“You have a mark of royalty.”
“Say what?”
He moved closer, touched a fingertip lightly to her shoulder blade. There was the mark of a cross like the one around his neck, but in bold and bloody red.
“It’s just a tattoo.”
“In Geall only the ruler would bear a mark on the body. When the new king or queen becomes, when they lift the sword from the stone, the mark appears. Here.” He tapped a hand on his right biceps. “Not the symbol of the cross, but the claddaugh, put there, it’s said, by the finger of the gods.”
“Cool. Excellent,” she explained when he frowned at her.
“I myself have never seen this.”
She cocked her head. “And seeing’s believing?”
He shrugged. “My aunt, Moira’s mother, had such a mark. But she rose to queen before I was born, so I didn’t see the mark become.”
“I never heard that part of the legend.” Because it was there, she swooped a fingertip through the icing of his cake, sucked it off. “I guess everything doesn’t trickle down.”
“How did you come by yours?”
Funny guy, Blair thought. Curious nature. Gorgeous eyes. Danger, Will Robinson, she thought. That sort of combo just begged for complications. She just wasn’t built for complications—and had learned it the hard way. “I paid for it. A lot of people have tattoos. It’s like a personal statement, you could say. Glenna’s got one.” She took another drink, watching him as she reached around to tap herself on the small of the back. “Here. A pentagram. I saw it when we were helping her get dressed for the handfasting.”
“So they’re for women.”
“Not only. Why, you want one?”
“I think not.” He rubbed absently at his thigh.
Blair remembered yanking the arrow out of him herself, and that he’d barely uttered a sound. The guy had balls to go with the gorgeous eyes and curious nature. He was no slouch in a fight, and no whiner after the battle. “Leg giving you trouble?”
“A little stiff, a little sore. Glenna’s a good healer. Yours?”
She bent her leg back, heel to butt, gave it a testing pull. “It’s okay. I heal fast—part of the family package. Not as fast as a vamp,” she added. “But demon hunters heal faster than your average human.”
She picked up the jacket she’d tossed on the table, put it on against the morning cool. “I want coffee.”
“I don’t like it. I like the Coke.” Then he smiled, easy, charming. “Will you be making yourself the breakfast?”
“In a little while. I’ve got some things I want to do first.”
“Maybe you wouldn’t mind making enough for two.”
“Maybe.” Clever guy, too, she thought. You had to respect his finagling. “You got something going now?”
It took him a moment, but he tried to spend a little time each day with the miraculous machine called the television. He was proud to think he was learning new idioms. “I’m after taking the horse for a ride, then feeding and grooming him.”
“Plenty of light today, but you shouldn’t head into the woods unarmed.”
“I’ll be riding the fields. Ah, Glenna, she asked if I’d not ride alone in the forest. I don’t like to worry her. Were you wanting a ride yourself?”
“I think I had enough of one last night, thanks to you.” Amused, she gave him a light punch in the chest. “You’ve got some speed in you, cowboy.”
“Well, you’ve a light and steady seat.” He looked back out at the trampled ground. “You’re right. It was a good fight.”
“Damn right. But the next one won’t be so easy.”
His eyebrows winged up. “And that one was easy?”