Page 24 of Bound

She still had not asked his name, but the sound of piled lumber met her ears and he did not press her for courtesies.

Ones that he deserved for doing her such favours.

She rubbed at her forehead, Thorn’s large head pushing over the fence to watch the woodcutter and his cart.

He made a low warning sound in the back of his throat, and Wren approached him slowly. “It’s all right,” she soothed. “I should have reminded you we’d have company.” He glanced at her, but only once. His loyalty was to the grimbles, not to her, and they were crowded into a nervous huddle behind him.

She sighed, closing her eyes briefly. It was an inconvenience. An irritation, surely.

And an embarrassment when she could not use his name to call across the distance.

“Woodcutter?”

His head turned, and she gestured for him to come toward her. Should she have gone to him? Explained?

She took a couple of steps back toward the house, but he abandoned his posts. He did not walk, but closed the distance with a few great strokes of his wings.

She stood quickly between Thorn and the woodcutter, her hands slightly outstretched to keep him from moving any closer. “Thorn,” she stated firmly. “He is our guest. We will feed him, and he is going to keep my hesperfrom escaping into the woods. We are thankful. Do you understand?”

She was not so deluded to think that he truly might, but he was an intelligent creature. He knew her tone, knew that the woodcutter was positioned even more closely than her father typically stood during his visits.

“Braum,” the woodcutter offered. “If we are making introductions. Perhaps he would prefer that to ‘woodcutter.’”

Wren closed her eyes, mortified.

“Braum,” she repeated, appreciating the pretence to cover a modicum of her embarrassment. “Will only be here for the day, so settle, please? You’re making everyone nervous.”

He gave a long pull of breath, to bring in the new scents and decide for himself if there was danger.

Then snorted. Before lumbering back toward his grimbles and ignoring the both of them.

Wren huffed out a breath and turned her head. “Sorry,” she murmured. “We’re not used to people here.”

Braum eyed her for a moment, and she was reminded just how close they were standing. “Has he ever hurt you?”

“Thorn?” Wren turned her head, pleased to see the grimbles were scattering about in search of grasses for their breakfasts. “Never. He’s protective, that’s all. Maybe even a little ill-mannered.” Her throat tightened. “Must get it from me.” She turned back and found Braum still looking at her. “I’m sorry I didn’t know your name.”

He gave a low grunt. “You did not ask, and I did not offer. Perhaps we have all had a lapse in protocol.”

Hers was the greater, and she was fairly certain they both knew it. “Also,” Braum continued. “I believe you were mistaken when you told him the duration of my project. I will need tomorrow as well, at the very least.”

Wren frowned. “Braum,” she said again. Perhaps to prove that she knew it now—or simply to commit it to her own memory. “Truly, a single post would have been more than enough for my wages. You...”

He held up his hand, and she ceased her arguments. “Did we not settle this yesterday?”

She tugged at her braid. “You are pushing the debt toward me,” she continued, keeping her voice as cordial as she could. “And I will not have the means to pay it back.”

She had annoyed him. That was plain in the sharp exhalation, the way his hand rubbed the back of his neck as she waited for his answer. She wasn’t wrong. She knew she wasn’t. There would be expectations. Possibly even an arbiter if she could not give an adequate sum in coins and then...

Wren took a measured step backwards. “I should pay you for the lumber,” she insisted, voice steady. Certain. “You may do as you please with your labour, but you had to hire the cart, did you not? And those were fine posts that would have fetched a fair price at the market and...”

Braum huffed out a breath and closed his eyes.

Then he turned and walked back to the cart in question.

Walked. Not flew.

It was rude. For all their talk of manners, she was certain that had meant to be an insult—to not even allow her the courtesy of finishing her sentence.