Heart of the Fae (The Otherworld #1)(85)

How long had she been gone now?

She blinked away the sudden tears in her eyes and forced a grin. “If I told you my standards, you would certainly try your hardest to meet them. And then, however would I meet the real you?”

“The real me?”

“You are not the terrifying man you portray yourself as.”

The muscles under her hand bunched. “Why do you say that?”

“Oona says you’ve been leaving me gifts.” It was the only excuse she could think of to say. Sorcha didn’t believe he was the one who had left them in the first place. Boggart and the other brownies were far too kind. They liked any excuse to see her happy.

“Yes, the daisies were difficult to obtain this time of year.”

She stopped, so startled that her feet forgot how to move. Sorcha stared up at him, mouth agape. He paused when her hand slid off his arm, glancing down at her with a questioning expression.

“That was you?” she whispered.

He flushed. “Come on. If we’re late, you’ll miss it.”

“Miss what?”

“Your surprise.”

“I thought this was just breakfast!”

“It’s a little more than that.” He shook his head and held his arm out again. Obviously impatient, he waited for her to decide.

“I—” she glanced down at his arm and back up at his face. “Why are you doing this?”

“I thought that would be rather obvious.” His gazed dipped towards her mouth, blue eyes flashing with an emotion she couldn’t—wouldn’t—name.

Sorcha couldn’t reply. Instead, she reached out and held onto his arm again. Her fingers slid over the craggy bumps and valleys, callouses whispering over the silken fabric. They both shivered at the contact. If he asked, she would say it was the cold.

He didn’t ask.

They wandered across the fields as the sun turned pink on the horizon. The birds awoke, singing their morning songs to each other. Though chilly, it was a clear morning with not a single cloud in the sky.

“Hurry,” he murmured.

They picked up speed, clambering over rocks and across seaweed. He held her steady over every bit of their journey, never letting her slip or tumble to the sand.

His handprints burned into her sides, even when he wasn’t touching her. Sorcha marveled at his strength. He could lift her without appearing tired or showing any strain. Both his hands could span her waist.

How could he be so strong? How was it possible that such a creature existed and yet so many humans didn’t know they were there?

She shook her head and pulled herself up onto a rocky incline. Catching her breath, she turned back to look at him as he hefted his bulk over the stone to join her.

“Where now?”

He pointed behind her. Tilting her head, Sorcha turned and gasped.

A waterfall tumbled from a rocky cliff into a vast pool of water. Glamour hid it from her view until she nearly fell into its edge. She hadn’t even heard the crashing thunder of water striking the ground. White foam bubbled where the waterfall met still pond.

Great stones jutted towards the sky, moss growing upon their granite surfaces. It stretched as far as her eye could see. And at the base, white horses stamped their feet in the ripples of water and tossed their heads.

She had never seen anything like it before.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

“I thought you might like it.”

“I do. It’s a rare gem in a world that could use so much more beauty.”

“It gets better,” he murmured in her ear. “How much do you trust me, Sorcha?”

“Very little.”

His chuckle danced across her skin in bubbles of sensation. “Ah, you must do better than that lass. How much do you trust me?”

“Enough.”

“Close your eyes.”

She stiffened, but complied. Curiosity had always gotten her in trouble and she wouldn’t back away now. Besides, it seemed as though he was far more interesting than he let on.

Strange, but she hadn’t thought that a Fae could capture her attention so wholly. There had been many men in her town, but none of them so intriguing. So odd. So unusual.

The words rang in her ears. Of course the strange witch’s daughter, the midwife who thought she was more, fell in love with an impossible man.

His arms reached around her, chest pressed against her spine. She moved forward and back with each great inhalation, rocking on the waves of his own making.

She gasped as his fingers traced the outline of her chin. Delicately, oh so delicately he touched her. As if she might shatter with just the mere breath from his lips.

His fingers lingered at the stubborn thrust of her chin, joining together to spread across her full bottom lip. The butterfly touch trailed up her cheeks, his thumbs anchoring at her jaw.

The slightest touch whispered over her eyelids.

“Your eyelashes feel like feathers,” he whispered in her ear. “I have very little poetry for women such as you. I cannot ever compare your body to artwork, or sing you songs of lovers in a hidden grove. My experiences limit my words and talents.”

“I never wanted poetry,” she said on a soft sigh. “I only wanted a man who could see me for who I am.”

“Then open your eyes, Sorcha of Ui Neill. And see the world as it truly is.”