Chapter 26 #3
The child groaned as if cleanliness were persecution.
Everyone went back to their tasks. Dogs settled.
Walter began muttering about the linen count.
Hob cut bread with a knife that looked as if it had seen more battles than some knights.
Huck poured watered mead from the jug someone had fetched, because apparently a friar could produce food, drink, theology, and social strategy at any hour of the day like a traveling tavern with opinions.
Thomas crossed to her while the household made itself busy pretending not to listen.
“You should have told me,” he said.
“I was going to.”
“When?”
“After I decided how much of it would make you look murderous.”
His jaw tightened. “Amelia.”
He was close enough now that she could see raindrops lingering in his hair and the faint lines at the corners of his eyes, lines carved not by age so much as guilt and responsibility.
His cloak smelled of wet wool and cold air.
The scar along his jaw was pale where the hearthlight touched it, and one hand flexed once at his side before going still.
He wanted to touch her. Or maybe she wanted him to so badly that she had invented the thought.
“If Belmaine is feeding this talk, he means to make trouble for you.”
“I know.”
His gaze hardened. “You are safe here.”
The words should have soothed her. They did, and that was the problem. They slid beneath her ribs and settled there, warm and heavy, in the place where common sense had once lived before Thomas Ashcombe came stomping through it in muddy boots.
“Because of you?” she asked softly.
His eyes held hers. “Aye.”
That simple aye did more damage than a speech would have.
Huck, curse him, chose that exact moment to pass behind them with the honey jar. “Protection is grand, but it sits better with bread.”
Thomas looked as though he might commit violence upon a friar, which Amelia was fairly certain carried religious consequences.
Huck handed her a slice of honeyed bread.
She took it because refusing would make Alyson cry and because her stomach, traitor that it was, had noticed breakfast had been several hours ago. The bread was coarse and warm, the honey floral and rich, catching at her fingers in golden threads.
“Winifred does good work,” she said.
“She does,” Huck said. “And she dislikes cowards, fools, and men who meddle near hives that are not theirs.”
Thomas’s gaze sharpened again. “What else have you heard?”
Huck’s humor faded. Even Hob stopped cutting bread.
“Men in murrey and gold were seen near the ridge again.”
The cold that went through Amelia had nothing to do with the brisk fall air.
“When?” Thomas asked.
“Near dusk yestereve. Hob found their track where the road softens by the lower hedge.”
Hob’s face had gone grim. “Two horses. Mayhap three. They kept above the road where a man could watch the gate and not be seen unless another man had cause to look.”
“And you had cause?” Amelia asked.
Hob’s mouth twisted. “I always have cause.”
Thomas looked toward the door, toward the grey road beyond the yard, though no one could see it from where they stood.
“They’re still watching,” Amelia said.
“Aye,” Hob answered.
Belmaine had tested the village and failed to cause trouble. Huck had blunted the faery talk before it sharpened into something uglier. That didn’t mean Belmaine would stop. It meant he would change bait.
“They’ll try another angle,” she said.
Huck stoppered the honey jar and pushed it toward her. “Then you’ll need something stronger than sweetness next time.”
Amelia looked at the jar. The last streaks of honey moved slowly down the inside of the glass, patient and golden. Honey didn’t rush. Bees built in cells, one small chamber beside another, until the weight became undeniable.
Her plan had to be undeniable. Not a hope or a clever thought. Not a list that made her feel better because the world looked less terrifying when broken into steps.
Something solid enough that Belmaine could not turn it back on Thomas.
She lifted her gaze. “I need to move faster.”
Thomas’s eyes sharpened. “With what?”
“Everything.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have today.”
He looked at her as if he knew she was hiding half a battlefield under her veil.
Which, in fairness, she was.
“Amelia.”
The sound of her name coming from him almost made her break and tell him, but she took a breath and straightened her spine.
“I’m not going to do anything foolish.”
Hob made a sound.
She turned. “No commentary from the boulder gallery.”
“I said naught.”
Thomas’s mouth twitched, though the worry didn’t leave his eyes.
It was enough. Not enough to fix anything. Not enough to make gossip harmless or Belmaine stupid or the crown merciful. But enough to put one small candle between them and the dark.
Huck watched the two of them with altogether too much understanding.
“Good,” he said.
Thomas looked at him. “What is good?”
“Nothing.” Huck picked up the basket. “Merely admiring Winifred’s judgment.”
Amelia tucked the honey jar against her ribs. “Please tell Winifred she has excellent timing.”
“I shall not,” Huck said. “It’ll make her impossible.”
Edith took the empty bread board and gave Amelia one long look. “Do what you must, but do not forget that clever women still need supper.”
“That sounded loving and threatening.”
“It was both.”
Thomas stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Do not go beyond the walls without telling me.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
His expression suggested he had grave doubts about the honesty of that sentence.
“Amelia.”
“I heard you.”
“Nay. You listened. There is a difference.”
She hated that he knew that.
For one heartbeat, the hall, the gossip, the cold, the watching men beyond the ridge, all of it narrowed to the space between them.
His hand lifted slightly, as if he meant to touch the honey jar, or her arm, or perhaps the curl near her cheek that had fought free of her wimple again. Then he stopped himself.
Thomas could face a dozen armed men without blinking, but one loose curl apparently required a council of war. Amelia smiled despite herself.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
Outside, the wind pushed at the door and sent a thin whisper along the rushes. Somewhere beyond Ashcombe, a man in Belmaine’s colors was likely figuring out what had gone wrong and deciding what to try next.
Mistress Bell’s salt had been the warning. Huck’s honey had been the answer.
Amelia held the jar a little tighter and went to find paper and ink.