The Shoe Mistress? What the heck did that mean? And I squirmed a little at the question about being “compromised.” Yuck.
“My commitment to the clan has never wavered, Father.” McKale’s voice was quiet and careful. “I cannot ignore the Shoe Mistress when she speaks to me, or deny taking her hand when she offers it. Ye know we cannot slight their kind.”
A sarcastic cough sounded from Cassidy at the other end of the bench.
“McKale, dear.” Mom reached across the table and patted his hands. He lifted his eyes to her with politeness. “We all want this to work out. As for Robyn’s father and myself, we are mostly concerned that the two of you will be happy. That means there can be no future… relations”—insert cringing from me here—“with this Fae, no matter how great or small.”
McKale nodded and lowered his eyes as if humiliated.
Brogan clapped his hands together and puffed out his chest. “Now that we’ve cleared that up, when can we expect the binding ceremony to take place? The Summer King’s mistress will want to be notified.”
Gee, no pressure or anything. McKale and I shared an embarrassed look before both staring down at the table again. Dad cleared his throat next to me.
“Robyn will turn eighteen in less than a month’s time. We would prefer if they had at least that long to get to know one another.”
Brogan’s tense brow showed that he worried the timeframe was excessive, but he nodded his agreement anyhow.
“Very well, then. Please accept my apologies for the unpleasantness of last eve. Surprise portal openings never bode well. They usually occur but twice a year—once for ordering shoes and once for delivery of the goods. We weren’t expecting them again until summer’s end.”
“Things happen,” my father said, and though the words were pleasant, his face was still in scary-mode. “I believe they came to make sure Cecelia and I honored our agreement. I’m sure the rest of the summer will work out just fine. Won’t it, McKale?”
Oh, dear. That was dadspeak for stay-away-from-the-Fae-and-don’t-hurt-my-daughter.
Or else.
I wanted to crawl somewhere and hide. Or better yet, shrink into a mini Robyn-chaun and jump on the back of the nearest sheep that could whisk me off somewhere where boys weren’t forced into being with me.
McKale straightened and met my dad’s eyes. “Aye, Mr. Mason.”
Brogan stood. “Well, then. Glad that’s all settled. I do believe I smell our morning meal preparing. Let us visit the kitchens and then we’ll eat in the open air this fine morn.”
My parents thanked him and followed.
“I’ll be right there,” I told them. Cassidy scooted closer to me and McKale didn’t move from his spot across from us.
“Well, that was awkward,” Cassidy said once the adults were out of hearing distance.
I looked at McKale, but he was intent on studying a groove in the wooden tabletop, running his thumb along it.
“Can I ask you something, McKale?” Cassidy spoke, then she forged ahead without waiting for him to answer. “What do you think of my sister so far?”
“Cass!” Could my family possibly humiliate me any further this morning?
“What?” She eyed me before turning back to McKale. “So? What do you think?”
I clenched my teeth.
“I don’t believe it truly matters what we think of one another,” he said.
“Wrong.” She leaned forward. “There’s no time to be negative and bitter. It may not matter to your clan or the Fae what you two think of each other, but we Masons are not a clan, we’re a family, and it matters to us. So tell me. What was your first thought when you met her?”
My breathing went shallow. As uncomfortable as this was, I wanted to hear his answer. Plus, he had to pass this “test” in order to gain Cassidy’s approval, which meant a lot to me. Would he even play along?
Please play along.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and then his jaw rocked back and forth slowly, highlighting the line of red hair that ran along its edge. Other Chaun men began to filter into the clearing, carrying their plates. I felt Cassidy getting uptight next to me. Just as I was about to tell her to forget about it, McKale whispered.
“She reminded me of the Irish Hollyhock.”
“The what?” Cassidy asked.
He shook his head. “Nothing. Never ye mind.”
She crossed her arms and glared at him. A Little Man was walking nearby and she called out to him.
“Excuse me, sir?” She smiled and waved him over. McKale’s face froze. “Can you please tell me what the Irish Hollyhock is?”
“Well, certainly then. It’s a flowering plant that grows taller than meself. The bigger it gets the more it blooms with color. They’re sturdy and quite stunning, really. Does that answer yer question, miss?”
Cassidy beamed a large smile at him. “It sure does. Thank you so much.” He nodded and walked to his table. With her arms still crossed, Cassidy faced McKale and cocked her head.
“You could have just said you thought she was pretty, but I like the Hollyhock thing even better. And just in case you’re wondering, she thinks you’re cute, too.”
Kill me, please.
A slight tint colored McKale’s cheekbones as Cassidy tapped my arm. “Come on, Robyn. I’m hungry.”
“Wait,” McKale called. We stopped. He captured my eyes and my insides cartwheeled. “Robyn… about last night. I hope ye’ll accept my apology.”