By lunchtime, he dragged himself back to the manor house and opened the solar door to find his brothers playing cards. The smell of cooking meat wafted out of the kitchen.
“Good! You’re back. Now you can help us keep Jamen from taking all of our money,” said Flint, throwing his cards onto the table.
“It’s not my fault I’m good at cards, and you all show your hand on your faces.” Jamen smiled.
“I still think you cheat,” said Hass.
“Yeah,” said Ian. “No one’s that good.”
“You’ve been saying that since you were twelve, Hass.”
“There’s chicken if you want some.” Flint motioned toward the kitchen.
Gerall glanced through the open doorway. A plate and fork lay on the counter next to a loaf of Eloa’s bread. His thoughts turned to Eloa and seeing her again.
“I thought we were going into town today for the festival,” he said.
His brothers chuckled.
“The babies are napping,” said Jamen. “We’ll go when they awaken.”
Gerall crossed to the bread and cut a piece. “Do we need to get a present for the Magistrate’s wife? I could go ahead and find one.”
“Why?” Jamen’s eyebrows wiggled. “You want to go see your bakery girl?”
Gerall flushed. “I just want to make sure we do the right thing.”
“Then why are you so red in the face?” asked Ian.
“Because it’s warm in here,” Gerall retorted.
“Not because she makes your blood rise?” asked Hass.
“Don’t talk about her like that!”
His brothers burst out laughing. Gerall scowled and turned his back on them once more. Why had he become so attached to her in the last two days? He hadn’t spent more than a few hours with her in total and yet he couldn’t get her sweet face out of his thoughts.
“Come on, Gerall. We’re just fooling with you. You’ve never mentioned a girl before,” said Jamen.
“That’s not true. I used to talk about Gertrude.”
“Gertrude was your tutor.” Flint snorted.
“Still a girl.” Gerall bit into his bread. “And if I remember correctly, Erik was found in the pantry with Gertrude with his hands somewhere they didn’t belong.”
“What?” asked Hass and Ian together.
“How come we didn’t know this?” asked Jamen.
Quick as that, the topic changed from Eloa to Gertrude, and then to several other servants, and wenches, that had been the conquests of one or more of his brothers. Gerall fetched some food and sat at the table listening to his brothers regale each other with stories of their youthful conquests, just like times past.
He himself had never made love to a woman before. Not that his brothers knew that. He’d done a lot of exploring with them, but never the actual act. Between all of the novels he’d read as well as the medical tomes about the female anatomy, he’d done a lot of experimenting to find out exactly what brought a woman to the heights of arousal, and so each one that his brothers had sent his way had left his company so completely satisfied that he wondered if they even realized he hadn’t had sex with them.
His mother had raised them with the understanding that lovemaking was both intimate and sacred. His brothers hadn’t learned the lesson well, but he had. So he’d saved himself until he found the right one. He felt it only fair to his would-be wife but also to any of the other women out there.
“Then it’s settled,” said Flint.
Gerall looked up from his plate. “Sorry, what?”
They laughed again, and Flint shook his head. He removed his red glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Go to town. Figure out a present for the Magistrate’s wife. And see your baker girl while you’re at it. Zelle says Eloa’s special.”
“What does that mean?” asked Hass.
Flint shrugged. “All Zelle would say is that she likes the girl.”
“Who doesn’t?” asked Ian. “With baking like that and those eyes—”
Gerall tipped his plate sideways, spilling his chicken bones and potatoes in Ian’s lap. Ian jumped to his feet as Hass burst out laughing.
Gerall got up from the table and cleared his plate. “Sorry about that.”
Ian threw a piece of potato at Hass who caught it in his teeth.
“I’m sure you are,” Ian replied.
Gerall set his plate in the washbasin. The thought of seeing Eloa again made him smile. And strangely, so did his brothers’ jibes about her.
Gerall headed to the stable, and the stableman emerged. Armie! His name was Armie.
“Hello, Armie,” Gerall said.
Armie beamed. “Hello Lord Gwyn. It’s nice to see you again.”
“And you. Have you been to the festival today?”
“For an hour or so. They are having the children’s surprise hunt in a few hours. And the Magistrate opened up his flower garden for viewing. Some of the most beautiful fall blooms ever. His wife sure does know how to tend to plants.”
“I can’t wait to see them.”
Armie looked at Gerall and opened his mouth, but then licked his lips.
“You have something to say?” Gerall asked.
“I just… I wanted to say that I’m delighted your sister found someone nice to marry. The last time I saw her, I’m afraid I failed her.”
Gerall’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Failed her?”
Armie looked away. “She came in as Klaus, and a couple of his friends roughed me up, due to a debt. She stood up to them. I… I should have never let her do that for me. She could have gotten hurt. Anyway, after that, I had a few strange things happen, and I barely escaped alive from a pond that tried to suck me through a hole.”
“A pond?”
“Klaus took a bunch of us there and told us to swim out to the middle. We did, and then there was a flash of light. Everyone else got sucked into some hole, but I grabbed on to a bar or something at the bottom of the pond and held my breath until the light stopped. Then I waited until I couldn’t hold my breath anymore and swam for the surface.”
“Armie, why didn’t you tell anyone this before?”
He shrugged. “Who would have believed me?”
If Gerall himself hadn’t gone through that pond and down to the mirror to get to Tanah Darah, he wouldn’t have believed Armie either.
“The Magistrate investigated the missing people, but we haven’t seen any of them since.”
Nor would they.
Armie scratched the back of his neck. “I suppose what I’m trying to tell you is that I know you and your family are the reason I am alive. And I owe you a life debt. I’m not much, but if you ever need anything. Anything at all. Please call on me. I’ll not fail you again.”
His sincerity struck Gerall hard. “Thank you, Armie.” He stuck out his hand, and Armie stared at it a minute before smiling and shaking. “I need to get going, but thank you for telling me. It seems that we have failed you as well as the people of Westfall in the past few years. But that is a situation we plan on remedying post haste.”
Armie beamed. “It’s good to see you all back in Westfall again. I’ll be sure to take good care of Dugger for you.”
“I don’t doubt that.” Gerall patted his horse’s flank and then walked out of the stable and down the street, past the closed shops. Having someone in debt to them might come in handy one day.
Gerall stopped and looked out over the green bustling with more people than the previous day. He spotted Eloa’s cart in the same spot it had been the day before. She shoved several empty baskets into her cart and shook out a couple of pieces of fabric.
Gerall smiled at the sight of her and headed toward where she already began packing up. “Seems I’m a bit late.”
Eloa looked up from her basket and smiled, crinkling the corners of her eyes that shined like expertly cut jewels. “I’m afraid so.”
Did they sparkle for him? Or just because of the sunlight?
“Another good day then?�
�� he asked.
“Better than yesterday. I sold out within an hour.”
“I’m happy for you. But sad for me.”
They stared at each other for a moment. Her thick, brown hair curled over her cheek. He wished he could push it from her face, but she gave a small, breathy laugh and pushed it away herself.
“If you want, I could run back to the bakery and fetch you something. It won’t take but a minute.”
“You don’t have to do that. It’s quite all right.”
“I don’t mind. I need to stretch my legs and take my cart up anyway.”
“How about I help you pack and pull your cart and then you can give me a loaf of bread and some butter.”
She looked him up and down. “I don’t think you’re particularly dressed for pulling a cart?”
He chuckled. “Would you believe that not too long ago I tromped through an unmucked barn?”
“Truly?” Skepticism rooted on her lovely face.
“One of our farmers has a mare about to give birth. I’ve been tending to her.”
“I didn’t know you did that.”
“I smell perfectly civilized if that is your worry.” He stepped closer to her. “You can see for yourself if you’d like.”
She took a step away. “You don’t need to. I believe you if you said you did it.”
He loved that she had no pretense about her. That what he saw was what he got with her. That she didn’t fawn over him in hopes that he would bring her status, or wealth or privilege. Many times girls had flirted with him only to find out he was third in line for the Lordship and then suddenly become conveniently busy with other things in their lives. Not that he minded. He’d never wanted even one of them.
“Letting me help you is the only way I’ll allow you to feed me,” he said.
She pressed her lips together and inclined her head. “Fair enough.”
He rounded the table and helped her load her baskets and plates into her cart. At one point, he looked down and caught her sniffing his arm. He stifled a laugh and continued to load her things. Then he grabbed the handles and pulled the cart across through the crowd. People stopped to watch as they passed, but Gerall smiled and nodded.
“This doesn’t feel right,” she said. “I’m used to doing things for myself. And people are staring.”
“But I was raised to be a gentleman. You may be independent, but you’re still a lady and deserve to be treated as such.”
She peeked up at him from behind thick dark lashes and gave him half a smile. “Did your sister teach you that?”
He gripped the wagon tighter and headed toward the street.
“No. My mother. But Snow never let me forget it.”
Her expression sobered. “I’m sorry for all of your losses of late. First, your mother, then your father and your brother. So much sadness.”
Silence stretched between them for a minute.
“I was always jealous of your sister growing up.”
“Snow? Why?”
She shrugged. “Because she was fortunate to have all of you brothers and a mother and father. My mother died when I was little, and my father has been a great comfort to me, but I always wanted a big family. Siblings to play with and talk to.”
He wondered if she would still be jealous if she knew the truth about his family. His beloved sister was now a vampire. He and his brothers hunted vampires. Flint was blind due to a magician’s spell and married to a daemon. Their closest friends were werewolves, vampires, and fae. Yes, his family was more than colorful. And he doubted many in Westfall would accept them because of it.
“We have been blessed, that’s for sure,” he said. “But if you talked to Snow, you’d know it hasn’t always been roses for her. Seven brothers chasing off every suitor. Seven to be bossed around by. Seven times more dirty, stinky laundry. And seven more reasons to have to worry and try to keep out of trouble.”
“I’m sure you weren’t all that bad.”
“Maybe not. But Snow would tell you there were many days she wished that she were an only child.”
They reached the door to Eloa’s bakery.
“Would you like me to pull this around back for you?”
“No.” The word came out forcefully, and she laid her hand on his arm. “I mean. Going to the front will be fine. I’ll need to unload all the baskets anyway.”
He remembered how she’d rushed out of the back room the first time he’d come into the shop a few days before. A trickle of curiosity sprinkled over him.
“Do you need to bake again today?” he asked.
She nodded. “The crowds are getting bigger and bigger when I set up.”
A loud bell rung and Gerall looked over his shoulder to see people streaming out of the church.
The town clock read only twelve-thirty, and it was a weekday.
“That’s odd.”
“Isn’t it?” she said. “Just a few months ago, Father Ohana couldn’t get ten people in that church on Sundays. Now he has a few dozen that show up almost daily.”
Father Ohana stood outside the faded white building and shook hands with everyone who exited.
“But the church has been little more than limping along for the last fifty years.”
“I know. But word is a month, or so ago he performed a miracle.”
Gerall’s head whipped her direction. “A miracle? What kind of miracle?”
She shook her head. “Something about curing a deaf man, I think.”
He chuckled. “Surely, you jest?”
“I don’t believe it either, but there it is. At least that’s what the people are saying. Some say he’s been healing others as well, but they won’t explain.”
A pit lodged in Gerall’s stomach, and he turned back to see Father Ohana head back into the church. If the priest was healing people, it wasn’t by divine intervention.
Chapter Seven
Eloa wanted to tell Gerall that she suspected magick, but she didn’t want to draw attention to her own secrets.
“I owe you some bread and butter.” She pulled out her keys and unlocked the front door of the shop. “What kind of bread would you like?” she asked loud enough for her father to hear in the back. “We have Butter bread, Herb bread, Brown bread, and Cinnamon.”
The hairs on Eloa’s neck prickled and she jumped. Gerall snuck up right behind her.
“Herb would be wonderful,” he said in her ear. “But why are you yelling?”
The nearness of his body made her skin flush with heat as she stared up into his face. He stood a good foot taller than she did, and his arms upon closer inspection were fuller than she’d realized. Her gaze traveled to his lips, and for a moment, she wondered what they’d feel like pressed against hers.
She blinked several times, removing the desire that had taken root and gave a nervous smile. “Was I yelling? I’m sorry. Must be because I got used to having to speak over the noise all morning. If you want to sit at the counter, I’ll be just a minute.”
His eyes searched her face. She rubbed her forehead, trying to collect her thoughts. The ovens!
“I need to light the ovens.”
“Can I get you some wood?”
She started for the backroom. “No, thank you. I have plenty stockpiled. Just have a seat.”
He inclined his head and pushed his glasses up his nose before walking to the counter to sit. What was wrong with her?
Eloa took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, and then walked through the curtain before loading wood into the ovens and flicking her fingers to light them. She glanced over her shoulder, but the curtain remained shut. Reckless. Too reckless. But… he had to know his sister-in-law held magick, didn’t he?
“Eloa?” Her father stood in the doorway.
She shook her head and motioned for him to go back.
“Are you sure you don’t need help?” Gerall called.
Eloa rushed over and grabbed a loaf of bread from the shelf and cut several thick slices.
> “I’ll be but a moment.” She plated the bread and then slathered butter on the pieces and grabbed a jar of preserves.
Her father watched her, and she shooed him away.
Eloa waited until he moved out of sight before walking back out front. She plastered a smile on her face and set the plate and preserves in front of Gerall.
He cocked his head to the side, and his eyes narrowed on her.
“What?” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“That smile. I’d swear you were trying to hide something with it.”
She gave a titter of nervous laughter. “I don’t know what you mean.”
His eyebrows lifted. “I’m sure you do, but I won’t pry.”
She wiped her hands on the front of her dress. “Would you like something to drink? Water? Wine? Mead?”
“Water would be just fine, thank you.”
She nodded and headed to the back to fetch a pitcher and a cup. By the time she returned, he’d finished two of the three pieces of bread.
“Can I get you more?”
He shook his head. “No. Thank you, I should stop.” He stared at her for a moment before breaking off a small section of the last piece of bread and popping it in his mouth. “Tell me something about you, Eloa.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Surprise me.”
She thought for a moment. What could she tell him that would be interesting? Or, that wouldn’t give too much away? She’d spent her entire life in the building she now stood in. She’d never seen anything past the edge of the village. Her days had been filled with learning and baking. Her nights with dreams of getting away. That was all she’d had for the last forty-five years.
“I didn’t mean to strain you.” He chuckled. “May I ask you some questions?”
She fought the urge to fidget. “All right.”
“How old are you really?”
She swallowed. “Older than you think, but not so old as to be considered a matron.”
He smiled broadly, tugging her own mouth into a smile.
“A very polite way of telling me that a lady never tells her age, I suppose. All right.” He nodded, contemplating. “What’s your favorite color?”
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