Roses and Rain, Part II
“I’ll finish the dishes, Wren,” Wil answered, easily, almost dropping a mug through his soap-slick fingers, “You’ve more than earned your keep already. Wouldn’t you like an hour or two of free time, maybe visit the merchants and see what wares
those ships brought? Or what news?”
He rinsed the mug, set it aside with a noisy thump, and wiped his hands with the dishrag before shoving the rag haphazardly back into his belt. When he turned to gauge her reaction, he was stunned to see that Renna had frozen in place. He had thought, maybe, that she needed some time to herself, or that she might want to buy some fabric to make clothes for her baby.
No, Renna clearly was not pleased with the idea of going to the market. She had stopped, mid-motion, blue eyes wide, as if the thought of venturing outside the inn was foreign, or frightening. Her fingers knotted in her skirts and she shifted her gaze to the open window, watching as the mist tumbled over the cobblestones.
The window should be closed and the shutters would need to be drawn soon, she thought, even here in the kitchen, despite the heat of the ovens. Then she wondered why she had focused on such a mundane, routine task. A few hours, a visit with the merchants, could there be any harm? Wil had meant to reward her, not to scare her, Renna acknowledged. She swallowed hard and cradled her abdomen gently with her left hand before she focused, drew a deep breath, and turned back toward her employer.
“Wil, I know your intentions are good, but trust me when I tell you that I don’ want to go to the market.” She shook her head as she spoke, untying the kerchief that bound her hair close to her head. “It’s bad enough that I hav’ta wear something over my hair all the time, but I don’ want to layer m’self up jus’ so I can look at some baubles and listen to gossip.”
Wil caught himself before he smiled, listening to the dialect of the village where she’d been raised creeping into her voice as she got more anxious. Renna had been trained and educated until she was as refined as the ladies sitting up in the castle, but she couldn’t keep herself from slipping into familiar patterns when her fiery temper surfaced.
Instead of smiling, he nodded. For so long now, he had been willing to hold his tongue, but he decided that maybe now was the time to push a little. After all, the color had risen in Renna’s sallow cheeks and her eyes were blazing with indignation.
“Wren, you can’t lock yourself away from the world forever. Don’t you think they have stopped seeking you? What’s one more soldier, and one who could barely serve the crown now even if she wanted? You didn’t desert your post: you were a pawn, a hostage, a tool of their cruelty.” It was the most he had said about the whirlwind events that had brought little Renna flying down from the castle, pounding on his door in the middle of the night, her clothes torn, her arms and legs bruised, her face and hands covered in little cuts.
He watched her expression as he talked, waiting for it to go from furious to icy, waiting for her to run from the room or cry silent tears or simply turn her back and shut him out. Instead, he found himself up against the counter, arms crossed over his chest to protect himself from the rain of punches, until a blow caught him in the side, doubling him over and making him breathless.
Renna backed off then, shaking all over, and she pulled out a chair for herself at the kitchen table and dropped down. “Don’t you ever, ever call me a pawn, Wilasne Watchword,” she spat, raking a hand through her pale hair, pushing it away from her eyes.
Gods, he thought, trying not to choke, she has no idea how hard she just hit me, does she? He turned so that he was leaning on the counter, soapy water soaking the sleeve of his tunic. He heard her move again, braced himself, prepared for another fight, but instead he felt her small hand on his shoulder.
“Wil?” Renna decided that she probably shouldn’t have hit her employer by the second or third time she called his name and he didn’t answer. He looked like he was gasping for air: she wondered if she could have broken a rib with one lucky hit. She stepped up beside him and leaned over, careful not to push her tender belly against the edge of the counter. She was getting truly, seriously worried by the time Wil raised his head and the enormous grin on his face gave him away. He was laughing! That bastard was laughing. She raised her fist to smack him again, only half serious now, but he caught her hand.
“Oh, Wren, that hurt like a thousand stings, but it was worth it to see you in all your fighting glory.” Wil was pleased that he could manage a full sentence without chuckling. He was also pleased that Renna pulled her fingers out of his grip and finally allowed her lips to curve upward into a satisfied smile.
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