Page 32 of Changelings
“Imogen? It’s me, Balar,” he called.
Silence met his greeting.
The air inside the cottage was cool and still, the fireplace empty. It smelled of her, though, and Balar took a long pull of it, letting the scent fill his lungs.
The main room of the cottage was long and multipurpose; the front was a small mudroom, the threshold covered in a sturdy thrush mat. Imogen’s coats and cloaks hung from pegs, and her spare pair of boots sat beneath a narrow bench for sitting to don her shoes. Further along was a workspace, a large fireplace and mantel set into one wall and a worktable set against the other.He couldn’t quite discern her current project, a few tools and leather scraps strewn across the table.
Next came a comfortable living area, a padded bench and armchair set on either side of a low table. A small bookcase was overstuffed with books and folios, and a dark lantern sat atop it. Across from the leisure furniture was a door, leading to the bedchamber he supposed.
Last was the kitchen. Countertops laden with glass jars, ceramic cups, and stoneware pitchers were clean and orderly. Used but sparkling clean pots and pans hung above the oven, and many of the cabinets looked full of ingredients and supplies. Three battered chairs sat round a circular kitchen table, a small bouquet of wildflowers kept in a chipped vase.
It was a small space, but he could easily see Imogen in it. Everything about it spoke to its mistress. Neat, unassuming, sturdy. There was little in the way of decoration or frivolity. Other than the little bouquet and a lace doily on the low table, there were few trinkets or knickknacks to liven the rooms.
Would she enjoy a few pretty things? Balar himself had a soft spot for trinkets and prettiness. When they had finally decided to put down roots here in the Darrowlands, some of the first purchases he’d made for his cabin were a set of embroidered down pillows and a luxurious blanket that was on one side the softest wool and on the other lambskin.
His cabin was still fairly basic, his own tables and chairs just as battered as Imogen’s. He didn’t see a point in procuring anything more than sturdy with how rough he knew his brothers would be on the furniture. But when it came to little luxuries, Balar was known to indulge. The finest leather for new kilts for him and Kiri. Fine pewter tankards and good wine and ale to pour into them. He enjoyed sachets of lavender and cedar to scent a room and good spices to flavor meat.
Even those few luxuries seemed excessive compared to thehumble contents of Imogen’s cottage. It was apparent she had everything she needed. Everything in here looked well-loved. But what did she like just because? Flowers? Bells? Pretty lace or soft silk?
Balar was determined to find out.
Rustling to his right had his ears swiveling, and Balar quickly pulled his head outside again and the door shut. He had just enough time to step away from the door before Imogen appeared from the forest.
“Good morning!” he called.
“Good morning,” she replied, joining him in the meadow.
The color was high in her cheeks, and he could see the fast beat of her pulse in her neck.
Pupils dilating with focus, Balar asked, “What’s the matter,urisá?”
Shaking her head, Imogen patted her cheek. “I was picking blackberries down by the river just now and a bear came by.”
Balar’s gaze shot over her head. He took another great sniff, trying to detect any sign of the threat.
“It’s gone now,” Imogen told him. “It was fattening up for winter, I’m sure. We just surprised each other.”
Balar had never heard Imogen blather before. This truly must have shaken her.
Cupping her arm gently, he reassured her, “You’re safe now,urisá.Stay here, I’ll go frighten it off.”
“No need,” she said, gripping his fingers with her own.
Awareness zipped down Balar’s back. It was the first time she’d initiated touch.
The blood rushed in his ears so loudly, he almost didn’t hear her say, “It’s strange. Shadow and I watched it approach—I’m sure it knew where we were—but then it turned to a tree, took one sniff, and ran off quicker than I’ve ever seen. I’ve never known a bear to do that. Bears are the biggest thing in thesewoods.”
“That’s not true. At least not anymore,” he said with a toothy grin. “That bear recognized a more dangerous predator.”
Imogen frowned. “He scented you?”
“Indeed. I’ve taken the precaution of marking the rough boundary of your property with my scent.”
Utter silence met his declaration, and Balar couldn’t help running a nervous hand through his mane as those sharp eyes of hers stared at him.
“You did what?” she asked, voice dangerously low.
“For your protection and my peace of mind. I marked the trees and underbrush to ward off predators.”And any male stupid enough to think to steal you away.
