She pushed the hair out of her face, smeared a tiny drop of blood from a nick a thorn had given her. It was smaller than Belinda’s cabin, and made of stone rather than wood. Sunlight had the mica glittering like diamonds. The porch was wide but uncovered. On the second floor a small and charming stone balcony jutted out from glass doors.

When she lowered her gaze from it, Liam was standing on the porch. He had his thumbs hooked in the front pockets of his jeans, a black sweatshirt with its arms shoved up to the elbows. And he didn’t look particularly happy to see her.

But he nodded. “Come in, Rowan. Have some tea.”

He walked back inside without waiting for her response, and left the door open wide behind him. When she came closer, she heard the music, pipes and strings tangled in a weepy melody. She barely stopped her hands from twisting together as she stepped inside.

The living area seemed larger than she’d expected, but thought it was because the furnishings were very spare. A single wide chair, a long sofa, both in warm rust colors. A fire blazed under a mantel of dull gray slate. Gracing it was a jagged green stone as big as a man’s fist and a statue of a woman carved in alabaster with her arms uplifted, her head thrown back, her naked body slender as a wand.

She wanted to move closer, to study the face, but it seemed rude. Instead she walked toward the back and found Liam in a small, tidy kitchen with a kettle already on the boil and lovely china cups of sunny yellow set out.

“I wasn’t sure I’d find you,” she began, then lost the rest of her thought as he turned from the stove, as those intense eyes locked on hers.

“Weren’t you?”

“No, I hoped I would, but … I wasn’t sure.” Nerves reared up and grabbed her by the throat. “I made some cookies. I brought you some to thank you for helping me out last night.”

He smiled a little and poured boiling water into a yellow pot. “What kind?” he asked. Though he knew. He’d smelled them, and her before she’d stepped out of the woods.

“Chocolate chip.” She managed a smile of her own. “Is there another kind?” She busied her hands by opening the container. “They’re pretty good. I’ve eaten two dozen at least already.”

“Then sit. You can wash them back with tea. You’ll have gotten chilled wandering about. The wind’s brisk today.”

“I suppose.” She sat at the little kitchen table, just big enough for two. “I don’t even know how long I’ve been out,” she began, shoving at her tangled hair as he brought the pot to the table. “I was distracted by—” She broke off as he skimmed his thumb over her cheek.