Page 3 of Mated to the Mad Marquess

“—there are plenty of birds to take me. Hundreds of species of finches alone. Hawks and black birds galore. The hawks took care of the snakes, you see.” Malcolm grasped the spear by its shaft and jerked it out of the earth. Mud flew. “Farmers are always complaining about the birds because they can’t keep the damn things out of their crops. Apparently, they can’t keep you out of them either,” he said, using his thumb to scrape dirt off the tip of the spear. It was recently sharpened, the wood oiled to a shine. He nearly cut himself because his hands were going as soft as the rest of him.

Her face appeared in the open window, and Solis gave out a little cheer that only Malcolm could hear. Black angular brows furrowed over velvety brown eyes and a nose that was small even with her nostrils flared. Winged Ones were short in stature. She’d fit nimbly through a window he’d never be able to squeeze his chest or shoulders into. Her frame was muscular, a warrior’s build.

“The land produces gifts from the divines. Taking of its fruits and vegetables is my right as a protector of these woods,” she said, jaw set. “You go now.”

Malcolm pointed the tip of the spear at her in a taunt. “I think I’ll stay on my own land, insidemywoods, a bit longer. I’m so enjoying your hospitality.” His tone was sardonic, but he meant his words. There was no place he’d rather stand than there with one of the Vanir.

She rolled her eyes. “Just like a lordling to believe he owns everything.”

“Lordling. Ha.” He hadn’t been called that in centuries. Looking her over more closely, Malcolm took in the top of the handmade clothing he could see over the sill. At the shoulder of her jerkin was a faded emblem burned into the leather, a set of wings over a bed of thorns. “You fought in the great war. For which side? Seelie or Unseelie?”

“Neither.” The sarcasm in her voice was so subtle, he nearly missed it. “I fought for the unicorns,” she teased. “It was my job to gather up all the soft lordlings that didn’t belong on the battlefield and drop them into pits full of snakes. That way the real warriors would not have to listen to them fuss.”

“An illustrious career, no doubt,” Malcolm said, mirth rumbling in his chest. Unicorns still existed in the Unseelie provinces to the south, but the beasts were about as intelligent as the other wild horses in the area. “I take it the war is where you learned to separate heads from shoulders?”

“And rip out hearts,” she said flatly.

“Still beating, of course.”

“They taste better that way.” Her lips quirked.

It had been unnecessary to wonder after he saw the emblem on her jerkin. The image likely represented a connection to the Thornbrush line and the Seelie queen. As a member of the Lunar Court, Malcolm held no allegiance toward either the Seelie or the Unseelie, but it said a lot to him that she chose to fight for a fae court that was at a disadvantage and losing for most of that war. Standing against the Unseelie and a tyrannical dragon king was not the action of a sell-sword. It was the choice of a woman with conviction.

The herbs and mushrooms caught his attention next. Both had been tended to with knowledge and care. “Why not trade with the groselings instead of taking from them? Those fae herbs aren’t anything they’ve probably ever seen before. Mushrooms are a pain to gather, useful in a deal.”

“They won’t trade with me,” Hrafn said, her tone softening. “They fear me.”

She has a point. She is rather terrifying,Solis said in his head.Of course, that’s why I like her.

“Labor is worth its weight in gode,” Malcolm said, trying his hand at an Olden parable.

Hrafn blinked at him. “Worth its weight in . . . goat?”

He barked out a laugh. “Apparently I’ve forgotten the Olden word for gold.”

“The Olden wordisgold.” Her jaw remained set but something gentled in her gaze. She climbed out the window, her great wings folding in around her. Her movements were slow and cautious, allowing the quiet to settle between them.

She landed soundlessly in the grass and rose to full height. Half Seelie, Malcolm wasn’t himself very tall, but he had several inches on the winged warrior woman.

“What am I to call you?” she asked, like she was relenting out of common courtesy.

“I prefer Malcolm to groseling, if you can manage it.”

“I don’t have gold, Malcolm,” she said, adding an extra vowel to his name in her antiquated accent. “The farmers scream and run away from me instead of talking. How would I trade my labor for theirs?”

Malcolm hoisted the spear, pointing the tip east. “That way is a small farm village called Reedlet. Vendors meet around the well every morning to exchange wares. Start there. You can get what you need without trespassing, and then the groselings will leave you in peace.”

She raised a brow at him. “Then willyouleave me in peace?”

Not a chance, Solis sniggered.

In answer, Malcolm readied the spear and threw it. Hrafn ducked, but she didn’t need to. Even out of practice, his aim was true, his muscles remembering their purpose. The spear struck the window frame just above her head with a loud thwack, embedding itself deep into the wood, a spear throw strong enough to impale an immortal to the wall.

Hrafn rose out of her crouch, the shaft of the weapon still thrumming above her. Her wings flexed, then spread in an impressive display of glossy black he couldn’t interpret. Then her brown eyes crinkled in the corners, gleaming with a light he recognized, confirming her stance wasn’t a threat. He imagined his gaze had looked the same as hers centuries ago, back when he was allowed to give in to his desire for adventure. A need he indulged before his parents died and he was left alone, strapped by duty to an estate he could never abandon.

He saw himself in her.

His heart squeezed in his chest. For a moment the loneliness and boredom that chased him so relentlessly lost its grip. He felt it then, a stirring beside his heart, the blooming bond awakening.

---