Free Scent of a Witch by Bri Clark

found within five feet of her. Had she merely been a vow for him to keep? Adding to her confusion, the thought pained her to the core.
    She had yet to personally meet Laird Rordan Hughes. While she had heard him bellow often enough, since the man was quite loud, and she’d caught fleeting glimpses of an older male passing by her door, she still ha d not fully laid eyes upon him.
    With her body healed and since the laird himself seemed to be avoiding her , she felt it was time to disappear.
    Finally, she was alone. The castle was quiet now, except for the sounds of a burning hearth. Maeve dressed in a skirt and blouse similar to the ones she favored. She pulled her hair back with a ribbon and then , as she reached for the Celtic Knot , she came to another decision. Fionn Hughes and his clan had saved her and helped heal her beyond the physical. For that alone she owed them...but besides all that, she wanted to return to t hem what was rightfully theirs.
    Maeve had always been good at hiding games. Her Patty had taught her the ways of stealth without using magic and she’d learned them well. Quiet as a jungle cat, she found the great hall, where she intended to leave the talisman. But as she moved to approach the table, she spotted a man sitting in a chair before the fire’s dying embers. He sa t unmoving, staring at a watch.
    “Where do you creep to lass?” He s poke softly without looking up.
    For a second Maeve considered not speaking, calling his potential bluff. Instead, she squared her shoulders and walked forward as if it that had been her intention all along. Fixing an emotionless mask on her face, she approached. When she saw him more clearly, she knew for sure it was Laird Rordan Hughes. Her granny had described his hair as being dark as midnight and his eyes so blue they seemed ice cold. Then her granny had shared more, things that still made Maeve blush. That was the sort of relationship they’d shared, very different from most parents and even more special than the normal grandmother-to-granddaughter bond.
    “If ye are well enough to creep around without alerting my best guards, then ye are well enough for a talk.” He extended his hand for her to join him in the opposite seat, but still he wouldn’t look at her. Instead he remained focused on the gold pocket watch. The quick irrational temper she had inherited flared and , instead of sitting down, she placed t he Knot in his hand and turned.
    “Thank you for everything,” she said through tight lips, curtsie d, then turned and walked away.
    “Wait lass…” Rordan instructed, as she co uld hear him shift in his seat.
    Maeve kept right on walking.
    “I am the Laird here and said you are to sit, lass.” While he did start out in a normal tone of voice, by the time Rorda n finished the windows rattled.
    Maeve stopped at the bottom of the steps, took three deep cleansing br eaths before she turned around.
    “Tha t’s a good lass—” Rordan began.
    “My name, sir, is Maeve da Paer, not lass . You would know that if you had taken the time to come and introduce yourself, which is the expected behavior of a laird, as you so quickly remind everyone you are.” As she spoke with a controlled but deadly sweetness, she approached the quietly mesmerized laird. “However, sir , I feel that I must correct you, since everyone else in this keep is obviously too afraid to.”
    “A nd you are unafraid?” he asked.
    “You, Laird Hughes, don’t frighten me.” She stood directly in front of him. Like Fionn, he was much taller than Maeve, and she was, indeed, intimidated, contrary to her strong words. But Irish pride refused to let her show it.
    “Then tell me what my people are afraid to say,” he goaded, fighting to hide a smile.
    “You, Laird Rordan Hughes are a loud, obnoxious man with the manners that equal a swine,” she responded, struggling to mai ntain her controlled sweetness.
    Once again, Maeve experienced the satisfaction of knowing she’d