The Heartbreak Show (Bound By Ravens #3)

10. CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER TEN

Glenna Lonan

The sudden hush was so intense, I was almost afraid to take another step. My gaze flitted from face to face; my fingers curled tight around the garter ribbon. Stars, I needed help fighting my erratic pulse.

I spotted the fellas, who grinned at me. Braelin too.

A chicken clucked and I halted. We had a . . . chicken ? I spun toward the sound. Gran held a laying hen. No, we had two chickens. Moira cradled another.

I gaped, a million questions flying through my mind.

Rhylen stepped forward and I almost flinched, not sure if I should prepare for the worst or for a reaction everyone around me seemed to anticipate. The love shining in my brother’s eyes plucked at the forming knot in my throat. He gestured with his head. I released Filena’s arm and twisted to where he indicated—and gasped.

A polished table stood behind the fire pit, one hewn from maple and topped with several ceramic bowls, measuring spoons and cups. Beside the table was a cart filled with—

I clapped a hand over my mouth.

Tears lined my lashes.

Two hefty burlap sacks of flour leaned against an equally large sack of sugar. Enough flour to last our camp two weeks, even if I made a dozen loaves per day. Even if I made a couple of cakes or mounds of cookies after the loaves. Balanced around crates of vegetables and eggs were several crocks of lard, bins of salt, smaller jars of other baking ingredients, and . . . a half-dozen cake and loaf tins.

Tears streamed down my cheeks and I hiccupped a disbelieving laugh.

Then I saw him.

Cian’s stormy eyes were steeled onto me from the shadows of a nearby oak he leaned against. A hawk-eyed stare that soaked up every emotion. Clutching the love charm in my fist, I moved toward my heart’s wish, my soul’s one desire. His lips tipped up, a bashful smile that alighted my thrumming pulse into flight. Cian was many things, but never shy.

I considered the table as I slowed before him. “You chopped up more than firewood, darlin’.”

“My skilled hands know how to work wood, Glennie Lo,” he said with a wink.

My lips trembled into a smile at the riddled innuendo. He tilted his head closer and locks of sunlight-limned hair fell down to his upper cheek. But not before I caught the dark circles under his eyes.

“Did you sleep at all today?”

“No,” he whispered and cupped my face. His thumbs brushed at the tears. “Took the early morning train to Den Merrow after you fell asleep.”

Another tear-choked laugh left my tight lungs. Aye, he purchased these supplies for the tribe, to support Rhylen. Most villages refused to trade with Raven Folk. But the entire camp knew he really did this for me, no matter how much it benefited everyone else.

A faint blush crept up his neck. He knew I understood this too and . . . and . . .

He had nothing and gave me everything .

Falling stars, my heart, it was blissfully breaking beneath the heady romance of his gesture. And those shattering pieces of laughter and longing? They ached inside me with a love so fierce, so exquisite, I hoped to remain in beautiful ruins at his feet for all eternity.

“You know,” I said through my tears, “most boys gift a girl jewelry or a hair adornment when courting.”

“And let you upstage me?”

“True, a locket with our initials doesn’t shout ‘pea cocking doxy’ loud enough.”

An impish corner of his mouth kicked up. “Kitchen witches demand the unborn children of clucking fowl, the oils of sacrificed bovines, and the ground seed of golden grass before one can declare their intentions, aye?”

“And what are your intentions, Cian Merrick?”

“To eat the first slice of cake infused with a bite of happiness before my sister, obviously.”

“Naturally.”

“Glenna,” he whispered in my ear, all humor gone, “I hunger for you.”

Sweet goddess . . .

“Ravenous,” he practically moaned. “Starved.”

“Devour me,” I whispered back. “I want to be consumed by you.”

“That’s my intention .” His tongue teased my bottom lip, his fingers sliding down my neck, around my breasts, and I shivered.

“This is a family show!” Owen shouted from the now cheering and whistling crowd.

Cian smirked over my head. “Fecking voyeurs!”

I turned to mock-glare at everyone just as Owen covered Corbin’s eyes. “The lad had peep show virgin eyes. You ruined his innocence.”

“Corbie’s officially a grown cock now,” Cian teased back. “You’re welcome, lad.”

Corbin tried to elbow Owen, who jumped out of the way with a crowing laugh. Tracking the troublemaker’s movements, Corbin flashed Owen a smug grin, one that was all sharpened edges. The next blink, he pounced and tackled Owen to the ground.

“Bets!” Sean called out, not missing a beat.

The tribe gathered around Sean and lifted beads, rocks, and other wagers as Owen and Corbin continued to tussle in-between bouts of fake insults and laughter.

My brother hung back, grinning. The next breath, he was doubled over in laughter when Corbin illusioned something into a snake and Owen swore, scrabbling back on hands and knees. Laughing harder the moment Owen realized it was a trick, mock-growled at Corbin, then leapt back onto him.

While everyone was distracted, I lifted my battle ribbon before Cian’s face. “I have a sacrifice for the Love-Talker.”

His sleepy eyes rounded. “You’re surrendering?”

I scoffed and pointed to the stitched Ogham letter and his eyes rounded even more. “I didn’t know it was a Wishing Tree ribbon until Filena noticed this rune. George put the garter on Sheila like a collar.”

The fluffy lad probably knew of its origins and wanted Filena to see the stitching.

George, like Cian, also seemed to always know .

Taking Cian’s hand in mine, I knotted the ruched pink ribbon and cream lace around his wrist.

“Tying me up?” He flashed me a lip-biting smile.

I tapped the ribbon. “You wish , darlin’.”

Cian snorted.

I waited for him to explain why he needed a Wishing Tree ribbon so badly, as well as a Lughnasadh’s Day straw hat, or how he knew those hideous pots for gold boots were cobbled by a leprechaun—which, interestingly, also involved George.

But an explanation never came.

Instead, Cian gathered me close and gently brushed his lips across mine. “I need to sleep before our Heartbreak Show.”

“Aye,” I kissed back against his mouth. “Or we can skip tonight?”

“The only way I’ll accept defeat—”

“—is when I win,” I finished for him. “Now shoo!” I stepped back and fluttered my hand in the air, as if I were a Caravan gov.

Cian’s grin was sensual, rascally so. Even sleep deprived, he was far too pretty. I would look too haggard for polite and impolite society. Lowering his lashes, he moved his head until strands of his golden hair fell over his half-lidded eyes. Gods, liquid heat pooled low in my belly. That look disarmed me each time and the arse knew . He wanted to watch me suffer—for more punishment? To prove that he’d win?

I shifted on my feet and resisted the urge to brush the fallen strands from his eyes.

I would not preen the eejit.

Be strong, lass.

My fingers twitched.

Be strong . . .

I was one cursed breath away from caving when Cian kissed the garter around his wrist and began slowly walking backward, his heavy, tired eyes fastened to mine. Then he whispered, “Devour me too,” and spun on his heel, taking my thundering heart with him.

Dying suns, how that man made it hard to breathe. To think intelligently. To stay calm for more than two seconds. To resist pushing him against a wall, to touch and lick and kiss him until he moaned every last breath he stole from my panting lungs first.

He pecked Rhylen’s cheek as he passed by, then playfully shoved my brother’s face to the side while moving on.

Sean lifted Corbin’s arm up into the air. “Winner!”

The laughing crowd circled into small pockets to deliver lost bets.

Cian continued angling through the tribe—smiling, winking, jesting—and slowed only to smack Owen’s arse. Another round of teasing and laughter erupted around the gathering, my brother’s laugh loud when Owen shot a rude gesture at Cian and Cian replied by blowing Owen a suggestive kiss that he then caught and slapped to his own arse.

“Oh that’s a proper challenge, it is,” Sean said.

Owen grinned. “Run, mortal.”

“Ruin my pretty face, Owen Delaney,” Cian drawled, “and”—Owen pretended to charge—“Shite!” Cian hissed and took off toward the wooded trail.

I snickered.

The pranks and games between Raven Folk males never failed to entertain me. And when they teased Cian? Frosting on the cake!

Which sounded divinely delicious right now.

I leaned over the cart and took in all the supplies, pressing two fingers to my lips.

A cake I could make, but not one infused with a bite of happiness. For that, I would need to bargain with a green witch for rare spellcraft ingredients to brew into an elixir.

A basket was wedged in a corner of the cart, one large enough for gathering supplies. Cian thought of nearly everything and my heart fluttered. Fighting a smile, I grabbed a crock of lard, a dozen eggs, several apples, a bottle labeled vanilla, and a jar with cinnamon scrolled across the front in fancy lettering, then moved toward my new baking table.

Gran scooted to stand beside me and unfolded an apron in her hand— her apron. One she gently tied around me and I blinked back tears. My fingers slid down the old, worn cotton. My apron was in West Tribe’s confectionary wagon.

“Sean, lad,” Gran hollered and waved for him to join us.

“Aye, Gran?” he asked, jogging over.

“Ask five families to ready their wagon stoves fer apple pudding.” She considered me. “Do ye need more stoves, lass?”

“Five is plenty.”

He dipped his head and jogged back into the gathering.

Gran squeezed my hand, both our smiles large, then we busied ourselves with making the apple cakes to celebrate our happy future.

We would survive—

“Need help?” Filena asked.

Maybe not.

I lowered my voice into a stage whisper. “Who are you wanting to kill off?”

“That was one time.” Filena snatched a spoon she then pointed in my face. “One. Time, Glenna Lonan. And he wasn’t really dead.”

Moira and Braelin sidled up next to me, grabbed apples, knives, and began peeling.

Lloyd scurried down Filena’s shoulder to creep close to Braelin, who offered him a tiny slice of the fruit. The squirrel was smitten with two lasses: wee Sheila and Braelin.

Not wanting to be left out, Edna chirped from Moira’s shoulder. Braelin nicked off a sliver of apple and held it up to the red cardinal, who happily pecked it off her hand.

Filena scowled at Braelin, who playfully ignored her. “Just because she hasn’t fake-murdered a mortal by accidentally adding a sleeping draft to the batter instead of water doesn’t mean she won’t one day.”

Braelin continued to pretend as if Filena wasn’t ready to fake-curse her arse.

“You may peel one apple, Filena Lonan.” I held the poor, beautiful sacrificial fruit out to her. “But only if you peel it in one continuous curl—”

“This is what my love means to you, does it?”

“—then toss it over your shoulder—”

“I helped you bury Cory Reily’s favorite baby tooth into Ríona Cairn’s pillow.”

Braelin glanced up. “Her last name was Cairn ?”

Filena tipped the spoon at her. “Gravediggers. The whole family.”

Braelin’s face scrunched in a mild grimace. “You buried a tooth in a gravedigger’s wagon?” She blinked. “A faerie’s tooth?”

“Aye, for this ungrateful cow.” Filena tossed me a smug grin. “A bad omen, it is, pet,” she continued in a melodramatically mysterious voice, the one she used to dazzle her customers. “For a leprechaun to collect your fallen tooth and return it to your pillow the next day. Seven years bad luck.”

Gran chuckled and I smirked at her.

It was a clever trick. Ríona Cairn was my inseparable since birth, middle-rank friend, before my parents died. I was only five. But her family refused to let us remain friends when Gran took us in. Brenna Meadows was a felly and, therefore, Rhylen and I lost pecking order. For the next seven years, Ríona ensured no one believed us friends.

Filena decided the lass had crowed her rank long enough.

Faeries lose their last baby tooth around age twelve, same as mortals. But unlike mortals, our final baby tooth holds magic. We leave that nibble of magic for the Wee Folk to collect and, as a favor owed, they gift us faerie children with good luck.

Unless they return your tooth.

I cracked an egg into a bowl. “Ríona was a nasty horsefly when we were fledglings.”

“Poured spoiled milk on Glennie Lo’s head, she did.” Filena reached for the cinnamon.

“And so,” I drawled, smacking her hand, “you fake-cursed her with bad luck. People feared being near her at first.”

Filena lifted her chin for a dramatic beat. “She dug her own grave.”

Gran barked a laugh. Moira and Braelin grinned.

Barry, however, groaned and stepped away.

“It was funny,” she shot back. Barry, not convinced, closed his eyes and lifted his snout—similar to what Filena had just done to me. “Muffin Moo,” she cooed in a syrupy voice, “George is looking for you, darlin’.” The fox’s eyes snapped open and narrowed. “Be a good lad and cuddle with your best forest friend.” Barry’s gaze slid to mine and I shook my head. He, like Ríona, had dug his own grave. With a huff and a flick of his tail, he trotted off.

Lloyd climbed down the table and scampered after Barry and Barry began moving faster.

Filena quietly cackled.

Braelin set the partially peeled apple down on the table. “How did you know which one was that boy’s favorite baby tooth?”

“Cian,” Filena and I said at the same time.

I cracked another egg. “Cory Reily was—”

“A creepy child.” Filena shuddered.

“He collected teeth,” I explained to Braelin. “Still does. Mostly mortal teeth. Favors the baby ones most.”

Braelin’s nose pinched. “And Cian knew exactly—”

“Aye,” I interjected. “Cian always knows .” I paused, then added, “Everything.”

“It’s why he’s an eejit,” Filena drolled.

“The man is a punch bowl of gossip—” I swatted at the hand sneaking around Braelin’s waist. “Sean Byrnes, get out of my kitchen!”

He snatched two apple slices with a grin and plopped them in his mouth. “The ovens are warming for you,” he said while chewing.

Oh.

I had forgotten.

“One more slice,” I offered in gratitude.

Sean plucked another piece of apple from the table, pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the back of Braelin’s neck, then sauntered over to the lads.

“A bit of ancient wisdom fer ye, Braelin Byrnes,” Gran said with the beginnings of an impish smile. “Cook yer lad a wagon meal in only yer apron when ye need to bargain with him.”

“Gran!” I chastised around Filena’s raucous laughter and only for the poor girl’s sake.

Braelin blushed but her eyes slid to where Sean stood beside Rhylen, talking.

“I have ancient wisdom fer ye too, Glennie Lo,” Gran teased.

“And ruin Filena’s appetite before she can dip the spoon she’s clutching to death into the batter?”

I loved Gran’s advice about boys, girls, and sex.

Gran’s impish smile grew. She knew I was playing a part for Braelin, who was raised to have modesty like a mortal lass. “Foreplay for boys who fantasize about kissin’—”

“STOP.” I pointed at Filena. “She will curse this cake.”

Filena’s grin was wicked. She knew too. “Fantasize about kissing what , Gran?”

“Kissin’ the rouge from a girl’s lips.” The ancient’s dark purple eyes twinkled. “He’d sacrifice his favorite dress to paint her mouth the color he wants stainin’ his own.”

Wait . . . that was what Cian had confessed in the woods a few days back. Well, all but sacrificing his favorite dress.

How in the stars blasted skies would I now concentrate on anything but satisfying that fantasy?

“Offer him yer rouge,” Gran added with a wink, and I understood her deeper meaning. Offer him this in thanks, as your courting gift to him . “But offer it to him only when ye need to subdue the mischief-making lad fer five focused seconds.”

We all burst into laughter. Even Moira smiled.

Gratitude flushed across my warming chest. This . . . I had missed this . Needed this .

The delicious banter between sisters in the kitchen while baking together was the bite of happiness I had ached to have again since departing West Tribe.

I cracked another egg into the bowl. My singing heart was soaring so high above the sunlit clouds, I didn’t know if I could land anymore. Or wanted to.

Oh aye, I’d offer Cian rouge to paint my lips so I could then stain his.

Anytime he desired.