Maggie was even prettier up close, where he could note the reddish-brown spots scattered over her delicate human skin. It was so thin, he could see the blood running under it. How did shesurvive?
“Hurt?” he rumbled.
She shook her head and stroked the small, furry creature. It let out a pitiful squall. “I’m fine, thank you. They’re all bark and no bite.”
“I’mnot,” Evrard said grimly, dog that he was. He struggled to piece together a human sentence. “If men return—” He broke off, stopping himself, because really, what would he do? He was leaving. And he wasn’t supposed to intervene in their affairs.
“Thank you,” she said again, adding, “Hungry?”
He eyed the four-legged creature she carried. It didn’t have much meat under its fluff. Skeptical it’d prove a good meal, he leaned forward to sniff it. Maggie jerked back with a huff.
“Not him! He’s not food. He’s just a baby.” She cupped her hands around it protectively, as though she’d birthed it herself.
Had she?Alarmed and a little jealous,Evrard pulled away, eying the soft swell of her belly beneath the gathers of her skirt before he remembered that human infants were hairless.
She laughed when she noticed the direction of his gaze. “Notmybaby. He’s my pet, so please don’t eat him. I put a few mussels aside for you if you want them, though. I know they’re your favorite.” She tilted her head toward the handcart.
Evrard warmed all over. She’d thought of him. Saved him a portion that she could have sold. His mouth watered as he nosed the casks until he located the mussels. He tossed them up, snapped them out of the air, and crunched them down, shells and all.
Delicious.As delicious as being so near to Maggie, near enough to bask in the heat radiating from her.
She watched him swallow, an amused look on her face. “I’ll bring you more tomorrow.”
He grunted in pleasure. It wasn’t until she’d hoisted the handles of her cart and begun to trundle it away that he came back to his senses and realized he’d left the gate unguarded for far too long, long enough that his heavy heels had sunk into the sandy soil.
He pushed off and flew to resume his post, stone heart thumping harder than necessary. She wasn’t offering leftovers tomorrow. She was bringing him a gift.
He could stay at his post one more night for that, moths be damned.
Chapter 3
An Argument for Taking a Husband
Maggie
Her father howled when she recounted the story of the proposal. It set off his cough, harsh and unrelenting until her mother stopped her stirring, the laundry in her tub still swirling like a seer’s bowl, and brought him a hot rag for histhroat. Maggie dumped the kitten in his lap and took up the worn-smooth stick to resume the work.
“What a fool!” Papa croaked gleefully, once he’d recovered. The kitten made a home on his chest, needling its tiny claws into the quilt that covered him. Just the thing to raise his spirits.
“Now, Lenn,” Mother admonished. “Love is a foolish thing. If I remember, you begged my hand twice before I agreed to marry you.”
“More fool was I, for look what it got me: two hands full of ass and brass,” he shot back, eyes glittering with fun. For all their banter, her parents loved one another deeply. In some ways, their love was a curse, because Maggie could accept nothing less from a potential husband.
“Kaspar’s not in love with me,” she objected. “He’s in love with theWolfhunter. I wouldn’t call that foolish. I am, too.”
Papa sighed wistfully, the gusty exhale rattling in his chest. “Aren’t we all?”
Mother tucked an extra quilt around him. “Not all of us carry a torch for a boat,” she sniped dryly, though Maggie knew she loved theWolfhunter, too.
“Aboat,” Papa scoffed, startling the kitten who’d curled up in a fuzzy ball on his sternum. “She’s more than a boat. She’s a beauty. A dream. Never had a better night than the ones I spent inside her.”
“Have I lost you to that dinghy’s delights?” Mother pulled her careworn face into a dramatic frown, and Maggie laughed. Ass and brass, indeed.
“Dinghy?!” her father roared indignantly, setting off his cough again.
Mother fussed over him like a hen, clucking and tucking until he settled, sleep and illness dragging down his lids. Then she came back to the tub to help Maggie wring out the washing. Theyworked in silence, the only sounds the dull drone of the waves outside and the guttering oil lamp.
“You might consider it,” Mother finally said, once they’d finished and tied up the wet washing into a bundle to hang in the morning. “The old coot thinks he can captain this year, but he can’t. Even if he could manageher”—she meant theWolfhunter—“he can’t manage a crew. Kaspar can.”
