Page 44 of Bound

“I will... return the basket,” Braum offered, his words tight. Careful.

She shrugged. “No need. I can always make another.”

Something tightened about his eyes, and she wondered what she might have said wrong. She wouldn’t burden him. He needn’t burden himself with making another trip all this way just to return a basket.

It wasn’t one of her mother’s, anyway. Just woven from the pond reeds. An amusement as she sat amongst the rushes in the heat of last summer, grimbles all about her as they tried to eat her work just as quickly as she could fashion it into something useful.

Should she thank him again? Make another attempt at offering him coin? There was a strained sort of awkwardness between them. He seemed to wrestle with... something, and she could not decide what else she might offer him.

He’d washed at the pump again. Her mother would have offered tea. More biscuits. Something to end his day in company rather than a meagre basket to take home with him.

“Would you...” she began.

“Will you...” he started at just the same time.

They looked sheepishly at one another before she gestured for him to continue.

“I had asked before... if you would attend any of the fetes.”

Her cheeks burned. “You did. And my answer is the same.”

He glanced down at the basket—to avoid her, she was sure, since it wasn’t much to look at with each article wrapped tightly in waxed paper. “Is there a particular reason for that?”

He could not have selected a worse topic. She would have preferred he probe about her mother. Pick apart the rest of her list of maintenance items she had yet to conquer.

Anything else.

“There is.” Her answer was curt. Stiff. She’d tried to make it otherwise, but... Not everything was within her control. “But it is not something I will discuss today.”

Or ever.

Even that seeped into her tone, she was sure.

He nodded, his grip tightening on the handle of her basket. Her head tilted slightly, and her eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask?”

He looked at her. A sharp flitting of his eyes that was almost enough for her to take a step backward. But she held her ground. This was her kitchen, after all. And she would not be the one to retreat.

But he looked away again, and the momentary tension eased ever so slightly. “That is not something that should be discussed today, either.” His voice was not nearly as hard as hers had been, and she chewed at her lip, discomforted.

“I’ll leave you now,” Braum declared. “Thank you for this,” he added, holding out the basket toward her.

His tools had been wrapped and placed into a large satchel. She could see it peeping out just beyond the doorway.

She’d bungled things. Been too harsh. But her hands were shaking, and she would not get control of herself while he was still here. Better that he go. So she could breathe, could press the rest of it away again. Lock it up in the corners of her mind, since she could not purge it all away.

She’d tried.

Desperately.

“A safe journey, then,” she managed to get out. Forced a smile on her face as he walked back out and secured the satchel across his shoulders—a practised art so it did not catch upon his wings and prove a bother.

He nodded to her again. Opened his mouth to say something more, but closed it again. “Until...” he paused, and this time her smile was a little more genuine. There was no fixed time to offer in parting. Their business was concluded, and he’d no need of her wares at the market.

“Fair evening, Wren,” he gave instead.

“And to you,” she murmured back. Meaning it. She wished him well. Success in his endeavours. That he’d attend one of those fetes he kept mentioning. Would find a lovely woman and use his talents to make a home for them both.

His mouth twisted.