Sarah was knitting by the fire when Eleanor let herself in. “No wool?”

Eleanor’s explanation ended up as a full recitation of the afternoon’s events and Sarah chuckled. “She’s a wily one, is Maggie, and I’ll do you a trade. Make up that pillowcase of yours into an apron for me, and I’ll give you my old one, and a pot of salve as well.”

How on earth did one make an apron from a pillow case? Eleanor fetched it from where it had been left, hanging over the back of Matthew’s dining chair, and looked it over. She’d need to unpick the stitches at the sides. That was easy enough, she’d had more than enough practice in her mother’s embroidery lessons. What could she use for the ties though? Her yellow ribbon was long enough but was only half the width needed, the linen Sarah had used to wrap her hands was wide enough, but too short. She headed for her bedroom and unwound the ribbon from her comb.

She returned to the main room and Sarah’s curious gaze. “Would this do for the apron tie if I backed it with two of your bandages?”

Sarah took the ribbon from her and checked the length around her waist. “It would do very nicely and I’ve a couple of older binding strips you can use for the facing.”

Eleanor nodded. “Good. I’ll start with the unpicking then.”

Sarah’s sewing kit yielded a small blade and some pins and Eleanor settled in for a long and tedious session of freeing the pillowcase from its seams without slicing the fabric. She’d managed less than half of the first side before her hands began to protest again. No! She needed to get this done! There wasn’t time for her hands to be complaining.

It seemed her companion had been keeping an eye on her. “Accidents happen when you’re tired and sore. Let it rest, you’ll be faster in the morning. Now we’d better fetch our menfolk’s clothes. They’ll be back soon and trekking mud all over the place if not.”

Eleanor tidied her project away, some lessons stuck, and pins left out was one of them, and rummaged through the chest for Cadan’s clothes. When she nearly gave him one of her smocks as a shirt, she gave up, pulled everything out and began to fold and sort. She really should have appreciated Betsy more back at her father’s house.

The thought of the timid, sweet-natured maid stabbed an invisible blade through her chest. She missed her. She missed Betsy, and having her clothes cared for, and afternoons in her father’s study, and mornings on the docks with a checklist and a stern eye on the cargo. She missed her lessons with Master Fang, and Mistress Azami, and Captain Saros from the Scattered Isles, who had nearly saved enough to trade her barge for a proper sea-going ship. She missed her father’s alternating proud affection and huffing and blowing tempers, and her mother’s fondly absent-minded discipline. Mama would be appalled if she saw Eleanor now – red hands, frizzy hair, crumpled, mud-trimmed dress.

No, she couldn’t cry now. Cadan would be bringing mud into Sarah’s home if she didn’t get on. She gathered clothes and took them through to the main room, saying to Sarah. “Please check I haven’t included anything embarrassing.”

She waited for Sarah’s nod, then turned tail and dove back into organising the clothes chest. Stay focused, stay busy, don’t think, don’t cry. It didn’t work. She missed Cecily Silversmith’s fair-weather friendship and May Tanner’s slightly more genuine loyalty. She missed the market day stall holders and their battles for good prices. She missed using simple coin to pay for things, rather than trying to match up a chain of convoluted barters.

She hadn’t realised how long she’d been in there, kneeling at the chest, sobbing as silently as she could, until the door opened, and a worried-looking Cadan looked in. He knelt beside her. “Nora? What’s wrong? Do your hands hurt? What happened?”

She shook her head, the lump in her throat choking words, and slumped into him. His arms came around her and she burrowed into his warmth, the sobs coming harder and faster. When had she turned into such a raincloud?

He shifted, pulling away, she grabbed at his tunic, then cringed, she should force herself on him, she was making him uncomfortable. He scooped her up before she could pull away and sat them both down on the bed, then pulled her close again. “Tomorrow, I’m staying with you.”

Her breathing eased and slowed and, eventually, she pulled her hot, tear-streaked face from the safe haven of his neck and mumbled. “I’m sorry. I’m not normally this silly.”

Cadan said. “I’m not sure our definitions of ‘silly’ match.”

Eleanor rested her head on his shoulder, it was a good way not to meet his gaze. “I was crying because I missed the way Betsy folded my clothes. And then other things, it’s silly.”

“Sounds more like being homesick to me.”

She said. “Which is just as silly. This is my home now.”

The arm around her back tightened. “Is it?”

She looked up at him then, scanning his face, frightened of what she might see in his expression. Did he not want her either? Had she annoyed him to the point where he was going to hand her off like her father had? He must have seen some of it, and one hand cupped her cheek. “You’re so clever, and so used to a bigger world. How long before you hate me for tying you to this quiet, out-of-the-way village?”

She bit her lip against more tears, people didn’t like crybabies, and said. “I won’t, I’ll learn to do things here and I’ll love it, and maybe I’ll be able to find ways to help, like with that swindling farmer, or selling Sarah’s remedies in Gandry. They’re better than anything the apothecaries have.”

She brightened at the thought, but Cadan was shaking his head. “People round here like the way things are. Master Farmer is a problem but only to those who make the journey to town, most don’t, and everything Sarah makes that isn’t used in the village is taken to the castle.”

Her shoulders slumped again. “So, I’m just an annoyance.”

“That’s not what I said.” Cadan sounded frustrated. “I think you can help; it’s just not going to be easy and the ways to help might not be what you expect, and it wouldn’t be fair to leave you expecting otherwise.”

He stood, pulling her up with him. “Come and eat. Things are always worse when you’re hungry. Then we can think up things for you to do.”

Eleanor gave him the smile she thought he was looking for and let him lead her into the main room. She wasn’t hungry. She ate more heartily here than she’d done in Gandry, a mixture of Sarah’s cooking, and not having her mother lecturing on elegance and manners every time food was placed in front of her.

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