Hazel's Promise (The Fey Quartet Book 2) (3 page)

Tam glanced up and nodded.

Hazel didn’t go far, just out of sight of the campsite. She washed swiftly—not because she didn’t trust Tam, but because this wasn’t Glade Forest and it didn’t feel safe to be alone. When she returned, Tam had built a fire. He put a pot of water on to boil, then rummaged in his packsaddle. “My turn to wash. Won’t be long.” He disappeared down the creek, a jaunty whistle trailing in the air behind him.

Hazel fed more wood onto the fire and frowned at the flames.
I was a fool to attempt this journey by myself
. But when she’d received her Faerie wish, when she’d learned that Drewet was only twenty miles from Glade Forest . . . The euphoria of knowing he was alive had pushed her into recklessness. The things she’d dreamed of for ten years—dreamed and despaired of—had suddenly seemed within reach. A loving husband. A home of her own. Children.

“Fool,” Hazel muttered to herself, poking another stick into the fire. “Reckless fool.” Better to have been patient, to have asked Ren Blacksmith to come with her, to have waited a few days.

Tam returned, dressed in clean—if shabby and patched—clothes. His damp hair was tidy. He no longer smelled of sweat. “Water hot yet? Ah, good.” He fished a sliver of mirror from his packsaddle and a broken-handled razor, and proceeded to rid himself of his beard. “Much better,” he said, once he’d finished.

Hazel had to agree. Tam cleaned up well. He still wasn’t handsome—his face was too bony for that—but he was surprisingly attractive. It was the angular cheekbones, she decided, and the grin, and the gleam of humor in his eyes.

She found herself feeling almost shy in his company, and busied herself going through her sack, pulling out a loaf of bread and a shank of cold meat.

“Ah, you
do
have food.” There was relief in Tam’s voice.

Hazel glanced up. “You don’t?”

“A crust of rye, only.”

“Then please eat my food.” Hazel pushed the cloth-wrapped bundles towards him. “Have all of it!”

Tam laughed, and pushed the bundles back towards her. “I don’t need it all. A few bites will suffice.”

“You could eat it all, and I’d still have done nothing to repay you,” Hazel said frankly.

Tam glanced at her, the laughter fading from his face. His eyes were remarkably astute. “It makes you uncomfortable?”

It makes me feel ashamed of myself
.

“You were right,” Hazel said bluntly. “I should have turned back. It was foolish of me and . . . and reckless, and selfish. You risked injury for me, and now you’re going
two days
out of your wa
y—
”

“Stop,” Tam said, laughing again. “It’s not as bad as all that.”

Yes, it is.

Tam smiled kindly at her. “The debt you owe is much smaller than you think, Hazel Miller. It’s Marigold who insists on accompanying you, and all she asks is a good rub and some grass in exchange. As for myself . . .” The smile became speculative. “I slew your dragons; I will be content with a kiss.”

A kiss?

For a long moment Hazel couldn’t breathe, and then she tried to laugh. “A kiss?”

“One kiss,” Tam said. “In exchange for two dragons.”

Hazel hesitated. “Drewet . . .”

“Drewet wouldn’t begrudge it. A maiden’s kiss is fair reward for slaying dragons.”

Hazel chewed on her lower lip. She thought about Drewet, and she thought about the two outlaws, and she thought about Tam saving her.

Tam watched her, his head cocked to one side.

If there’d been anything predatory about him, anything even slightly threatening, she would have refused. But there was amusement in Tam’s eyes, and a half-smile hovering on his mouth, and his voice had held a note of laughter.

Hazel tossed her head. “Very well.”

Tam’s smile broadened, showing a gleam of white teeth. “Good,” he said, and then he busied himself with laying out their meal, unwrapping the bread and cold meat.

You don’t want to kiss me now?
Hazel didn’t know whether to be relieved, or piqued. After a moment, she rummaged in her sack again and pulled out a handful of nuts.

Tam’s face lit up. “Vale walnuts? Those, I’ve missed. There are none sweeter in England.” He took a knife from his belt and began slicing bread and meat. “Nor juicier apples. I can’t tell you how I’ve
longed
for a vale apple.”

Hazel eyed him curiously. “How long have you been gone?”

“Five months.”

“Why?”

Tam shrugged with his shoulders, with his face. “Wanted to see a bit of England before settling down.”

“Settling down as what?”

Tam grinned. “As my father’s son.”

Hazel sniffed. That was no answer. “What’s your family name?”

“If you guess right, I’ll tell you.” He reached for the walnuts. “May I have one of these?”

“Have all of them, if you wish.”

Tam chose a walnut and cracked it between his fingers. He held both halves out to her. “Like some?”

Hazel shook her head.

Tam ate the walnut, not greedily, but slowly, savoring the taste. After he’d swallowed, he uttered a sigh of pleasure. “The best in all England.”

Hazel studied him while he cracked more nuts. His hands were as lean and strong as the rest of him. A blacksmith’s hands?

Tam didn’t look like a blacksmith. Or a thatcher or mason or baker.

But do I look like a miller’s daughter?

Tam laid the shelled nuts in a neat pile. “Bread, nuts, meat. An
d—
” he flashed a grin, “I have some cider to wash it down with.” He delved into his packsaddle, pulled out a battered pewter flask and placed it alongside the food, then gave her a half-bow. “Shall we dine, m’lady?”

Night closed around them. It didn’t feel dangerous; it felt cozy: the firelight, the shadows, the woodsmoke. The bread was fresh, the meat tender, the nuts sweet, the cider tangy. Tam had been hungry—she could tell by the amount he ate—but he didn’t shove the food into his mouth; he ate neatly, unhurriedly.

Good manners, but poor. Who was he?

Hazel reached for the pewter flask. The cider was stronger than she was used to. It fizzed on her tongue and warmed her blood. “Which is your family?” she asked.

Tam glanced at her, chewed, swallowed, grinned. “If you guess right, I’ll tell you,” he said again.

Hazel rolled her eyes. Did he know how irritating he was?

She took another sip and watched Tam eat. Firelight and shadows flickered across his face. There was something vaguely familiar about the shape of his nose, the shape of his forehead. “Do you have a brother?” Hazel asked abruptly.

“One.”

“Older or younger?”

“A year and a half older. He’s twenty-six.”

“What’s his name?”

“Hugh.”

Hazel tried to remember if a Hugh had ever offered for her hand. “Do you look like him?”

Tam shook his head. “He’s dark. Takes after our mother. I look like Father.”

Hazel tilted her head, studying his face. Had she met Tam’s father? Was that the resemblance she saw? And if she
had
met his father, when and where?

Tam looked like a peddler with his worn, travel-stained clothes. He walked like one, too, a ground-eating stride with a hint of merry swagger. And he had the glib tongue of a peddler.

Hazel frowned, and drank more cider.

There
was
a family of peddlers in Dapple Vale. Twice a year the men ventured from the vale and returned bearing spices, wines, fabrics, and news. Tam wasn’t one of them—she knew Dapple Vale’s peddlers by name—but he behaved like them. Would it offend him to hear that?

“You dress like a peddler,” Hazel said. “You walk like one, you talk like one, therefore . . . I say you’re Tam Peddler.”

Tam gave a hoot of laughter. “A peddler? Me?”

No, not offended. Hazel sighed in exasperation.

“Tam Peddler,” Tam said, rolling the words around in his mouth. “Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

“It sounds ridiculous,” Hazel told him. She put the pewter flask down with a thunk.

Tam’s grin widened.
He knows I’m annoyed
.

Hazel sniffed and looked away.

“Don’t frown, sweet Hazel.”

To her annoyance, Hazel felt herself flush. “I’m not sweet,” she said shortly.

“Tart Hazel, then. Prickly Hazel. Cross Hazel.”

She was all of those, right now. And she knew why: the kiss Tam had asked for. She wanted it over with.
Hurry up, curse it
. She blew out a breath. It was foolish to be prickly about something as minor as a kiss. So what if she’d not kissed anyone since Drewet? So what if it felt like a betrayal of sorts? Tam had saved her life; if he wanted a kiss, she owed him one.

She just wished he’d hurry up and get it over with.

Hazel fished in the sack for her blanket. The kiss was unimportant.
Tomorrow I see Drewet
. Ten years since they’d pledged themselves to each other. Ten years since he’d left the vale. Ten long years of hoping and waiting and silently despairing.

“You want any more food?”

She glanced at Tam, shook her head, and looked for a flat spot to spread her blanket. Her thoughts returned to Drewet. So handsome, with his green eyes and curling black hair, so mature, so wise. She longed to hear his voice again, longed to be held by him.
Tomorrow,
Hazel told herself, brushing a twig out of the way.

When the blanket was spread to her satisfaction, she turned back to the fire. Tam had rewrapped the bread and meat in their cloths. “Here.” He held the pewter flask out to her. “There’s still a mouthful left.”

“You have it,” Hazel said, feeling ashamed of her prickliness.

Tam drank the last of the cider and rinsed the flask in the creek. The back of her head ached, Hazel realized. She fingered her scalp. It was tender.

“Sore?”

She glanced up to find Tam watching her. There was no amusement on his face now. He looked grim.

“A little. It’s nothing.”

Tam’s lips tightened, but he didn’t say anything. He dried his hands on his tunic and sat down again.

Hazel watched him across the fire.
I owe him so much
. Perhaps Drewet could pay him? Money was a better reward than a kiss, and Tam clearly
needed
money.

The cider hummed in Hazel’s veins, making her warm and drowsy. She rubbed the back of her head again. When she looked up, Tam was watching her, his face grave, his eyes dark and unreadable. They stared at each other for a long moment, and then Tam said quietly, “I’ll take that kiss now.”

HAZEL’S MOUTH WAS
abruptly dry. “Now?”

Tam shrugged with one shoulder. “If it pleases you.”

Pleases me?
Hazel flushed. “Now is fine,” she said primly. She climbed to her feet, walked around the fire, and knelt beside Tam. Her heart was beating faster. She felt suddenly shy and self-conscious.
It’s just a kiss
.

She glanced at Tam’s face. Her gaze skidded away from his dark, watchful eyes and settled on his mouth. As mouths went, Tam had a nice one. Well-shaped. It would be no hardship to kiss him.

Hazel inhaled a shallow, nervous breath, and leaned closer to Tam. She pressed her lips to his for several seconds, and drew back.

Tam tutted under his breath. “That doesn’t qualify,” he said, capturing her chin in his hand.

Hazel stiffened in alarm.

“Relax,” Tam said. “I don’t bite.” And then he leaned closer and kissed her.

His lips were warm and surprisingly gentle. There was nothing forceful about his kiss. It was slow, tender, comforting.

Hazel relaxed.
I am safe with this man
. She closed her eyes and let Tam kiss her.

Seconds slowly passed. A minute trickled by. Tam’s hand slid along her jaw to the nape of her neck, pulling her closer. The mood of his kiss changed, became less comforting and more playful. He teased open her lips and delved into her mouth, touching her tongue with his.

Pleasure shivered through her. Tam must have felt her tremble, for he kissed her more deeply, more persuasively. It was impossible not to respond to that invitation. Impossible not to kiss him back.

Heat built between them. Tam cradled her nape with one strong, warm hand. His grip wasn’t tight. She could pull free, if she wanted to. But she didn’t want to. What she wanted was to relax into Tam’s embrace, to have him hold her close and not stop kissing her.

Hazel almost protested when Tam finally released her. She stared at him, breathless and dazed.

Tam grinned. The glint of mischief was back in his eyes. “Your debt is paid, sweet Hazel.”

Hazel lurched back on her heels, dismayed.
I let him kiss me almost witless
. She scrambled hurriedly to her feet. Her lips were hot and tingling, her cheeks burning.

She walked around the fire on weak legs and sat, struggling to pull her dignity around her. The nape of her neck felt cold without Tam’s hand there. She rubbed it with trembling fingers. She wanted to rub her lips, too, wanted to stop them tingling.

To her shame, she realized that she hadn’t thought of Drewet from the instant Tam’s lips had touched hers.

It was the cider,
she told herself.
I drank too much of it
. But in her heart of hearts, she knew that wasn’t true. It was Tam’s mouth, Tam’s tongue, Tam’s skill at kissing that had stripped her of caution and common sense. Not the cider.

Pride kept her sitting at the fire, when all she wanted to do was crawl into her blanket and pull it up over her head. She tried to look unconcerned and nonchalant, as if Tam’s kiss had been merely commonplace, as if she weren’t shaken to her very core.

Tam wasn’t shaken. He was spreading out a blanket on the other side of the fire, whistling under his breath.

Hazel rubbed her lips surreptitiously with the back of her hand. It didn’t erase the tingle.

Tam turned back to the fire and sat, cross-legged. Hazel found herself unable to look at his face. “I think I’ll turn in,” she said, and was pleased with how casual she sounded.

“Good night,” Tam said cheerfully, as if absolutely nothing had happened.