Page 33 of Bound
Which would mean he’d be gone soon.
She swallowed. Made a tray this time. Napkins. Spoons. Two bowls of stewed grains and berries. Thick cream. Steaming mugs of tea—brewed strong as she’d tossed and turned much of the night. The heat, that was all. The breeze needed to return, and quickly.
Then she unbolted the door and watched his head turn as she took out her tray.
She did not sit on the opposite of the tree this time, settling so the tray was between them and she could better catch his expressions from the corner of her eye. “If you don’t want it, Merryweather will eat most of it.”
Which was true. Anything the cream touched held her interest. She was still lazing about their bed, taking up far more than was reasonable given her size. Perhaps that had been the problem rather than the heat. She’d only a sliver of bed to her name. She could take her mother’s but...
Wren picked up her mug rather than the bowl and watched Braum do the same. “It is peaceful here,” he murmured into the stillness. As much a greeting as a wish for a fair morning.
She chewed at her lip. She should have brought a blanket to put down—one of the thick, woven ones that made for poor bedding but practical for more wear.
Wren took a sip. Savoured. “It is,” she agreed. Was pleased that an outsider might see the beauty in her home rather than the endless list of little chores that went to its upkeep.
A mist hung low on the grounds, as if a cloud had pushed so low that it mingled with the tips of the grasses. The first sun was a smudge on the horizon, pinking around the edges of the violet sky.
She could not recall watching such a thing with her mother. Back then, Wren had slept as long as she could. Groaning and complaining when her mother would shake her shoulder and remind her there had to be tasks done if she wanted any breakfast at all.
Now the drudgery of it all kept her from appreciating the quiet moments. She’d be in the stalls already. Releasing an irritable set of hesperbefore mucking out stalls.
Over and over.
Every day the same.
Wonderful, in its way, she reminded herself firmly. Precisely what she would have chosen for herself if presented with a whole host of professions. Of livelihoods. But there was a great deal that was monotonous.
She’d get to the rest of it. But there was something about sitting. Enjoying. That was... nice.
“Not too sore from yesterday?” she asked, because... she didn’t want him to work too hard. Especially when his only compensation was a few meals that could hardly be considered fine.
He tilted his head in her direction and perhaps it was merely a trick of the light, but she thought the corner of his mouth pressed upward ever so slightly. “I am a woodcutter,” he reminded her. “Yesterday was a mild day.”
Her cheeks flushed, and she nodded. She was well used to long days and hard work, but she would not pretend that she did not find cutting wood for the winter exhausting.
She’d tried. When she was stubborn and insistent that she could manage everything on her own.
Until her father had come with a cart and a solemn expression and informed her that he would relieve her of that particular burden and he did not care to hear her arguments against it. He’d provided wood for her mother, and why she’d thought that would change when it was just her was beyond him.
She’d thanked him. A lump in her throat and an ache in her chest that was so fierce she’d cried.
And he’d sighed. Laying his hand on the back of her head as he pulled it a little nearer to him. “I do not do enough. I know this. But allow me to do what I can.”
But Braum was used to hard days and rough labour. She glanced at his hands. Wondered if they would be rough. Full of calluses to protect against axes and saws alike. There were scrapes along his knuckles in various stages of healing, but she glanced away before he caught her staring at him.
It didn’t matter what his hands were like, only what he chose to do with them. And for a little while, he wanted to use them to her benefit.
She nudged the bowl of grains closer to him. “I’ll make something else if you’d rather. Unless you’ve eaten already.”
He hummed a little, and she could not tell if that was an assent to either query. “Tea is best hot, and while the morning is cool.”
She agreed, and allowed the worry to pass that she’d failed to provide adequately for him. Tea first. Meal after.
They sat in quiet, and she did not allow herself to feel guilty for that either. He liked the peace, he’d said. Perhaps when the land was not his to tend to, when he did not have to look out and see all the little tasks that awaited his attention.
He could simply... be.
She hoped so. Didn’t know why exactly, but she did.