Page 85 of The Falconer

He leans in so close. ‘I never spoke the words to seal the vow.’

Before I can respond, he brushes his fingers across my temple. The overwhelming taste of honey and earth saturates my mouth and my eyes grow heavy. I try to fight it but I can’t. His power is too strong. Just before the emptiness takes me, he rests his cheek against my own. I think I hear him whisper.

‘I’m sorry.’

Chapter 27

The weather matches my mood as Dona and I walk quietly along George Street towards the modiste’s shop. My heavy green silk dress swishes and I squint up at the clouds from beneath my umbrella. Another cold, rainy winter day.

I can’t help but mentally curse Kiaran with every step. Damn him for his meddling, for rendering me unconscious when I was so close to killing Sorcha, for . . .everything. A dull headache pounds at my temples from his influence. I didn’t even wake up until noon and Dona had to rush to dress me for our appointment with the modiste.

Derrick perches on my shoulder, wings moving animatedly as he rants. ‘—comes into the room and you’re both soaking wet. Then sets you down on the bed – gently, I suppose, considering he’s a right bastard – and calmly tells me that he will speak with you later. When he comes by, can I pull out his entrails?’

I can’t help but laugh softly. Horseless carriages line the street and the traffic is heavy, still being diverted from Princes Street after the bridge disaster. I can’t believe it’s only been a few days since it happened. The street is lively with the sounds of steam engines purring, the laughter of ladies as they walk with gentlemen to their respective destinations. We stroll past the handsome white stone buildings with little hindrance, since people seem rather eager to step out of my way. They mustn’t be associated with a ruined lady, after all. My reputation won’t begin to recover until after I marry.

The residents of New Town are few in number, and everyone is either acquainted or known by reputation. Assuming one’s reputation does not resemble mine, people are usually quite friendly and make a habit of greeting each other as they pass.

‘Good day to you, Mr Blackwood,’ I say.

The young gentleman simply nods and strides past without stopping.

‘I suppose Mr Blackwood is in a hurry today,’ I tell Dona.

‘Why do we care about what these people think, anyway?’ Derrick mutters. ‘They’re idiots. But, if you want, I canmakethem say hello to you. I haven’t used my powers on anyone in a long time and now that I think of it, I rather miss it.’

‘Weshould be polite,’ I say pointedly through gritted teeth, though I don’t feel amiable at all.

‘Just being honest.’

Thankfully it isn’t much further to the modiste’s. I step into the shop and collapse my umbrella as I look around. The shop is warm and bright in comparison to the drab grey outside. Two velvet settees sit in the middle of the room, a tea service betwixt them already prepared. Beyond them are three mirrors framing a stool, where customers can view themselves from every angle. The wallpaper is a rich burgundy that matches the Persian carpet underneath the furniture.

Derrick snorts. ‘No honey with the tea? What kind of establishment is this?’

Above us float the globe lanterns that are so popular these days. One hums a bit too close to my face and I nudge it gently back up towards the ceiling.

‘Lady Aileana! I didn’t hear you come in.’

Miss Forsynth, the modiste, bustles out of the back room. An older woman, about one-and-fifty, Miss Forsynth is the premier modiste in Edinburgh and Father has called on her to design my wedding dress.

‘Good day, Miss Forsynth,’ I say. ‘Lovely to see you.’

‘Please have a seat, my lady. May I take your coat? It’s just us this afternoon.’

I remove the heavy, damp coat from around my shoulders and hand it to her along with my umbrella. She takes them to the cloakroom and returns with several swatches of fabric.

‘Now then, let me show you some ideas.’ Miss Forsynth sits next to me, clicking her tongue. ‘I do wish I had more time to prepare your dress. We could work up something so much more elegant if we had another month.’

I sip my tea. ‘I’m sorry about the rush.’

Smile. Nod. Be polite. Be proper Aileana, because proper Aileana apologises even when she doesn’t have to. She’s bland and dull andnice. I just have to survive the day without killing anyone.

Miss Forsynth pats my hand. ‘Oh, my dear, I dounderstand. After all, Lord Galloway is quite handsome, isn’t he? I can see why the hurry is necessary.’ She eyes me knowingly. Good heavens.

I put down my damned teacup before I break it. Derrick snickers at me. ‘No wonder you go out for a slaughter every night.’

Miss Forsynth picks up her swatches and hands them to me. ‘Now, as I was saying, I have some lovely fabric choices for your dress before I show you some designs. This –’ she holds up the one from the top of the pile ‘– is a delicate silk taffeta. Isn’t it just lovely?’

‘It’s hideous,’ Derrick says. ‘Next.’

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