Page 45 of Bane Bloom

The cart continued under the canopy of trees, golden light filtering through to the ground, until at last we reached the bluebell glade, and Thomas murmured a “whoa” to Daisy.

Turning to me, he asked, “Will this suit?”

The spot was a fairy garden of brilliant spring greens and tiny blue-purple flowers by the hundreds—maybe thousands—their delicate heads nodding in the light breeze. I imagined the tinkling melody they’d have made had they truly been bells. The silver birches added to the feeling of enchantment, white papery bark slashed with dark markings that in many instances looked like great eyes.

“Perfectly, thank you.”

I handed him the pie tin and hopped down from the cart, reaching under the seat for the satchel with my paper and pencils. Then I stepped onto the faint footpath.

“Don’t wander too far, lass,” called Thomas.

I acknowledged this with a raised hand, feeling another little thrill at the familiar address.

The path inclined slightly, leading me toward the outcrop, which blocked any view of the lake. Studying it, I saw that maybe seven feet up the mossy face was a shallow cave—really more of a pocket in the stone—with a level-enough base to stand or sit on. It made me think of a spot a nymph might rest. A kind of woodland throne. Which would make a perfect entry for one of my herbals.

Though it would be best to sketch it from below, I felt drawn to the perch. Slinging my satchel over one shoulder, I stepped up onto the first of a series of stony knobs that made perfect handholds and footholds, moving carefully, since I couldn’t see my feet for my skirt. I tried not to think about the trip back down, which was bound to be trickier, though a fall from this height onto a bed of bluebells was unlikely to be fatal, wasn’t it?

When I reached the pocket, I turned and looked out, balancing myself with a hand against the cool granite and breathing in the subtly sweet fragrance of the flowers. Glad I’d brought my sketchbook, I sat down to draw the wood from above. Hopefully Thomas would be a while at his task, and I’d have time to sketch the rocky seat once I was on the ground again.

I could see Thomas seated on the back end of the cart, mending his net, while Daisy, loosed from the harness, cropped grass nearby. His fingers worked quickly over the knots and cords, and more than once I caught myself transfixed by the movement.

But as usually happened when I worked (when not distracted by net-mending Vikings), I eventually became so absorbed that I lost all sense of everything else. I couldn’t have said how long I’d been at it when the sound of tinkling bells drew my attention.

When I glanced up from my sketch, my breath caught. The birchwood had taken on almost the aspect of a painting. Where before it had been filled with bright spring greens, filtered light, and soft shadows, the palette now seemed heavier and richer. While the shadows had deepened, the green of the leaves and the blue of the flowers had gone to jewel tones, and the birch trunks gave off a slight shimmer of luminosity. It made me think of the portrait of Thomas’s grandfather.

The bluebells’ subtle fragrance, too, had intensified. And the light had the burnished-gold, slanting quality of the evening hours before sunset.

I can’t have been at this so long, can I?

My eyes sought Thomas, only—

He wasn’t there. Nor Daisy, nor the cart.

A woman in blue was walking along the footpath toward me.

“How Far Are You Prepared To Go?”

Thomas

Once she’d settled among the flowers, sketchbook in her lap, light dappling her dark dress, I took up my net, forcing my attention to my task. She’d agreed to my condition, and I’d not vex her by spying. Though she’d shrugged off my earlier warnings, just as Carroll had, I saw that she was beginning to understand, if only a little. She was beginning to trust me. If only a little.

It wrenched me not to watch her, though she hadn’t gone far. For there was much going on beneath the surface of the natural beauty that she was drawn to. Much that was unpredictable. Untamed.

The same was true for the house. And in response to her curiosity—which had opened like a flower, bright and fresh amid the drafts and dusty echoes—the house had begun to reveal itself to her.

But she was still far from true understanding. I could only hope she would take what she wanted and go before it reached her.

This was a fool’s hope. Just like Carroll, the house would have her, and I would be forced to watch it happen again. In my mind, I saw her sinking below the surface of the lake. My heart had dropped. My mind had cleared. Saving her had suddenly become the only thing that mattered. Yet saving her from the house . . . it would take more than the strength of my body.

How far are you prepared to go?

Further, I realized, than I could have ever believed possible.

I felt a strange shifting then. It raised the hairs on the back of my neck, and my gaze darted up. Catherine, still sitting among the bluebells, looked up at me and smiled.

It was a strange smile, or at least one I’d never seen on her. Composed. Serene. Had she offered it to anyone but me, I might even have said loving.

My heart gave a jerk. I dropped the net and jumped to my feet, Daisy nickering at the sudden movement.