Lord Locryn and the Pixie's Kiss by Deb Marlowe

Author:Deb Marlowe [Marlowe, Deb]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780999239049
Publisher: Deb Marlowe

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Lady Gwyn did intercept him before he reached her garden.

“Good afternoon,” she called. “I’m so glad you made it!”

He believed her—and it did things to him, to be truly welcomed with smiles and shining dark eyes. So many old wounds smoothed over. His old shell of isolation shattered under the sense of happy anticipation that danced in the air each time he saw her.

“I would not have missed it,” he vowed.

The hunger he felt for her ached like a gaping maw inside of him. He wondered if she might sense it, be frightened by it—but there was an intensity in the way she looked back at him that made him hope she felt the same way.

For a brief time, he just enjoyed the budding warmth that echoed between them, but after a moment, he shook himself and looked over his shoulder. “Tell me, do you have guests in the Castle who might have brought their children?”

“I don’t believe so,” she frowned. “Why?”

“I saw a young boy out in the gardens alone. He looked young, though he didn’t act it.”

“Was he in the rose garden?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

Her gaze darted back the way he’d come. “Did he seem distressed at being alone?”

“No. Not at all.”

“Well, then, I daresay he’ll be fine.”

“He did know enough to direct me here. I suppose if he needs help, he’ll show up.”

She glanced back again as she pulled him along. “Yes. In the meantime, come and see my little project.” Her lips pursed. “It’s not much to look at yet, being December, and since we’ve only been at Keyvnor a couple of months. But I did make what use I could of the fall planting season for trees and shrubs.”

“I’m excited to see it.” She was rambling a bit anxiously, which he found adorable. “And I’m honored that you would wish to show it to me.”

Her cheeks pinked delightfully and she nodded and beckoned him on.

He stopped when the path turned, then opened up into a fan-shaped corner plot. “Oh, capital.”

She waited, her hands clasped before her tightly.

“That’s a grand Davey Elm.” The tree was old, centered in the middle of the far border, and surrounded by a low, stone hedge wall where shade-loving species could flourish in the shade.

“It’s a beauty, isn’t it? It was already here, of course, and it inspired the idea of surrounding it with a local Cornish garden.”

He entered, gazing around, seeing it all lush and green in his mind’s eye. “Are these saplings the apple tree you mentioned? The one that grows in Truro?”

“They are. I hope they will flourish here. We’ll see.” She tilted her head. “You have a good eye.”

“I am a naturalist,” he said, smiling.

“Yes, Tamsyn mentioned it, I remember. Are you studying anything special?”

He looked up and turned about. “There.” He pointed. “Him.”

She looked—and her mouth dropped. “Is that the same bird?”

“I believe so. He followed me through the woods.”

“From the Pixie’s barrow?”

Grimly, he nodded.

She said nothing for a moment, then swallowed.

“I still mean to study him, or some of his friends,” he continued.

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