Jack set his glass down and shifted closer to her. The wound in his arm was beginning to itch; it was healing swiftly, and soon this moment would be lost to them. He gently traced the golden light that danced on her cheek.
“Are you telling me that you were glad to see me, Adaira?”
“I was,” she said, and her breath caught beneath his caress. “I was glad to feel something stir within me after years of being cold and empty. I just never imagined I would find it in you.”
It was like she had stolen the very words from his mouth. And he wanted them back.
He brushed her lips with his own, a taunting kiss. She tasted like dark red fruit, like the summer berries that grew wild on the fells, and she took hold of his tunic and drew him closer until they were sharing the same sweetened breath. The air crackled as their raiment caught the static between them. Jack’s mouth was gentle as he drank her sighs and memorized her mouth. But all too soon he felt an obliterating ache in his chest. Dazed, he realized that he was overwhelmed by Adaira, by the feelings she roused within him. He wondered how something as soft as a brushing of lips could resound with such agony in his body.
She must have felt it too. She broke the kiss and released her hold on him, stepping away. Her face was composed, her eyes calm. But her mouth was swollen from his, and she rolled her lips together as if tasting a lingering trace of him.
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
Jack merely stared at her, uncertain what sort of hunger she spoke of. Half a beat later, he was thankful for his silence, because Adaira said, “I think our next conversation will go down better with a plate of haggis.”
He had forgotten all about her initial intention to discuss the meeting with Innes. He watched as she strode to the door and sent a request with one of the servants to bring dinner up to Jack’s room. She approached his desk and took hold of it, inching it across the floor toward the hearth. She seemed to burn with endless energy, while he was utterly zapped and frozen, as if drunk from their kiss. But he joined her at last, helping her carry the table to the fire and their two chairs. His musical composition was still carefully piled on the polished oak. Adaira noticed it, and he saw that, while she couldn’t read the notes, she studied them intently.
“Is this your ballad for the wind?” she inquired in a careful tone.
“It is.”
“Nearly complete?”
“Not quite.”
He was relieved that dinner arrived then. He didn’t know if Adaira would forbid him to play the ballad. But his health was fine. He still suffered from bouts of headaches and throbbing fingers, but it would take many years for such symptoms to kill him.
Jack carefully cleared the table, and they sat across from each other with steaming plates of haggis and potatoes and wilted greens, bread and a crock of butter arranged between them. He didn’t notice until he was pouring them each a fresh glass of wine that the wound in his arm had healed and the truth enchantment had fully waned in power, leaving behind nothing more than a cold, tender scab on his skin. And yet, when he looked at Adaira, he realized that the words and affection they had shared were not lost to either of them. The feelings hung like stars above them, waiting for another moment to align, and he felt the anticipation in his bones, humming like a harp string.
“What do you wish to discuss, Adaira?” he asked.
She gave him a half smile. “Eat first, Jack.”
He heeded her but soon noticed she was struggling to eat, as if her mind was overcome with thoughts. She studied her palm, the cold scar now marking it, and drank her wine to the dregs.
“All right,” she eventually said. “I have a plan to take our lasses back.”
Jack set down his fork, watching her intently. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like it, but he was quiet, waiting for her to explain.
Adaira took him completely by surprise when she asked, “Could you finish the ballad for the wind tomorrow?”
His brow lowered. “Is this your way of asking me to play, Adaira?”
“Yes. But with one condition, Jack.”
He groaned. “What is that?”
Adaira drew the glass vial with the Orenna and set it down before him. “You consume this flower before you play.”
She had been saving this blossom for days now, uncertain when to use it. He studied it, seemingly innocent in the glass, and said, “What is your reasoning behind this?”
“I’ve talked to Sidra,” Adaira said. “She has consumed one, and said it granted her the ability to see the spirit realm. It gave her unnatural strength, speed, and awareness. I think it will guard you from the worst of the magic’s cost.”