Page 42 of Mated to the Mad Marquess

“I would like to go all the same. I’ve done it before. Visited when I was younger, then returned over a century later. Their descendants knew me, had heard stories about the Winged One.” Her face lit at the memory. “They called me sister. Some things had changed about them, but the important things I had come to cherish were still the same.”

“Like this bread,” he said with his mouth full. It was buttery and good. In all honesty, it could have been terrible, and he wouldn’t have minded. Mate gifts were precious, whatever they were. His heart thumped in his chest at the thought of being tended to, and the hairs on his arms stood at attention. The bread wasn’t terrible at all. It was perfect.

She’s perfect, Solis purred.

Malcolm was so hopelessly sentimental about the damn bread, he wanted to shake himself. Solis sighed contentedly.

“Roti,” she said. “That’s what they called it. It’s a recipe they learned from another people. Learning and passing on knowledge to others is a cornerstone of their faith. It’s one of the reasons I value them so highly. I want to learn new things, see new things, and they do too. Each time I visit, they have so much to show me. I can’t wait to see what they’ll teach me next.”

In a smaller bowl, Hrafn had prepared a tangy relish made of dried fruit. She removed the lid she’d used to keep it warm and showed it to him, allowing him to fill his senses with it.

“You’ve done excellently with the pap,” she told the shadows as she gathered the porridge from the hearth. The shadows puffed proudly and followed at her heels.

She motioned for Malcolm to fetch plates, and he obeyed, adding them to the growing clutter on the sideboard. She spooned the pap out generously on each dish, then piled the rustic vegetable stew on top. She added a dollop of the relish to the side with a surprising spoonful of yogurt.

He frowned at the tart cream.

“Trust me,” Hrafn said. “It’ll cool the spices on your tongue. You’re going to need it.”

He watched her eat. She tore free a piece of the bread, then mixed the relish with the beans and vegetables and the pap, scooping up the pooling sauce with a corner of roti. She shoved the bread-borne mixture into her mouth, and the little contented sounds she made had him sitting up straighter. He followed her steps. Malcolm ate the bread, which was so mild it soaked up the flavors perfectly.

His lips and tongue burned afterward. He cooled them with the yogurt. The meal delighted his tastebuds and his heart. After he downed his first plate, he asked for seconds.

“Shouldn’t you be eating with your guests?” she asked pointedly.

“Are you bothered by them now? You didn’t seem to be earlier,” he grumped, while she reloaded his plate. “But you should know, I didn’t bring those courtesans here to warm my bed. Weeks ago, they were invited to a house party to entertain my guests. After the attack on Reedlet, I forgot to cancel, and now their road home is barred by the monster and the animals it has poisoned with madness.”

“They entertain your guests?” She studied him over her lashes. “Notyou?”

“That’s right. Not that you were worried. Apparently, the bond doesn’t pull at you as ruthlessly as it does me. If I found you in the company of courtesans, and I thought you’d hired them to service you, I think someone would have to knock me unconscious to keep me from acting foolishly.”

You’re brooding again,Solis warned.

“I wasn’t so unaffected,” Hrafn confessed. “My thoughts ran away from me when I overheard who they were. I’m not bothered by their profession, of course, just their proximity to and familiarity with my mate. They’re lucky I’m as old as I am. A much younger Vanir would not have behaved so well.”

“Don’t say all that just to make me feel better, now,” he said gloomily. Solis snorted at him.

“I’mnot. I had thoughts,” she confessed with the casual air of someone reading an ad from the morning paper. “Violent notions I had to repress, and it wasn’t easy.”

He raised a brow at her archly. “Tell me more.”

“Well . . .” Hrafn dropped her fork and ran a finger mindlessly along the wooden edge of the sideboard, drawing it closer to where his hand rested. “As a start, I’d like to hurt anyone who smiles at you. But not just your friends. This is an ongoing phenomenon.”

Malcolm scooted his stool in closer to where she stood, wooden legs scraping the tile. “Do go on.”

“Anyone who touches you should be thrown into a pit of vipers then impaled on a spear. Serves them right.”

Malcolm’s brows lifted. “You flatter me.”

“And set on fire,” she cooed.

“Mm, even better.”

“How dare they touch what’s mine. And you . . .” Feeling crept into her voice. Leaning along the sideboard, she jerked on his cravat, pulling him in tight. Her breath caressed his lips. “For tolerating the smiles and touches of others, it may have occurred to me that I should rip your still beating heart out of your chest. I could hold it in the palm of my hand before your eyes, just to remind you who it actually belongs to.”

Malcolm touched his brow to hers, the base of his antlers bumping against her hair. “If that isn’t the most romantic thing a woman has ever said to me, may the stars fall from the sky right now.”

Her lips twitched. He loved the subtle sarcasm hidden under layers of intensity she wore like armor. Loved her system of honor, the way she fought, the way she cooked, the way she fucked. He related entirely to her desire to never hold still, to never stop learning. She made him want to keep moving himself, to never settle, never cease.

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