“Were you in the dale five or six years ago?”
She wouldn’t have asked that question if she had not begun to make certain connections in her mind and heart: connections between Cornelius, a certain incident at a border inn, and Hartley Shaw. She had not acknowledged them… yet. But he must tread carefully.
“Yes,” he said. “I passed this way, and that was how I came to find this forest and to recognize its rarity. It is a treasure, Eden. Your treasure, if you will accept it.”
“It is not yours to give, is it?” she whispered.
“But you have the means to protect it. Will you, Eden? No matter what happens between us?”
She turned her back to him. “I shall never allow any creature at Hartsmere to be harmed in any way. Not even so much as a mouse.”
“Do you promise that, Eden?”
“Do you think, because you can speak to birds and animals, that no one else is capable of kindness toward them?”
“I think that men are often blind.”
“Are you not curing my blindness?”
Your blindness will end only when I reveal myself. “The gift of seeing clearly brings a price.”
“There is always a price, isn’t there?” She looked back at him. “If you were here five years ago… is that how you deduced that I am Donal’s mother? You knew of my—” She shook her head. “I should be grateful that you are far more astute than most who live here.”
He moved to her side and took her hand. “I told you that your secret is safe with me. Believe it, Eden.”
She sighed and nodded. Once more he led her closer to the heart of his realm. He found the nuthatch’s nest in a tree hollow, occupied by four gape-mouthed fledglings.
“How lovely they are,” Eden said softly.
“The nuthatch has one mate in his life,” he said. “He will never leave her for another. Can men say as much?”
She glanced away. “It is not always possible. Birds do not have the obligations of people.”
“And their lives are so short. Every moment is precious. Yet they live each one without regret.”
“Is that how you think we should live? Without regret?”
“Yes. For as long a time as we have.”
Something unspoken passed between them, just as it had done at the Lady Elm. Hartley held out his hand, offering and asking for much more than a touch.
The entire forest fell silent. It waited, as he did, for her decision. Even the sun seemed to pause in its journey, poised on the peak of the highest western fell and casting the world in a red gold glow.
Slowly, never taking her gaze from his, she gave him her hand. The desire he had felt constantly in her presence broke free of its restraints. He could not stop it from spilling over.
Her eyes widened. “Oh,” she murmured.
He pulled her close and kissed her. His need was too potent to be satisfied by a single kiss, but it was all he dared take.
It was not enough for Eden. As he withdrew, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed him in return.
The Fane race were expert in the ways of pleasure, if not of love, and they practiced it often in their own land. Hartley had been different, spending years alone in his wood, returning less and less to Tir-na-nog. But the sensual talents bestowed by his Fane birth were present in abundance.
As they were in Eden, human though she was. All her reluctance was gone. Her kiss was fire in the cool of the evening; she seduced him with lips as sweet as the mead of
Tir-na-nog. Soon he would drive all recollection of other lovers from Eden’s heart and body. He would love her so well that she would carry the memory of this night forever.
With a great effort he set her back, though it was like severing a part of himself. “I know a place,” he said, “where we will not be disturbed.”
“Donal—”
“Is in good hands. Forget that other world, Eden, and give yourself to mine.”
To me.