Hazel's Promise (The Fey Quartet Book 2) (7 page)

Hazel stared at him, stunned. No suitor had ever said anything so astonishing to her before, anything so heartfelt.
And he hasn’t said a word about my face
. She realized her mouth was open again. She closed it hastily.

“I think we suit each other,” Tam said seriously. “I think we’d have an interesting marriage. A good marriage.”

So do I.

Tam was watching her intently. No laughter gleamed in his eyes. She saw tension in his face, tension in the set of his shoulders. Did he think she’d refuse him? Was he bracing himself for rejection?

Hazel found her voice. “I think you’re right. We do suit each other.”

“Is that a yes?” Tam asked cautiously.

“Yes.” Laughter bubbled up her throat. “Yes, I’ll marry you, Tam No-Name.”

“Truly?” Joy and disbelief mingled on his face.

“Truly.”

Tam grinned widely. “Now would be a good time for another kiss, Hazel Miller.”

Hazel scrambled to
her feet and went to him.

Tam met her halfway. He caught her face in his hands, his fingers cradling her jaw, his thumbs warm on her cheeks. “Hazel . . .” he said. “Sweet, tart Hazel. I love you.” And he bent his head and kissed her.

“I love you, too,” Hazel told him, when they came up for air. “You make me laugh more than anyone I know.”

“That’s why you’re marrying me? Because I make you laugh?” Tam sounded taken aback.

“One of a great many reasons.” She stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his.

Tam cupped the back of her head in one hand and kissed her again. When he finally lifted his mouth, she was dazed, dizzy.

“Tam Goodkiss,” Hazel said, trying to catch her breath. “That’s what I’m going to call you.”

“Goodkiss?” Tam grinned down at her. “I could live with that.” And then he kissed her again, even more thoroughly. They ended up lying on the grass—Hazel lost track of exactly how—but Tam’s body was long and lean and warm beneath her, and her fingers were buried in his hair, anchoring his head, and she was kissing him as if he were air and water and life itself, and without him she’d die.

She became aware of Tam’s erection, pressing against her belly. A delicious shiver went through her. She rocked her hips, felt Tam shudder, heard him gasp. “This time we’re not stopping,” she told him breathlessly.

“We’re not?” Tam said, equally breathless.

“No.”

“Well, in that case, we’re wearing far too many clothes . . .”

HAZEL HAD LAIN
with Drewet twice. Both times had been hasty and furtive, the first time painful, the second merely uncomfortable. Sex with Tam was none of those things. Sex with Tam was laughter and teasing and pleasure. So much pleasure. Pleasure until Hazel was almost drowning in it.

Tam laid a blanket on the grass and peeled off her clothes, kissing the skin he bared. Shoulders, breasts, midriff. And then her inner thighs, his mouth tickling, making her quiver and squirm. His hands stroked up her legs, and his fingers roamed into the thatch of hair and delved inside her, and then his mouth wandered there, too.

Hazel gasped his name, shocked.

Tam chuckled and kissed her there again. His fingers coaxed, his tongue teased, his teeth nipped. Hazel heard herself moan—and then waves of pleasure came and she did drown for a moment.

When she swam back up, Tam was laughing.

He settled himself between her legs and braced his arms on either side of her. His erection pressed hot and hard and insistent against her entrance. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

There was no pain when Tam sank into her; instead, there was a jolt of pure, raw pleasure. Her back arched, her hips rose to meet him, and a groan came from her throat.

Some time later, Hazel drowned again.

Afterwards, lying in Tam’s arms, the ability to think slowly returned. Hazel became aware of her surroundings: the coarse wool blanket and cool night air, the heat of Tam’s body, his arms around her, his breath stirring her hair. The burble of the creek and the chirp of night insects. The red glow of the dying fire.

“Well?” Tam whispered in her ear.

“That was . . .” She searched for a word to do it justice. “Phenomenal.”

Tam laughed. “Phenomenal? You use big words, Hazel Miller.”

I need big words to describe that.

“Better than Drewet, huh?”

Tam sounded so smug that Hazel was tempted to lie, to say
Actually, no. I doubt any man could equal Drewet
. “A hundred times better.”

“Only a hundred? We’ll have to practice some more. See if we can do better.”

“It can’t get any better than that.”

“It can, if we practice. And we’re going to practice a lot. Every day.”

“Twice a day.”

Tam nipped her earlobe. “Thrice a day.”

Hazel stroked the back of Tam’s hand, tracing the ridges of his knuckles, the lines of his tendons.
I’d rather live in a one-roomed cottage with you than in a manor house with any other man.

Tam pressed a kiss into her hair. “I have to eat,” he said. “Or you’ll marry a corpse.”

THEY REKINDLED THE
fire and finished their meal. Hazel hugged her blanket around her bare shoulders, hugged her happiness to herself. She hadn’t realized it was possible to be this happy. She was happy right down to the marrow of her bones.

She watched Tam eat, enjoying the play of firelight over his face. Such a wonderful face, strong and good-humored. The flickering shadows made his brow more prominent—

Suddenly, Hazel knew where she’d seen that forehead before, that high-bridged nose. The shock of recognition made her gasp.

Tam looked up. “What?”

Everything fell into place. The older brother named Hugh. Tam’s knowledge of Drewet’s near-expulsion from the vale.

For a moment, Hazel’s tongue refused to work, and then she blurted: “You’re the Lord Warder’s son. You’re Wistan Dappleward!”

TAM’S GRIN BECAME
wary.

“Why didn’t you
tell
me?” Shock was replaced by indignation, and a swift, stinging hurt.

“Hazel . . .”

“Why didn’t you tell me!”

Tam put down his bread. “I didn’t tell you because it gets in the way. People treat me differently when they know who I am.”

Hazel’s indignation grew. “You thought I’d
throw
myself at you?”

“No,” Tam said firmly. “I didn’t think that at all.”

Hazel narrowed her eyes, not sure whether she believed him or not. “Then why didn’t you tell me?”

Tam sighed. He pushed his hair back from his brow, looking suddenly weary. “I wanted to be Tam with you. Just Tam.”

“Why?”

“Because I thought I could fall in love with you.” Tam’s smile was wry.

Hazel snorted. “You introduced yourself two minutes after we met. You didn’t even know me!”

“Hazel, I could see very well who you were. You were brave and determined and strong-minded and not at all like most women I know.”

Hazel bit her lip.
Oh
.

“And then you told me about Drewet.” Tam grimaced. “Gods, I couldn’t believe it.
Drewet,
of all men!”

Hazel winced inwardly.

“I was determined to do anything I could to stop you marrying him. Anything! But it turned out I didn’t need to. Drewet did it all himself.

“By then, I knew I loved you. And I knew you were poor and you were proud, and I thought that if I told you my name, you’d be so determined to show me that you
weren’t
going to throw yourself at me that you’d do the exact opposite.”

“Oh.” Hazel looked down at her hands. Tam was probably right.

“I didn’t want you to keep your distance. It was as if the gods had given me a gift, meeting you like this. I wanted to see what would happen. Without my name getting in the way.”

She glanced up and met Tam’s eyes. The expression in them took her breath away.

“I love you, Hazel Miller,” Tam said softly. “I will always be true to you.”

I love you, too
. But she couldn’t utter the words because foolish tears were choking her throat. Hazel blinked fiercely, and sniffed, and swallowed.

“Come here,” Tam said, and when she did, he put his arms around her, hugging her close.

Hazel sniffed again, and wiped her eyes on his blanket. Tam No-Name. Tam Peddler. Tam Goodkiss. Wistan Dappleward. “Do people call you Tam?” she asked, once she was certain she had control of her voice. “Or did you make it up?”

“My family calls me Tam. And my oldest friends.”

“Why?”

“Hugh couldn’t say Wistan, when I was born. Tam was the closest he could get.”

Hazel snuggled closer to him. His blanket was threadbare beneath her cheek, and beneath that, his chest was warm and solid. “Why are you walking?” she asked. “Why are your clothes little better than rags? Did someone rob you?”

“No. I sold my horse and sword and most of my clothes.”

“I thought you might be Tam Swineherd,” she whispered teasingly.

Tam chuckled. “Swineherds are very respectable people, I’ll have you know.”

“I know. I didn’t mind if you were one.”

The full import of Tam’s heritage burst on her. He was
Dappleward’s
son. His father was the Lord Warder, the most powerful man in all Dapple Vale. The man who’d sworn her to secrecy about her Faerie wish.

She couldn’t tell Tam her secret, but Dappleward could.

I won’t have to lie to Tam
. Tears of relief pricked Hazel’s eyelids.

“I bought a gift for my father,” Tam said. “It cost more money than I had, but with the horse thrown in, and my sword and best clothes . . . I could just afford it.”

Hazel rubbed her eyes. “What gift?”

“Let me show you.” Tam released her and climbed to his feet. He rummaged in his packsaddle and pulled out a large, cloth-wrapped object, and then hesitated and put it down and reached for something else instead: a piece of folded parchment. “Actually . . . um, first I should probably tell you . . . my father wrote me a letter. He sent one of the Ironfists to York with it. It was waiting for me when I got there.” He glanced at her diffidently. “I know about your mother and the Faerie wishes.”

Hazel blinked in astonishment. Tam already knew?

Tam didn’t say anything more. He stood, holding the letter in both hands, watching her.

Did he think she might be angry?

Hazel released her breath. “Good,” she said. “I’m glad.”

“You are?”

She nodded firmly. “
Very
glad. It means I don’t have to hide my gift from you any longer.”

Tam’s eyebrows rose. “Your gift? You mean . . . you wished for more than just finding Drewet?”

“I can find anything,” Hazel said. “Any person, any object.”

Tam’s eyebrows climbed higher.

“I was only going to wish to find Drewet,” Hazel admitted. “And then I got to thinking. You remember that little boy who went missing from Dapple Orchard last year? The one who almost died before they found him? I thought that if I chose to know where anyone was, I could find people like him. So I decided that’s what I was going to wish for—to be able to find people—and then the day before my birthday I lost my thimble, and I spent half the morning looking for it, and it was in my basket—and I’d already looked there
twice
—so I decided to ask to be able to find any
thing
as well as anyone.”

Tam looked bemused. “A useful gift.”

“And a gift I can hide. Your father said it was important to keep it secret.”

“Very important. If folk start trying to win Faerie wishes for themselves . . .” Tam grimaced. “That’s how people die.”

“I know,” Hazel said soberly. “Your father told us the story of the stonemason’s wish.”

“Good.” Tam crouched and tucked the letter into his packsaddle. He picked up the cloth-wrapped bundle, came back to the fire, and sat beside her, so close their shoulders touched.

Hazel looked at him. Tam Dappleward, wearing nothing more than a ragged blanket. Her heart clenched in her chest.
I love this man
. “I’m glad I don’t have to keep my gift a secret from you. It would have pained me to lie to you.”

Tam laid two fingers on her cheek, a light touch. “No lies between us.”

“No lies between us,” Hazel said firmly.

Tam smiled, and held the cloth-wrapped object out to her. “This is what I bought Father.”

Hazel took it carefully. It was heavy and rectangular. A jewelry box? It seemed unlikely. The Dapplewards didn’t flaunt what wealth they had. Whenever she’d seen the Lord Warder, he’d been plainly dressed.

The first layer was oiled cloth. Hazel unwrapped it and laid it neatly aside. Next came two layers of sturdy cotton, and then a layer of fine linen. She peeled the linen back and exhaled in wonder. “It’s a
book
.”

“Open it,” Tam said.

“I don’t dare!”

“It won’t break. Go on, open it.”

Cautiously, reverently, Hazel opened the book.

The vellum was smooth and creamy. The writing was in black ink, line after line of it, more ornate than her mother’s handwriting. The first letter on the page, an
S
, was fully as long as her thumb, flourishing and elaborate, the two ends curling in on themselves into a figure eight. Curlicues of blue and red ink decorated the page border.

Page after page. Hundreds of words.
Thousands
of words. And illustrations, too. Knights in armor and ladies in fine gowns, men hunting and doing battle, strange beasts and fantastical landscapes, all drawn in colored ink.

“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Hazel said, awed.

“I thought so, too, when I bought it,” Tam said. “But I’ve since changed my mind.”

Hazel touched a page with a reverent fingertip. “Nothing could be more beautiful than this.”

Tam’s hand slid under her hair, cupping the nape of her neck. “You are more beautiful,” he whispered against her temple.

Men had told Hazel she was beautiful before, dozens of times, scores of times, so many times that it had come to annoy her.
I’m more than my face,
she wanted to snap at whichever fool uttered the words.
If that’s all you see, then you don’t know me
. But coming from Tam, it was no longer a shallow, empty, easy compliment. When Tam looked at her, he saw her inside and out. And he found her beautiful.