Page 55 of An Enchanted Spring
And there was the crux of her problem. She stared out the window, more confused than ever. Never had she been involved in such a complicated non-relationship.
Drawing a blanket around her shoulders, Emma carefully unlatched the window and pushed it open. The air whooshed in, and the strands of her hair danced on the wind. She closed her eyes and drew in a strengthening breath.
She had no idea what to do next. She had foolishly opened an emotional door, and while Aidan wasn’t forcing it to remain open, he certainly was refusing to let it slam shut.
Her life was a mess.
A quiet voice caught her attention, and she craned her neck to find its source. Directly below her window, the back door opened, a shaft of yellow light spilling onto the vegetable garden. A shadow appeared, growing smaller as Aidan walked out, ending a call on his phone. He tossed it onto the tiny bistro table on the patio, then drew the sword he’d bought at the auction from its scabbard at his side.
She didn’t realize he brought it with them.
Emma held her breath as he examined it, the steel flashing in the moonlight. He inspected every inch of it, from the hilt to the tip, and then he sat down in the grass, the sword across his lap, a box next to him.
Emma cocked her head, wondering what he was doing. When he pulled out a long metal file from the box, she was intrigued. He slowly dragged the file over first one, then the other edge of the blade, carefully and methodically wiping the metal after each stroke of the file.
He’s restoring it, she realized. She assumed he would get aprofessional to do that; after all, he paid a hefty sum to possess it. Why take a chance and ruin it?
He pulled a small glass bottle and a large, rectangular stone from the box. He tipped the bottle and a shiny liquid poured into his hand. He smoothed it over the stone, then wiped his hand on the grass and picked up his sword again. He dragged the blade against the stone, wiped it, then repeated the motion.
Her eyes almost popped out of her head when she finally understood how he was restoring the blade.
He was sharpening his sword—using a file, oil, and a whetstone. The same way they did in the Middle Ages.
She watched, fascinated, as he rhythmically rubbed the edge of the blade down the stone. He paid particular attention to the tip, honing it to a fine point, then carefully flipped the sword over and repeated the sharpening on the opposite edge. After long minutes, he inspected his work, packed up his supplies, and headed back inside.
Emma stepped back from the window, more confused than ever. Aidan had spent over a half hour performing a medieval task like he’d been doing it the whole of his life. He could also expertly dress himself in an authentic léine, and he fluently spoke an almost unknown form of Gaelic.
The man had so many mysterious layers wrapped around him, Emma wondered if she’d ever know the real Aidan MacWilliam.
Don’t get involved.She closed the window and climbed back into bed, even more confused than when she’d rolled out of it.Your life is too complicated. Adding a relationship—especially with Aidan—would make it even worse.
She knew she was right. But she didn’t understand why she felt so compelled to ignore herself.
It had been a full,blissful month of sightseeing.
Aidan drove her, without complaint, around the beautiful island. Emma kissed the Blarney Stone, danced after hours in Irish pubs, and roamed the ancient streets of Dublin. She wandered through Bunratty Castle, listening to the tour guide spout interesting facts in one ear while trying to shush Aidan’s constant commentary in the other.
Even though the tour guide talked mostly about life in the 1800s, he did speak often about medieval life. Aidan didn’t agree with the man on most things about that; apparently his love of the time period extended further than antiquities. Emma was impressed by the number of times Aidan quietly corrected the “facts”—and she wondered what his sources were. She’d love to get her hands on whatever books he clearly read.
She stood in slack-jawed wonder at the Book of Kells, she wandered the grounds of Trinity College, and she meandered across the beautiful, many-hued green fields of Tipperary.
And with each day, she fell a little bit more in love with Ireland…and Aidan MacWilliam.
He made it easy, of course. His words were always followed by action. Are you chilled, Emmaline?He handed her a stunning Aran sweater from the Blarney Mills.Who knows when you’ll return to this castle, lass. Go ahead and have another run up those stairs. I’ll be right behind you.He caught her as she tripped—again—on the uneven stairs at Dunguaire Castle.I’ve arranged a private viewing of the Book of Kells. I thought you might fancy a few hours with it.He sat quietly at one of the tables in the famous Long Room, surrounded by thousands of manuscripts, patiently waiting for her to go through a selection of pages with one of the staff members.
The man was chivalry personified.
But he made no move to kiss her. He held her hand as they walked from place to place. He even held her hand as they drove across the country and back again. He rubbeddistracting circles with his thumb, tracing the sensitive parts of her hand, making her hum with pleasure as she worked on documents for the launch of Celtic Connections in the UK and Ireland.
But still, he didn’t kiss her.
Maybe, she thought more than once, and more than a bit ruefully, she had been a littletoosuccessful in her speech, back when they first arrived.
As spring slowly turned toward summer, Emma saw more of Ireland than she ever hoped to in her lifetime. Every new place was more beautiful than the last, and she was hard-pressed to think of going back to the States.
Ever.
“I vow to you, he insisted,”Aidan said, resisting the childish urge to roll his eyes.
