Do Your Worst(85)

“The weather patterns in this castle don’t seem strictly natural,” he said, gazing over either shoulder at the swirls of forest green and crimson and umber as they whipped by, blowing Riley’s hair against her cheeks.

She smiled. “I think it’s a good sign.”

He worked to block out the spectators, the press that had arrived with cameras and microphones extended. To focus only on Riley, to let his love for her flow through him like water, to feel her love for him from the place where their hands joined.

“Shall I?” Clark had to raise his voice to be heard over the whooshing of the air around them.

At her nod, he took a deep breath.

Clark had been lost when he came to Arden. Not just for six months. No. He’d been lost for so long that he’d stopped wishing to be found.

He’d feared Riley when they first met. She’d made him so angry, so frustrated. Had seen him before he knew he wanted her to.

Even then, Clark had wanted her, not just her body; he’d needed to care for her.

Her laugh in the dark. Her fierce determination. The way she hummed absently sometimes while she worked.

Clark had spent his life studying how other people lived and loved—all of it filtered through the distance of time. He’d preferred emotions muted by soil and centuries.

He’d been avoiding this. Missing this. What a sodding shame.

“I love you,” he said, loud, clear. It felt different, good different, to get to say it first. “I love you,” he repeated, softer, an indulgence.

“I love you.” Her voice was quieter—sweeter, he thought—but just as sure.

A cheer broke out from the crowd. The fiddle picked back up, fierce and celebratory. People raised their glasses, knocked them together with such exuberance that liquid sloshed over the rims.

The breeze stopped, and for a second the leaves froze, seeming to hang in midair, before all at once the foliage fell to lie limp on the ground at their feet.

A wave of confusion washed over him, followed by dread. He leaned into Riley. “The scent?” But he already knew.

She shook her head. “No change.”

Her eyes slid to the press person in the first row. He’d turned to his camerawoman, whispering in her ear.

“Damn.” Clark hadn’t truly thought about, hadn’t let himself imagine, how damning the framing of a story around failure could be to Riley’s reputation.

Either she’s deluded or she’s a charlatan. That was what he’d convinced himself because the truth was harder to buy, less convenient.

Now the same conclusions would run online, come up when you searched her name.

“Riley, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you into this.”

Ceilidh crouched before a disappointed child, consoling. Across the lawn the mood had rapidly dampened. He wanted to believe the villagers were still on their side, but Clark knew this didn’t look good.

When the man with the press badge started toward them, Riley yanked Clark deeper into the castle, tucking them into the hidden alcove off the entranceway where they’d stowed their bags.

Immediately, she went for Gran’s journal, taking it out and flipping through the pages in a crouch.

“We’re missing something. I don’t know if we’re supposed to make the vow at the cave instead of in the castle. Or we’re supposed to do it in tandem instead of one after the other? There are too many variables.”

“We’ll figure it out.” He’d go talk to the crowd; tell them they’d try again shortly. If nothing else, Clark knew how to manage a scandal. You had to get out there. Get ahead of it.

He felt oddly calm. Not afraid in the same way, though he realized belatedly any negative press coverage here would likely include his name as well.

How could he fear a false narrative when he’d seen for himself how foolish it was to get Riley and her work wrong?

“Fuck.” She covered her eyes with her hand. “I don’t want to be, but I’m embarrassed.”

“It’s all right.” He crouched beside her. “Trial and error, right? It’s all part of the process.”

“This is the second ritual I’ve gotten wrong.”

“Well, I can’t say I minded with the last one,” Clark said, trying to make her smile.

It didn’t work.

“I’m supposed to be a professional,” she said softly, “an expert,” playing back his words to her earlier.

“You are.” He stood and pulled her to her feet. “Don’t let a bunch of random people get in your head.”

“It’s not just them.” Riley bit her lip. “I’ve never done this before.”

Clark wrapped his arms around her until she sagged against him.

“What? Broken a curse?”

“No,” she said into his chest. “Fallen in love. How many more times am I allowed to get it wrong before you lose faith in me?”

He ran his hand over her hair. “Oh, my darling.”

She pulled back just a little. “That’s the first time you’ve called me an endearment that wasn’t meant as an insult.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to get used to it.”

Considering what had happened with her father, Clark was disappointed though not surprised to find Riley believed his support for her was fragile.