Chapter Ten
Angry Kisses, Angry Words
Over the next week, we slipped into something of a routine.
I would wake to Caelan sliding out from the warmth of the blankets and into the cold blue light of the imminent dawn.
I’d watch between slow, sleepy blinks as he sat on the edge of the bed, clinging to consciousness just long enough to enjoy the rippling ropes of muscle in his back when he stretched.
I would doze on and off as he moved quietly about the room, but my eyes would fall shut by the time he finally leaned over the bed to brush a kiss to my forehead.
That first morning, the tenderness of it took me by surprise.
So much so that I could do nothing but lie there with my eyes closed.
Even if we both knew that I had felt it by the brightening glow beneath the covers, neither of us acknowledged it.
All the same, I found myself waiting for that kiss every morning after; and it always came.
When I would wake again some time later, my chest would be warm as the golden light of dawn that split my curtains.
And I would rise and see to my duties, just as Caelan saw to his.
Within the walls of my room, the unspoken, fragile thing unfurling between was given room to grow and thrive, warmer and brighter day by day.
It was a stolen sliver of contentment to us both – because outside those walls was another story altogether.
Outside those walls, the days were so very long.
“You’d have made a fine barkeep in another life.”
It was a throwaway comment I’d made at the end of one such long day; sleepy, meaningless chatter after endless hours on my feet.
I spoke over my shoulder as I locked the tavern door, and Caelan glanced up from the table, where he’d been diligently wiping up water rings and cracker crumbs. His beard bristled wryly at my comment.
“Oh?”
He straightened and flipped the cloth in his grip over one shoulder, then planted his hands squarely on his hips. His dark brow waggled as he held the grand pose for my approval.
“Certainly look the part, eh?”
Sorcha laughed good-naturedly from behind the bar, but I only spared him a raised brow that said it was far too late in the day for his antics.
I’m not sure either of us were convinced.
My lips were pursed against a smile as I crossed to the next table and resumed loading used pint glasses into a half-full crate.
“No?” Caelan let his brow fall and furrow, feigning dismay. “Damn. What is it? Too handsome?”
I tried to scoff, but a warm swell of Flame burst in my chest, forcing out a giggle instead. Gods, a giggle. When was the last time I’d made a sound like that?
Caelan just grinned his sharp, beaming grin, but I could feel Sorcha’s eyes boring into my back, and when I threw a reluctant glance over my shoulder I found her smirking at me from where she stood polishing the clean glasses.
She knew nothing of what had happened between Caelan and I, but from the look on her face she certainly seemed to think she did.
Smitten, she mouthed.
My face promptly flushed, and I was forcefully reminded of my fourteenth summer, when Magnus had discovered my crush on a travelling bard and become absolutely merciless in his teasing. I’d giggled a lot then, too.
I widened my eyes at her, imploring her to shush even though she’d said nothing aloud. Thankfully, Caelan was oblivious, already having moved on to the next table.
“Might have liked to own a tavern,” he mused. “In another life.”
Sorcha set down the glass she was polishing. “You would?”
“You know the old saying,” Caelan called back to her with a sly grin.
“Islemen are born with as much whiskey in their veins as blood.
We were made to play the wise old barkeep.
Pouring crisp pints, breaking up fights, dishing out sage advice to bright-eyed young travellers.
I'd be surprised if there's an Isleman who hasn't dreamed of settling down in a quiet little pub.”
“You have dreamed of settling down in a quiet little pub.”
The disbelief in my voice was thick enough that Caelan gave a bark of laughter.
“Why do you both sound so surprised?”
I was surprised – and a quick glance at Sorcha confirmed that she was, too.
Caelan had been something of a dark cloud over The Mage and Rose for the past few days – not that I’d tell him that.
And, truthfully, not that I blamed him either.
It was an open secret that the hunt was not going well, but had there been a single soul unaware of the fruitless efforts of the Kingsmen, they might have guessed by the storm on the Captain’s face when he returned from his shift every day.
He wouldn’t talk about it; couldn’t, he said, while the investigation was still underway.
But after he’d briefed the evening platoon, he would sit in a corner for most of the afternoon, nursing a single glass of whiskey and waiting.
Waiting for me, I quickly caught on. And indeed, when the last of the patrons slowly trickled out the door, and Sorcha and I began closing up, Caelan would hop to his feet with renewed spirit, bright and smiling for the first time in hours.
I would be lying if I said it hadn’t become the best part of my own day, too.
“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” I finally answered. “Playing barkeep at closing time does seem to brighten your day.”
Sorcha gave the slightest nod, approving of my diplomacy as though I might have bluntly pointed out how he seemed to like the tavern best when it was empty. I raised a brow at her.
I can be tactful.
Caelan watched our wordless exchange with a bemused expression, but when he turned to face me again, his eyes held that familiar warmth that made my Flame spread in my chest like melted butter.
“Closing time does brighten my day,” he agreed. He let the implication hang between us, and I heard the words as though he’d spoken them aloud. It’s not because I get to play barkeep.
Clearly, Sorcha heard the same thing.
“Well,” she said, with a rather unsubtle clap of her hands. “I’d best get the dishes done. Early start tomorrow.”
Sorcha gestured briskly for the crate, and I tried not to look too eager as I crossed the tavern to hand it off.
When I met her at the end of the bar, she swept it up in her arms and moved swiftly towards the kitchen; I could feel Caelan behind me before the door had even swung shut after her.
His hands were warm on my waist as he found the tie of my apron, loosening it and setting it down on the counter before he tugged me against him, his chest to my back.
“S’pose that means you’re done for the night,” he said in my ear, low and sultry. The words rumbled pleasantly against my back, and a shiver rolled down my spine as though chasing the sound of his voice. “Tired?”
“That depends.”
“On?”
“Well, am I still in danger?”
I turned in his arms, a teasing smile already playing at my lips as I wove my arms over his shoulders. “Do you intend to guard my room tonight, Captain?”
He laughed, soft as a breath. “Oh, is that what I’ve been doing?”
I meant to echo his laughter, but was surprised to find myself hesitating. My silence stretched too long, breaking the easy rhythm of this well-rehearsed dance that inevitably ended in my bed.
“Isn’t it?”
Caelan stiffened, and I knew in that moment we’d both caught the unexpected tension in those two short words.
His smile slipped, tugging my heart down with it.
Up to that point, I wasn’t sure I’d even been aware of the little seed of doubt nestled beneath my Flame.
It was insidious; tendrils creeping like weeds over my heart, somehow impervious to the burning heat of my magic.
But now that my insecurity hung between us it seemed suddenly glaring.
It outshined the warm glow of my Flame for just a moment, and the light I'd been casting drew in tight, leaving only cold, draughty air between us.
Understanding crossed Caelan’s features, so tender and knowing that for a split second I felt the impulse to draw back as my Flame had done. He read me as easily as ever. Caelan caught at my arm before I could move, and cupped my jaw, leaning in so his lips hovered over my own.
“Hunt or no hunt,” he said slowly, eyes on mine to make sure I was hearing every word. “Sleep or no sleep; I’ll lay beside you every night you'll allow it.”
Warmth spilled through me in a rush, my Flame making up for its brief absence with a golden glow so fierce that it burned up my breath and flushed my cheeks to the point of pain.
A meek little Alright was all I could manage – but even that was muffled beneath Caelan’s earnest, bruising kiss. When he finally took me to bed, there was indeed no sleep.
???
At the dawn of the following week, Sorcha took a much needed trip to the market for vegetables and came back grey-faced, frightened, and with a notable lack of potatoes.
The McAlpine’s stall had been shut down, and the word among the other vendors was that Johnny McAlpine had not been seen in several days.
Caelan’s platoon had still not returned by the time Brennan herded his own men out the door.
When the Captain finally arrived, it was with a sobbing, hysterical Ciara McAlpine in tow.
She clung to his arm as though it was the only thing keeping her upright as he guided her through the door, and my endlessly unreasonable Flame gave an angry little hiss at the sight.
I ignored it and hurried around the bar to meet them.
“Ciara?”
“M-m-my,” she gasped raggedly, clutching Caelan’s arm so tight her knuckles were bleached against the steel of his armour. “My father.”
I reached out to smooth a strawberry lock of hair back from her soaked cheek, and she turned immediately to stumble from the Captain’s grasp into my own. I staggered a little under the unexpected weight, but Caelan was quick to steady me.
“I know, love, I know,” I said, in between gentle shushing. “How long has he been missing?”