Page 21 of Changelings
Lips curling, Balar filled the rest of their walk with all the best gossip from his otherly village. For a group as piecemeal as theirs, and so newly formed, they’d already amassed a great deal of drama and gossip. She supposed that was to be expected with the melding of so many cultures; misunderstandings were bound to happen.
They were making do though, and Imogen had to bite her cheek to keep from giggling to hear about all the antics that went on in the name of courting and mating.
It seemed most everyone in the otherly village was of a similar mind to Balar and his brothers. Human mates were the goal of many, and more than a few had already succeeded.
It was that first success who greeted them at the Brádaigh estate—Sorcha waving to them from where she stood with Orek in the central courtyard. The couple met them with warm greetings, Balar and Orek shaking hands heartily.
“You found each other, I see,” said Sorcha. Her smile was wide, but her eyes were sharp as she looked between Imogen and Balar.
“It wounds me to think you didn’t believe in my abilities, Miss Sorcha,” the manticore replied smoothly, paw over his heart. “We mantii are superior hunters.”
“I suppose so! You’ve been promising you’d find your mate for a long time now.”
“Indeed, and now I have!” Smiling down at Imogen, he extended a wing to mantle just above her shoulders. “We are courting.”
Sorcha’s brows arched, and she turned to look at Imogen.
For her part, Imogen watched the horses coming and going from the stables, tugging her hair lower over her face.
Touching her husband’s shoulder, Sorcha suggested, “Orek, my love, why don’t you show Balar your new project while I take Imogen to the east fields?”
“I know the way,” Imogen muttered.
“I’ll stay with Imogen,” declared Balar.
“What project?” Orek asked.
Visibly holding back her wince, Sorcha insisted, “You know.Your new one—with Connor?”
Grinning stiffly, Orek nodded, even though it was clear he hadn’t the faintest idea what he was agreeing to. “Yes…in the woodshop. We’ve been…working.”
Clapping her hands together, Sorcha waved the men away,and smooth as could be, hustled Imogen off in the opposite direction. It happened so quickly, Imogen’s head spun.
Peeking over her shoulder, she found Balar looking over his at her, a baffled expression writ across his face.
“Sorry for the heavy hand,” Sorcha said, offering Imogen a small pat on the shoulder. She knew Imogen preferred not to be touched much. “I wanted to get you away for at least a moment.”
Imogen nodded, understanding Sorcha, as the eldest of seven, had always been like this. A carer, protector. Used to managing many.
They walked in companionable silence to the last of the fields Imogen’s herd was set to weed. The quiet offered Imogen a valuable few moments to compose herself and prepare for the questions she knew were coming.
Unfortunately, she didn’t have many answers.
As Sorcha opened the wooden gate, Imogen and Shadow drove the goats into the fenced field. With cheery bleats and an imperious Chestnut bringing up the rear, the goats hurried into the overgrown field, rushing to claim the choicest bits.
It wasn’t until the gate was closed and both women stood at the fence that Sorcha asked, “Has he been behaving himself?”
“He’s…large. And loud.”
Sorcha huffed a laugh. “He is.”
“And his brothers are just as large and louder.”
Sorcha grimaced. “Met all of them already, have you?”
“They worked on my land all day yesterday.” When Sorcha made an incredulous sound, Imogen explained a little more, describing the surreal day. “They…wanted to get a good look at me.”
“Most likely. They’ve all made quite a bit of noise about wanting to find mates. Word is they’ve thoroughly searched every pub from here to Mullon and back.” Sorcha snickered to herself before looking at Imogen with horror. “I-I mean, somemore than others. Everyone always talks about how noble and polite Balar is. I’m sure he hasn’t…”
