any bond takes root.”
Imogen nearly choked on her dry throat. “Bond?”
“Mm. I’m not entirely sure how it works for manticores, but orcs at least form a strong bond with their chosen mate. It’s deeper than love. They’re tied to that person irrevocably.”
“And they feel that strongly the moment they see their mate?” A cold pit of dread opened up in Imogen’s gut.
“No, not for orcs, at least. There’s some element of choice in the matter, as well as time for the bond to grow.
It’s different for each individual, of course, but once it’s set, it’s there for life.
From what I’ve heard Balar and the others say, the manticores seem similar.
Not as quick as it is for fae, but still, a bond begins to form, and once it’s in place… ”
The thought of that beautiful long feather laying on her kitchen table had Imogen’s stomach churning.
They lapsed into silence, Imogen not daring to open her mouth to speak for fear only acidic sick and frantic tears would escape. Sorcha gave her the time and space, not speaking until Imogen had gotten several deep breaths in her lungs.
“Whatever you decide, my family and I support you. But whatever it is, you must tell him.”
Imogen shook her head. “I never…imagined having someone.” Especially not a big, loud, winged lion-man who came with four other big, loud, winged lion-men.
“Not at all? You didn’t hope to meet an eligible bachelor hermit?”
Imogen snorted. “The only one out there is Dermott.”
Sorcha made a gagging sound Imogen completely agreed with.
She needed to tell Sorcha about what Dermott had done, laying more traps outside his land. Sorcha’s father Sir Ciaran was on the town council of Granach, a body who’d warned Dermott not to trespass or set more illegal traps. It was a safer topic, but she just couldn’t seem to get her mouth to work.
A gentle hand came to rest on Imogen’s shoulder and squeezed. “Think on it. You don’t have to decide anything now. Having someone…it could be nice. I worry about you out there alone.”
“I have Chestnut. And Shadow.”
Reaching down to pat the faithful dog, Sorcha smiled. “Indeed you do. And you have me, and your sister, of course. It’s all right if that’s enough for you, but it couldn’t hurt to see what your life would be like with a few more people in it, either.”
“I don’t know…” Imogen hid behind her hair as she wiped at her damp eyes. “I’ve already had some growing pains with all the brothers.”
Sorcha laughed heartily. “Fates, yes, you’d have your hands full with all of them.”