The last was that Callum acted to save her the discomfort of people bowing to her in the streets. People she had to live with and she wanted them to like her, not bow to her. She didn’t want to think that was a kindness he’d shown to her, having learned she didn’t like it the day before and thus stopping it from happening again. But she couldn’t help but think that it was.
They slowly made their way down one side of the street, stopping and chatting along the way as everyone else gazed at them frankly and speculatively. Then they slowly made their way down the other side of the street doing the same.
At the end of their journey, Callum led them into a pub, called “The Claw”. It, too, had diamond-paned windows but the glass was multi-colored in ambers, reds and greens and it had a furry paw with sharp claws painted on its suspended shingle.
The inside was inviting and warm after the cold of outside. There was a circular fireplace in the middle with a brass hood over it and a fire lit within. There were brass taps at the gleaming bar and a variety of cushioned seating. And there was another clawed paw etched in the mirror behind the bar.
Callum guided her directly to the bar and, when they stopped, he asked her, “Do you like cider?”
She gazed up at him and, figuring he wanted to warm her up with hot apple cider, though she would prefer hot cocoa but would request herbal tea, she asked, “Apple cider?”
He smiled and answered, “In a way, though not the way you’re used to.” Then he proclaimed, “You’ll try a cider.”
Then he turned to the bartender (who was named Ralph, by the way) and ordered their drinks and also two fish pies though he didn’t ask Sonia if she wanted fish pie, or anything to eat for that matter. He handed her a half pint glass of something cold and golden, told Ralph to, “Put it on Canis’s account,” and led them to a comfortable, curved couch by the fire.
He shrugged off the brown leather jacket she’d given him for Christmas. But he kept on the brown, burgundy and navy striped scarf wrapped around his throat over his thick, navy wool, cable-knit sweater (both of which Sonia had given him too). Sonia took his lead and divested herself of her own dusky-blue, woolen pea coat. Then Callum sat them close together.
Sonia tasted a sip of her cider and found it was brilliant, cool but refreshing.
She didn’t want to (she told herself) but she couldn’t help it. She liked the village. She liked the villagers. She liked being outside in the snowy cold. And she liked the cider.
“This is brilliant,” she told him as his arm slid around her and pulled her close.
“I’m glad you like it, honey.”
“I like the village too,” she added.
He made no response, just smiled down at her.
She didn’t want to (she told herself) but she couldn’t help it. She was just too curious to stop it.
“Have you lived here your whole life?”
He pulled her an inch closer and lifted his leg to rest the sole of his boot against the edge of the fireplace.
“A good part of it, yes. We spent some time in France, with my mother’s people. During a time of peace, when my father didn’t need me close, I lived in Canada for a while. And my father appointed me liaison to the British government for a brief period and I lived in London then.”
Well, that explained his accent.
“But you like it here?” she queried.
“I like it here.”
“The best?” she went on, Callum laughed and his hand gave her waist a squeeze.
“The best. Though I found it difficult leaving the Canadian Rockies. I’d been happy there,” he informed her.
This knowledge settled somewhere in Sonia (and, if she was honest, it was in the region of her heart) for she’d always been happiest in the American Rockies. And, she hated to admit it, but she really liked it right there.
Belatedly, she decided to find a different, less personal subject. One that couldn’t give Callum an opening through that guard around her heart.
Therefore, she enquired, “Liaison to the British government?”
He nodded and took a sip of his beer. “All governments know of our people.”
She looked to the fire, sipped at her cider and murmured, “I’m surprised about that.”
His hand gave her waist another squeeze and he asked, “Why?”
She looked back at him and replied, “Because you’re so secret. I had no clue.”
“No one has a clue,” he responded, “unless we want them to.” His face got closer and his voice got lower when he finished, “Like you.”
She pressed her lips together in an effort not to respond to how much she liked his face that close and his voice that low and looked again at the fire.
His big body relaxed further into hers. “Our people intermingle with your people all the time.”
“Do a lot of your people have human mates?” she queried.
“It’s rare,” he answered. “But it happens.”
Sonia looked about the pub and saw all eyes on them and all the eyes were clear and light. All the heads were dark. And all the bodies were big and long.
She turned back to Callum and whispered, “This whole village is your people.”
He looked down at her and smiled, “You noticed that?”
She nodded.
He pulled her even closer. “This is one of the reasons we need a liaison to the British government and why we have liaisons to every government. There are small countries like this around the world.”
“Countries?”
“Yes, little one,” he replied. “Villages, towns, even some small cities. This is our land, our country. The village and miles of wood that surround it. It isn’t owned by the British government. It’s owned and ruled by us. Didn’t you wonder why you didn’t go through Customs and Immigration when we arrived?”
She hadn’t thought of it, her mind was on other things.
“No,” she told him. “I’d never flown in a private jet before. I didn’t think about it.”
“Well,” he said, “that’s why. Not because you arrived in a private jet but because we landed on an airstrip, a private airstrip, our private airstrip that no one uses. The roads leading to this village are not on any map. Essentially, to your people, this place doesn’t exist.”
Sonia didn’t respond, she just stared at him.
Callum continued, “That doesn’t mean that humans don’t find their way here on occasion and they aren’t welcome when they do. They just wouldn’t be able to find their way back unless they had excellent memories and little fear of very bad roads.” He gave her a quick grin before he took a sip of his beer and then went on, “There are those of us who prefer living amongst their own, being who we are and how we are and not having to keep anything secret. There are those who find their calling in the human world and their profession takes them there. There are those who just like living in the human world, amongst more people, having more opportunities. There are others who move back and forth, depending on their mood. And there are others who live here but also like to spend time in the human world.” Then he finished, “Ryon’s like that.”