Page 100 of Kick the Candle (Knight Games 2)
He closed his eyes and exhaled a shaky breath, hugging his cheek to mine until it was obvious he'd positioned the pillows as much as needed. Once he'd lowered me carefully into the soft nest he'd made, he lifted a bowl and ladled the soup.
"Open."
I did, and he poured the hot liquid into my mouth. I chewed and swallowed. "What kind of soup is this?" I asked. It tasted like herbal tea with vegetables, not exactly bad but not like my dad used to make... and my dad can't cook.
"I found a spell for a healing infusion of herbs and added some vegetables known to be healthful. The meat I'd purchased was spoiled but I can get some later if you'd like."
I swallowed another bite. It was growing on me. I could definitely feel healing warmth infusing my body from the brew. "It's fine," I said. "I think it's working."
His eyes twinkled with a smile that didn't quite reach his lips but warmed the air between us. Deep inside, that feeling filled me again, the one I'd felt when I'd watched him try to warn me about Monk when I was Isabella. I'd also experienced this when I'd woken up in Maison des Etoiles and when he'd saved me from Julius. I'd been in love before and this wasn't what I remembered; it was stronger. This emotion was a great and powerful mystery I wasn't ready to solve.
"Where did you find me anyway? Julius said he moved from Tiltworld."
"The coven has purchased the Thames Theatre, now in immediate need of renovation."
"A theatre? Smart. Dark, no windows."
"Yes. Julius is a worthy adversary."
"He's nothing compared to Bathory."
Rick slipped another spoonful into my mouth. "No more talk. You need to rest."
Now that he mentioned it, I was exhausted again. I leaned back into the pillows and held up my hand when he tried to feed me another bite. "Rick, will you do something for me?"
"Of course, mi cielo. Would you like something different to eat?"
"No. Tell me about the day we met. The first time. Before you were my caretaker." I dug my fingers out from under the covers and entwined them with his.
Eyebrows rose in surprise. He met my gaze. What I saw in his expression bordered on disturbing: loss, grief, reminiscence, and love. Slowly, he pulled his hand away, but he did not deny me. In a silky-smooth ripple of a voice, he began his story.
"I was only fifteen when we met the first time. You looked the same age but perhaps you were older. Red Grove was a much different place then, with stone cottages like this one distant from each other to allow for the acres of land families must farm to survive. The members of our community lived austere lives of faith. Monk's church was our hub, and his Sunday service, the only time we were all in the same room.
"In some ways it was a simpler time. Expectations were clear and opportunities were few. I was a curious boy with a fascination for the unknown. When I'd finished my chores, I would wander into the woods, sometimes for miles, under the guise of going hunting. In truth, I rarely sought game, but instead visited a fresh water pool at the bottom of a waterfall where I taught myself to swim. My mother would become quite worried at my long absences but would allow it because occasionally I would bring back wild game or fish."
He smiled wistfully. I wondered what his mother was like but didn't want to sidetrack his story, so I nestled into the pillows and listened.
"The day we met, I was swimming, floating on my back in the pool, when I saw you for the first time. I opened my eyes, and there you were, watching me from the shoulder of the waterfall. Of course, I became quite flustered and thrashed to shore."
I giggled. "Why would my fifteen year old self fluster you?"
He smiled, and a hint of color warmed his cheeks. "One reason, I was naked, and another, you were a Wampanoag Indian."
"What?" I interrupted. "I was Native American?"
"Yes. Your father was. Your real mother was the goddess Hecate, but I wouldn't find that out until decades later."
I tried to digest that nugget of information while he continued.
"In that time, Native Americans were often dreaded as violent or wild. I feared for my life. Without bothering to dress, I reached for my bow. But when I turned back toward the pool, you were breaking the water's surface. You'd stripped and dove in behind me. You were always like that: brave, strong, unashamed."
"You knew all that from me diving into the water?" I took a deep breath as a wave of pain washed through me.
He brushed my hair back from my face. "You'd never been there before. Later, you would tell me that your tribe had migrated to the area to escape being sold into the slave trade. You dove into the pool naked, knowing I was watching, with no idea how deep the water was or how safe. Even my fifteen-year-old self knew that made you a force to reckon with."
"Could I speak English?"
"Yes, fortunately for me." He rubbed his forehead, his eyes taking on the sheen of long forgotten memories. "As your head broke the surface of the water, you met my eyes for the first time. I'd never seen anything as beautiful as you. Maybe it was fitting that we should meet completely naked because from that day forward you stripped me of everything. It was like I was born again to a new existence."
