Page 60 of Bound

She snorted. “That’s answer enough, then.”

Was it?

He’d seemed pleased to share what gossip he could, but Wren made it seem as if his nature was notorious.

“Still,” Braum pressed. “I should not have listened. Those were private matters, and I am sorry they were spread about.”

She moved her shoulders in that dismissive gesture, as if his apology was unwarranted. “He’s persistent. I don’t blame you for it, so don’t trouble yourself.”

Her fingers tangled together as if uncertain what to do with them now that the dishes were washed and their tea was shared and over.

He should excuse himself. Get some of his own work done.

That would be the kindly thing to do rather than let her fuss and worry.

Another step back.

Another tug through his entire being that he was a fool, that her feelings did not matter so much after all, and she’d realise she wanted him if only he touched her...

He turned. Closed his eyes.

They were only instincts. Imperatives, to be sure, but they did not rule him. Not completely.

Nothing in her posture suggested she would be receptive to his touch. Nothing indicated she would find it anything but alarming.

His head was swimming, and he rubbed at his forehead, willing his impulses to die down. To quiet. To let him think, to reason, to put her first.

Always that.

“I should go,” he got out. Hated it. Hated saying it, hated meaning it.

“Right.” He could picture her tugging at her braid, although he did not open his eyes to see it for himself. “But... market day. You’ll... you’ll show me where to get the oil.”

Even now, her tone made it clear that she doubted him. She fully expected that he wouldn’t come. That she would be left to find it for herself—or worse, that he might sneak onto her land while she was out and do it without her.

The market was not so very far away. He could be patient. Be content with his nightly watches.

A lie, and he knew it.

“The market,” he repeated. “I will find you.”

She swallowed, and he’d looked. Wanted to see if she believed him. “Wherever the Proctor sticks me until my stall is fixed.”

“I will find you,” he repeated. A promise in ways he knew she did not understand.

He’d left.

He’d said a goodbye to Merryweather as well, although she’d curled onto her cushion at the table and was sleeping soundly. But it felt right to acknowledge her. To acknowledge her importance to Wren.

She was a member of her household. The same as Thorn and his flock.

And Braum had spoken truly. If that’s all she could offer him—a place in her barn, what few moments of her time and attention that she could spare...

He would take it.

Gladly.

He would not be greedy.