Page 43 of Bound

And was rewarded with a half-smile. Not of mockery as she might have expected. But something nearer to relief as he went to the pump and let it run for a moment, just to ensure it was cool for her.

Watching him did nothing to settle her.

So she turned her head and tried to calm herself. Which was easier to do once she fixated on watching Temperance lead Calliope across the field, Thorn trailing behind them—suspicious as always.

“Here,” Braum murmured, and she accepted the cup with yet more thanks. He did not return to his spot by the tree, but stood. Waiting for her to drink? She took a careful sip, then another, deeper pull. It was clear and cool as usual, but there was something different. Perhaps simply because she had not fetched it for herself.

“About those dishes,” Braum posed, glancing down at their trays. “Would you still prefer I remain out of your kitchen?”

Her cheeks coloured further. This was a test, wasn’t it? And for an inexplicable reason, she wanted to pass.

To... please him.

To see that half-smile again.

“You’ve a fence to finish,” she reminded him, fiddling with the trays and stacking dishes as she finished her water and added it to the rest. “I think I’ve had enough help for one day, yes?”

She did not expect him to agree with her, and by the tight line of his mouth, there was no pretending that he did so.

But he did not argue with her as she got to her feet. And went back to her house with her dishes and a churning feeling in her belly that a cup of water did not quell.

Merryweather was waiting for her in the kitchen. She was seated on the edge of the table, where they might usually have shared a meal together. “You didn’t want to keep us company?” she asked, allowing Merry to nudge her head into Wren’s open palm. “Ready for it to be just the two of us again?”

Merryweather gave a little chirp, and Wren smiled. She was ready for that, too. For the calm to come back, the peace she’d had for so long.

Then everything would be all right again.

Braum would go, just as she knew he would.

And that would be that.

She fetched warm water from the kettle to clean their dishes, and wondered why it took so long for the tightness in her chest to dissipate as she worked.

???

He knocked on the edge of the open door frame.

She was seated at the table, mending. She’d need to start on a new pair of stockings, these so worn at the heels that even darning was proving inefficient.

The garden was watered. The barn was filled with clean hay.

A peaceful afternoon, aside from the continual strike of Braum’s hammer as he finished.

Because... he had. She might have peered out the kitchen window more than once to see the fresh boards he’d placed and secured. The gate he’d fixed, so it did not sag any longer.

“All finished?” she asked brightly, already knowing the answer.

“I have.” He stayed in the doorway, and she felt the memory of her mother so fiercely it was if she’d truly given the reprimand anew.

“You may come in,” Wren added sheepishly. She stood, crossing to where she’d prepared a basket for him. She did not know if he’d be able to take it along with his tools. He had a good eye for lumber, so there was very little excess—and what remained had been placed with her woodpile. She knew better than to argue that he should have it back.

He entered, but just beyond the threshold. He appeared distinctly uncomfortable, his head ducked slightly as if to avoid looking at her home.

She’d done that, hadn’t she? Because he’d noticed how uncomfortable she’d been to have him at her table.

“For your way back,” she explained, moving close enough that she might hand him the basket. “Since I do not know how long the journey is.”

She’d wrapped everything up tightly since he would almost certainly be flying most of the way. He seemed... tense. Almost reluctant as he accepted it. There were biscuits. Vegetables from the garden. The berries were dried lest they crush against the weight of everything else. A few slices of bread had rounded it all out, and hoped would make an acceptable supper.