Warrior’s Redemption by Melissa Mayhue Page B

sort of to blame. Not sort of. I am. Remember Elesyria saying something about not being able to reject a boon and you asked who had requested something?” She waited for a response, picking back up when he said nothing. “That would be me. You see, I’ve always believed in the Fae. Always believed they had some higher purpose for me. I’ve been waiting forever for some sign of what that purpose is. So when I called on the Queen at Samhain, I asked her to send me to do whatever it was the Faeries wanted of me.”
    Again she waited, holding her breath that he wouldn’t just ride off and leave her here.
    “Fifteen years, aye?”
    “What?” She kicked her mount, forcing it to reach Malcolm’s side.
    “It’s how long you told Elesyria you’d been waiting for them. Fifteen years.”
    “That’s right. Since the summer of my eighth birthday, when I read my first book about them.”
    His eyebrows drew together, but he kept riding, staring straight ahead.
    “You’ve no call to take this responsibility on yerself, lass. Waiting fifteen years should tell you that. It’s of no matter that you asked the Fae to set you on yer path. They’d have ignored you for another fifteen years lest they had good reason of their own to send you now.” He turned toward her at last, his gaze an intense blue framed by his dark hair and whiskers. “Of that you can be sure. I give you my oath on it.”
    It could be truth. After fifteen years of hearing absolutely nothing from the Fae, it certainly wouldn’t surprise her.
    “And what do you think their reason is?”
    He shook his head, turning away to stare into the distance before he answered. “I suspect it’s Elesyria’s way of punishing me for what happened to her daughter. You’ve no part in it, other than getting snared in their spiderweb of schemes.”
    His accusation felt like a punch to the stomach. Here she was spending her nights battling some physical obsession with this man, and he viewed her as nothing more than punishment from the Fae. Having him angry with her couldn’t have been any worse.
    He sighed, rubbing his thumb and forefinger over his eyebrows. “If yer to stay, I suppose we’ll need to find something to do with you. Have you any skills?”
    “Skills,” she squeaked, clenching her teeth together to keep in what she actually thought. Skills. Like sleeping on dirt floors? Or riding around in the wilderness? Or putting up with arrogant, thoughtless men?
    “Aye. Any abilities or talents we could use?” He spoke calmly, as if he had no clue as to her real feelings.
    Which, obviously, he didn’t.
    “I’m a pretty good cook. I could do that. I’m also a waitress. I could do what your serving girls do.”
    “Castle MacGahan has a cook and yer a wee bitlong in the tooth to be a serving lass.”
    “Long in the tooth”? She’d seen that phrase before, in the historical books she loved to read. He was calling her old! Again she clenched her teeth together. She was actually sorry she’d bothered to apologize for slugging him. In fact, if given the chance right now, she’d kind of like to punch him again.
    “Dinna fash yerself over it. We’ll find some use for you.”
    No “probably” to it. Definitely. Her fist actually ached just thinking about it.
    Their conversation ended, they rode for some time in silence while Dani fumed.
    “It’s true, then, you come from seven hundred years in the future?”
    After such a long silence, the question seemed to wing in out of left field. “Yes.” Freaking-scary true.
    “In that case, perhaps we could take advantage of yer knowledge to aid my people. You can tell me if we need to prepare for the English to invade again, or if Edward will be satisfied with having his man sit on our throne.”
    It took a minute for Dani to realize what he was asking. He wanted the history of his country. At least, what to her would be history. To him it would be foreknowledge.
    And that, somehow, didn’t feel right. Her aunt