Читать книгу Marked for Magic - Daisy Banks - Страница 11

“Oh, you are ready?”

Her hair dripped on the blue tunic, and he did his best to ignore the outline of her peaked nipples under the damp cloth. “Come then, Sparrow, it is time you led us home.”

She gulped, then glanced about her with widened eyes. A tremble shook her chin. She caught her lip between her teeth.

He waited for her questions, refusal, or anything.

She grasped his hand firmly in hers and yanked him forward. “All right, come on.”

The last thing he’d expected was the edge of determination in her voice. Her bravado pleased him, and his smile grew as she let his hand go. He sensed her certainty as she led him back through the dense part of the forest. Satisfied by her attention to his earlier instructions, he noted when she checked for the markers of their path. “You can talk to me, if you wish.”

“Not now, I need to concentrate.”

He almost laughed and clamped a palm over his mouth to stop any sound, lest he hurt her feelings.

“Here then, we’ve got this far!” She pointed to the top branch of the tall ash tree where he found her last night. Triumph lit her expression when she twirled to face him.

He swallowed hard. Her joyful loveliness caught him. She shimmered with pride. The enchanting smile came from her heart. He could be lost for eternity to her elation if he didn’t control the situation. “Indeed, Sparrow, now the rest.”

Slightly less certain, walking slower, she set off, but she was right, and he followed her lead. Before long, they were in sight of the huge clump of nettles at the base of the old oak tree.

“Very good. I am most impressed.” Doffing his hat, he inclined his head. Her smile spread wide, a glow shining in her eyes. “Now, home,” he said.

Confident in the direction, she strode off, and he admired her self-assured gait. She liked freedom, but more important, she appeared to enjoy the taste of knowledge. Both boded well. Once she’d learned a little of the art, he might be able to teach her to brew the easier simples he used to medicate the villagers.

Once they arrived back by the small well in the yard, her smile beamed in obvious expectation of praise.

He nodded. “Yes, you have done well. Now, I need to work, and you need to remember the path for next time when you will be alone.”

Her smile grew wider still. He went into the tower, dumped the hat on the table in the kitchen, and picked up the small cauldron. She’d polished the copper pot until it gleamed as it had when he first acquired it. He took it up to the workshop.

The messenger from the castle had made it certain he would need the mushroom brew.

A song, not his, hummed loud through his thoughts as he set out his knives. She would have to stop that racket. He strode to the window, yanked the curtain aside, opened the catch, and yelled in the direction of the vegetable patch, “Be quiet.”

No reply came. He was about to slice the mushrooms, when the jumble of sounds returned. Irritation nipped at his calm. The noise grew louder, and his ire rose. He fumed as his worst expectations were fulfilled, his peace shattered. This was exactly the kind of nonsense an apprentice brought. No matter this wench had not yet learned enough to be worthy to claim such a role, still she disturbed him.

The noise grew in intensity, and he dropped the knife onto the board. He’d have to shut her up, one way or another. The door banged against the wall as he slammed it open. She needed a lesson in the obedience she had promised. He hurried down the stairs.

Bent at the hearth, Nin stirred a large long-handled spoon in the black pot. She turned to look up with a guileless smile, the spoon in her hand. Silence filled the room.

No, it wasn’t possible. “I told you to be quiet.”

She arched an eyebrow in question over the smile. “I am. Quiet as a mouse.”

“No, you were singing. I heard it, out of tune, loud, and very distracting.”

She lifted a hand to her mouth and shook her head.

“By the gods of the waters.” The whisper broke from him. He dragged up a stool and sat. Half of what he’d heard since she arrived was thought.

“Are you angry?” Her mouth quivered before she jerked out her chin.

“No, Sparrow. Come here.”

“Oh, the hand is all right. The water helped. I put the bandage back on after we swam.” She held up her palm. The bindings were twisted but that didn’t matter.

“No, it is not the bandage, Nin. Come and sit with me, I want to speak with you.”

Her expression solemn, she sat opposite him. Minutes passed before she looked up.

“Has anyone else ever overheard you when you were quiet?” Looking into her eyes, he knew, for her face flushed a delicate pink, soft and rosy as the rare coral fragments he kept in a jar. “Who heard you, Sparrow?”

“My friend Alicia, we often played the game. I’d sing when she worked in the cowshed or somewhere else, and she’d tell me the song.”

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, for what she described was no chance communication. “How did she tell you? Was it with the silent words?”

“No, she’d come to me later to tell me. She nearly always got the right one. Did I do wrong? Was it bad?”

He smiled in reassurance. “No, Sparrow, rather unexpected, though. And this happened before the witch’s mark came?”

This, perhaps, explained yesterday’s massive build up of tension. Maybe his disquiet of the previous day, when he had fretted half the afternoon for no reason, was linked to her pain and fear.

The girl was a natural telepath.

For those who could hear, her words rang raw as the shriek of a gull in a stormy dawn. He rested his chin on his hand. How could she have remained hidden so long?

“Sparrow, tomorrow I need to teach you how to keep the songs to yourself. I’ll also teach you ways to keep yourself safe. You will have to study hard to avoid being so loud as to drive me to madness.”

She nodded, a light of interest in her eyes. “Yes, please. I’ll try my best. I don’t want you to become mad.”

The soft, fading pink blush on her cheek fascinated, for it was in perfect contrast to her down-swept, brown lashes. An urge to caress her smooth cheek with his fingers, or to feel her face against his, shook his other thoughts like a breeze among the sweetest apple blossoms. He was familiar with the rising sensation she provoked, even if it were something he infrequently succumbed to, yet, with her as the cause, the desire was unpleasant.

This wench was a mere babe, no matter what her appearance, she was as unlearned as a child in all things, and he would not have his work interrupted by such nonsense, or his life turned upside down by her smiles.

His breath caught in his throat when she looked up. Her brilliant, tremulous smile snapped his resolve like a north wind might blast through a cobweb. He was not the first to be beguiled by a smile, though he doubted there were many as sweet as hers. He must do something about her, even if only to keep her out of harm’s way. The decision made, the rest would wait until the morning. He would leave her at peace today.

“What’s in the pot?”

“More cabbage and carrots. I’ve added wild garlic leaves and a leek, too.”

“Good, I’m hungry.”

“Is that it then? Shall I get on?” She made to rise from the stool, and he caught her arm.

“Not quite. I’ll take a look at your hand.”

She sat back down, offering him her hand. He undid the bandage. “More marigold balm, I think.” He took up the jar and, ignoring her shiver, smeared on more salve.

Her palm rested in his as he rebound the bandage. He became conscious of her warmth, the way she watched his every movement, but most of all, at the way she bit her lip until it resembled a ripe fruit. One he would savor if he tasted it.

By the gods of the waters, this would not do at all. He finished binding the bandage. “You will find your palm near healed tomorrow. Get on with the meal.”

To break the bewitchment of those dark eyes, he left the room and strode outside by the well, then across to the grassy rise. She must learn self-control. He couldn’t live with her looking at him in such a way.

He swiped at a tall daisy head in the long grass. If he was to teach her, and there seemed little choice, it must be in a clearly defined relationship, no nonsense to it. He would never be able to lead her through the rigors ahead if she continued to blink her wide eyes at him.

He kicked a rock from the top of the bank into the stream. She was far too unlearned to find her way to the realms of magic without aid, though he had been much younger when he began. But, he knew from his childhood he was different. He had been eager for knowledge, tutored by the best, fired by study, willing to accept any challenge to find his way to the unseen worlds.

Did she have enough talent, or half the resilience to go so far?

He yanked the thong from his hair as he headed down the slope. Though he attempted to block it, he couldn’t ignore the sensation of her sorrow. She sent flashes of sadness to him. How could she be this powerful with no training at all?

Mind-linking remained a struggle for him, like scrying, one of his weaknesses in the range of magical skills. That her mind could be this forceful was a deep concern, and yet she was defenseless, her gift beyond her control. If she remained untutored, she would be open to many influences and great harm.

The revelation of such a powerful talent disturbed him almost as much as anything else about her. Pretty she might be, and sweetly fragrant now she’d bathed. The long curling waves of her hair would tempt wiser men than him, no doubt.

Perhaps, he should get her to cut it. No, stupid idea. She would never agree and if she did, he wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt.

What could he do with her? Gods of the water, why me?

He scanned the streambed for shells, picked up a handful, and rolled them in his palm as he thought through the problem. One path beckoned the solution, and she would never know. A glamour to change her appearance. With her charms disguised, he would be able to teach her, and those pert little attractions wouldn’t get in the way. He skimmed a stone down the stream.

Yes, it might work, so he wouldn’t be distracted.

Perhaps, when he took her to the castle, he might be able to persuade Lady Cassandra to take her. Even though it was late for Nin to join the other students, it might be a possibility. If she’d been found earlier, she would be in Cassandra’s care, learning from her skills. He closed his eyes. This was the best idea he’d had since yesterday afternoon. Cassandra would understand the problem. She could take Nin out of his life, at least until his maiden developed her skills, knowledge, and control.

When had she become his maiden? He couldn’t tell, but after today, he’d never see her as a grubby little wench again. He’d need the stepping skills of a sword dancer to avoid her snare. Tilting his head back, he looked up to the clear blue sky as he tried to work out what he truly wanted.

The spring birds soared and circled, and no answer came to his questions. It seemed he must improve his self-awareness. Scraping his hair back, he tied the leather loop back in place before making his way to the tower.

By the time he walked into the kitchen, she had set dishes out on the table, ready to serve the food. From the look of her, she’d found peace with her sorrow for now.

One eye still on her, he trickled the shells from the stream into the small jar where he kept his collection. When she turned to stir what was in the cauldron, the glamour cloaked her. She moved to the table with the pot.

He stepped back in surprise. Oh! Perhaps he’d been a little extreme, but he’d get over it. Now, her image could not tempt him.

“Dinner’s ready,” she said with a gap-toothed smile.

“Good. I’m hungry.” He settled opposite her and picked up his spoon.