“Not now, pooka. I’m dealing with something important.” A dark overcoat appeared folded over Rían’s forearm.
Ruairi was a pooka—a shapeshifting fae who could become any animal at will. Dangerous, wily, and powerful. According to the books I’d read, I should be terrified. Only, Ruairi seemed like the most congenial—and stable—of the lot.
“Where’s Tadhg?” Ruairi demanded.
“Holed up with drink. Where else?” Rían shoved his arms into the coat. “This is what happens when you fall in love. You turn into a weak, miserable shell of who you once were.” He straightened his cravat and collar. “And since my brother is a useless piece of shite, I have to go to Gaul.”
Rían looked past me to Ruairi. “You are responsible for making sure no one kills my hostage and that she does not leave the castle grounds. If anything happens to her, you’ll wish for the dungeons.”
With that, Rían sauntered out the door, leaving me alone with a pooka.
24
What wasI supposed to do now? Rían was gone, Tadhg was drunk, and Ruairi was looking at me as though I had five heads. Locking myself in the bedroom would only remind me that I was trapped here, so I didn’t want to do that either.
Perhaps a few hours in the garden would help clear my head. It wasn’t as if there was anything useful for me to do.
I returned the book and squeezed past Ruairi, escaping to the hallway. Although his footsteps were almost silent, I felt his presence behind me like a dark, heavy raincloud. Before I could reach for the door, he lunged and caught the handle, drawing it open and holding it until I was down the stairs.
I thanked him.
He smiled, revealing those fangs. “Yer welcome.”
The area had cleared out since this morning, although there were still two women chatting beside the gates. One had riotous orange hair falling to her waist and a baby on her hip. The other had short black hair and gold piercings snaking up her pointed ears.
The merrow from the fountain lounged on the wide ledge, green and blue scales glistening and pale blue skin shimmering. When we passed, she opened one black eye.
“Rotten fish,” Ruairi greeted with a nod.
She smiled, revealing a mouth full of sharpened black teeth. “Smelly mutt.”
Ruairi’s answering chuckle vibrated deep in his chest. A chest that peeked from between the gap as he unbuttoned more of his grimy white shirt.
I forced my eyes ahead, focusing on the shed of gardening tools.
Again, Ruairi opened the door. Again, I thanked him. Again, he said I was welcome.
Pooka may have been big and burly, but at least they had manners.
I grabbed the first things I saw: a beautiful trowel with a gleaming blade and a bowl of bulbs.
Now I needed a place to plant them.
Where? Not with the vegetables or in the orchard, and the main gardens already had enough flowers. Digging them up would be like fingerpainting over a masterpiece.
“Ye look confused,” Ruairi said.
“I don’t know what these are or where to plant them,” I confessed, showing him what was in the bucket in case he knew whether they needed sunlight or shade.
His broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Doesn’t matter where ye bury the things. The magic inside the wards will make them grow.”
Where was the joy in that? I wanted to do it myself.
“What about outside the wards?”
Ruairi frowned toward the open gates. “Rían won’t like it.”
“I don’t care.”