She gaped at him. “I will deal with my hair inside, by the fire, while my boots dry. And this isn’t my cloak.”

He continued to only take note of one part of what she’d said. “It’s going to rain, and neither of your pretty capes are waterproof.”

She eyed him suspiciously, then shuffled to the open barn door, boot laces trailing. He was right, the horrible man, the grey, mounding clouds above looked set to deluge at any moment.

She turned back to him. “We can’t travel in that. We’ll have to stay here, or return to town.”

Cadan was guiding the horse out of its stall. “I have people waiting on these goods Nora, and their delivery is more important than your inconvenience.”

She eyed him. This was normally the stage where her father started huffing and steaming like a tea kettle on the fire. Cadan was calm, disinterested and utterly implacable. She had an uncomfortable vision of him plonking her in the back of the cart like one of the household items he was transporting. Maybe it would be best to go along with his unreasonableness for the moment, take some time to regroup. She crouched to tie her boots before fastening the heavy length of oiled wool he’d handed her around her shoulders. At least the hood would hide the horrible mess of last night’s braids, still with their blue ribbons from the dance.

He led the now-harnessed horse towards her. “Things will be better once we’re home.”

She replied. “And what’s your version of home? A couple of planks propped against a tree?”

“Sooner we leave, sooner you’ll find out. Jump up, I’ll collect our breakfast from Mistress Farmer, and we’ll be on our way.”

He boosted her into the seat and jolted them forward with a click to the horse before she found her voice. “I can’t eat on the road like some vagabond.”

“You don’t have to eat if you don’t want to.”

Physical violence (other than stabbing deserving people with hair pins) was not the conduct of an educated lady, but she was very, very tempted.

They passed the farmer on a stool by the cow, coaxing gushes of milk into the bucket from the night before, an attentive audience of three cats beside him.

That nagging sense of familiarity teased Eleanor again, she’d seen him speaking to her father’s steward, but what had been in the cart the farmer brought to sell? She put the puzzle aside and smiled sweetly at the woman who opened the kitchen door to Cadan’s knock.

The farmer’s wife looked her up and down, then said. “She don’t look like much, lad. Too pampered and high-nosed. You’ll be taking her back to town in a month, I’ll warrant.”

Cadan cut off Eleanor’s retort. “She may look like a soft, spoiled town girl, Mistress, but my Nora’s a strong one and not about to back down from a challenge.”

Well, at least he could be nice about her, even if he wasn’t nice to her.

That was the moment her mind handed her the missing piece of memory. She smirked at the woman and began to make plans.

The kitchen door closed, and Cadan handed the food bundle up before rounding the cart and jumping up beside her. “Why do I feel like you have something in store for Mistress Farmer?”

She gave him the same false, sweet smile. “I cannot imagine what you might mean.”

He grunted, then clicked his tongue at the horse, setting them off down the track to the main road.

Eleanor unwrapped breakfast as they joined the traffic trudging along the Tradeway. Day-old bread, some hard cheese and a couple of apples.

She frowned at it, then asked. “How often do people from your village stay at the farm?”

Cadan held out a hand. “Cheese on bread please. One of us generally makes the trip every month or so.”

She broke the bread and cheese and arranged Cadan’s pieces into something he could eat one-handed. “And how much wood, how often, do you bring them in payment?”

“Enough to put a bit of weight in the cart, maybe a third to half a load. It’s not our best planking though, he only needs it for round the place, and goes through it pretty quick. Why?”

Eleanor said. “I’m sure he goes through it pretty quick, since he’s selling it on to my father for prices that would get you a week’s board in the finest inn in Gandry. I hate to think how you’re wasting your best planking. Do the castle people use it for goat pens?”

Cadan replied. “I’ll need to speak to the Village Head about this, Mistress Farmer grew up in Woodbine, so we’d thought she’d have an eye out for us.”

Eleanor rolled her eyes. “The only person that woman has an eye out for is herself. You should start paying them in coin, for the actual value of their lodgings.”

Her companion half laughed, but trailed off into a worried-sounding. “You’re going to bring some new ways to the village I see.”

She replied. “I doubt I’ll be there long enough to do anything. Papa will fetch me back soon enough.”

“He made the pledge vows on your behalf while you were changing, Nora. We’re married, and he’s not coming after you.”

Related posts