Page 143 of Flirting with Darkness

With that in mind, I spoke my side of our bargain—being his wife for a year and a day, owing him a favour. Why had I agreed to that? It seemed so stupid now.

But then my fingertips found the stitched oak leaves running down the front of my cloak.

Ariadne. That was thewhyfor all of this.

“And now we seal our bargain.” He nodded, expression solemn. “It is so.”

I’d heard those words in stories, in druid rituals, and when Ari sewed her spells. Words of power. Words of binding. Words that would tie me to him.

“It is so.”

With a long exhale, his shoulders sank. “There. It’s done. You’re safe.”

Was thatreliefon his face? But just as I squinted up at him, he turned and circled the altar.

“Come. We still have ground to make before setting up camp.”

I hurried after him—aftermy husband. That wasn’t going to feel normal any time soon. “Where are we going?”

He scratched his beard, nose wrinkling as his fingers dug into its thickness. “I said I’d help you find your friend.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“It’s the only answer you’re getting. Save your breath for walking.” With that, his pace sped, and I had to lengthen my stride to keep up.

He wasn’t the most talkative person, but this caginess now we were bound by a bargain made the back of my neck prickle.

A bargain where I owed him an undetermined favour, no less. Had the flowers been a glimpse of a thoughtful man beneath the coarse exterior or just a ploy to lull me into compliance?

With sodding bluebells in my hair, had I just made a terrible mistake?

* * *

As we trudged on into the afternoon, I turned over his every word, looking for untruths and loopholes. We ate as we walked—I shared my bread and he produced cheese and cured ham from his bag. He continued his punishing pace, swallowing up ground. Just as he’d said, I had no breath for talking.

After lunch, he chewed mint leaves and offered me some from a pouch. That explained the smell on his breath. They looked freshly picked, even though I hadn’t seen a single mint plant on our journey. I accepted and nibbled on one as we went, the flavour exploding across my tongue, making me jolt upright. It was as though it zinged through my muscles, but mint didn’tdothat.

As the sun sank and the sky blazed, he took us to a spot in the shade of a huge boulder and untied a canvas roll from the side of his backpack.

My shoulders sagged and my legs burned, but I tried to find some strength to help pitch a tent.

Except when he unrolled the canvas onto a bed of heather, it sprang up with apop, a perfectly formed, albeit small tent with a pitched roof.

“Get in before darkness comes.” With that, he ducked inside.

Was that it? No campfire? My stomach growled its annoyance. And no dinner?

I ate the last of my bread before following.

A pair of dim fae lights floated near the ceiling, casting the interior in a silvery glow. Already on his back, eyes closed, hands pillowed under his head, Faolán took up most of the tent. Clearly it was only designed for one person, but he’d crowded against the wall, leaving me space and a neatly folded blanket with a pillow stacked on top.

Crawling into that spot, I found a thick, slate grey rug formed a springy floor over the heather—better than the hard ground. Even as I jostled across it, making him bounce, he didn’t stir.

Was he already asleep?

His chest rose and fell, long and slow. His brows weren’t pulled low over his eyes for a change. There was no glint that said he peeked out through his dark lashes.

Instant sleep. Was that a fae trick or did he just fall asleep that quickly? Then again, walking all day had to tire him out the same as it did a human. Right?

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