Page 98 of Bound
Or really, the weather had. The winds were beginning to blow fiercely, and it made the tree out front less appealing when she had more than adequate shelter to offer.
Why, then, was it still so hard to do?
The words stuck in her throat, even as Merryweather twined about his ankles as he stood in the doorway. Finished for the day? Or merely hungry?
Hungry, she decided. When his attention drifted more toward the table than to her, and he was willing to respond to a wave of her hand more than an invitation lodged in her throat.
Only to frown at the pouch, already knowing what it was.
“Wren,” he began, and she sat in her own chair with a little more force than was necessary.
“We needn’t discuss it,” she insisted, hoping against hope he would allow the subject to rest. “But I would feel better if you took it.” And supposedly that mattered to him.
Her stomach twisted as he picked it up, turning it over in his large palm.
Merryweather, traitor that she was, took the chair beside Braum and looked at him expectantly. He blinked, as if drawn from his own thoughts, and held the pouch out to Merry. “What do you think? Should we fuss first?”
She nibbled on the string that pulled the pouch closed, and Wren rolled her eyes. “Trying to shift her loyalties against me?”
“Never,” Braum insisted seriously. “Merely taking lessons. She won you over, after all. I’d like to do the same.”
Her cheeks heated and her attention dropped to her plate. She could tell him how Merryweather had managed it, but he was already employing much of the same methods. Stubbornness. A staunch determination that this was home now, and Wren could fight it all she liked, but the choice had already been made.
But it was easy to do for a leptus that only wanted companionship and the occasional treat. And breakfast. And supper too, if the stable was light in pests.
A man was an entirely different matter.
Even if he did make himself useful in her pastures. And she had only to feed him on occasion and send him on his way again...
How long before he ended up in her bed as Merryweather had done?
She coughed into her cup, and both Merry and Braum looked at her—one in offence, the other with concern—as she spluttered and waved her hand at them. She was fine. She’d just breathed in a little milk, that was all.
Wren rubbed at her head, willing her thoughts to settle, for the anxious feeling in her stomach to ease so she could eat, and Braum sighed just a little as he took the pouch and placed it in his pocket. “Better?”
Her throat was still too tight, but she nodded anyway. “I am grateful,” she reminded him, her voice smaller than it should have been. “I just...”
He shook his head. “I understand, Wren. Really. If you want me as a workman, I can tolerate that. Although I preferred being your friend.”
She bit her lip, hard.
Friends were paid in favours—or so he claimed. In meals and sweet biscuits and shared cups of tea. Not inadequate amounts of coins that likely were more insult than true payment.
“You’re not my workman,” she admitted quietly.
His eyes shone, and he sat a little straighter. “Well.” He stopped. Smiled down at his meal. “Well,” he repeated.
It was as much as she could give, at the moment. And perhaps if she was more gracious, she would have asked for her pouch back and the coins along with it, but she didn’t.
Evidently he could coax concessions out of her without an argument after all.
???
Wren kept waiting for him to ask to stay with her. To remind her of his rights, and his place in her bed.
But he didn’t.
He came to say goodbye to her when he was satisfied with his work on her fence, then he left. With a wistful sort of smile and a nod, and there was no talk of an evening meal or obligation at all. Just a quiet awareness that she would see him again.