Once the third onion was reduced to minced mash and my anger was for the most part spent, my thoughts returned to Rafe and Kaden. I’d never know if either one was a fisherman or pelt trader. By now they were probably far down the road, and I’d never see them again. I thought about Gwyneth and how she flirted with her customers, manipulating them to her will. Had she done the same with them?

I grabbed a knobby orange tuber from a basket and pounded it down on the butcher block. In less time than the onions, it was mash too, except for the chunks that flew out of control to the floor.

CHAPTER TEN

At the end of the evening, when Pauline had returned to our cottage and Enzo and Gwyneth had left for the night, I wearily scraped at the last empty stew pot. Some crusted remains were stubbornly stuck to its bottom.

I felt like I was back at the citadelle and had been sent to my bedchamber once again. Memories of my most recent banishment taunted me, and I blinked back tears. I will not tell you again, Arabella, you are to hold your tongue! My father blustered, his face red, and I had wondered if he would hit me, but he had only stormed from my room. We’d been at a court dinner, my father’s entire cabinet present. The Chancellor had sat across from me wearing his silver-trimmed coat and his knuckles so bejeweled I wondered if he had trouble lifting his fork. When the conversation turned toward trimming budgets and drunken jests of doubling soldiers up on horses, I chimed in that if the cabinet pooled their jewels and baubles, maybe the treasury would have a surplus. Of course I looked at the Chancellor and raised my glass to him to make sure my point wasn’t lost on their ale-soaked minds. It was a truth my father hadn’t wanted to hear, at least not from me.

I heard a rustle and glanced up to see a very tired Berdi shuffle into the kitchen. I doubled my efforts on the pot. She walked over and stood silently by my side. I waited for her to berate me again, but instead she lifted my chin so I had to look at her and said softly that I had had every right to chastise the soldier harshly and she was glad that I did.

“But harsh words coming from a young woman like you, as opposed to an old crone like me, are more likely to ignite egos rather than tame them. You need to be careful. I was as worried for you as I was for me. That doesn’t mean the words didn’t need to be said, and you said them well. I’m sorry.”

My throat tightened. In all the times I had spoken my mind with my parents, I had never been told I said anything well, much less heard any shred of apology. I blinked, wishing I had an onion now to explain my stinging eyes. Berdi drew me into her arms and held me, giving me a chance to compose myself.

“It’s been a long day,” she whispered. “Go. Rest. I’ll finish up here.”

I nodded, still not trusting myself to speak.

I closed the kitchen door behind me and made my way up the steps carved into the hillside behind the tavern. The night was still, and the moon peeked in and out through ribbons of foggy mist rolling up from the bay. In spite of the chill, I was warmed by Berdi’s words.

When I reached the last step, I pulled my cap from my head, letting my hair tumble to my shoulders and feeling full and satisfied as I turned over what she had said again. I headed down the trail, with the faint golden glow of the cottage window serving as my beacon. Pauline was probably already deep in slumber, basking in dreams of Mikael and his arms holding her so tightly she never had to worry about him leaving her again.

I sighed as I made my way down the dark trail. My dreams were of the dull and boring variety if I remembered them at all and certainly were never of arms holding me. Those kind of dreams I had to conjure to life when I was awake. A salty breeze stirred the leaves in front of me, and I rubbed my arms to warm them.

“Lia.”

I jumped, drawing in a sharp breath.

“Shh. It’s only me.” Kaden stepped out from the shadow of a large oak. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

I froze. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

He walked closer. He may have been harmless enough in the tavern, but what business did he have out here in the dark with me? My slim dagger was still tucked beneath my jerkin. I hugged my arms to my sides, feeling it beneath the fabric, and took a step backward.

He noted my move and stopped. “I just wanted to make sure you made it home safely,” he said. “I know soldiers like the one you humiliated in the tavern. Their memories are long, and their egos large.” He smiled hesitantly. “And I suppose I wanted to tell you I admired the show. I didn’t really convey my appreciation earlier.” He paused, and when I still didn’t respond, he added, “May I walk you the rest of the way?”

He offered his arm, but I didn’t take it. “You’ve been waiting all this time? I thought you’d be down the road by now.”

“I’m staying here. There weren’t any rooms available, but the innkeeper graciously offered the barn loft. A soft mattress is a welcome change from a dusty bedroll.” He shrugged and added, “Even if I have to listen to a complaining donkey or two.”

So he was a guest of the inn, and a considerate one at that. Also a paying customer who should rightfully be staying in our cozy but leaky cottage. My arms relaxed at my sides. “And your friend?”

“My friend?” He tilted his head to the side, boyish, instantly taking years off his studied body language. He raked a stray blond lock back with his fingers. “Oh, him. He’s staying too.”

He wasn’t a pelt trader, of that much I was certain. Parting animals from their skins wasn’t his specialty. His movements were quiet and deliberate as might befit a hunter, but his eyes … his eyes. They were warm and smoky, and turbulence stirred just below their deceptively calm surface. They were used to a different kind of life, though I couldn’t imagine what it might be.