Page 5 of The Witch's Rite
And almost bump right into a broad chest.
With a little squeak, I quickly right myself, careful not to spill any of the wine on my new dress. That would be a travesty after all the time I spent sewing it. When I look up, my heart catches.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Rowan says.
His long hair is loose and hanging around his shoulders, and he’s got his hands in his trouser pockets. Over the last couple months, I’ve seen him many times around the village, but he’s always in his gleaming knight armor, verdant eyes barely visible through the visor of his helmet. Now, though, he’s wearing a lightweight summer tunic and cotton trousers, and there’s nothing to break his intense gaze.
“H-hello,” I say.
I’m not sure what it is about this man that makes me so...tiny. Nerves flutter inside me every time he comes around, and it’s as if I forget what words are and how to string them into coherent sentences. Alden was so quiet when I met him that it was an uphill battle getting him to speak, but that’s certainly not the case with Rowan.
“Strawberry wine?” he asks, tilting his head at the mug in my hand. When I nod, he flashes me one of his brilliant white smiles. “And?”
I blink. “And . . . what?”
His laughter is easy, light. “And how is it?”
“Oh! Um...” I glance down into the mug, with its deep red wine and floating strawberries, and then lift it to my lips. The wine is sweet and strong, and as soon as I take a sip and it hits my belly, I start to giggle. I could probably get drunk on this in a second. “It’s delicious.” A wave of courage comes over me, and I hold the mug out. “Want to try?”
Rowan doesn’t hesitate. He accepts the mug, his slender fingers brushing mine as he takes it from my hand. My skin tingles from the contact, and I can’t stop myself from admiring the sharp angles of his clean-shaven jaw as he lifts the mug to his mouth and takes a deep swallow of the wine. Where Alden has rich brown skin, Rowan’s is pale, and it looks soft and smooth in the summer light. It makes me want to reach out to brush his cheek, to feel his skin against mine.
Blinking, he hands it back to me with a laugh. “It’s stronger than expected.”
Another wave of sweetness flows over my tongue when I put the mug to my lips, and like a silly schoolgirl, I get excited by the thought of my mouth touching the mug where Rowan’s lips were just a moment ago. The wine races down my throat and into my stomach, already making me feel lighter.
“Why didn’t you join the dance?” I ask, starting to find my voice with each sip of the sweet strawberry wine.
He tips his head, and a strand of silky red hair slips over his shoulder. “I’m not a very good dancer, I’m afraid.”
I arch a brow at him. “I don’t believe you.”
“Oh? What makes you say that?” His green eyes shine.
My gaze quickly sweeps up and down his frame. He’s got a broad chest, but his body is slim, his muscles lean rather than bulky. The sleeves of his tunic are rolled back, exposing his forearms and the sinewy muscle running just beneath his skin. Looking at him, I imagine he’s very comfortable moving hisbody, whether that’s through swordsmanship practice, a dance, or something... else.
I gulp another mouthful of wine down. Is it just me, or is it getting stronger? “Just a hunch.”
One of his russet eyebrows arches. It seems I’ve not convinced him.
A gentle weight settles onto my shoulders, a shadow falling over me, and I look up to find Alden standing there. Immediately, I worry that he’s going to be upset at me for speaking with Rowan, to get jealous, but it’s quite the opposite. He extends a hand to Rowan, saying, “You’re the knight who took Garland’s place, yeah?”
Rowan glances from Alden to me and then back. I can’t quite read the expression on his face. Confusion? Disappointment? Determination? A moment later, he places his hand in Alden’s. “That’s me. Rowan Highcliff.”
“Alden Stonewood.”
They exchange a firm handshake, and I can’t stop myself from admiring their strong forearms, maybe even wondering what it would be like to stand between them, one man on each side—
“The ceremony is about to start,” Alden says, tearing me from myveryquestionable daydream. There must be some sort of potion in this wine, because my head is swimming with thoughts that make me a bit warm between my legs.
“Ceremony?” I ask.
His lips turn up into a smile, and he glances into my mug, which is almost empty. Only a few strawberries still linger at the bottom.
Whoops.
“The handfasting ceremony. Are you ready?”
“Oh! Yes!”
