The Pillars Of The World

never thought about those kinds of spells when her mother was alive because Meredith’s strength had been water. When she’d commanded, water had obeyed. But water spells didn’t work for a witch whose strengths were earth and fire, so Ari had had to learn earth-based spells to keep water out of places it wasn’t supposed to be.
    Or, more truthfully, was still working on finding the right spell since her efforts so far had achieved limited success. Of course, even her mother might have been challenged by a storm like this.
    A careful nibble confirmed that the stew was cool enough to eat. She dug her spoon into the bowl and was about to take a mouthful when someone knocked on the door.
    The spoon slipped out of her fingers. She stared at the door, her heart pounding.
    Mother’s mercy! Royce!
    Another knock, more impatient this time.

    With effort, she regained enough self-control to think instead of panic. Even if it was Royce, the warding spells would keep him out unless she welcomed him in. And she had no intention of letting him cross her threshold. But what if it was Ahern, coming to ask for a simple because one of his men was sick?
    “You won’t know by just standing here,” Ari muttered, moving toward the door.
    A third knock made her freeze , her eyes fixed on the latch. The fact that whoever it was hadn’t tried to force his way in gave her courage to open the door.
    It wasn’t Royce, and it wasn’t Ahern. It was a well-dressed, thoroughly wet stranger who was hunched under the roof as far as he could get.
    “Good evening,” Ari said.
    Thunder rolled. Lightning flashed. The stranger glared balefully at the sky, then gave her a small, woeful smile. “Is it?”
    Something about him made Ari hesitate. Despite the rain and the chill wind, seeing him made the cottage feel a bit too warm.
    Well, you can’t leave him standing there. And he’s obviously gentry, so suggesting he bed down in the cow shed wouldn’t be something he’d forgive.
    “Come in and be welcome,” Ari said, using the phrase that quieted the warding spells. She stepped back to give him room to enter.
    He hesitated on the threshold, and she wondered if he could feel the warding spells draw back like a curtain that would close again the moment he stepped into the room. Then he entered the room, moving to one side so that Ari could close the door.
    “I’m . . . grateful ... for the shelter, mistress,” he said, pushing his black hair away from his face. “It’s a hard night.”
    She could tell gratitude wasn’t a common feeling for him. Not surprising. It wasn’t a common emotion for any of the gentry as far as she could tell. At least he had manners enough to say the word, which was more than anyone in Ridgeley would have said.
    Noticing the saddlebags he carried in one hand, she said, “What about your horse?”
    Surprise—and a hint of amusement—filled his gray eyes. “My horse?”
    “Did you put it in the cow shed?” Ari bit her lower lip worriedly. “There’s straw for bedding, but I don’t keep hay or any feed.”
    “The horse is fine where he is,” the man said, something a little odd in his voice.
    Ari nodded. The man seemed filled with a waiting tension she didn’t understand. His quick glance at the table was explanation enough.
    He’s hungry . The thought made her shiver. Suddenly, she didn’t want to be in the same room with him
    —at least for a few minutes. Which brought to mind other problems.
    “You should get out of those wet clothes,” she said, then pressed her lips tightly shut. She had nothing to offer him, and she didn’t think it would be wise to have a man sitting around wearing nothing but a blanket and his small clothes—assuming those weren’t wet, too.

    “I have a change of clothes,” he said, raising the saddlebags slightly. He looked at her expectantly.
    There wasn’t much choice. Squaring her shoulders, she gestured toward the half-open door of her bedroom. “You can change in there.”
    Inclining his head slightly, he went into the bedroom and closed the door.
    Pressing her hands against her nervous stomach, Ari glanced down. She groaned quietly, then shrugged in resignation. The ankle-length nightgown was heavy enough to cover her, and the shrug came down to her thighs. There was nothing immodest about her dress, and if a gentry male assumed that barging in on a woman dressed for bed was the same as an invitation, then he could just go back out into the rain and be