Tam Lin
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"What are you doing?" the man asked again. His voice was soft as a rose petal.
"Picking roses." Janet took a step to one side, where she wouldn't have to stare into the sun. He turned with her and the afternoon sun illuminated his face: high, wide cheekbones beneath eyes as bright and blue as the sky. His full lips were pressed together with displeasure.
"Carter Hall is mine," he said in his too calm, too quiet tone. "Those are my roses."
"Yours?" Janet asked. "It's in the middle of Chaster's ...
"Picking roses." Janet took a step to one side, where she wouldn't have to stare into the sun. He turned with her and the afternoon sun illuminated his face: high, wide cheekbones beneath eyes as bright and blue as the sky. His full lips were pressed together with displeasure.
"Carter Hall is mine," he said in his too calm, too quiet tone. "Those are my roses."
"Yours?" Janet asked. "It's in the middle of Chaster's ...





















