The Scorpio Races - Maggie Stiefvater [116]
Once Finn is dispatched, Holly says, “Puck, I’m stepping so badly over the line here that I might never return. But there’s quite a few people who don’t care to have you on the beach. I’m not sure if you’ve heard.”
I think of Peg Gratton telling me not to let anyone else tighten my girth. I lose my appetite for my sticky breakfast. “I’ve an inkling.”
There’s genuine worry on George Holly’s face. “You’re the first, aren’t you? The first woman?”
It’s strange to be called a woman, but I nod.
“It just sounds quite bad down there,” he says. “I wouldn’t say anything if I didn’t think it seemed dangerous.”
How quickly George Holly’s become one of us — that I should be riding in a race against a few dozen capaill uisce and he thinks it’s the men I should be worried about.
“I know not to trust anyone,” I say. “Except …”
Holly studies my face. “You do fancy him, don’t you? What a strange, wonderful, repressed place this is.”
I glare at him, relieved that I seem to be out of blushes, or perhaps I’m still blushing and can’t get any redder. “I’m not the one letting myself be played by three sisters with four and a half eyes between them.”
Holly laughs delightedly. “Very true.”
Dove strives for my November cake and I push her away with my elbow. “Annie’s all right,” I say. “Do you think she’s pretty?”
“I do.”
“I reckon she finds you agreeable, too,” I say. I glance at him sideways with a sly smile. “Since she can’t see any farther than her arm. I wouldn’t count on her baking you any of these cakes, though. There’s a reason Palsson’s is full of women. Thisby women are lazy.”
“Lazy as you?”
“Just about.”
“I think I could bear that.” He glances up; Finn has just broached the door of Palsson’s, bearing two bags, and he approaches us looking cheerful. Holly says to me, “I sure do wish you the best of luck, Miss Connolly. And I hope you won’t wait for Sean Kendrick to realize that he’s lonely.”
I want to ask him, Wait for what? but Finn’s come up then and it’s not a question I want to ask in front of one of my brothers.
So we merely exchange pleasantries, and Holly goes on his way to watch the training on the beach, I go my way to get Dove to the cliff top, and Finn gets ready to go back to Dory Maud’s to do odd jobs.
“Did you hear his accent?” Finn asks.
“I wasn’t born deaf.”
“If I were Gabe, I’d go to America instead of the mainland.”
This statement ruins any good mood I had germinating in my soul. “If you were Gabe, I’d slap you.”
Finn is unperturbed. He gives Dove’s rump a friendly pat before starting away.
“Hey.” I stop him and remove another two cakes from the bag. “Now go.”
He trots gleefully off, so easily pleased by the arrival of food. I balance my cakes in one hand and take Dove’s reins with the other, leading her toward the cliffs. I think about George Holly’s comment about food tasting better in memories. It strikes me as a strange, luxurious statement. It assumes you’ll have not only that moment when you take the first bite but then enough moments in front of it for that mouthful to become a memory. My future’s not that certain that I can afford to wonder what will become of the taste later. And in any case, the November cake tastes plenty sweet to me now.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
SEAN
I’m already waiting when Puck gets to the top of the cliffs. I’m not the only one; about two dozen race tourists have made perches out of rocks, watching Corr and me as closely as they dare. Puck glares at them all, searing enough that some of them flinch in surprise. I’m not certain what to expect from her after last night. I don’t know how to address her. I don’t know what she expects from me or what I expect from me.
What I get is a wordless hello and a November cake in my hand. We each silently eat one under the attentive audience of the tourists and then scrub our sticky palms on the grass.
Puck grimaces at the onlookers. “Dove is timid around the water horses.”
“As she should be.”
She turns her ferocious