Page 20 of The Witch's Rite
Mind already churning with ideas, I’m just turning to close the door when I spot bright red out in the trees. Pausing, I narrow my eyes. What could—
Oh.
It’s that knight, the one Aurora told me about.
Rowan Highcliff.
And he’s walking up the lane, red hair hanging loose like the mane of a wild stallion, looking very much like he’s come here with clear intent.
When he looks up and sees me standing in the doorway, however, the expression on his face shifts, and he comes to a standstill.
Neither of us says anything. I stand in the doorway, hand still on the door handle, and he stands in the sunlight just outside, squinting a bit as he looks up at me.
Suddenly, I’m picturing Aurora in his arms, his mouth on hers.
And I know this is going to take some getting used to.
“Uh, hello,” he finally says in way of breaking the silence.
“Afternoon.”
Greetings out of the way, we lapse into silence once more.
Rowan glances to his left, in the direction of the garden, and I can only assume he’s looking for Aurora.
“She’s not here,” I say, trying to keep the gruff edge out of my voice. If Aurora cares for this man, I’m going to at least put alittleeffort into not scaring him off.
He is a knight though. The likes of me shouldn’t ruffle his gleaming silver feathers.
“Oh.” He seems to deflate a little. “In that case, I’ll—”
“Would you like to come in?”
Shock spreads across his face, and I’m pretty surprised by the invitation myself. I didn’t used to let anyone into my home, butnow here I am, inviting another man into Aurora’s cottage while she’s not even here.
Not that she’ll mind. She’d probably be delighted to see the two of us crammed into the chairs at her tiny kitchen table, sipping tea from the floral teacups she’s so fond of.
The surprise on Rowan’s face slowly shifts to contemplation. He narrows his eyes—which are green, like Aurora’s—and then lets out a small sigh.
“All right.”
He doesn’t sound excited about it, and I can’t say I’m too fond of the idea either, but I did tell Aurora I was okay with this—the least I can do istry.
I step back, making room for Rowan in the narrow doorway, and he angles his body carefully so as to pass by without brushing me.
Seems the feeling is mutual, then.
When I close the door, the cottage gets quiet, and it feels a lot smaller than it usually does.
“The kitchen’s through there.” I point to the left, and Rowan nods once before moving in that direction. I follow after him, and when I step into the kitchen, Rowan is eyeing everything, his gaze sweeping across Aurora’s measuring spoons and baking goods, the tiny jars of herbs and spices crowding the shelves about the counter. “You like tea?”
His gaze flicks to mine, and he gives me a small nod.
“Take a seat.” I gesture to the table, and he obliges.
Aurora is usually the one to make us tea, and standing at the counter, staring at the twinkling glass jars adorning the shelves, I’m suddenly overwhelmed. I know she makes lavender tea—she always smells like lavender—but I don’t know what else she mixes in, if anything. Sometimes she tastes of marshmallow and licorice when I kiss her, but I certainly don’t trust myself to getthatmixture right. I’ll opt for something safe.
Reaching out, I pull two jars from the shelf, then turn to face the knight. He’s sitting straight and tall at the table, like he’s waiting for royalty to arrive rather than being served tea in a little cottage kitchen. The image almost makes me laugh, but I hold it back.
