The Goddess & the Woodsman by Coralie Moss

Author:Coralie Moss [Moss, Coralie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pink Moon Books

Eighteen

No one looked at me askance as I emerged from the stand of oaks with bits of moss and smudges of dirt marking the fronts of my jeans and blouse. I hung my damp towel over a branch before depositing the basket of empties under the table set with platters and bowls and baskets of food, and went to wash my hands.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” I asked Jillian. Recovering the gold clasp had shaken me to the bone and I needed a chore, a task, something to ground me in the present.

“Everything’s under control, Mistress Barleywine,” she said, all bustle and business. “Give us ten more minutes, then I would be pleased if you would sound the horn for lunch. I know our menfolk are ready to raid the offerings and I want our guests to serve themselves first.”

“Ten minutes it is.” Staring at a timepiece. That could work—if I had a timepiece to wear. “Have you seen my horn?”

Jilly faced me, her harried exasperation turning to concern. She held my wrist, stepped up onto a bench, and centered the moonstone at my forehead. “Are you alright? Something’s happened, I can see it in your eyes.”

I unfurled my fingers, showing her the clasp and the red lines indented into my skin.

“Is that yours? If it’s yours, you should be happy you found it, m’lady.”

“It’s not mine,” I said. “It belonged to one of my acolytes.”

Jilly clucked her tongue and smoothed away the tears spilling from my eyes. I was grateful I had my back to the faerie-folk and guests milling closer to the laden table. I neither needed nor wanted anyone to see my sorrow, to see what it cost to not remember—at least until a more convenient time when I could be alone, or with Baubo, and plumb the depths of what lay buried in moss and marrow.

The urisk fumbled in her apron pocket, then hopped to the ground. She ducked under the tablecloth and popped back out, a jar of honey in her hand. She undid the lid, scooped out a spoonful, and raised it to my mouth.

“Take this,” she ordered, “and keep taking it, one teaspoon every ten to fifteen minutes. Hawthorn and motherwort will ease your suffering.”

I warmed the sweet, viscous liquid on my tongue before letting it slide down my throat. “Thank you, Jilly.”

“The Woodsman’s looking for you.” She pointed behind me. “Don’t forget to take the honey and don’t forget to come back and eat.”

Rhys stared at me. My sex clenched around nothing, and I wished I had the freedom to drag the Woodsman somewhere more private and ask him to fuck away the ache and the unshed tears. Those moments staring at the moss— Why did I stay? Why didn’t I push myself off the ground and get up, get away?

Iona, whose mother was a nymph and whose nature it was to be a friend to all, had grown up on the banks of a river similar to the one on my croft.

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