“Will do,” I told him, watching for a few moments after he took himself off. Something about the way he grilled me still rankled, but a review of the conversation left me shaking my head at my paranoid thoughts.
Since I was officially done for the day, I went back to the clothing shed to make sure everything was tidied away there, chatted briefly with some of the family members waiting for their men to disarm, and double-checked that I had put all the archery equipment away.
“I don’t give a damn what Alden does,” I told myselfas I marched to the house, intent on taking a shower, washing that man right out of my hair, and fixing food that I could eat somewhere private.
My inner self asked me why I would make such a patently untrue statement when it was clear I very much did care what he did. Was it because I had planned on hooking up with him, and thus felt that in some way he was “mine”? That made sense, more sense than the idea that I could have a deep connection with a man I’d met twenty-four hours ago.
There was no sign of Alden or the Southern belle, but I did meet Lady Sybilla’s maid, Adams, while she was carrying a large vase of flowers, walking slowly and carefully, the vase way too overloaded for someone with such gnarled hands.
“Here, let me help you,” I said, hurrying up to her. “What pretty flowers. The roses are gorgeous, but, oh, the carnations smell heavenly.”
Adams gracefully let me take the vase, inclining her head in a pretty good imitation of her mistress. “Her ladyship has always insisted on fresh flowers when they are in bloom.”
“She’s a wise woman to enjoy them. I never can seem to bring myself to buy them, since they last such a short time, but they are lovely to look at.”
“Are you on your way to organize her ladyship’s papers?” Adams asked as she paused next to the door leading to Lady Sybilla’s suite of rooms.
“Not just yet. I hope to put some time in on them tonight.”
She sniffed. “I will lock them away safely, then.”
“I didn’t think they were particularly valuable,” Iprotested, feeling guilty nonetheless. “From what I saw, they were just a bunch of household accounts going back a few centuries, and some notes of tenants, and cattle, and horses.”
“All of Lady Sybilla’s possessions are valuable,” she replied with a pinched expression. “Even if you do not value them. Thus I will lock them away until you can find the time to fulfill your promise to Lady Sybilla.”
The accusation in her tone was all too clear.
“I have a paying job that I have to do during the day,” I pointed out. “And I have every intention of doing what I said I’d do, which was sort through the papers and put them in some semblance of order, but it’s not going to be an instant thing. Please tell Lady Sybilla that I’ll do my best as quickly as I can.”
“Hrmph,” Adams sniffed again, her curled lip saying much about what she thought of people who did not put Lady Sybilla first in all things, and taking the vase without another word, she left me, closing the door firmly behind her.
“You’re welcome,” I told the door, and continued on to the back staircase that provided a shortcut to the wing with my bedroom. I banged loudly on the door a couple of times, then flung it open and stomped my feet until I felt like a deranged flamenco dancer.
“All right, all you mice. Just get the hell out of here long enough for me to grab some clothes and take a shower.”
I listened intently, but didn’t hear (or see) anything moving, so entered the room. There was another note that had obviously been slipped under the door. I wondered what I had to do to get the message across to Vandal that I wasn’t particularly interested in him.
Dear Mercy,
I’m sorry.
I stared at the bizarre note, and wondered what the hell Vandal was apologizing about. A thought occurred to me that so startled me, it had me rooted in the center of the room while my brain turned it over and over. What if it wasn’t Vandal sending me the notes? That meant it had to be Alden. But why would he send me notes?
“For that reason,” I said aloud, still mulling over the idea, “why would Vandal? No, I think it must be Alden. Which is oddly sweet of him. I think I’ll reply.”
I stomped my way over to my luggage, which I’d left closely zipped shut against mousey intruders, and dug through my duffel until I pulled out a small journal and a nibbed pen that I used whenever I felt overly introspective. I also gathered up clean clothes and my bath things, and entered the bathroom I shared with Fenice.
A mouse sat up in the bathtub, and gave me a startled look.
I screamed, slammed the door shut, and, grabbing my duffel bag, raced out of the room, the hairs on my arms standing on end in horror. I ran to Alden’s room and, without even knocking, flung open the door and ran inside.
Alden stood next to the bed, stark naked and wet, a towel in his hands as he dried off his chest, the surprised look on his face quickly fading away to something unreadable (damn him—I liked it much better when I could read his expressions).
“Sorry,” I said, panting a little despite the short distance between our rooms. “There was a mouse in thebathtub, Alden. A mouse. In the bathtub. It mocked me—it sneered and mocked and waved its mousey claws at me as if it was inviting me in so it could ravage me. You must have just had a shower. You look good naked.”
I slapped a hand over my mouth at the last sentence, not having intended on saying it out loud.
“I have had a shower, yes, and I’m sorry you were nearly ravaged by a wild mouse,” he said, much to my sorrow wrapping the towel around his waist. “I called an exterminator earlier today, but he won’t be out until tomorrow.”
