Eventide of the Bear (The Wild Hunt Legacy #3) by Cherise Sinclair Page A

away.
    As the minutes passed, Emma cuddled Minette close, brushed her lips over the cub’s silky hair, and inhaled the scent of little girl sweetness. Like well-banked coals, contentment was a steady warmth. She had a child in her arms, the pleasure of being useful, laughter and conversation around her—everything she’d lost three years ago. She’d be happy to sit here forever.
    “You nailed it!” The yell came from an alcove holding two pool tables.
    At the loud cheers and clapping, Minette roused. Her tiny face pulled in a worried scrunch as she pushed up and looked around for her father.
    Ben and Ryder never spoke about their mate, but if they were caring for this cub, the mother must be dead. How horrible for Minette.
    “Your father will be back soon, sweetheart,” Emma told her. But now what? The child was too anxious to sleep again, and a tavern wouldn’t have toys available.
    Lacking blocks and dolls, Emma knew only one way to divert a bored child. “Let me tell you a story, my small cub.” She’d spent three years entertaining easily bored pixies; one sleepy child would be a joy. Her voice slid right into the traditional story-telling rhythm.
    Without any hesitation, Minette laid her head down. Sucking her thumb slowly, she rubbed Emma’s braid against her cheek.
    “Long and long ago, in the very dawn of the days of the Daonain, wolf-shifters found a baby girl lying in a burrow in the wide, green forest. The pack named her Rhonwen, for her hair was the shining silver of a mid-winter moon.”
    Emma’s miserable years of loneliness disappeared as she recounted her favorite story of all time—the early days of the legendary bear-shifter. By the Goddess, how she’d missed using all her skill to entertain her clan, to draw her audience with her into the heart of a story.
    As she brought the story to a glorious finish, she noticed Vicki near the fireplace, probably checking to see if aught was needed.
    Emma smiled. We are fine, thank you.
    With a token salute, the barmaid-deputy moved away.
    Emma looked down at her audience of one. “Do you want a song this time? Maybe one about a kitten like you?”
    Minette gave an enthusiastic nod.
    The teaching tune about the perils of heedless exploration—and the blessings of an understanding clan—was one Emma had always loved. Enjoying herself as much as Minette, Emma used tone and tempo to texture in emotions, much as artists layered color into paintings. Her surroundings disappeared as she submerged herself in the music.
    One verse and another. Danger and courage. With joy and an aching heart, she sang the final verse about the little cat’s return to her family. She trailed off with a few hummed notes.
    A contented sigh came from her little-girl audience—the best, best reward a bard could receive.
    Deep inside her bloomed a sharp joy that was almost pain.
    After a second, she realized sighs and murmurs were sounding throughout the unnaturally quiet tavern. Her head jerked up. Oh my Goddess…
    People all around the room were looking at her. Had been listening. Ryder, Ben, the two strange cahirs, and the Cosantir stood near the fireplace.
    Anxiety crawled up Emma’s spine like a wave of ants, waiting to all bite her at once. “I’m sorry,” she said to the group of males.
    “For what?” Ben sauntered forward. “Great song, darlin’.” He tugged her hair lightly.
    “I-I didn’t mean to disturb the—”
    “You disturbed no one, Emma.” The Cosantir walked around the couch and sat facing her on the heavy oak coffee table. His gray eyes held hers. “How much training have you had, bard?”
    She felt the blood leave her face. He knew what she was. Had he heard of the bard who’d caused the deaths of two males? Would he kick her out of his territory?
    “Emma?” the Cosantir prompted. He didn’t look angry. “Did you start at the usual age…as a teen?”
    “Fourteen.” It’d been the only time she fought her mother. She’d never have