streak of violence in him, too. The combination of the two stirred me more than I wanted. Much more.
Something contracted in my groin. I tried to ignore it. Good thing I wasn’t going to see MacDuff today, anyway. At Lithe, the Summer Solstice, the sun tides reached their peak, their effect compelling and sexual. As much so as at Beltane, May first, although the flavor differed. Frustrating as it might be to have to deny the impulse, better not to risk it. Tomorrow would be soon enough to deal with Timber.
I puttered around for a few hours, restocking and doing inventory, tasks I needed to do but often put off because they bored me. When eight o’clock came, I began to get ready. I drew the shades in the bathroom and lit candles and incense as the tub filled. A special oil went into the water, one I made myself: rose, sandalwood and hibiscus, with a hint of musk and just a drop of patchouli. As I soaked, I meditated on the sun’s cycle. Born at midwinter, a nursing child at Imbolc, when you first began to see the days are growing longer. At Ostara, the Spring Equinox, he’s a nimble boy, catching up with his dark brother. Beltane finds him a youth, newly aware of the joys of his body and eager to try them out. And at Lithe…
At Lithe, he reaches the fullness of his power and masculinity. Sol Invictus , the Romans had called him then: the Unconquered Sun. The Oak Tree King, crowned with mistletoe. His reign might be brief; tomorrow his power would be in decline and the Holly King of the dark half of the year ascendant. But for this dazzling moment his command held absolute sway. He was the sublime ruler, the most valiant of warriors. The fruitful husband. The ear of the corn.
The Oak Tree King.
Sage had called Timber “oak tree man.”
Blinking, I swam up out of my trance. The water had gone cold. I got out of the tub and dried off, the towel rough on my skin. Naked, I walked into my bedroom and stood in front of the full length mirror. My hands drifted up to trace my collarbones, down to caress my breasts. My skin slid under my fingers, slick with bath oil. My thighs ached. Danger, whispered my heart.
Yes, a very good thing I was not going to see Timber today.
I got dressed. Silk panties, an ivory cotton camisole, and a silk circle skirt the color of tarnished bronze. Jewelry: necklace and earrings of amber and jet with silver and bone spacers, which I’d made myself. I sat at my dressing table and began the arduous task of French braiding my long hair. It would be hot, and we would be dancing.
I’d finished two-thirds of the braid and my arms were aching when someone began to pound on my door.
“Who the hell could that be?” I muttered, but my stomach clenched. I had a feeling I knew.
I did not hasten to finish off my braid; my unwanted visitor could wait until I was good and ready. The pounding on my door paused, then returned, harder. I rummaged in the dressing table drawer for an elastic. Maybe he’d decide I’d already left and go away.
No such luck. The pounding did stop, but he had spotted my open bedroom window, directly above the front door. Boots clattered on the walk.
“Caitlin! Are ye up there?” called an all-too-familiar Scots voice.
Without bothering to answer, I tied off my braid, stalked downstairs and yanked the door open.
“What are you doing here?” I snarled.
Timber bounded up the front steps—he’d been on the walk, looking up at the window—and pushed past me into the shop. His face was flushed.
“You have to come with me.” He made a grab for my wrist; I snatched it out of his reach.
“Why? I said not today. Do we have to have this argument all over again?”
“Aye, well. That was then. I have more information.”
I stifled my curiosity and made my voice cold. “Oh?”
“Last night I went to the pub. The Sundown.”
A snort escaped me at the idea of referring to the Sundown Saloon as a pub. “And are clearly still feeling the effects.”
“I had a few
Something contracted in my groin. I tried to ignore it. Good thing I wasn’t going to see MacDuff today, anyway. At Lithe, the Summer Solstice, the sun tides reached their peak, their effect compelling and sexual. As much so as at Beltane, May first, although the flavor differed. Frustrating as it might be to have to deny the impulse, better not to risk it. Tomorrow would be soon enough to deal with Timber.
I puttered around for a few hours, restocking and doing inventory, tasks I needed to do but often put off because they bored me. When eight o’clock came, I began to get ready. I drew the shades in the bathroom and lit candles and incense as the tub filled. A special oil went into the water, one I made myself: rose, sandalwood and hibiscus, with a hint of musk and just a drop of patchouli. As I soaked, I meditated on the sun’s cycle. Born at midwinter, a nursing child at Imbolc, when you first began to see the days are growing longer. At Ostara, the Spring Equinox, he’s a nimble boy, catching up with his dark brother. Beltane finds him a youth, newly aware of the joys of his body and eager to try them out. And at Lithe…
At Lithe, he reaches the fullness of his power and masculinity. Sol Invictus , the Romans had called him then: the Unconquered Sun. The Oak Tree King, crowned with mistletoe. His reign might be brief; tomorrow his power would be in decline and the Holly King of the dark half of the year ascendant. But for this dazzling moment his command held absolute sway. He was the sublime ruler, the most valiant of warriors. The fruitful husband. The ear of the corn.
The Oak Tree King.
Sage had called Timber “oak tree man.”
Blinking, I swam up out of my trance. The water had gone cold. I got out of the tub and dried off, the towel rough on my skin. Naked, I walked into my bedroom and stood in front of the full length mirror. My hands drifted up to trace my collarbones, down to caress my breasts. My skin slid under my fingers, slick with bath oil. My thighs ached. Danger, whispered my heart.
Yes, a very good thing I was not going to see Timber today.
I got dressed. Silk panties, an ivory cotton camisole, and a silk circle skirt the color of tarnished bronze. Jewelry: necklace and earrings of amber and jet with silver and bone spacers, which I’d made myself. I sat at my dressing table and began the arduous task of French braiding my long hair. It would be hot, and we would be dancing.
I’d finished two-thirds of the braid and my arms were aching when someone began to pound on my door.
“Who the hell could that be?” I muttered, but my stomach clenched. I had a feeling I knew.
I did not hasten to finish off my braid; my unwanted visitor could wait until I was good and ready. The pounding on my door paused, then returned, harder. I rummaged in the dressing table drawer for an elastic. Maybe he’d decide I’d already left and go away.
No such luck. The pounding did stop, but he had spotted my open bedroom window, directly above the front door. Boots clattered on the walk.
“Caitlin! Are ye up there?” called an all-too-familiar Scots voice.
Without bothering to answer, I tied off my braid, stalked downstairs and yanked the door open.
“What are you doing here?” I snarled.
Timber bounded up the front steps—he’d been on the walk, looking up at the window—and pushed past me into the shop. His face was flushed.
“You have to come with me.” He made a grab for my wrist; I snatched it out of his reach.
“Why? I said not today. Do we have to have this argument all over again?”
“Aye, well. That was then. I have more information.”
I stifled my curiosity and made my voice cold. “Oh?”
“Last night I went to the pub. The Sundown.”
A snort escaped me at the idea of referring to the Sundown Saloon as a pub. “And are clearly still feeling the effects.”
“I had a few
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