Read Online Hazel's Promise (The Fey Quartet Book 2) by Emily Larkin - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Emily Larkin
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chest. I love this man . “I’m glad I don’t have to keep my gift a secret from you. It would have pained me to lie to you.”
Tam laid two fingers on her cheek, a light touch. “No lies between us.”
“No lies between us,” Hazel said firmly.
Tam smiled, and held the cloth-wrapped object out to her. “This is what I bought Father.”
Hazel took it carefully. It was heavy and rectangular. A jewelry box? It seemed unlikely. The Dapplewards didn’t flaunt what wealth they had. Whenever she’d seen the Lord Warder, he’d been plainly dressed.
The first layer was oiled cloth. Hazel unwrapped it and laid it neatly aside. Next came two layers of sturdy cotton, and then a layer of fine linen. She peeled the linen back and exhaled in wonder. “It’s a book .”
“Open it,” Tam said.
“I don’t dare!”
“It won’t break. Go on, open it.”
Cautiously, reverently, Hazel opened the book.
The vellum was smooth and creamy. The writing was in black ink, line after line of it, more ornate than her mother’s handwriting. The first letter on the page, an S , was fully as long as her thumb, flourishing and elaborate, the two ends curling in on themselves into a figure eight. Curlicues of blue and red ink decorated the page border.
Page after page. Hundreds of words. Thousands of words. And illustrations, too. Knights in armor and ladies in fine gowns, men hunting and doing battle, strange beasts and fantastical landscapes, all drawn in colored ink.
“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Hazel said, awed.
“I thought so, too, when I bought it,” Tam said. “But I’ve since changed my mind.”
Hazel touched a page with a reverent fingertip. “Nothing could be more beautiful than this.”
Tam’s hand slid under her hair, cupping the nape of her neck. “You are more beautiful,” he whispered against her temple.
Men had told Hazel she was beautiful before, dozens of times, scores of times, so many times that it had come to annoy her. I’m more than my face, she wanted to snap at whichever fool uttered the words. If that’s all you see, then you don’t know me . But coming from Tam, it was no longer a shallow, empty, easy compliment. When Tam looked at her, he saw her inside and out. And he found her beautiful.
Sudden tears stung her eyes. She blinked them back.
Tam kissed her temple, and released her. “Father has a library. He likes books. We often have someone read aloud in the evenings.”
Hazel tried to imagine it: the Lord Warder’s great hall, shutters closed against the night, a fire burning in the huge hearth, candles flickering, people leaning back in their seats, listening. One of those people will be me, soon . Dappleward Manor would be her home. It was . . . not daunting, exactly, but it was definitely disconcerting.
Hazel ran a fingertip over the words on the open page—each letter was beautifully formed—loop of g , bold stroke of l —then closed the book and wrapped it back up: fine linen, sturdy cotton, and oiled cloth. Tam was like this parcel. On the outside he was plain, unassuming Tam No-Name, but beneath the layers of Tam Peddler and Tam Goodkiss was hidden Wistan Dappleward. And when you opened Wistan Dappleward and looked inside him, there was the greatest treasure of all: Tam Trueheart.
Hazel tilted her head and looked at Tam. “It’s a very fine gift; your father will be pleased to have it.” She reached out and touched his face, ran her fingers lightly over his cheek, felt the prickle of his whiskers. “But the gift you’re giving me is even finer. You are a gift beyond price.”
To her amusement, Tam blushed.
Hazel laughed. “I love you, Tam Dappleward,” she said, leaning over to kiss him. “And I pledge myself to you forever .”
CHAPTER ONE
IVY LIMPED THROUGH the forest, leaning on her crutch. Her sister Hazel walked alongside her, a basket slung over one arm. Ahead, the derelict woodcutter’s cottage peeped through the
Tam laid two fingers on her cheek, a light touch. “No lies between us.”
“No lies between us,” Hazel said firmly.
Tam smiled, and held the cloth-wrapped object out to her. “This is what I bought Father.”
Hazel took it carefully. It was heavy and rectangular. A jewelry box? It seemed unlikely. The Dapplewards didn’t flaunt what wealth they had. Whenever she’d seen the Lord Warder, he’d been plainly dressed.
The first layer was oiled cloth. Hazel unwrapped it and laid it neatly aside. Next came two layers of sturdy cotton, and then a layer of fine linen. She peeled the linen back and exhaled in wonder. “It’s a book .”
“Open it,” Tam said.
“I don’t dare!”
“It won’t break. Go on, open it.”
Cautiously, reverently, Hazel opened the book.
The vellum was smooth and creamy. The writing was in black ink, line after line of it, more ornate than her mother’s handwriting. The first letter on the page, an S , was fully as long as her thumb, flourishing and elaborate, the two ends curling in on themselves into a figure eight. Curlicues of blue and red ink decorated the page border.
Page after page. Hundreds of words. Thousands of words. And illustrations, too. Knights in armor and ladies in fine gowns, men hunting and doing battle, strange beasts and fantastical landscapes, all drawn in colored ink.
“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Hazel said, awed.
“I thought so, too, when I bought it,” Tam said. “But I’ve since changed my mind.”
Hazel touched a page with a reverent fingertip. “Nothing could be more beautiful than this.”
Tam’s hand slid under her hair, cupping the nape of her neck. “You are more beautiful,” he whispered against her temple.
Men had told Hazel she was beautiful before, dozens of times, scores of times, so many times that it had come to annoy her. I’m more than my face, she wanted to snap at whichever fool uttered the words. If that’s all you see, then you don’t know me . But coming from Tam, it was no longer a shallow, empty, easy compliment. When Tam looked at her, he saw her inside and out. And he found her beautiful.
Sudden tears stung her eyes. She blinked them back.
Tam kissed her temple, and released her. “Father has a library. He likes books. We often have someone read aloud in the evenings.”
Hazel tried to imagine it: the Lord Warder’s great hall, shutters closed against the night, a fire burning in the huge hearth, candles flickering, people leaning back in their seats, listening. One of those people will be me, soon . Dappleward Manor would be her home. It was . . . not daunting, exactly, but it was definitely disconcerting.
Hazel ran a fingertip over the words on the open page—each letter was beautifully formed—loop of g , bold stroke of l —then closed the book and wrapped it back up: fine linen, sturdy cotton, and oiled cloth. Tam was like this parcel. On the outside he was plain, unassuming Tam No-Name, but beneath the layers of Tam Peddler and Tam Goodkiss was hidden Wistan Dappleward. And when you opened Wistan Dappleward and looked inside him, there was the greatest treasure of all: Tam Trueheart.
Hazel tilted her head and looked at Tam. “It’s a very fine gift; your father will be pleased to have it.” She reached out and touched his face, ran her fingers lightly over his cheek, felt the prickle of his whiskers. “But the gift you’re giving me is even finer. You are a gift beyond price.”
To her amusement, Tam blushed.
Hazel laughed. “I love you, Tam Dappleward,” she said, leaning over to kiss him. “And I pledge myself to you forever .”
CHAPTER ONE
IVY LIMPED THROUGH the forest, leaning on her crutch. Her sister Hazel walked alongside her, a basket slung over one arm. Ahead, the derelict woodcutter’s cottage peeped through the
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