Page 45 of Song of the Dark Wood

Conor laughed bitterly. “Don’t they have eyes? What exactly would I find displeasing?”

Anytime Conor didn’t take a Maiden immediately, the village buzzed with speculation that it was because she’d been with someone else. He should have anticipated it would be no different with Rowan.

He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Demon’s breath! This girl is going to be the death of me.”

Charlie clapped a hand on his shoulder and laughed as he passed him, disappearing up the stairs to the keep.

A breeze blew down the trail from the Dark Wood, carrying Rowan’s sweet scent like an omen. Her voice rose over the rustling of branches and leaves as she rounded the curve in the trail.

She made her way to the gates and knelt. Conor took care of crossing the spirits as she waited before helping her to her feet and walking her inside.

“I’d like to stay for the night if that’s okay. It was a hard week,” she said, her bright eyes full of apprehension. She slipped into this meek mask when it suited her, only to lose it the moment her temper stirred to life. He wanted to know which version of her was real and which was the disguise.

Declining her request would have been wise. It was the absolute worst idea to let her stay. It was idiotic, but he wanted to see what she would do. Her presence was the last thing he needed, with so much coming to a head at once, especially after he’d vowed to keep his distance. The blight was prolific. Conor needed to focus on how the town reacted—not on a Maiden prowling around his halls. Still, he couldn’t handle any surprises down the line.

“Fine. I’ll have Charlie get your room ready.”

More than anything, he wanted to know why she was so keen to stay. He wanted to get to the bottom of her scheme.

It had been years since a Red Maiden had asked to stay so soon after starting her tenure for anything other thanbad weather. Evelyn, the Maiden before Orla, had been a bit infatuated with Conor and sometimes stayed for a few days at a time. Orla typically spent hours in the keep but rarely stayed beyond sunrise unless there were storms.

Yet Rowan was comfortable enough to stay on her third trek. He couldn’t tell if she actually wanted to stay with him or if she simply didn’t want to go back to Ballybrine. The elders were exhausting, and Orla had often complained about how the townsfolk treated her like an object. His keep might have been grim, but it was likely better than what she was used to.

Rowan trembled as they made their way into the keep. Was she just cold? He couldn’t tell. She seemed more anxious than last time.

Instead of bringing her to the sitting room as usual, he nodded down the corridor.

“Go on, have at it. I know you want to explore,” he said, taking her cloak to place it in the hall closet.

Rowan’s gaze lingered on the closet door, and she shivered in the darkness. Her face was inscrutable as she turned back to the candlelit hallway.

He let her lead the way, trying not to watch the way the white silk of her dress shimmered in the flickering light, or the way it clung to her backside. She explored tentatively until she realized he was giving her freedom to explore the whole western wing of his home.

Rowan wandered the halls like a lovely specter. He followed after her as she peeked into rooms until she found the library and stood in awe at the center of the room.

“I’ve never seen so many books,” she breathed. She turned to face Conor, her eyes bright with joy. All of her earlier nervousness evaporated and he had the distinct feeling he was looking at the real Rowan. “Can I borrow one?”

Conor nodded. “Of course. There’s not much else to do here, and that’s why my collection is so extensive.”

Rowan reached out to touch a book but stopped suddenly and drew her hand back as if burned.

“They don’t bite,” he teased.

She blushed. “Sorry. We don’t have many books at Maiden’s Tower, and the ones we do are mostly boring old scripture, and they’re so delicate. We get scolded constantly to be careful, and we need permission before we take something.”

She turned to face him, and his gaze instantly trailed down the column of her neck to the swell of her breasts beneath the fine white silk. She froze like prey caught in the sight of a predator. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around her center. Then, as if catching herself showing vulnerability, she forced her arms to her sides and rolled her shoulders back, standing up straight.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

She chewed her lower lip. The maddening habit brought all of his focus to her mouth.

“I’m trying to be…desirable.” She blushed, clearly mortified that she had to explain.

Conor bit back a smile. “That’s not something you can try to be. You either are, or you aren’t.”

She swallowed hard, evident doubt tugging her smile into a frown. “And I’m not?”

“Not when you’re trying,” he said thickly.

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