Chapter 38 #2
The witch was dead. Their partnership had come to an end. All that was left to do was collect her money and leave.
Casrian took a hesitant step closer. “How are you?”
“Tired. Achy. Confused.”
His brows drew together in concern, and she waved it aside. “It’s not the head wound. I lost so much time. I don’t even know where I am.”
“This is my estate. Emrys evacuated the whole village to Sulen. It was overflowing. There was no room for us there. The staff keeps this place ready. It wasn’t far.”
His estate… She’d almost forgotten about that. Casrian Dain—baron, hero, grandson of a duke. He was the rich man. This was his home.
She plucked at the heavy bedspread, looked out the window. “It’s lovely.”
He shrugged. “It still doesn’t feel like mine. This has been my longest stay since my father bestowed it upon me.”
“Did you finally get to see what it feels like to sleep in a room by yourself?”
The edge of his mouth curled in the slightest of smiles. “This is my room, actually, though I’ve never stayed here. It’s the largest. With the healers in and out, I thought it would work best.”
She’d taken his bed.
“Where have you been sleeping?”
“I haven’t been really.” He tipped his head to the side. “That chair mostly.”
Something curled in her belly. She couldn’t tell if it was pleasure or nausea. She noticed the bruises under his eyes for the first time. The tightness around his mouth.
“Why?”
His brows twitched up. “Why what?”
“Why would you give up your room for me?”
“I would give up everything for you.”
She looked up too sharply and a jolt of pain shot through her head. She had to close her eyes until it receded to a throbbing ache.
When she opened her eyes, Casrian had already turned away.
He poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the table at her bedside and then pressed it into her hands.
“Drink this,” he murmured. “You’re not well. I shouldn’t have… We’ll talk later.”
She very much wanted to talk now.
“You can’t just say that and—”
The door swung open. Her mother called her name as Asher guided her to the bed.
A familiar yellow cat slipped in behind them, darted across the room and leapt onto the bed.
Atten bumped his head against her bandaged hand and began to purr, his sharp claws piercing the blankets as he kneaded at her legs. “How did you get here?”
“He came with your mother,” Casrian said, watching as she ran her unbandaged fingers over Atten’s notched ear. “I don’t think he enjoyed the trip. Atten? You named your cat after the crown prince?”
“He is a prince among cats.”
Atten demonstrated how princely he was by settling down on the blanket and beginning to lick himself.
“I see that.”
She shrugged. “I liked the sound of it when I was young.”
“He’s settled right in,” her mother said as she joined them.
The captain stepped aside and her mother sat down on the edge of the bed and swept Rowan up in a trembling embrace. The smell of her wrapped Rowan up in comfort. Lavender and yarrow, marigold and sunshine. She’d been working on a salve for the burn. Of course, she had.
She looked over her mother’s shaking shoulders. Casrian was watching them. A soft smile curved his mouth. It just barely touched his eyes.
“I’m glad you made it,” he said quietly and turned to leave the room.
Her mother was so happy. Rowan didn’t remember her ever being so happy, not even when they lived in Jarn before their lives had gone so terribly wrong. She supposed, for her mother, things had gone terribly wrong years before Rowan’s memories began.
She looked healthy, her skin flushed and her hands steady.
“Have they been treating you well?”
Her mother swiped at the tears on her cheeks. “The captain’s gardens are in very poor shape. The rose bushes have run wild and the herbal beds are overgrown. The only thing the staff cares about maintaining are the plots that provide food for the kitchens.”
“Food is important too.”
Her mother sniffed. “I’m glad I brought my supplies from home. The captain’s man, Daris, didn’t want to bother with it, but I insisted. I suppose I shouldn’t call him the captain any longer. He’s a baron.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“He won’t let me address him properly, so I guess it’s captain for now.” She reached out and touched Rowan’s cheek, her fingertips tracing gently to her jaw. “He’s been kind.”
“We made that bargain. I held up my end of it. He’s just paying a debt.”
“Hmm.”
“How were things while I was gone? Did Tilly help you? I heard the village was evacuated.”
Her mother knew she was being distracted, but she allowed it.
“The village was quiet until the witch hunters arrived. Tilly and George helped me during the evacuation. The soldiers were anxious to be off. They cleared the houses and sent us away, but they didn’t leave anyone behind in Toam to ensure it remained empty.
We left the group and circled back. A day of walking through the woods but no harm done. ”
She grinned. “You defied the king’s men?”
She would expect it of Tilly, but not her mother.
Her mother frowned. “It was a foolish order. There was no place for us in Sulen and no danger in the village. I wanted to be there when you returned. It didn’t take the captain’s men long to find me.”
“The rest of the village?”
“Some of them have left permanently. Horace and Abigail. Mather. Most are already back in their homes. Tilly sends her best. The captain invited her to accompany me, but she refused.”
Tilly wouldn’t want to share a roof with a witch hunter.
She wished Tilly was here now. She’d thought about that charm, the one meant to prevent pregnancy, the one Casrian had hurled into the woods.
She should take something, but she wasn’t up to finding the garden herself and she didn’t want to ask her mother to make her a potion.
It might not be too late. Maybe Asher would help.
A strange fluttery sensation stirred in her belly thinking about the possibility of having Casrian’s child.
Probably terror.
Her mother checked her over in the same way Asher had done. She promised to make her a tea to soothe her pains. She promised that this one wouldn’t put her to sleep again. By the time she was finished, the food had come, delivered by a shy young maid who regarded Rowan with wary fascination.
The maid set up a tray on the bed. Cider and soft eggs and oats. Rowan gave the maid an encouraging smile when she thanked her. The girl curtsied before taking her leave. Rowan stared at her as she slipped out of the room.
“Did she just curtsy at me?”
Her mother laughed. “You’re the baron’s guest. You’re sleeping in the lord’s bedchamber. You should hear the gossip in the kitchen.”
She groaned. “I don’t want to know what they’re saying.”
“No,” her mother agreed. “You really don’t. Eat your food. All of it. You need to rebuild your strength.”
“I don’t want the eggs,” she said, picking up the spoon and dipping it into the oats. “You can have them.”
“I’ve already eaten. The cook is good.”
She believed it. The oats were delicious, lightly seasoned with cinnamon and sugar. She hadn’t tasted either for years. “I’ve hit my lifetime limit for eggs. I don’t care if I never have another one for the rest of my life.”
“You can tell the cook that, but you’ll get a reputation for being difficult with the staff. Better to let them know gently after a few weeks of eating whatever they serve you.”
Weeks…
Her mother leaned back in her chair, a calm and contented expression on her face. Her hands folded over her belly. She was wearing a new gown, simple but well-made in a smooth soft-looking fabric.
“I’m not going to be here in a few weeks.”
Her mother said nothing to that, just smiled a smug, secretive smile and waited for her to shove more food in her mouth.
Sometimes, she believed the things people in Jarn had whispered about her mother—that she’d come from a wealthy home.
How else did she know about things like how to manage the staff?
She’d always been just a little bit different.
She used bigger words. Her accent and the cadence of her speech were foreign.
Rowan had always thought it was just because she came from the capital and that everyone outside of their village was like her, but she was starting to question that belief.
“You seem awfully at home here,” she said, reaching for the cider.
“It’s a comfortable home,” she said with a touch of longing in her voice. “Small but solidly built. An old home that’s been well-cared for.”
Rowan looked around the room that was larger than the cottage they’d lived in when they were in Jarn. “This is small?”
Her mother shrugged. “By the standards of the peerage, yes. The old baron had no heirs, but he was loved by the people here. It’s a good staff, though they don’t seem to know what to make of the captain yet.
They are kind, even with this.” She touched her forehead. “This place would make a good home.”
Rowan narrowed her eyes at the soft look on her mother’s face. “For the captain.”