Eventide of the Bear (The Wild Hunt Legacy #3) (12 page)

“Your father will be back soon, sweetheart,” Emma told her. But now what? The child was too anxious to sleep again, and a tavern wouldn’t have toys available.

Lacking blocks and dolls, Emma knew only one way to divert a bored child. “Let me tell you a story, my small cub.” She’d spent three years entertaining easily bored pixies; one sleepy child would be a joy. Her voice slid right into the traditional story-telling rhythm.

Without any hesitation, Minette laid her head down. Sucking her thumb slowly, she rubbed Emma’s braid against her cheek.

“Long and long ago, in the very dawn of the days of the Daonain, wolf-shifters found a baby girl lying in a burrow in the wide, green forest. The pack named her Rhonwen, for her hair was the shining silver of a mid-winter moon.”

Emma’s miserable years of loneliness disappeared as she recounted her favorite story of all time—the early days of the legendary bear-shifter. By the Goddess, how she’d missed using all her skill to entertain her clan, to draw her audience with her into the heart of a story.

As she brought the story to a glorious finish, she noticed Vicki near the fireplace, probably checking to see if aught was needed.

Emma smiled.
We are fine, thank you.

With a token salute, the barmaid-deputy moved away.

Emma looked down at her audience of one. “Do you want a song this time? Maybe one about a kitten like you?”

Minette gave an enthusiastic nod.

The teaching tune about the perils of heedless exploration—and the blessings of an understanding clan—was one Emma had always loved. Enjoying herself as much as Minette, Emma used tone and tempo to texture in emotions, much as artists layered color into paintings. Her surroundings disappeared as she submerged herself in the music.

One verse and another. Danger and courage. With joy and an aching heart, she sang the final verse about the little cat’s return to her family. She trailed off with a few hummed notes.

A contented sigh came from her little-girl audience—the best,
best
reward a bard could receive.

Deep inside her bloomed a sharp joy that was almost pain.

After a second, she realized sighs and murmurs were sounding throughout the unnaturally quiet tavern. Her head jerked up.
Oh my Goddess…

People all around the room were looking at her. Had been
listening.
Ryder, Ben, the two strange cahirs, and the
Cosantir
stood near the fireplace.

Anxiety crawled up Emma’s spine like a wave of ants, waiting to all bite her at once. “I’m sorry,” she said to the group of males.

“For what?” Ben sauntered forward. “Great song, darlin’.” He tugged her hair lightly.

“I-I didn’t mean to disturb the—”

“You disturbed no one, Emma.” The Cosantir walked around the couch and sat facing her on the heavy oak coffee table. His gray eyes held hers. “How much training have you had, bard?”

She felt the blood leave her face. He knew what she was. Had he heard of the bard who’d caused the deaths of two males? Would he kick her out of his territory?

“Emma?” the Cosantir prompted. He didn’t look angry. “Did you start at the usual age…as a teen?”

“Fourteen.” It’d been the only time she fought her mother. She’d never have obtained permission if the master bard hadn’t spoken up. Her mother hadn’t been able to refuse someone so respected. “I finished my seven years of apprenticeship. And then…” And then her life had been destroyed. “I haven’t entertained anyone”—besides tree fairies and forest animals—“for a long time. I’m no longer a bard.” Renouncing her dream pierced her like a knife to the soul.

Wry humor lightened his lean face. “A tail does not disappear, even if not wagged. You are yet a bard.” He regarded her thoughtfully. “We postponed your judgment, aye?”

When her body tensed, she felt Minette stir.
Breathe, Emma.
“Yes.”
Please, don’t send me back to the forest. Please.

“Why were you in the forest with no one to aid you?”

He didn’t know she’d been banished. The knowledge loosened the constriction around her throat. She chose her words carefully. “After my mother died, I had no family left. And I was…unhappy. No one cared when I left for the forest.”
Truth
. The town of Pine Knoll would only have cared if she’d returned. “So I was alone when I got hurt.”

He studied her for a long, uncomfortable moment. Plainly, he knew she wasn’t telling everything.

What would he decide to do with her? As guardians of Herne’s territories, the Cosantirs followed their own unique logic, making decisions to benefit the Daonain as a whole, not one lonely shifter.

She looked away. Ben stood with arms folded over his chest. Beside him, Ryder leaned one shoulder on the fireplace mantel. Both were listening.

She swallowed and returned her attention to the Cosantir.

“I will accept your explanation for now.” Calum’s measured gaze held her. “So…for risking discovery by humans, I impose this penalty: You’ll work as a bard twice a week until Lughnasadh.”

She gaped at him as if he’d awoken her early from hibernation. Sing? For others? Until the harvest festival in August? “Um, where?”

“Oh, here.” His gesture took in the whole room. His lips curved. “Did I forget to mention I own the bar?”

“You?” A Cosantir was a lowly tavern owner?

He didn’t…quite…snort. “Your singing will draw in customers during the quiet periods, which will be good for the bar. As Cosantir, I want our people to hear their history in song and story again.”

She would have an audience? A raging river of emotion surged over her banks, stealing her voice. She could only nod.

Laughter lit his eyes. “I silenced a bard. Delightful.” He tapped his fingers together. “Let’s plan for Thursdays from seven to nine. Do whatever suits you. On Sundays, I’d prefer traditional teaching songs and stories. We’ll encourage families to attend with their cubs and set the time to be from five to seven. Are we in agreement?”

“Yes.” Surely, she could do better than such a weak response. She firmed her voice. “Yes, I’d enjoy that very much.”

“Then we have an accord.” He rose, nodded at the others, and moved toward the bar with the characteristic stalk of a werecat.

Oh my Goddess.
She turned to Ben and Ryder, and from the amused look on Ryder’s dark face, she knew she was grinning wider than a tipsy flower fairy. She ignored him and told Ben as if he hadn’t already heard, “I’m going to get to sing again.”

Ben grinned. “And so you are. Congratulations, li’l bear.”

‡

“D
o I have
this right?” Emma asked the empty kitchen as she studied the peeled potatoes and hunk of beef in the pan. Had she rightly remembered how her mother’s cook made pot roast? Questionable. Since the Cavanaughs didn’t associate with hired help, Emma’d never been allowed in the kitchen for longer than it took to eat her afternoon snack.

Unfortunately, she hadn’t located any cookbooks in Ben’s home, which meant she was on her own in the kitchen. Scary thought. But she so, so wanted to do something nice for him.

He’d been past kind and openly pleased when the Cosantir “sentenced” her to sing as her penalty.

Wonder filled her again. The Cosantir
wanted
her to sing, to be a bard. If she proved herself useful, if people came to like her, maybe she could stay in Cold Creek. She’d run her paws off to be worthy of the chance.

First, she needed to show Ben and Ryder she understood the
Law of Reciprocity
. Ben had given her a place to stay, fed her, cared for her. Ryder had made her a beautiful hardwood cane, dark and smooth and glossy. With her brace and the cane, she didn’t have to be carted everywhere.

Although, being carried by Ben was more enthralling than anything she’d fantasized about as a young female. Cared for and helpless—a very heady mixture. And Ben himself…
Well
. His easy-going nature concealed a formidable strength of will and an intimidating self-confidence. When he focused on her, she felt like tasty prey—and very,
very
female.

She gave herself a shake.
Stop daydreaming.

The potatoes and roast beef lay like corpses in the pan, and she bit her lip. She’d managed to scour the kitchen, despite frequent breaks to let the pain ease. The countertops and table sparkled; however, cleaning wasn’t enough to balance the scales.

Surely, something as basic as roast beef couldn’t be easily ruined. Right?

After some puzzling, she turned on the oven. Now, what was the correct temperature?

Ryder had made a frozen pizza one night and set the oven to 425 degrees. The pizza was very thin, the roast very thick, so surely the temperature needed to be higher? She turned the dial to 450 degrees.

She did know that a roast should bake for a long time. Their cook had put the meat into the oven when Emma had been snacking, so the beef must have cooked for around three to four hours. She’d check it in three…to be on the safe side.

There. Done.
Biting her lip, she hesitated. Maybe she should watch it?

Staring at the oven door would be silly. She looked around, wishing for someone to talk with. The house was so empty even the dust motes seemed to echo.

If she went outside, the flower fairies would keep her company while she planned what to sing at the tavern. The food didn’t need her help to cook, after all. And when the males and Minette returned from the construction site, she’d treat them all to a tasty hot meal. Wouldn’t they be surprised?

*

Three hours later,
Emma limped into the kitchen and gasped in horror at the black clouds of smoke pouring from the oven.

“Oh, no. No, no, no.” Leaving the back door open, she turned off the oven.

With true dismay, she heard the front door open and the stomping sound of boots.

Ben and Ryder had returned.

“Fuck. Did Emma set the place on fire?” she heard Ryder ask. “I told you not to tease her about her reading. Females get all gooey over those lovesick stories.”

“I smell burnt meat,” Ben answered mildly. All too quickly, he entered the kitchen with Minette and Ryder.

Gritting her teeth, Emma opened the oven door, already knowing she wouldn’t see the perfect, juicy, tasty meal she’d planned.

Far from it.

The smoking, shriveled carcass was surrounded by black lumps of potatoes. By the Mother, how could she have messed this up so badly? Been so stupid? She was every inch as worthless as her mother had always said.

She’d spoiled good food and wasted Ben’s money.

“Well, there’s a…” Ryder glanced at her and didn’t finish. Instead, he moved her to one side, grabbed a potholder, and pulled out the disgusting mess. After setting the pan in the sink, he turned the water on. Steam rose with an angry hiss.

Ruined
. She tried to blink back the tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“It’s not worth worrying about, darlin’.” Ben gave her loose hair a teasing tug. “We appreciate the effort, even if it didn’t turn out.”

His kindness ruined her attempt at composure, and her eyes filled completely, blurring her vision.

“Sit, Emma.” With strong hands, he pushed her into a kitchen chair. Crouching in front of her, he took her hands.

“I wasted your money. I shouldn’t have tried to prepare a meal.” She hung her head, her mother’s voice in her ears.
Worthless. Stupid. Awkward. Ungrateful.
“I don’t know how to cook.”

Ryder frowned. “I thought all females were taught to cook and clean.”

Did he think her not only incompetent, but a liar as well? Her spine straightened. “We had a cook.” Her gaze dropped back to her lap, where Ben’s rugged hands still held hers. “I wasn’t allowed in the kitchen.”

When her breathing hitched in a prelude to tears, she controlled herself. No crying. She was a grown female.

“A cook. Interesting.” Ryder’s black eyes were unreadable. He walked over to the doorway and scooped up Minette. “C’mon, kitten, you can work on your puzzle while I get cleaned up.”

After a second, she pulled her gaze from the empty doorway and realized Ben hadn’t let go of her hands. A tug not only didn’t gain her freedom, but also tightened his grip.