20. Arthur

Igrabbed two wooden swords from the collection in the hatstand and led Maeve out into the apple orchard at the back of the garden. The orchard was hidden from view behind a high stone wall – ideal, since I didn’t want any tourists to see what we were up to. I’d made that mistake once, and the next day we had two Health and Safety inspectors up at the castle asking me about protective equipment (apparently a suit of armour wasn’t considered protective enough) and demanding I obtain a fairground licence for my “sideshow.”

“What are those for?” Maeve asked as I handed her the sword. “This isn’t iron. I can’t hurt a fae with this.”

“No, you can’t, but if you don’t practice with these first and learn the basics, you won’t be able to hurt a fae with the iron one, either.” I stepped back from her and held my own sword out in front of me, showing her how to grip the hilt with both hands. “This is a wooden replica of a two-handed sword of English design. Later – if you still like me – I’ll show you how to fight with a smaller, single-handed sword and shield. But two-handed is good to start with. You hold your hands here and here,” I demonstrated my grip on either end of the hilt. “This grip enables you to pivot the sword through different holds. We call these wards.”

“Like this?” Maeve mimicked my swing.

“Exactly.” My heart thudded in my chest, and I extended my stance to make room for my stiff cock, hoping Maeve wouldn’t notice. I’d had this vivid dream about her last night – she was lying naked in the middle of the Great Hall and I was sucking her nipple and she made these mewling sounds at the back of her throat. Now I couldn’t look at her without remembering the curve of her breast and the taste of her skin.

Which was good, because I wasn’t sure I wanted to remember the rest of the dream – all my friends naked around me, and some random guy in a black coat I’d never seen before.

Seeing Maeve swing that sword brought it all back, and more. Girls swinging swords were my one weakness. I shifted my leg. This was going to be one long lesson.

“That’s how you control the weapon,” I explain as I swing again. “Most swords have a ball-or triangular shaped pommel, and you can use this for pivoting as well, but some of them have a spike, which is great for doing this.”

In a flash, I slid in close to her, wrapped my sword around hers, knocked it aside, flipped mine over, and drove the pommel into her face, stopping an inch short of hitting her eye socket. To Maeve’s credit, she didn’t shriek or flinch away.

Instead, she blinked twice and her muscles relaxed against mine.

Fuck.

This close, her sweet scent danced over my nostrils, and it was all I could do not to pull her closer and taste her again.

Girls who smell good and swing swords were my one weakness.

How the hell was I going to survive these lessons without giving in to the pull of her? We were only ten minutes in and already I was imagining taking her up against one of the apple trees, her shapely legs curled around me, her hot wetness clenching my cock?—

“Show me how to do that,” Maeve breathed. She blinked again, and her chest brushed against mine. I sucked in a breath and turned my pelvis away from her. Damn, this was going to be hard work, but I had to let Maeve come to me if I was really the one she wanted.

That”s what I’d agreed to, and no way in hell would I go back on my word to the guys.

It took all of my willpower, but I dropped my hold and stepped away from Maeve. “That comes later. Today we’re doing basic stances and crosses, and then we’ll do a little bare-knuckle fighting. Now, follow me closely.”

I drilled Maeve on some basics, and explained the importance of distance and timing in a swordfight. Brute force won’t win a battle if you mess up your distance, which is one way Meave will be able to get the upper hand against a fae warrior – she simply has to watch for an opening.

I made her repeat the drills over and over, hoping to kick in her muscle memory. Sweat poured down her brow, but she never once complained.

“Where did you learn all this?” Maeve asked as our wooden swords clattered together. I’d gone easy on her in the beginning, but as she got better, I added more force behind my blows. She defended with equal force.

Girls who smell nice and swing swords and don’t back down from a challenge were my one weakness.

“From Youtube videos, mostly.” I said, swinging again. “And studying sword fighting manuals written by the medieval sword masters. I was involved with a historical martial arts club in Crooks Worthy for a while, but I had to leave last year.”

“Why?”

I hesitated. I didn’t want to tell her why. I didn’t want her to think less of me.

“Arthur, why?”

Maeve sensed my hesitation through my sword and used it to push my weapon aside, exactly the way I’d shown her. She slid in close. My sword hung uselessly out to the left and her face drew up against my chest, her breath hot against my neck.

Girls who smell nice and swing swords and don’t back down from a challenge and manage to beat me were definitely my one weakness.

“I don’t know what to do from here,” Maeve said, her voice breathy. “But I think I got past your guard.”

Her sweet scent invaded my nostrils, spinning around my head, making my senses all wobbly. The only thing that was working was my cock and it pressed painfully against my thigh, desperate for escape. I gulped.

“Yeah, you did. Good work.”

The fire licked at my veins, that all-too-familiar pull drawing me closer. Maeve’s dark eyes widened, and she wet her lips. Her face poised inches from mine. My chest burned.

Kiss me, dammit. I want you so bad, and it’s more than just the coven’s magic talking. You’re a wonder, Maeve Moore?—

Maeve tore herself from my arms and drew back, her breath coming out in ragged gasps. I felt her absence as a pain in my chest, a longing to be close to her.

“This isn’t teaching me how to fight,” she declared, her chest heaving. “I want to try that move again.”

I did another subtle re-adjustment of my trousers. We backed up to our places. Maeve pointed her sword to the sky, her hands tight into her shoulder, the way I’d shown her. I came at her with a huge swing and a bellow. You should always make a lot of noise when training someone to fight, especially if they’re someone who hasn’t fought before, because real fights are noisy. It teaches them to be aware of more than one sense. I learned from an old martial arts instructor that when women are attacked, they usually go completely silent, which isn’t ideal because making noise may alert someone that you’re in trouble.

Maeve swung the sword down to meet mine, blocking my blow and waving the tip dangerously close to my face. We practiced it again and again, and I was chuffed at how well she was doing.

We switched sides, and Maeve attacked me. Other beginners I fought with – back at the medieval club and my earlier martial arts classes – who would go so softly that it was hard to defend their half-hearted blows. But not Maeve – she threw her whole weight behind every swing. She was so committed that she leaned too far forward into her next blow, so when my sword came down I accidentally slapped her across the cheek.

“Ow!” She staggered back, clutching her face.

I dropped my sword and ran to her, gathering her in my arms. “I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. Did I hurt you badly? Is it bleeding?”

“It’s fine. I’m fine…” But when I tugged her hand away, I could see an ugly welt forming on her cheek. A stream of tears rolled down her cheeks. My stomach churned.

I did this to her. I hurt her.

This was what I did. I lost control and hurt people. The familiar burning in my chest rose up, like an enormous black bubble desperate to be free. Only instead of wind it would unleash the fury I kept locked away inside. Panic clouded my vision as I shoved it back down.

This is why I haven’t had a girl since I came to Briarwood. This is why I only train by myself. This is why I would be the absolute worst choice for Maeve. How can I help her learn to tame her powers if I haven’t even tamed my own?

“I’m sorry,” my voice cracked. “We’ll stop now. This was a stupid idea. I don’t want to hurt.”

Maeve laughed, wiping her face. “No, these tears aren’t because of you. Seriously, Arthur, this barely hurts.”

“It looks bad. We should get you inside.”

“No, listen. I was thinking about my parents, about how they always wanted me to be athletic. Everyone in Arizona plays sports. My Dad was high school quarterback. Kelly was on the cheerleading squad. Mom played on a church baseball team. But I refused. I was hopeless in gym class – I can calculate the circumference of a sphere but I can’t catch one for bollocks.”

“Nice use of bollocks.” I wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “You’re a fast learner.”

“Hey, languages are a lot like physics – once you learn the rules it’s just a matter of getting the nuances right. I haven’t quite mastered the nuances of shagging and shagged and shagging around, but I’ll get there.”

“Wait until you learn about bollocks vs the dogs bollocks. But you were saying about your parents?”

She sniffed. “Just that they were always on at me to do something physical. My Dad would say, ‘Chess club is not a sport, Maeve.’ And now here I am, learning how to fight with swords like a real medieval knight, and they would have hated it but also been proud at the same time, and I just…” she wiped her face again. Her whole body crumpled against me.

“Hey,” I stroked her hair, trying to ignore the beautiful sweet smell that rose off her or the way her body fitted so perfectly against mine. “It’s okay to cry.”

“You don’t understand,” she sniffed. “I haven’t cried. For weeks I’ve been this big ball of numbness, and everyone’s been looking at me, expecting me to show some emotion. But it’s like their loss was so great that it took everything away, even my ability to feel. And then I came here and met you guys and learned about fae and kissed you and cried the other night and now I’m feeling too much.”

Bloody hell, she was even beautiful when she cried. Maybe more beautiful. Everything I knew about Maeve and her brilliant, analytical mind said that this outburst was rare for her. It was an honor to be the shoulder she chose.

Don’t waste it. Say something reassuring, you bellend.

“Everyone grieves in a different way,” I said. “You have to give yourself permission to do whatever it takes to get yourself through the pain. And then you have to forgive yourself for all the shit you end up doing because of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t cry either when my mum died. I was too angry. I had this fire inside me, burning with rage that the world had taken her from me.”

“When did she die?” Maeve tucked a strand of pink hair behind her ear, her big hazel eyes boring into mine.

I hesitated. No way did I want to talk about Mum, especially not with the fire dangerously close to flaring up in a bad way. But I remembered when I first met Corbin – only months after he lost his brother Keagan – and how angry I was, how I’d lashed out at him when he’d found me, punched him out, broken his nose. Corbin brought me to Briarwood, and in front of the fire in this big, empty castle, he told me the story of his own pain. It poured out of him – all the guilt and loss and the hopeless, crushing loneliness. I took it into myself and wore it as my own, and his pain pushed out my own, and for a while things didn’t hurt so much.

That was why I stayed, I think, in the end. Because being around Corbin and seeing him wear his tragedy like a badge of honor, to watch him transform that tragedy it into passion, made my own pain fade to the background. Here, I had more control over the fire.

Maybe… maybe I could be that for Maeve.

I sighed. “She died when I was eight. Her and my dad had a horrible marriage. They fought all the time. Big screaming fights that shook the walls and sent me cowering under the bed. They were both fire elementals, so they had these terrible tempers. Mum was better at controlling it – she channeled the fire into her artwork, into her charity work. But Dad pushed his into his fists, which he then swung at Mum, or at me.”

“Oh, Arthur.” Maeve wrapped her arms around me, squeezing me tight. It reminded me of Mum. When the fire burned inside me, and she could see I was about to blow, she’d hold me and squeeze me and whisper funny stories in my ear. She didn’t want me to learn to deal with it the way Dad did. But you can’t fight who you are.

Maeve touched my arm, right near my elbow. “Is that where you got the scars?”

Shite.“No.”

The fire crackled inside me, pushing against my fingertips. I moved my hands off Maeve’s shoulders so that if a flame flared up I wouldn’t accidentally burn her.

I sucked in a deep breath, and continued, hoping I’d distract her enough that she wouldn’t ask about the scars again. “Anyway, they were screaming at each other in the kitchen, and I could hear crockery smashing, and then Dad was the only one screaming, only his screams were different. He yelled at me to call an ambulance, so I dialed 999 and then I went downstairs and saw her body slumped against the kitchen floor.” I shuddered at the memory. “He hit her and she fell and smashed her head open on the granite bench. And just like that, she was gone.”

“I’m so sorry.” Maeve buried her face in my shoulder. I breathed in the sweet scent of her hair. Already, the tension in her shoulders had lifted a little.

Giving her this little piece of my soul was working.

Which was damn good, because it was tearing me open. A short flame burst from my hand, and I quickly slammed my palm against the grass to snuff it out. That’s enough of that. “It’s fine. It was a long time ago. I told you because I want you to know that I remember what it was like – the way the grief seeps into every aspect of your life, how the whole world’s eyes bore into you, expecting you to react a certain way. How your own body and heart betray you because it hurts so damn much.”

“Yeah.” Maeve rubbed my shoulders. “How everyone you see suddenly seems different, like their lives are completely separate to you, because they couldn’t possibly understand how the grief follows you everywhere.”

“That’s what’s so brilliant about Briarwood.” I stared up at the tops of the trees – the sprawling apple trees loaded with fruit, the towering oak and ash that lined the edge of the garden. “The outside world doesn’t bother us. It really is like we’re part of some far off, fantastical realm. Everyone in this house came here to heal, no matter what they tell you.”

And as for why they stayed…you’ll find out soon…

“Maybe I’ll heal, too, but not if I’m kept in the dark. Corbin is hiding something from me.” Maeve studied my face, those dark eyes not missing a thing. “You all are, I think.”

I didn’t deny it. “Do you trust us?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “I know I shouldn’t. It’s ridiculous, since I’ve known you for all of three days. But something in my gut is saying that I can trust you. I don’t usually listen to my gut without empirical evidence to back it up, but you guys did save my life the other night, so I guess that’s enough for now. Yes, I trust you.”

“Then trust that Corbin will tell you everything when the time is right.” I thought of the letter sitting in the top drawer of Corbin’s desk and of the tear-streaked girl in my arms.

What would Maeve do when she read that letter? Would she hate us? Would she leave Briarwood forever?

But she was so strong, so much stronger than any of us imagined. All these years we watched her from afar and we didn’t know her at all. But I wanted to, and not just because of the magic.

Maeve changed the subject again. “How did you come to live at Briarwood? I get the idea that Corbin collected you all.”

“Yeah, he did. I was the first of us that Corbin found when he decided to put the coven together.” I chose each word carefully. “He was fifteen. I was fourteen and I…I was hellbent on ruining my life. I lived with my Dad, who’d told the police my mum slipped on the wet tiles and got away with it. He’d become an even bigger dick, and I couldn’t look at him without seeing what he did to Mum and how he’d lied to get out of the consequences. I was so angry, and I couldn’t control the anger. I had nowhere to channel it. Kids were always mean to me at school, because I was so big, and I hated sports, too. You and I have that in common. I read lots of fantasy books and watched horror films and played Dungeons Dragons, and…that wasn’t the done thing.”

Flashes of memory snatched at me – of Lance Holmes smashing a case of DD figurines I’d laboriously painted, and stealing my clothes in the middle of the night at a school camp and flying them up the flagpole. “This kid Lance, we used to be friends in junior high, but by the time we went to high school together, he had it out for me. He knew all these stories from when I was younger and I couldn’t control my magic. He spread this rumor that I was a pyromaniac who killed my mother, and that I was unstable. I came into the classroom one day and he was telling people she must’ve done something to me as a child to make me like this, and that I should be locked up, and I?—”

A flame flickered on my palm. Maeve gasped. She reached out to touch it, but I shut my fingers around it, snuffing it out.

“It’ll burn you,” I said. “That’s what being close to me does. It burns people. That’s what Lance found out. I lost my shit. The fire burst out of me before I could stop it, and it caught on Lance’s uniform, and he was screaming and thrashing around. He had serious second-degree burns by the time they put him out.”

I searched Maeve’s face for a sign of the horror she must be feeling, for the realization that I was a monster. Her mouth fell open a little, but her bright eyes widened, staring at me with such empathy, I had to fight against an urge to fall against her, to wrap her up in my arms and keep her close forever.

Instead, I sucked in a deep breath, steadying myself against her apparent willingness to accept my darkest secret, and continued.

“They wanted to send me away. The press came knocking at the door, wanting the inside scoop on the ‘Firestarter.’ Dad didn’t even like me that much anyway, and I didn’t think he wanted the press looking into our past in case they overturned his lies, so he left. Just walked out one day and never came back. I had no one to speak for me. None of my relatives wanted me. They thought my mum was kooky, and that she’d made me crazy. I was going to go into the system, but then Corbin appeared with this fancy lawyer from London who somehow convinced the judge that there was no evidence I’d started the fire. So they let me free, and Corbin asked me to come live here. His lawyer set everything up so it was perfectly legal, even though I wasn’t eighteen.”

“And you came, just like that?”

I gestured up at the imposing facade of Briarwood. “Wouldn’t you? You don’t get second chances very often in life. I was lucky enough that Corbin gave me this one.”

“Oh, Arthur. I’m so sorry.” Maeve nestled her head against my shoulder. “I know what it’s like not to fit in. My school was sports-obsessed, too. And Christ-obsessed. My own parents believed the universe was six-thousand years old. Can you imagine what happened when I told them I wanted to be an astronaut?”

I shook my head. Mainly because the idea of being something other than a screw-up who played too many computer games never occurred to me. But something about being close to Maeve made me believe anything was possible.

Every inch of my body demanded that I kiss her. My lips stung with the memory of the taste she’d given me.

But it wasn’t enough. I didn’t just want Maeve’s body. I didn’t just want her because of the magic, because of the need to make the coven whole.

I wanted her because she was amazing, and even if it damn near killed me, I wouldn’t touch her until she thought I was amazing, too.