Old Magic(67)

Rhauk is watching me. He gives me the shivers. Even as he lays platters of food on the table, his eyes dance with mine. He’s flirting, I realise. Bold and obvious. And it’s hard to remember he’s more than double the age he looks. His skin is flawless, unmarked with age, his hair still deeply russet, his body lithe and youthful-looking. Occasionally his black eyes shift sideways to Jarrod, who’s trying hard to hang on to his patience. I warned him earlier – we come tonight seeking information, clues of any type that might help us solve the problem of the curse. Perhaps observing Rhauk in his own habitat will give us a lead. Losing control could blow everything. But Rhauk is teasing Jarrod. I just hope Jarrod can see through him, and not be blind to Rhauk’s games.

We sit down to dinner and my eyes bulge at the sight. There appears to be no one in the castle except for Rhauk, yet he’s prepared a luscious feast. Mostly fresh foods, berries and grapes, pears, apples, sweet corn, even light grain bread. There’s plenty to drink too, cider and sweet red wine, not coarse and rough, like at Thorntyne Keep. It has to be near impossible to grow all these things at this time of year. The aroma is strong and overwhelming. I’m hungry but sceptical. Who wouldn’t be?

‘Is the food not to your taste?’ Rhauk frowns.

‘It’s just that, well …’ I mutter, then opt for a direct line with this man. Anything less he wouldn’t respect. ‘It’s almost winter. There are few fresh fruits at this time of year.’

He smiles at me, laughs a little. ‘Nothing is impossible at Blacklands. I have my own gardens. Would you like to see them, Lady Katherine?’

His voice is like velvet, smooth and sensual. I glance at Jarrod, wanting to see his reaction to Rhauk’s invitation that leaves him out specifically. Thankfully, though he looks annoyed, he’s keeping control. I glance back at Rhauk. ‘We might like that later, thank you.’

Rhauk, if anything, looks smug and amused. He’s playing with us. It’s all a game to him. Well, I can play games too. I just wish the rules were clearer, and the stakes understood.

Rhauk carves up a pheasant, places a few slices of breast on Jarrod’s wooden plate. On mine and his own he serves a slice of the hot blackberry pie. His look challenges me. It says he knows I’m vegetarian, or at least that I favour fruits to meats. But how can he know this?

‘How goes my dear brother?’

Both Jarrod and I look up at Rhauk, startled. Who exactly is he asking about? Confusion throws us for a moment. We’re being paranoid, I realise.

‘Your father.’ His voice is mocking. ‘Or has your long journey dimmed your memory of the man who raised you?’

Softly, thankfully not taking the bait, Jarrod replies, ‘He is well.’

‘And your beautiful mother?’

Jarrod stares at him, but can’t hold Rhauk’s gaze.

Damn. Don’t give away clues, I silently curse. Stare him down, if you have to.

‘Fine.’

‘Hmm, fine you say.’ Rhauk looks bored, then adds, ‘Memory recalls Eloise a striking woman, yet … not quite as striking as you, Kate.’

My eyes fly to his in astonishment at the way he says my name. How does he know so much? Instinct? Or magic? They lock with his, and I’m trapped. Caught by the claws of something eerily strong, not from this world.

Jarrod feels the tension, his patience thinning. ‘Leave her alone.’

Slowly, Rhauk releases me, and his eyes move to Jarrod’s. ‘Why? I’m enjoying this conversation.’

Jarrod’s voice tightens. ‘Katherine is my wife.’

Rhauk laughs from deep within his chest. ‘You are a very poor liar.’

‘I’m not lying,’ Jarrod denies Rhauk’s accusation, but his voice hasn’t the conviction necessary to pull it off.

Rhauk’s head leans forward, his black eyes narrow slits. ‘Young lovers don’t sleep on opposite sides of the bed,’ he hisses.

‘How …?’ I hold this thought as I struggle not to look surprised or give our true marital status away. No matter his suspicions, or how clever this man is, Rhauk can only be guessing. Jarrod throws me a worried look.

A grizzly squawking sound draws our attention to the arched window slits. A black crow is perched there. I study it, wondering if it’s the same one that was perched on our window ledge this morning. Rhauk calls to the bird with a slight flick of his head, and the crow flies over, landing gently on Rhauk’s extended elbow. Rhauk croons to the bird, who soulfully responds, his arrow-shaped head inclining in an affectionate manner to one side.

I can’t drag my eyes away from the crow, understanding that I’m looking at no ordinary bird. Yet, I can’t accept that this crow somehow communicated to Rhauk our sleeping arrangement. It isn’t possible.