Elmwood
At least Rollo was safe, but gaining that assurance had made him realize a flaw in his plan to give himself up and face his banishment. If he were tossed over the Relancian border and left to his fate, what would become of Rollo?
Someone knocked at his door. His heart immediately leapt with the hope that it might be Lady Croft, then fell again as he realized how unlikely it was, given her instructions. He hauled himself off the bed and opened the door, revealing Han carrying an armful of firewood.
“Thought you might need this,” she said.
“Oh, that’s very kind of you.” He stepped aside, allowing her to enter. She went over to the hearth and crouched down, stacking the logs in a little recess set into the stones beside the fire.
She finished, and instead of returning to the doorway, she stood there, staring at Elmwood.
“Thank you,” he said, uncertain what the etiquette was for conversing with a steward who was lowering themselves to bring you firewood and who also happened to be the sister of the woman you were inappropriately obsessed with.
He seemed to have gotten it wrong, because she continued to stare at him.
“Is there something I can do for you, Han?”
“She doesn’t know. Hilde doesn’t know I have a Charm.”
“She…doesn’t know?” he repeated rather stupidly, but he was very surprised. “How is that possible?”
“The thrill must have worn off between us when we were little. I don’t remember it, and neither does she.”
“What is it that your Charm does?”
“None of your fucking business.”
He snorted. “Fair enough. Is there some reason why you’ve decided to confess this to me, when you haven’t told your own sister?”
She looked at him like he was an idiot. “You know. You felt the thrill earlier, same as me.”
“Well, yes.”
“I can’t have you telling anyone.”
He stiffened, indignant.
“Do you take me for a petty informant, eager to tattle on my fellow Charmers? I’m not going to tell anyone. Why would I?”
“I can’t have you telling her.”
“Your sister?” he said, puzzled. “But surely she’s the one person you needn’t fear telling. She would never give you up. Why would you willingly keep it from her?”
“As far as I’m concerned, I don’t have a Charm. She doesn’t need to know about something I don’t have.”
He squinted at her. “But you do have a Charm. Ignoring it doesn’t make it go away.”
“How would you know? You use yours.”
“Not anymore.”
“You’re not going to help Hilde with it?”
“No. Furthermore, I don’t see how your Charm is any of my business, and I assure you that I won’t mention it to anyone, including your sister.”
“Does Hilde know you aren’t going to help her?” Han persisted. He’d thought her sister was stubborn, but Han was like a dog in a bull pit.
“I have told her so repeatedly. Whether she believes me is another matter, but it is one I have no control over whatsoever.”
Han flexed her jaw.
“And what of Lady Isobel?”
An annoyed growl slipped out of him. All he’d wanted was a little rest so that he might collect himself before going to meet Lady Croft, and now, instead, he was being interrogated.
“What concern is Lady Isobel of yours?” he asked. He knew the answer—it had been obvious that Han was besotted—but if she was going to continue to badger him, he was going to make her confess it.
“I don’t like the way you flirt with my sister in front of her,” said Han, taking a slightly menacing step toward him. “It’s not very gentlemanly.”
“Oh, come now, Lady Isobel hasn’t the faintest notion of it. All she sees is the version of me that she’s concocted in her head! If I attempted to drown her in the millpond, she’d spin some tale about how she fell in and I saved her.”
Suddenly Han was no longer over by the fireplace. She crossed the room in several long strides and stood nose to nose with Elmwood, her hands gripping his waistcoat.
“Don’t talk about hurting the lady,” she said, and she gave him a little shake.
Elmwood’s teeth clacked together most uncomfortably, and he tried to pull out of her grip, but she gave him a second shake for his trouble. Thankfully, she then released him with a shove and took a step back.
“I meant it as a jest, but I beg your pardon,” he said, somewhat stiffly but as earnestly as he could manage.
He had learned the hard way that when someone found the composure to stop menacing you, you didn’t say anything to make them think better of it.
Also, she was correct—it had been a nasty thing for him to say.
He wouldn’t have said it if he weren’t so exhausted.
“Let me be frank with you, Han. While I hold your sister in the deepest esteem, friendship is all that will ever be between us. As for Lady Isobel, that is really none of your concern, but I do appreciate that I am absolutely in the wrong as it pertains to our situation, and I have plans to remedy that as soon as possible.”
Han was still scowling at him.
“You’ll treat her proper?”
Elmwood massaged his jaw. “I’m going to ensure that she is free to pursue a more deserving partner.”
He watched as she ground her teeth, clearly thinking this over.
“You’ll be gentle about it?” she pressed.
“As gentle as possible. She’s a sweet young woman, and I have no desire to involve her further in my troubles. Now, I don’t wish to be rude, but will you please get out of my room?”
Han studied him, then nodded once and turned to go.
Elmwood should have let her, but some foolish impulse prompted him to say, “Han, can I offer you some counsel, from one Charmer to another?”
Han turned back to him, which he took as assent.
“You should tell your sister that you have a Charm. It’s a lonely burden to carry in this world, even if you choose not to use it. Your sister would want to help you, and I suspect that she would find great solace in knowing that the two of you have this in common. She’s lonely. She needs you.”
“You don’t know her,” Han said, turning away from him and toward the door. “She doesn’t need anyone.”
“You’re certain of that?” he said to her back. She paused but then exited the room, closing the door quietly behind her and leaving Elmwood alone once again.
He allowed himself to sink back down onto the bed. It was just for a few brief minutes, until his body rallied, for it would soon be time to go to his rendezvous with Lady Croft, and nothing would keep him from it. He needed to see her.
For his conversation with Han had made him realize something.
Lady Croft was lonely. He couldn’t fix that for her with his presence, for he would soon be gone for good. He had no idea how to convince her sister to confide in her. He couldn’t bring her husband back.
What he could do was offer her the one creature that had somehow proved capable of worming its way into his own shriveled, lonely heart: Rollo.
Losing Rollo had made him realize what he had not been able to admit to himself.
He had grown to love the little dog. And if anyone could keep Rollo happy and safe from harm, it was Lady Croft.
She had already saved him twice, which was more than Elmwood could say for himself.
Indeed, he could think of no better caretaker for a wayward, disaster-prone creature than she.
In addition to being a companion for her, Rollo might do some real good for Lady Croft.
If Elmwood arranged for her to be Rollo’s new caretaker, then Merewyth would, in effect, be hers.
Even if the Harrier did take her beloved Croftholde, she would not be forced to go far.
She would have a home and a refuge near the place that she loved so deeply.
From that vantage, perhaps she could make a new plan and be of help to the people she cared about.
He longed to offer her that opportunity.
Indeed, the thought of Rollo and Lady Croft taking care of each other once he was gone filled his chest with an unfamiliar warmth. It must have soothed his mind, for without meaning to, Elmwood put his years of learning to sleep like a soldier to practice and dozed off.
When he woke sometime later, it was to the sensation of someone pressing all along one side of him, and warm breath on his neck. In the haze of sleep, his mind immediately went to Lady Croft. He brought his arm around her, pressing her to him.
It was then he realized that something was not quite right. She was not soft enough.
He opened his eyes, fully awake, and discovered that it was not Lady Croft held tight in his arms.
It was Lady Isobel.