I admired him for a moment before catching myself and looking away. “Yes. I’ll be able to help my mother with dinner preparations if I head back now.” I looked back at him, allowing a grin to curve my mouth. “You’re a fine worker for a spoiled noble.”
He didn’t look the least offended and even bowed to me. “Happy to be of service. May I walk you back?”
“Of course.”
He took hold of Herman’s bridle, and we fell into step, letting the silence settle in comfortable folds around us, meandering back toward the house.
“Is it difficult for your brother?” he asked suddenly.
“Is what difficult?”
“Being married to a princess? Not the being married part, but the princess part. The difference in station. I would imagine there are people who aren’t terribly happy about such an arrangement.”
I shrugged. “You can’t please everyone.”
He placed a hand on my arm, bringing me to a stop. “I’m serious. Has it been a trial for him?”
I searched his face, wondering why he seemed to care so much. “Yes,” I finally answered. “In many ways it has been a trial. However, I’ve never—not even once—heard him say anything or do anything that would indicate he regretted his decision. He and Ella have had to learn to navigate their odd situation, but they’re very good at it. Ella won over most of the villagers a long time ago, so it hasn’t been as much of a battle as you might think.”
“And the nobility?”
I shrugged. “He doesn’t talk about it much. From what I can gather, it’s been far more difficult to win over the nobility, but I get the sense that he and Ella have slowly worn them down. At least most of them.”
“Hm” was his only response.
We reached the edge of the orchard and I was about to bid him farewell when Fynn came around the corner of the barn, a bucket in hand to feed the animals.
I panicked and pushed Rylan behind a tree, hiding us both behind it. Herman just stopped where we had abandoned him and closed his eyes.
“What are you doing?” Rylan asked, more amused than annoyed.
I peeked around the tree to be sure Fynn hadn’t seen my stealthy move. He appeared oblivious. “Fynn is out there,” I explained.
“And?”
“Trust me; we do not want Fynn to know that you’re here.”
“Because he’d tell your parents?”
“No, because then he’d know. And then he’d ask questions, and then I would never hear the end of it, and neither would you once he tracked you down.”
“So I’m going to hide behind this tree for the foreseeable future?”
“Only until he goes back in the barn. Then you can go find your horse, and I’ll go inside.”
“Should I double back to be sure no one follows me?” he whispered loudly right next to my ear.
I elbowed him in the side. “Don’t mock my pain, sir. Fynn delights in torturing me, and I’m not going to give him more reason than he already has.”
“Very well, my lady.” He peeked around the tree as well, and we both watched Fynn turn to go back to the barn. “I will take myself off while the villain is in his lair.”
I almost snorted as I stifled my laugh.
He lifted my hand and left a dramatic kiss on the back of it. “I bid you farewell, my lady.”
“I’m not a lady.”
He winked. “You’ve always been a lady to me.” He turned and jogged a few steps before turning back. “You’ll be at market on Tuesday?”
I inclined my head. “As always,” I said, anxious for the next three days to pass.
“Then I will see you there.”
I watched him leave, letting out a sigh that was a little bit too moony for my liking.
I shook myself, wanting to dislodge any dreamy expression that might have stolen over my face before I faced Fynn. Then I gathered my wits about me and pulled Herman toward the barn.
✼ ✼ ✼
The Widbys’ wheat stand was across the square from mine, easily within sight. This arrangement had never bothered me before.
It bothered me now.
Apparently Jayden had stayed on with the Widbys after the harvest was brought in. Now he was helping them man their stand, which meant that he had spent the last two hours alternating between staring, leering, and glaring at me.
I did my best not to let it bother me, to ignore it, to pretend he didn’t exist. But each moment I could feel his eyes on me wound the knot of tension tighter and tighter in my stomach.
The fourth time that I gave a customer the wrong change or the wrong amount of fruit, Suzannah pulled me aside. “Why is Jayden staring at you?”
“You noticed?”
“Of course I noticed. He’s not being subtle, and you look about ready to crawl out of your skin.”
I rolled my shoulders. “I’m trying not to let it bother me.”
“I don’t blame you for being uncomfortable. He’s menacing, but I don’t know why. What happened?”
“I don’t know!” I whispered fiercely, feeling as if I might snap. “I mean, I ran into him weeks ago, and he was horrid, and he ruined Ella’s book, and yes, I might have punched him, but he deserved it! What did he expect me to do when he was being a beast?” I looked over my shoulder to see Jayden still staring. He let a grin curl his lips, likely because he knew exactly how uncomfortable he was making me.
“He’s always been a beast, but why is he bothering you now?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted as defeat crept over my shoulders.
Suzannah looked at me, her eyes concerned, her brow furrowed in thought. Then she straightened her spine and took a deep breath. “Well, it’s obvious he wants to disconcert you, so the best thing we can do is ignore him altogether.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to do.”
“Yes, but now I’ll be helping. Come; we have customers to take care of. Besides, I’m sure that our vagrant nobleman will be along shortly. That always brightens the mood around here.”
I smiled despite myself and remembered that I had never told Suzannah about the kisses Rylan and I had shared. I quickly set about to remedy that situation and found it delightfully distracting to see her reactions as I told her about all the time he and I had spent together—especially the dancing and the kissing.
I made sure to keep an eye out so that he wouldn’t show up and catch us talking about him, though it would be a relief to have Rylan here in the stall with us. He could act as a shield against Jayden’s barbaric, unspoken threats.
However, several hours passed; Rylan still hadn’t come, and Jayden hadn’t let up. Suzannah just shook her head whenever he would do something to catch our attention. I would take a deep breath, sucking courage into my lungs, and squeeze Suzannah’s hand. With our united efforts, we were able to keep up at least a pretense of calm, and eventually I was able to ignore him almost completely and focus on selling my wares.
Rylan never came.
Chapter Twelve
IT WAS MY father’s shouts that woke me. I didn’t think I had been asleep for very long, but when I opened my eyes, the yellow light of dawn shone through the window. I pushed myself up on one elbow and rubbed my eyes, wondering why it felt as if I hadn’t slept at all. It had been thundering last night, preparing to storm, but such things never kept me awake.
“Charlotte!” My father called for my mother, and the panic in his voice succeeded in bringing me to full consciousness. “Charlotte! The orchard!”
The orchard? I threw my covers back and stumbled over to my window. My heart sank. “No,” I breathed as the horrid realization sunk in. The light I had seen was not dawn at all, but the eerie glow of a fire consuming my beautiful orchard.
I ran outside, not bothering with shoes or a wrap, and sprinted toward the workshop, past the barn and animal pen. My father came into view, a dark silhouette against the raging light. I ran to his side, clasping his arm for support. “Papa!”
He lo
oked down at me, his eyes sad but resigned. He wouldn’t try to save them—couldn’t, even if he wanted to.
“My trees.” I moved forward, but he caught my arm. I couldn’t breathe. I had to do something, but I knew it was useless. We were helpless to stop it. All I could do was hope for the storm to break, hope that it would pour.
I was distracted from the hypnotic pull of the fire by the shout that came from our left.
“Back, you wolves! Back! You won’t get the likes of me!” A man stood thirty paces off, wielding two flaming torches as if they were swords. “I’ll chase you out of the country if I must!”
“Auden,” my father said in horrified surprise.
We both stood stuck in our tracks as we watched old Mr. Tanner advancing toward our barn, looking for all the world as though he were fighting some invisible foe. It didn’t take me long to realize that he was. My fingers dug into my father’s arm. “He’s having another episode.” The realization unstuck my feet, and I ran toward the barn. “Mr. Tanner!” I screamed.
Too late. He was already running inside, hollering, “I’ll smoke you out!”
“Mr. Tanner! No!”
“Stay back, miss!” He pointed one torch at me, and I came to a stop just outside the barn door, watching in horror as the flames of his torches licked the beams and then skimmed past the hay piled in the corner. “They’re fierce creatures.”
“There’s nothing there.” My voice and hands shook with panic.
He spun around, looking this way and that, his eyes glowing with a strange emptiness. “They’re here. I can sense the hairy beasts.”
“Auden, they’re not there!” my father shouted at my side. “There are no wolves, old friend. I promise you, no one is in danger. Please.” He reached a hand toward him, begging. “Come out.”
“But I heard them! I heard their howling.” He swung both torches in a wide arc, his knees still bent in a crouch, ready to spring at his imagined foe.
“It’s thunder, Auden. Only thunder.” My father’s voice was tired as he limped a bit closer to Mr. Tanner and held out his hand, looking as if he had aged a decade in the past half hour. “Give me the torches, before the flames harm someone.”
I stayed close to my father’s side, my panic increasing as Mr. Tanner dropped his arms as if defeated, the flames dangerously close to the hay piled beside him. “I’m trying to protect us.” His words were weak, confused.
“Auden, the only thing we need protection from are the flames eating away at my land. Now please, please give me the torches.”
I watched in horror as he shifted, bringing the flame just close enough. The hay caught fire and I acted without thinking. As my father lurched forward, I ran past him into the barn, determined to take the torches away. Fynn got there first, wrestling both torches out of Mr. Tanner’s grasp.
As more hay started to burn, I grabbed hold of Mr. Tanner’s wrist and dragged him out of the barn. My father caught Mr. Tanner and wrapped his arms around the flailing man from behind, holding him in place.
Fynn doused the torches in the rain barrel then grabbed a bucket, filling it and flinging it at the flames. I helped him the best I could, but it wasn’t long before the heat and smoke forced us both back.
The fire in the barn was spreading too quickly. All we could do was watch.
“Henry?” I turned to look at Mr. Tanner when I heard his softly spoken question. His eyes had cleared, and he looked in dismay at the barn, then turned to sweep his gaze over the burning orchard. The irrational fear had left his eyes, and instead they widened in shock, maybe even shame. “Henry?” he asked again, so quietly that I barely heard him over the crackle of the fire. “Henry, did I do that?”
My father let him go and fell back several steps, almost collapsing when he put too much weight on his bad leg. “I don’t know about the orchard, Auden. It might have been you. It might have been a strike of lightning.” He shrugged, as if at this point, it really didn’t matter. “Maybe it was both. I don’t know.”
My heart broke all the more as I watched the old man’s face crumple, his chin trembling as his confusion returned. “I could have sworn they were here. They were on the attack. I heard them. I was only trying to . . .”
He fell silent, and my father squeezed his shoulder. “I know, Auden. I know.”
I couldn’t watch anymore. I didn’t have the energy to take in poor Mr. Tanner’s situation while my orchard burned. I turned away from the barn and wandered toward my trees. I made it only a couple of steps before my knees failed me. I sank to the ground, shaking as the cold night finally seeped into my skin. I tilted my head back. “Come on,” I pleaded with the darkened sky that I knew held storm clouds. “Just rain.” I could hear the desperation in my voice. “Rain!” I shouted. The sky’s only response was to rumble and send another flash of lightning through the clouds.
I let out a defeated groan and hung my head. I had no way of knowing how far the fire had spread. As of now, it hadn’t touched the corner of the orchard closest to the house, but how far had it reached toward the road? Perhaps the entire orchard was being consumed. And what of the barn fire? What if it spread even farther—to the workshop or the house? The rain had to start.
A commotion behind me made me turn my head. Mrs. Tanner cried out in dismay, her nightdress pulled up to her calves as she hurried her aged body down our lane. She looked around, fear, regret, confusion, and shock fighting for dominance in her features. She gestured to the flames, then to her husband, then to me, a word escaping now and then, but nothing comprehensible. I knew a little of how she felt.
I flinched as the sky cracked with thunder. I turned my face up, gasping in relief as the clouds let go a torrent. It poured, and I stayed where I was, savoring the moisture and hoping it would continue. It pounded my face and soaked my head. I watched it run in rivulets from the ends of my hair down my arms. The ground turned to mud beneath me, and still I didn’t move. The sting of smoke was replaced by a damp, acrid smell that twisted my stomach. The fire dampened, little by little, until the flames were gone, and then even the faint glow and the smoke cleared, washed away with the rain that continued to pound the land.
I cried in gratitude and pushed myself to my feet, the mud making a sucking sound as I freed my hands and knees. I walked toward the orchard, wanting to see how much damage had been done, but I only made it a few steps before a gentle hand wrapped around my elbow. I looked up to see Fynn staring down at me, his face a mask of strength, though his clothing was soaked and soot still clung to his eyelids. A glance at the barn revealed that most of it still stood and the flames were gone.
“Papa and I were able to put it out once the rain started.”
I merely nodded.
“Come into the house,” he said as he tried to turn me around.
I turned back toward the orchard. “But my trees.”
“I know, Kin, but there’s nothing you can do for them now, and we don’t know if it’s safe. Come on.”
This time when he pulled I let myself be led back toward the house. I leaned into his side, the strength sapped from my bones. The arm he wrapped around me was strong and sure. It reminded me of Gavin and all the times he had taken care of me.
It wasn’t until we were halfway to the house that I realized no one else was about. “Where did everyone go?”
“Papa went back with the Tanners to be sure they made it home safely and probably to lock up their torches.”
The laugh that left my lips was short and decrepit. Mr. Tanner could always make more torches. “And Mama?”
“She was going to wait for you, but I told her to go inside. She needed to get warm, and I knew you wouldn’t go in until the orchard stopped burning.”
Fynn was a lot more thoughtful than I liked to give him credit for. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t help with the barn.”
“Not much you could have done. You did good. Getting Mr. Tanner out o
f the barn.”
I forced a deep breath into my lungs. “At least there’s that.”
✼ ✼ ✼
When I awoke the next morning, it took me the smallest of moments to remember why I was devastated. I wished that moment had lasted longer, but it wasn’t even the length of a breath. As soon as I inhaled, the smell of smoke wafted up from my hair. I blinked my eyes, feeling the swelling of my lids—the result of smoke and crying myself to sleep. The ceiling above me looked so normal—the beams stretching the length of my room, the wood old but unmarred. That wouldn’t be the case with my trees. When I walked out into the orchard today, the once vibrant and strong trunks and branches would be black and charred. Some might be completely lost, but I hoped—desperately hoped—that some would be all right, or at least that they would recover in a couple of years. Maybe there were even some that hadn’t been touched by the fire. Maybe, maybe . . .
However, I attempted to prepare myself for the possibility of a complete loss. Saints, what would I do if my trees never produced again? I pinched my lips against the panic that seized hold of me at the thought and stayed in bed.
I was surprised that Mama didn’t come banging on my door right away. It was probably half an hour before she knocked quietly, calling through the door that there was work to be done. There was pity in her voice. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d heard that tone from my mother.
“Coming,” I called back, and forced my feet to the floor. I dressed, braided my hair before tying a kerchief over it, and went to find something to eat. Not that I was in much of a mood for eating, but it was the next step.
The biscuits and apple preserves were admittedly delicious, but I found myself getting teary over the preserves.
Ridiculous.
I wasn’t going to sit in my kitchen and cry over food. I pulled my boots on and marched myself out of the house and straight for the orchard, my jaw clenched and my arms crossed as if they could protect me from what I was about to see.
As much as I tried to brace myself, the moment I saw the charred limbs and shriveled fruit, my throat tightened. I had to sniff and swallow and breathe to keep my composure. I stepped from the worn dirt path, now muddy and caked in ash, into what used to be ground covered in long grass, fallen leaves, and even wildflowers. Much of the green remained, only now there were patches of black earth, and the sound of the brittle stems being crushed beneath my feet was awful.
Keeping Kinley Page 14