Away With the Fairies (The Swallow Barn Cottage Series, Book 2)

Brewing Trouble

"How about you go to the kitchen, and I'll grab the tea? It's in my suitcase," she said and rose.

She headed for the door when he asked behind her, "Is that how long your hair is?"

She fought the urge to grab her nightly braid and press it to her chest protectively.

"Yeah," she said with an embarrassed laugh. "It's just– I braid it during the day and put it away, and–" Shut up, Fiona. "I'll go get that tea."

She dashed out of the room. When she entered the kitchen he was sitting at the table, and the kettle was on. He'd only turned on the small lights under the top cabinets. The lines of his face were exaggerated by the shadows, and his hair looked even more like a mane of some beast.

"Do you have any allergies?" she asked, and he shook his head. "Well, let's hope so, because if you haven't tried some of these herbs, you might react," she said. "If your throat or eyes feel itchy, let me know, please? I have Claritin in my bag."

She once again climbed on a chair and started rummaging on the shelf. She thought she'd seen a diffuser when she'd gotten them mugs earlier. She found a small ceramic pot, climbed down, and poured water over the leaves.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

She glanced and saw he was still shivering. Not to compare their issues in any way, but she knew perfectly well the shivers and the nausea after a burst of adrenaline. She silently walked out of the kitchen, took an afghan from the sofa in the lounge, and brought it to him.

"Do you want it?" she asked.

He tilted his head in the already familiar gesture, slowly took the blanket out of her hand, and then suddenly gave out a short coarse laugh.

"You're awfully calm," he said and wrapped the afghan around his shoulders.

"Am I?" she asked. "Yeah, I suppose I am. Is it odd?" She lifted the lid of the teapot and added more water to wake up the brew. "It is, isn't it? I reckon, it's this impractical mind of mine. I know the situation is stressful, but I just don't feel it." She shrugged and poured two mugs of tea. "But also, what purpose would me freaking out serve? You need help, and I'm here. Might as well–"

"Make me tea?" he offered, and she laughed. "I could've hurt you," he added in a low voice.

"You could've. But so does anyone else." She once again shrugged. "People accidentally hurt each other all the time. And you said you weren't violent," she said. She sat in front of him and blew at her tea. "You don't– feel unsafe." Remember what you were always told about your 'feelings,' Fiona? "But again, it's probably my typical unreasonable, emotional hogwash, and–" she trailed away, pulling her head into her shoulders.

"It's not unreasonable. It's called trusting your gut," he said and took a sip. "I've seen it save a man's arse more often than not."

She gave him a tentative smile, but he didn't return it. They drank in silence for a few minutes, and soon he pushed the afghan off his shoulders. Fiona dropped her eyes to the table. That tee of his is too soft and clingy to your comfort, Fiona? She cringed from the sharp wave of shame. Your 'unhealthy cravings' are kicking in ahead of schedule, Airy-Fairy.

"What's in the tea?" he asked and looked down his mug.

"Valeriana. Passionfruit. Mugwort. Lavender and vervain," she said, shaking off her unease. And a tinge of Nana's magic, but we aren't telling him that. In case he hasn't yet noticed you're looney. "There's still some left. Do you want some more?"

He nodded, and she got up. When she was pouring, her braid slipped off her shoulder - and he caught it before it dipped in his mug.

"Sorry! I should've pinned it," she muttered embarrassed.