by Dima Zales
“Well done, sir,” Garret said. He glanced at the basket and quilt, as if he’d forgotten their existence. Gathering his resolve, he turned to Anne and said, “Let us retire to the shade of the oak and share some wine.” It was a statement, but Garret made it sounded like a question.
Anne clapped her hands and said, “Splendid idea.” All smiles and giddiness, Anne rang false.
“Splendid,” Petra muttered. She stood apart, watching Garret spread the blanket over the spotty grass and buttercups. Anne settled on the quilt and drew her skirts over her tiny shoes. Garret drew bread, cloth wrapped cheese, apples and a pair of tin goblets from the basket and set them in front of Anne with a shy smile and a flourish.
“It appears a luncheon made for two,” Anne said, cocking her head and smiling at him.
“Tis plenty for all,” Garret said, a flush staining his cheeks, “especially for you.”
Petra scowled, watching Garret fawn over Anne. Why had Emory and Anne both turned on their charm? What were they doing on this deserted road? Didn’t Garret even wonder? What did he see in her? Why was he so into her? And was that hay on the hem of Anne’s skirt? Beyond the hill stood some sort of a barn, had Emory and Anne been in the barn? Where were the etiquette police when they were needed?
Not that she wanted to force Anne and Emory into marriage.
“Are you not joining us, Miss Petra?” Anne said, sweetly.
Emory, who’d been looking over her shoulder turned to smile at Petra’s left ear. He didn’t meet her gaze. She turned to see what he’d been watching. In the far distance, two men on horseback approached the barn. If they came closer, they would have to square off with the bull. She faced Emory and wondered if his sudden save the bull act had anything to do with the men on horses. Were Emory and Anne hiding from them?
A flicker in the back of Petra’s mind told her that something more than hunger had brought Emory and Anne to their bull rescue.
“Please, Miss Petra,” Garret said, motioning toward the quilt. “As gentlemen, we must remain standing until you sit.”
“Or, should we defy convention, we risk of getting cricks in our necks conversing,” Emory picked up the wine bottle and studied its markings.
“You must sit down, dear,” Anne cooed. “The heat and the excitement of encountering the bull must have frightened you and you wouldn’t want to cause yourself further harm.”
Petra opened her mouth and then shut it quickly. She wanted to cause serious harm. The two men smiled at her. At that moment, she hated them all, but not knowing what else to do or where to go, she sat.
Garret sliced the apples with a knife that looked capable of taking down the bull. He laid cloth napkins before Petra and Anne and then placed thin apple slices on the cloth.
“Miss Petra, you employ the most interesting turns of phrases,” Anne said, picking up an apple slice. “They are charmingly original to my ear.”
“Yes,” Emory agreed, accepting a slice of cheese from Garret. “Just last night I heard her say shuck you and I’ve been baffled ever since.”
“Oh, I think you know what that means,” Petra said, frowning at the apple slices. One had a brown spot, like a worm hole.
Garret looked at their faces. “I was not aware that the two of you had met before.”
“Briefly,” Petra said.
Emory flinched beneath Garret’s gaze.
“Then perchance you can settle the mystery of Lady Baron’s sudden arrival,” Garret said.
“I am afraid not,” Emory said. “Lady Baron is as much a mystery to me as to you.”
“But if as you say, you met last night -- ” Garret pressed.
“Tell us about your village,” Anne said, smiling, but definitely interrupting. “Maybe something you say will ring true.”
Ring true? As if she was lying? Of course she was lying. She couldn’t very well tell the truth, no one would believe her. This was one of those instances where honesty was the worst policy.
“Yes, tell us more of your village, my lady,” Emory said.
Petra took a deep breath. “Well, in Royal Oaks, if a gentlemen is nice one day, he’d also be nice the next.”
Garret looked at Emory and Anne. “Nicety surely knows no geography,” he said.
“You’re kindness doesn’t,” Petra said, smiling into his eyes.
Garrett poured the wine into a goblet and set it in front of Petra.
She shook her head. “I don’t drink, especially if there’s a possibility of a sleeping potion.”
Anne had the grace to blush.
“Suspicion, a malady, I’m afraid,” Emory murmured, taking the goblet in front of her. “May I?”
Petra looked over his shoulder and watched horsemen at the shed. She was sure Emory was playing some sort of game and she didn’t know the rules, was perhaps, even incapable of learning how to play. She didn’t understand any of them. She felt like Alice at the Mad Hatter’s tea party.
She stood, determined to not stay another minute. She didn’t need funky mushrooms or drugged cakes to help her get away.
The men, surprised, slowly, reluctantly, climbed to their feet.
She nodded stiffly. “Goodbye.” She knew she was ruining their party, but she didn’t care. Anything seemed better than this. Emory made her feel like he was a cat and she was mouse.
Anne and Garret made her feel in the way.
Emory felt sick as he watched Petra leave. He’d caused her pain. Guilt settled across his shoulders. He tried to shake it off, tried to engage in Anne’s and Falstaff’s conversation, but he kept watching Petra, small and sad, walk away.
Anne laughed, and he supposed it shouldn’t surprise him, but it did. He stared at his friend. The anger, where had it gone? What had Falstaff said to make her forget her vengeance for her brother’s death?
Falstaff leaned forward. To Emory’s amazement, Anne also leaned in. They were practically nose to nose. She looked…mesmerized. Laughter in her eyes, pink staining her cheeks, Emory couldn’t watch. It was too intimate.
“Excuse me,” Emory said, quickly standing and brushing off his breeches. He cleared his throat and started again. “I’ll walk Miss Baron to the manor.”
Falstaff and Anne had their eyes locked on each other.
“Would you like us to accompany you?” Falstaff asked without breaking eye contact with Anne. He spoke like at school, saying something he knew that he should, but didn’t mean.
Emory wondered what Falstaff would do if he said yes. Emory considered accepting Falstaff’s offer, just to see what would happen. But Garret and Anne, caught in their trance, captivated by one another, were unpleasant company. “Thank you, no. I’ll be off.”
Anne didn’t look up when he left.
Emory sped to catch up to Petra. He’d never known a lady who walked so fast. With her skirts clutched in her hands, she was near as brisk as many a man. Although, she looked nothing like a man. With her chin up she looked like an avenging angel.
Once he caught up with her, he wished he’d taken more time, because now, a few strides away, he didn’t know what to say.
“If I’ve given cause for grief, I apologize,” Emory addressed Petra’s back.
She started to turn toward him, but then caught herself and poked her chin an inch higher, revealing her soft white throat. He waited for her to speak, but she didn’t.
“I did not mean to be unkind,” Emory said softly.
Petra stared straight ahead and after a few beats of thickening silence said, “You were kind the night before. You gave me a ring.”
“To keep you safe.”
Her chin lowered a fraction, but she continued to take long, fast strides. “Safe wouldn’t be the word I would use to describe that night.”
“And yet, here we are, a few days past, quite safe.”
She pressed her lips together. “No thanks to you.”
He gave a small laugh. “And how, my lady, do you think you landed at the gatehouse?”
&nbs
p; She looked at him then. He saw anger, perhaps wounded pride, in her eyes.
“I don’t know how you did that since I saw a man run a sword through you, but if you rescued me, why did you take me there?” She tramped ahead. When he didn’t respond, she pressed, “Why couldn’t I be safe with you?”
He racked his brain for something to say. Turn around, walk away, do not ever look upon her again, a voice in his head urged. He didn’t know if he was prolonging both of their pain by matching her stride for stride, but he didn’t listen to the voice. He couldn’t leave. “You are safe at the manor.”
She turned, fists clenched at her side. “With the men who ordered a gypsy hunt?”
“They would never harm you.”
“And you would?”
“To your reputation I should cause irreparable damage --”
“And Anne’s reputation? What about that? She gets to roll around in the hay with you, but I have to be packed off to the manor for safe-keeping?”
Emory’s voice turned hard. “I assure you, Anne and I were not rolling in hay.”
Petra sniffed. “You were with her, alone. Hay must have been involved because I saw it on her skirt.”
Emory didn’t answer.
“Besides, how can I have a reputation when no one here knows me?” Petra asked.
“They will come to know you,” Emory said softly. “They will grow to love you.”
She flounced away. “I don’t want to know them!” she flung over her shoulder. “I don’t want them to know me, let alone love me.”
He caught up to her in two steps.
“And who is the ominous They?” she asked. “Who are you worried about offending?”
“Everyone lives by the rules dictated by society --”
“You say that, but I don’t think it’s true.” Petra stopped in front of him and pointed her finger at his chest. “Not for you, at least. You might think it’s true for me and all mere mortals like me, yet somehow you’re above all that.” Reaching out, she jabbed him in the belly where the sword wound should have been.
He didn’t flinch. Too late, he realized he should have.
“You saw Black Shuck,” she made it sound like he’d committed high treason. “Why didn’t you die?” Taking a step closer she lowered her voice. “Why are you immune to the devil dog?”
He shook his head and said softly, “Do not mock what you don’t understand.”
She stood directly in front of him, her face lifted. A frisson tingled through him. One step back, take the step, one and then two, do it. The voice, normally so effective, didn’t sway him. He couldn’t leave.
Maybe that’s why it was so surprising when she did. She was able to do what he dare not. He watched her go.
Petra prided herself on grand exits. She knew she did them well. Nothing said “you’re zilch to me” as a little butt-swagger. No looking back. Looking back made the grand strut a lie. So when she looked back, she told herself she was looking for Garret and Anne with a cautious over the shoulder glimpse. When she saw Emory’s attention fixated, not on her butt as it should be, but on a dusty wagon filled with straw, she flushed with anger.
Slowing, she considered her options. Backtrack to find Anne and Garret or go to the manor? She could look for Rohan and try to persuade him to help her go home, again. Not that she would know where to find him.
The manor’s towers poked up over a distant hill. She supposed if she stayed on the same road she’d get there eventually. Garret wouldn’t be there, but Chambers might be. Despite the warm sun, she shivered. She knew it was wrong to dislike someone because of their eyebrows, but she did. If she went to the manor, she’d be forced to hide in her room to avoid Chambers.
The dusty road passed farmhouses and barns. Her shoes weren’t the walking type and after a few minutes, she stopped and leaned against a fence to remove them. Balancing on one foot, she slipped off her shoe and rubbed her tender heel. She looked up in time to see a hay wagon disappearing into a barn.
A crouching shadow crossed the field. Straightening, Petra watched. The shadow moved to the barn’s gaping entrance. Petra stepped closer, just in time to see Emory slip inside.
Crouching, creeping, skulking— stalker words. Why would Emory stalk a hay wagon? It had to have something to do with the horsemen she’d seen him watching earlier. Her cheeks flamed. Covert action. She’d read the term in some book and she’d never had a reason to use it before, but it seemed to fit. Emory had used her for covert action. He and Anne had acted all friendly, but really they were hiding from the horsemen.
Petra climbed the fence and after a careful look for the bull, trailed Emory to the barn. Horses and cows milled around the pasture. The bull, a distant lump of brown, dozed in the shade of an oak.
A sheep trotted forward to inspect Petra’s gown. Then, as if reading Petra’s mood, bleated away. Petra peeked inside the barn. Dark and smelly, the barn appeared mostly empty, except for a hay wagon.
She caught sight of a pair of pitchforks stabbing and lifting hay off the wagon. She could only see the tops of the hats belonging to the two men. No sign of Emory, she thought, searching the barn’s dark corners for movement. A ladder ran to a loft filled with hay. She watched the shifting straw. Not even a breeze moved through the barn.
“Chambers, he be wanting this loaded onto a boat,” the man in the straw hat said. “Must be some boat.”
Chambers? Boat?
“Laws, man,” said the man in black hat. “I told you no names be mentioned!”
A pitch fork pointed at a cow watching them through an open window. “Who you think Betsy goin’ be telling? The King?”
A hand swooped off the straw hat and swatted the black hat with it. Black Hat speared the straw hat with his pitchfork and lifted it high into the air.
“Curse you, Darby!” The pitchfork and hat fell to the barn floor, sending up a spray of dust motes.
Petra squelched a sneeze and then another. Turning, she smacked into a broad chest.
An arm went around her waist, pulling her against him, a hand clasped over her mouth. She knew it was him. The arm around her waist was too tight and the hand on her mouth too fixed. She marshaled all her self-defense know-how and elbowed him in the abs. She grinned at his surprised woof. After a quick glance at the hats, who continued their pitch fork work without breaking rhythm or conversation she brought her elbow up to deliver a blow to his nose.
Emory caught her elbow and used it to drag her to the far side of the barn. She let herself go limp and when he was unguarded, she threw her arm back, breaking his hold. Breathing heavily, she faced him.
Emory rubbed his nose. “What are you doing here?” He spoke quietly yet forcibly. With his eyebrows lowered he looked so haughty she wanted to rub his nose in a cow pie. There were plenty to choose from. She thought quickly and remembered the one name she’d overheard from the hats. “Spying on Chambers,” she whispered, watching his reaction. He took a step back, obviously surprised. She took a step toward him. “What are you doing here?”
He glared.
“If I scream those men with pitchforks will make short work of you. Maybe you’re not afraid of pitchforks, but I bet you’re afraid of Chambers.” She cocked her head. “Why?”
He shook his head and ran his hand through his hair. “Why what?”
“Why aren’t you afraid of pitchforks? Why are you interested in the hay wagon? What is Chambers loading onto a boat?”
He didn’t reply and so she continued. “I could help you, you know. I’m staying at the manor. I could spend much more time with Chambers…not that he’s pleasant company, but I could keep my eye on him.”
“Keep your eye on him,” he repeated slowly, a smile tugging at his lips. “That sounds uncomfortable.” He reached for her, but she twisted away.
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes. I find it frightening that I do.” He folded his arms across his chest.
She mimicked his stance. “Tell me what’
s going on or I scream.”
He tugged her to a stand of trees where they could talk above whispers. “You are going back to the manor.”
She took a deep breath. “One.”
He fought back a smile. “One what?”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Tell me by the count of three, or I scream.”
“Don’t be a fool.” He looked toward the barn, uncertain.
“Two.” She took a step closer to him. “I’m not a fool. I’m an AP scholar and top student in my honors English course.” Tears sprang to her eyes when she considered the muddle she was in and far removed she felt from her real life.
“I do not know what any of that means, but I think you mean me to be impressed.” Emory rubbed his nose again.
Petra blinked back another tear. This surprised her. She never cried, but everything was a huge mishmash. She felt like she’d lost not only her way home, but also her identity. Taking another deep breath, she steadied herself and opened her mouth to scream. Screaming was better than crying.
Emory rushed forward, took her in his arms, and silenced her.
16
Scientists once believed that people found kissing pleasurable because kissing lips generate an electrical current. This may not be true, but kissing can be shocking.
—Petra’s notes
His mouth tasted warm and slightly of wine. A warning somewhere deep within her sounded, but she pushed it away.
“Why would you help me?” he asked softly and she felt his breath and the movement of his lips against her throat. His hands spanned her waist. Before she could answer, his lips found hers again and he bent her backward, leaning over her.
For a few dizzy seconds she couldn’t think of anything other than the kiss. “Everyone needs a little help,” Petra said, struggling to find her voice. His lips returned to her throat, trailed down the side of her neck and stopped below her ear.
“I do not want or need your help,” Emory said, running his hands up and down her back.
“Not exactly true,” Petra said, pulling away so she could see his face. “Kissing, for example, is very difficult to do alone. Tell me what you want with Chambers and I’ll kiss you again.”