Padric had not taken a blade to his face since they departed his home and a thin layer of black whiskers now shadowed his chin, lip and jaw. Coupled with the hair falling to his shoulders, black as ink, and the ever present brooding of his eyes, the growth on his face made him look wild and more than a little dangerous. The slaying of a gruagach made it less an illusion and more a hard truth. Rosheen’s heart fell as she said goodbye to the innocent boy she knew, and not for the first time. Will I be able to love the man as much? Or at all? She shook the thought away and found another barely more appealing.

He stood up, the fire now rising steadily, and turned to her.

“You look ill,” he said

Rosheen nodded. “Drink?”

“Right. Grand.” Padric went around behind the serving table to where the large kegs rested heavily in their cradles. “These are all untapped. Need a mallet.” He cast around for a moment before reaching toward the floor, pulling the cellar door open. Rosheen could feel the cold underground air leak up from the opening. She tensed. Why is there light?

“Padric,” she whispered.

“I know,” he hissed and drew his long knife. He held his free hand out toward her, indicating she should stay up top and ducked his head, cautiously descending the steep stairs. The narrow passage was clearly illuminated by the flickering of firelight and Rosheen could see where the stairs ended facing an earthen wall. Padric crept down quietly and stayed on the last step as he peered around the corner into the cellar. Knife ready, he stepped down to the right and out of sight. There was a moment’s pause and then his head poked out from behind the wall, looking up at her.

“You better come down here.”

As she flew down the cold closeness of the tunnel, she caught the pungent aromas of fresh ale and musty earth. Reaching the bottom, she looked. It was a roomy cellar, tightly packed with stacked barrels. Padric stood in the center, his back turned, the knife returned to its sheath. One of the wooden support beams held a bronze lamp, the burning animal fat spewing greasy smoke into the air, staining the ceiling. At her approach, Padric stepped aside and Rosheen looked down.

Should have guessed.