Page 39 of Bound
Her stomach tightened.
She swallowed.
Almost took a step back into the house to shut and bolt the door.
But didn’t. Which, perhaps, was progress?
He did not smile at her approach, but he took up the tray and settled it in his lap. He’d waited for her. It flustered her. Made her all the more anxious, although she could not claim to know why it should.
She crossed to the tree, the soil damp from the runoff of the pump water. The breeze tickled at her hair, reminding her that most of it was still damp as well, tucked and plaited as it was.
Wren sat, pulling the tray into her lap, knowing she could not eat until she’d offered some sort of apology. “I should not have yelled at you,” she murmured softly, because she was capable of being calm. Genteel even.
She grimaced.
He canted his head in her direction. She’d forgotten her resolve to sit on the opposite side of the tree, taking the spot she’d occupied that morning. “Did you yell? I do not recall.”
She huffed out a breath. “Fine. Then I should not have spoken to you the way I did.”
He shifted, this time his torso twisting so he might look at her fully. Or might have done if she was not intently studying the tray situated on her lap. “I am glad of it,” Braum declared, and she peeked at him, but only briefly. “I insulted you, whether it was intended or not. I would not have wanted you to harbour it.”
She wanted to say that she hadn’t. That it hadn’t really bothered her at all and she’d only said it because she was embarrassed. But that would be a lie, and she might be a coward, but she was not a liar.
“Did...” she could not recall the young man’s name. “Did he lose his job? The one with the cart?”
Braum grunted, easing back against the trunk of the tree. “He did not. Perhaps he should have, but he is an apprentice, and we are supposed to be patient as they learn.”
Nothing in his tone suggested he would be so forgiving with the poor man, but she was not certain she blamed him. It had been a disaster, and people easily could have been hurt.
Or worse.
She swallowed thickly.
Had that not been his point about the pond?
There were risks that came with living alone. With having the animals she did as companions. She tended not to dwell on it, so used to it that it simply did not faze her any longer. What would happen if she came to harm?
She knew the answer to that. She’d die, and someday her father would find her just as she had her mother. He’d have to dig a hole, and he would mourn and sell off her animals and...
Her throat refused to cooperate, so she did not even bother trying to eat.
They sat in silence. He ate, but slowly, and she was not oblivious to the way he would steal glances at her with increasing frequency. “What is wrong?”
Those were private worries, steeped in all too real memories.
So she made light of it. Forced a smile and picked up her glass, running her thumb over the smooth edge of the lip. “Oh, you know. Life. Death. Everything in between.”
His attention lingered a little too long on her, and she did not miss the way his mouth pulled into a frown. “So everything,” he reiterated slowly. “Everything is wrong.” A pause as his eyes drifted back to her. “That is why you are too anxious to eat?”
Her stomach gave a twist. “No,” she admitted. “That is because I dislike how I behaved by the pond. And I haven’t quite forgiven myself for it yet.”
There. If he wanted the truth, that was the whole of it.
He bit into a vegetable and chewed it thoughtfully. “Would it help if I forgave you for it?” Her grip tightened on her glass. “Not that it is necessary, as you did not yell. And most particularly because you thought me a brute that considered you lesser than you deserve.”
Her eyes watered, and she bit the inside of her cheek hard to get control of herself. “You would have flown over there, picked up the little miscreant and been done with it.” She huffed out a breath and wiped at her eyes, and was grateful that no tears had actually escaped. “I don’t like being reminded of all that I can’t do.”
He stared out at the pasture. “You might have asked me.”