Chapter 28

28

Molly hustled down the drive, expectation a sharp wedge in her chest. Allarion had reminded her that the letters would work their way up to the house on their own, the trees helpfully passing them along, but she couldn’t wait. And, with the recent rain, she didn’t want them to get wet and smudged.

She’d made the girls promise to write, but two days had come and gone from when she’d asked them to send their first letters. Every day that passed made her that much more anxious, so even though the morning mist hadn’t yet burned off, she was already in her sturdiest boots trekking for the estate border.

Of course, her darling fae hadn’t let her leave without bundling up. Already she sweated under all the layers of knit and fur and oilskin cloak. From the way he’d fussed and dressed her, anyone else would think she meant to hike through miles of a blizzard, rather than follow the graveled drive a half mile to the eastern edge of the estate.

Still, when she rounded the bend in the road around a salient grove of trees, she wasn’t prepared for the sight that met her.

A parade of furniture, barrels, and crates rolled slowly down the drive, balanced on wide wooden pallets. Most had been covered with tarpaulins, roped down to the pallets to stave off the worst of the damp air.

Molly blinked before a surprised laugh burst from her.

It seemed Allarion’s shopping from Dundúran had arrived.

Chuckling to herself, she hurried down to meet the caravan. She kept pace with the slow-moving furniture, peeking under the tarpaulins. He’d told her he made a few purchases while she was at her uncle’s tavern or in Town Hall with the mayor. She hadn’t realized he’d bought the whole marketplace! No wonder a few people came to wave goodbye as they left the city.

Two grandfather clocks, velvet-cushioned chairs, dressers, a sedan, trunks, a marble-topped washboard, a foldaway desk, end tables, and empty gilt frames were just what she could see and recognize. More was stowed away in straw-stuffed crates and lidded barrels.

Molly jogged to catch up with the front of the caravan, marveling at all the goods. This was enough to furnish at least three more rooms—she recognized some of the pieces as possibilities they’d discussed for the formal dining room, the atrium, and conservatory. Others were surprises, and she looked forward to hearing his arguments about where he thought they should go.

On the first pallet sat a sturdy, dark-stained cabinet. Affixed to the top was a leather sheaf.

She plucked it out from under the ropes, unwinding the leather ties. Molly rifled through the papers inside; some looked like receipts and other correspondence from the merchants, but tucked there in the back were her prizes.

Smiling wide, Molly pulled out three letters.

Popping the wax seals, she wasn’t surprised nor disheartened to see that Nora hadn’t written, nor that Rory and Oona’s letters were short. She treasured the words no matter how many.

Stepping out of the way of the pallet parade, Molly greedily read each of the letters quickly and then a second time, slower.

Oona, being the youngest and sweetest, had taken the easiest to the new arrangements. She enjoyed getting to spend more time with her mother and wrote that she liked getting to go to school more regularly.

Rory’s letter was terser, an account of her new schedule and what she’d learned at school. She didn’t like Glenda’s cooking, nor the additional lessons Glenda had her in to catch her up with the other children her age. Molly might’ve worried, but the letter ended with a quick account of a ball game she’d won against some of Mayor Doherty’s grandchildren. If Rory was playing and being competitive, Molly knew she’d be all right soon enough.

Merry’s letter was longest, giving detailed accounts of Oona, Rory, and Nora. Molly was grateful for the news, reading what she could in the paragraph on Nora. The eldest Dunne girl would need the most time to heal, but Molly held hope that Nora was smart enough to take the opportunity she had now.

As for Merry herself, the second half of the letter was devoted to all the different books she’d been able to borrow from the mayor. Having access to his library obviously brought her great joy, and Molly laughed reading about titles and subjects she’d never heard of. Merry’s happiness practically shouted from the page, and it gave Molly a little peace of mind.

This was the right thing.

She hoped next year to have the girls at the manor for summer, and perhaps holidays, but an isolated estate wasn’t a place for them to grow up. They needed to be with others their age and go to school and stay near the familiar, as well as keep a routine.

Allarion was many things, but a slave to routine wasn’t one of them. Every day was something a little different, a new task or project. She adored watching his mind at work, seeing how he puzzled out problems and made decisions.

She especially loved helping him try new things and discover his favorites. It was a good thing she was headed to Mullon soon for more supplies—he’d nearly eaten her out of house and home. He seemed determined to make up for a lifetime—a fae lifetime—of deprivation within a fortnight.

Molly wasn’t complaining. She got to try out new recipes and ideas, and better, watch his reaction to them. And it wasn’t just food he was hungry for.

A blush touched her cheeks, and it wasn’t just from her many, many layers. Fates, she’d fucked him twice that morning and only been away from him less than an hour and she already missed him. If she wasn’t so besotted with him, she might’ve found it pitiable.

Yes, it was best for the girls to stay near what family and friends they had—and away from the antics of their cousin and her fae lover. It wasn’t that Molly necessarily meant to seduce or be seduced by Allarion in every room on every surface of the house, it just happened. And she didn’t need to scandalize the girls.

Stowing the letters safely between her layers before they could get damper, Molly looked up. The caravan had left her behind, though it wouldn’t take long to catch up, lumbering as it was.

Before she could start off again, something caught her eye.

Turning toward the trees, Molly squinted into the murkiness between their trunks.

Near where she thought the border was, a pair of red eyes, glowing like coals, peered out at her. They disappeared in a slow blink, but otherwise lingered in the gloom, unmoving.

Huffing, Molly planted her hands on her hips. “Well?” she called to the lurking unicorn. “Are you going to help?”

Another blink, those coals winking in and out.

When Bellarand didn’t answer, she called with her mind, What, you’re going to make me walk back?

It was a long moment before he replied, No? You walked yourself out there, you can walk yourself back.

Grumping, Molly rolled her eyes and turned back up the drive to follow the caravan.

Typical.

By the time she returned to the house, she’d far outpaced the caravan, wanting to get in out of the misting drizzle. Molly hurried into the kitchen, shaking condensation off her shoulders.

She looked up to find her handsome fae sharing a carrot with his overgrown pony. Literally, he took a bite and made sounds of rapture before holding the carrot out for Bellarand to take a hearty chomp from. Then took another bite from the same carrot.

Molly choked on her giggle before bending in half laughing. They stared at her, Bellarand reaching for the remaining nub with his horsey lips and Allarion looking charmingly confused. He was even more confused when Molly ducked out from his reach when he went to give her a kiss in greeting.

It was a long time before Molly caught her breath—so long she didn’t even bother berating Bellarand for not only not bringing her back but also getting home before her.

Molly woke the following morning to the sound of rain pattering against the windowpanes. After stretching her limbs and popping her fingers and toes, she rolled over to admire her handsome, sleeping fae.

He looked utterly serene in his long sleep, as always.

Since taking her blood and rediscovering his heartbeat, Allarion had begun to keep slightly more human hours. He dozed in the night as he lay beside her—especially when she did her best to exert him with their bed play. He still needed his long sleeps, though, even if they weren’t as long as before. A night and a morning usually.

At first, Allarion had moved back into his bedchamber to take his long sleep, not wanting to disturb her own rest. However, Molly had rolled around under the blankets, uncomfortable and unhappy. Taking her pillow with her, she’d climbed into bed beside him and settled to sleep.

Now, he tucked himself in for a long sleep in her bedchamber—or, what had become their bedchamber. He kept most of his attire in the other room, for he had more clothes than she did, but each night, it was in their room, in their bed that he lay.

Still sleeping soundly, Molly didn’t worry about disturbing him as she curled up against his side. His chest rose and fell steadily, and she liked pressing her cheek to it to listen to the heartbeat there, the one that was just for her.

She smiled to herself, only a little smugly. It was the best, handsomest heartbeat there ever was, if she did say so herself.

Molly listened for a long while, lazing in bed. Heavy rain meant another day without going into Mullon, but she didn’t worry so much, even with more mouths to feed. She had plenty for a hearty stew that would get them through the day—so long as Bellarand hadn’t raided the pantry in the night.

He hadn’t managed it yet, but that also hadn’t stopped him from trying.

Grumbling to herself about big black horned house pests, Molly finally pulled herself out of bed. Slipping into one of her wool dresses for a little more warmth, she wrapped a soft shawl he’d bought her in Dundúran around her shoulders and middle before tying it at her back.

Before leaving him to his slumber, Molly leaned down to kiss his smooth cheek.

“Dream of me,” she whispered, “and then come find me when you wake.”

He was always affectionate, but especially so after a long sleep. Although they spent most of it together, snuggled in bed, he still found it a separation to make up for. Molly loved it.

Looking forward to their reunion and hearing about whatever wicked things they did in his dreams, Molly made for the kitchen.

It was a relief not to find Bellarand there already, big head rifling through the cold box—again. But it did make breakfast a little lonely, and she was quick to chop the leftover meat and vegetables for the stew so she could start her next task.

With the big pot simmering under the watchful eye of the house, Molly sang one of her favorite songs as she made her way to the front of the house.

Taking up most of the front atrium and some of the stairs sat the many items from the caravan. It’d taken them most of the day to finally roll up to the house, just making it inside before the worst of the rain started in the early evening.

Banked fires in the formal dining room and sitting room lent a little more heat, helping to dry out the lingering dampness. The tarpaulins had been unmoored and placed neatly to the side, and all the crates and barrels had been opened.

Molly peered inside each, amazed at everything he’d managed to buy over just a few days.

Blowing out a breath, she pointed at the easiest decisions. A long dining table, a dozen chairs, and two carpets stepped off the pallets to follow her into the dining room. After choosing which carpet she preferred, Molly directed the table and chairs then began bringing in other furniture to adorn the room.

She soon made a game of it, singing rhymes as the house set the chairs to dancing. The carpet slid across the floor, adjusting the table, while a curio cabinet and washboard trundled across the room in a clumsy jig. Molly laughed and clapped along, spinning in time to her song and to avoid zealous chairs, as she directed where the furniture should go.

It took all morning to arrange the dining room, and it seemed as though she’d hardly made a dent in the forest of furniture crowding the atrium. Savory smells wafted from the kitchen, her stew nearly done, meaning it was time for luncheon.

Molly stretched out her back, turning in little circles and rocking back and forth. She barely had to lift anything with the house’s help, but still, making so many decisions before noon was a task!

Stepping up to one of the grand picture frame windows that lined one wall of the dining room, Molly looked out onto the front of the estate. The rain came down in sheets, gathering in the gutters to pour like a waterfall over the sides. She could hardly see anything through the wet mess of it, and yet…

Drawing closer, Molly squinted, not sure if she imagined movement out between the trees. Surely nothing would be out in this, and surely it was too far away to see, but still, the longer she stood there looking, the more she felt something…looking back.

This looks nice.

Molly jumped, whirling around to stare at the black form taking up the threshold.

Bellarand stood there, dripping water and mud, his mane plastered to his neck and a great puddle gathering around his hooves.

Molly squeaked in horror.

“Not on the carpets!”

Between the overgrown pony, her amorous fae, all the new furniture and goods to sort, and writing each of the girls a return letter, Molly forgot all about the strange little things around the estate. The strange shadow she thought she saw. The glowing eyes when she knew Bellarand to be in the kitchen. The occasional looming presence. Always there and gone again, none of it felt like more than the work of her imagination.

Molly even put the earthquakes from her mind—at least, until she heard Lorna, the dressmaker in Mullon, commiserate with another customer about it.

“I was lucky,” said the dressmaker, “only a few toppled displays. Poor Mina and Renault, their brick oven cracked. With all the other damage around town, the masons haven’t been able to get to them yet.”

“I was wondering why they were still closed,” said the other customer.

The two women chatted a little longer, and Molly waited in the wings, itching to speak with Lorna. Finally, willing the other woman to leave worked, and she bid her farewells.

Hurrying forward with the bolts and threads she wanted, Molly asked, “You felt the earthquakes here?”

“Oh yes,” Lorna sighed, “we felt it all right. Couldn’t believe it—I’ve never experienced one before. I think only Miss Hattie, you know, the dried herb woman down the way, has. She used to live near the old border with Pyrros. Said they’d get them sometimes, the earth would split open and all the houses would shake. Some would even collapse. I’m so glad it wasn’t as bad here.”

“I’m glad to hear there hasn’t been too much damage,” said Molly.

“Nothing serious, just frustrating. Some foundations cracked. The masons and bricklayers are having to call in help from the guilds in Dundúran to repair everything that needs fixing.”

“Have the Darrows been notified about the damage?”

“I’m sure the mayor has said something.”

Lorna didn’t sound confident, so Molly made a note to herself to add a letter to Lady Aislinn with those she was sending along to the girls. It was a strange thought, knowing a letter from her would reach all the way to the heiress herself. One she still wasn’t used to.

“I’m sure the aftershocks haven’t helped,” Molly remarked. “Were they able to stabilize the foundations before they hit?”

The dressmaker looked up from folding the fabrics Molly had purchased. Frowning, she said, “We only felt the one quake.”

Molly went still. “Just one? But…” They’d felt at least three aftershocks at the estate.

“One was plenty. Should we have felt aftershocks?”

Shaking her head, Molly demurred, not wanting to frighten the woman. She was frightened enough for the both of them.

The conversation lapsed as Molly stared at the bolts behind the dressmaker, her mind spiraling with questions and suspicions. Why had they felt aftershocks but not Mullon? The town was two hours’ ride away, but they should have at least felt it, even if not so strongly.

When the dressmaker finished wrapping up her purchases, Molly quickly thanked and paid her, not wanting to linger. She needed to find Allarion and tell him.

Something strange was happening—and it seemed to be just around Scarborough.