Free Faerie Fate by Silver James Page B

feel the warmth of her gaze burning into his back. He
planned on making short work of the thieving O’Brien so he could return to his
golden witch. Nay, his heart whispered, not witch but fae.
    ****
    The troops had long
since passed from sight and the people gathered in the courtyard to see them
off dispersed but still Becca stayed at the window, hoping to catch some stray
glimpse, some whispered echo of Ciaran. Shadows lengthened, the sun sliding
past midday. Clamoring down from the bench, she wandered around the room
listlessly.
    Becca needed to get
dressed. She finally opened the wooden cupboard and noticed some of Ciaran’s
clothes were still there. Without thinking, she pulled out one of his shirts
and put it on. It swallowed her, but she didn’t care. It carried his scent and
her skin craved the feel of fabric that had once touched his. Rummaging around,
she found a soft leather strap and wrapped it around her waist like a belt. She
rolled up the sleeves and searched for footwear. His boots were obviously too
big.
    She grinned
lasciviously. She couldn’t wait to find out if the old wives’ tale was true—the
one about the size of a man’s shoe and hi... She forced her salacious thoughts
away from that riddle and back to the situation at hand.
    His shirt fell
almost to her knees but Becca also needed something to cover her legs. There
was a pair of trews in the armoire, but they would swallow her. Not to mention,
she’d probably set the castle on its collective ear if she showed up dressed as
a man. She eyed the gowns for a brief moment. Just not her style. At least not
until Ciaran returned. As a last resort, she bunched, knotted, and hitched the
mantle until it made a passable skirt. She looked like a fashion disaster but
didn’t care. Screwing up her courage to face the outside world, she was saved
by a soft tap at the door.
    “May I come in?”
Siobhan’s voice called.
    Becca rushed to the
door and pulled it open. The older woman’s eyes were red-rimmed. Becca’s heart
went out to her. Siobhan was married to the master-at-arms and likely felt even
more bereft than she did. Once Siobhan got a good look at her attire, a wicked
smile creased her face, chasing away any lingering sadness.
    “Ah, cailín,”
Siobhan chortled fondly. “Yee can’t go wanderin’ around dressed like that.”
Despair welled up in her chest and she saw a shadow of her own feelings flit
across Siobhan’s, too. “Do you miss him that much, then?”
    Becca nodded. The
flood of tears she’d been holding back for so long suddenly broke the dam of
her self-control. She sank to the floor, tears streaming down her face as sobs
wracked her body.
    Siobhan joined her.
With their arms wrapped around each other, the women bawled until they had no
more tears. Becca finally hiccupped and giggled. A bit embarrassed yet relieved
by their crying jag, they washed their faces in the basin of tepid water and
put on brave expressions.
    “Yee still cannot go
traipsing around in the Taoiseac’s clothes.” Siobhan’s tone and the
hands firmly fisted on her hips were insistent. “ ’ Twouldn’t be seemly
for you to go about dressed like a ragamuffin.” She arched a brow. “Nor dressed
like a man.”
    “But the dresses,
the gowns... They’re too fine for me,” Becca protested.
    Siobhan looked
shocked. “Do yee not understand, cailín? When the MacDermot returns, the two of
you will be wed, and you’ll be the mistress of the castle.” That almost made
Becca start bawling again. “Nay, cailín, he’s a good man and ’twill be gentle
with yee when it comes to the tuppin’,” Siobhan hastened to reassure her. “ ’ Tis
obvious for all to see that he cares about you, and I’m thinkin’ you might feel
the same about him.”
    “It’s not that,”
Becca stammered as she drew in a ragged breath. How was she going to explain to
this woman what the real problem was? How could she explain that she was from
hundreds of years in the future?