Prologue #2
The whisky stung, burning its way down her throat, sharp enough to make her eyes flutter. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she gave back the bottle. He took it, grinning, and took a long swig himself.
“What waits for ye at home, then?” he asked, turning and wandering away.
For a moment, she thought he was leaving, until she realized where he was going. An old willow tree stood by the edge of the water, a quietly rushing stream that circled the field.
The willow tree’s fronds brushed the ground, forming a makeshift wall. He ducked beneath them and lowered himself onto the ground at the base of the tree. She followed him, hardly knowing what she was doing, and he wordlessly handed back the bottle.
“Me betrothed,” she said shortly.
He stiffened a little. “Congratulations.”
“Daenae congratulate me. This wedding isnae of me design.”
She sat heavily beside him. Too close. Their shoulders brushed together. He didn’t pull away, nor did she. The ground beneath her was pleasantly warm.
Closing her eyes, Daphne let her head fall back against the tree trunk. The bark scratched the back of her head, tugging on her braids.
“If ye daenae care for this marriage, why go through with it?”
She kept her eyes closed. His voice, warm and deep, drifted out of the darkness beside her.
“It’s complicated. I daenae want to talk about it tonight. That’s the beauty of the Festival. Ye get to forget, at least for a little while.”
He gave a tight smile. At least, she imagined he did, because she could hear it in his voice.
“Some come to remember, some come to forget, lass.”
“Is that why ye arenae wearing a mask?” She opened her eyes, turning to look at him.
He stared back. “Neither are ye.”
She shrugged. “Didnae see the point.”
He grunted.
For a moment, they sat side by side, passing the bottle between them. Daphne shook her head after a few gulps.
“I’ve had plenty. I daenae like to drink until I cannae stand up.”
“Very wise. I ken men with less sense than ye.”
Biting her lip, she eyed him thoughtfully. “Do ye ken the Wolf?”
He chuckled. “Aye, I’ve heard of him. Old myths. Real people are worse than stories, ye ken.”
She cleared her throat. “Are ye all right?”
“Hm? Oh, aye, I’m fine. Tonight’s just one of those nights when a person remembers their mistakes.”
He tilted back his head, resting it against the tree trunk. The moonlight streamed over his profile. Daphne found that she couldn’t tear her eyes away from him.
I shouldnae feel safe, she thought, swallowing. Nae here, in a lonely spot, with a stranger. I daenae even ken his name. We’re nae masked, but in the darkness, we might as well be. He probably looks completely different in the daylight.
Well, so do I.
“At least ye will live long enough to make mistakes,” she heard herself say.
He glanced at her, his eyebrows twitching. “What do ye mean by that?”
“I mean that if I stay here, I’ll end up married or dead. Neither of those fates sounds good to me.”
“Then daenae stay.”
She shifted uneasily. “I cannae go.”
“Why nae?”
She didn’t answer. It was the same question that had bounced around in her head for weeks now.
Go.
Cannae.
Why nae? Go.
“We always dreamt of falling in love,” she murmured drowsily. “Me and me sister, I mean. Nay chance of that now, for either of us.”
“What is yer sister’s name?”
“Ceana,” Daphne responded, then wondered uneasily if she shouldn’t have said that.
It didn’t matter now.
“The trick is,” he murmured, shifting so that he faced her halfway, “nae to trust anybody too much. They always fail ye.”
She eyed him for a long moment, then said, “I trust ye.”
He flinched, his eyes glinting in the moonlight. “Ye shouldnae.”
“Why nae? Ye protected me. Ye shared yer drink with me. Scared off those men.”
“We daenae ken each other.”
“I didnae say we did. I’m Daphne, by the way,” she added, feeling her cheeks flush.
He stared back at her, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure if he was going to offer his name or not.
“Hunter,” he said. “Me name is Hunter.”
“That’s a nice name.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Whichever man ye are going to wed is a lucky fellow.”
Her smile faded, and she glanced away. She thought she hid it well enough, turning and letting her hair slide over her shoulder. A moment later, his fingertip brushed the edge of her jaw.
“I’m sorry, lass,” he sighed. “I shouldnae have said that.”
“Nay, nay, it’s fine. I’m nae upset. Just… disoriented, I guess. Do ye ever look at yer life, and look at what’s right in front of ye, and find that ye daenae ken how it all got there?”
“Aye, I do. More often than nae.”
She glanced up, meeting his eyes. A frisson rolled through her, enough to make her draw in a sharp, confused breath.
What is this? I daenae understand what’s happening.
He didn’t look away. His hand lingered near her face, his skin warm against her cheek, and her heart fluttered in her chest.
He still didn’t look away. She lifted her hand, tentatively placing it on his.
I could be dead tomorrow. Or married. They’re almost the same thing. I’m alive tonight, though.
She surged upwards, the tension in her stomach coiling into desire. Their lips met clumsily, and she was fairly sure that their teeth clacked together.
“Sorry,” she stammered, sitting back down. “I only…”
He lunged forward. A warm, strong hand curled around the nape of her neck. His other hand landed on her waist, long fingers spanning her ribs. His lips pressed against hers, carefully but no less hungrily, just with a little more finesse than she’d managed.
So this is a proper kiss, she thought dizzily, winding her arms around his neck and tugging him against her, hard.
Heat surged through her, and when they broke apart to breathe, she gasped.
“Stay,” he breathed, his forehead resting against hers.
She inhaled deeply and smelled crushed grass and rainy earth.
“I will,” she responded, her voice wobbling.
Wind shivered through the willow fronds, making them shake and dance in the darkness, hiding them from prying eyes.
Daphne was grateful for that. One last bit of magic before it all ended.
She woke to a gentle, rhythmic thumping in her eyes. She lay still for a minute, her eyes closed, trying to work out why her bed felt so strange.
Memories flooded back. She remembered the story of the Wolf, the festival, and of course, Hunter.
He’s still here, she thought, with a jolt of surprise. She’d fully expected dawn to come and for her to wake up alone and cold.
Gingerly, she opened her eyes. She was lying with her head on Hunter’s chest. It was his heartbeat she could hear in her ears.
He lay on his back, his head propped up against the base of the trunk, sleeping soundly. Full daylight hadn’t yet arrived. She guessed that there was maybe an hour to go until dawn.
Gingerly, she sat up, bits of grass and dirt falling from her clothes. The willow fronds swished faintly in the breeze. Between the fronds, she could see that the light had taken on a bluish hue, a sure sign that proper daylight wasn’t far off.
I cannae stay, she thought, her heart sinking. She glanced down at him, watching his chest rise and fall. She briefly considered waking him up to say goodbye. It felt appropriate, after the intimacy they’d shared.
But then he might ask questions. He might not want her to go.
Or, worst of all, he might not care whether she stayed or left. That would hurt more.
Daphne carefully leaned forward and bent down, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He shifted in his sleep, but didn’t stir.
Nothing for it. No more excuses.
She clambered to her feet and tiptoed away. She wondered if her friends had noticed her disappearance. Probably not. With Marion married and Jeannie determined to get married, it seemed likely that they’d all drift apart over the years.
That doesnae matter. We had tonight, did we nae? Better than nothing.
With those insincere words echoing in her head, Daphne peered over her shoulder, squinting through the dark at where Hunter lay. A lump lodged in her throat.
She didn’t let herself look again. She slipped out between the willow fronds and didn’t look back.