“There.” With a last tug to check the weapon was secure, he stepped back. “How does that feel?”
“Heavy.” Cathy’s hand hovered over the hilt, as though afraid it might drop off if she touched it. “Between the sword and the skirts, I’m going to fall flat on my face.”
“For Herne’s sake, woman, you’ve ridden a hell-goat through the wildwood in the midst of an unseelie host. I think you’ll manage.” Aodhan folded his arms. “All the magic in the world isn’t going to get you through the seelie lands if you keep looking like your clothes are about to eat you. Chin up. Spine straight. You’re a haughty changeling sorcerer on an important mission for your court, remember?”
Cathy closed her eyes for a second. Her lips moved, shaping a single word: Kevin.
She drew herself up, hand dropping to the hilt of her sword. Her eyes opened again, and Aodhan felt the impact like a gut punch. Because here was a warrior, his warrior, ready to ride out for battle.
Only for a second. Cathy made a face, her hand slipping from her sword to dangle awkwardly at her side. “This is ridiculous. I’m not going to fool anyone.”
“Don’t have to,” Motley told her. “Just need the right steed.”
Aodhan shot the raven shifter a warning glare. “Quite right. And fortunately, that is easily provided.”