She did as he said but struggled to pause the sound cleanly.
Without thinking, Finn placed his hand over hers, pressing it against the string with proper form. “Like this,” he said softly, not sure why he felt the need to whisper.
“I should let you return,” Eva replied, rising quickly and handing the harp back to him. “I’ve taken up so much of your time already, and you’ll be spending all day teaching the men tomorrow.”
“I’m teaching them poems,” he reminded her, his voice still quiet, “not to play an instrument. It’s no trouble at all, but if you’re weary I’ll walk you back.” Against his better judgment, he offered her his free hand.
And she took it.
Chapter Nine
Each night afterdinner for nearly a fortnight, Eva met Finn by the water’s edge and fumbled her way through his lessons. For days, it was the only thing she thought about, the only thing she looked forward to in her life. In the last few lessons, Eva finally convinced herself that Finn had meant it when he told her he wasn’t teaching her out of pity. Aye, she’d even go so far as to call him a friend.
The thought brought a smile to her face and joy to her heart.
Fastening her cloak about her shoulders, Eva set out to check on the progress of the kitchens. After the fire, she had insisted that they be rebuilt in order to correct whatever oversight had caused them to malfunction. Illadan and Cormac both questioned the necessity of it, but Eva stood firm on being thorough. The last thing she needed was an accusation of treachery against the household of the king.
“How is the progress today, Tómma?” she asked the carpenter when she reached the kitchens. Looking about, it seemed to her they were nearly finished. She strolled carefully from one end of the large room to the other, eyeing every table, cupboard, and oven as she went.
“They’ll be finished by morn,” Tómma replied. “Your cook should be able to reclaim her kingdom in time to prepare tomorrow’s meals.”
Eva nodded, hiding the giddiness that overcame her at finally finishing the project. She couldn’t wait to tell Finn—he’d listened to her every triumph and obstacle over the course of construction. He’d once jokingly suggested she compose a ballad about the ordeal.
Looking Tómma directly in the eyes, to ensure he wasn’t lying, she asked the most important question. “And what has been done to prevent another fire, compared with the previous construction?”
Of course, she knew from the outset what his plan had been, but it would be remarkably irresponsible not to ensure he’d done as promised.
“Not a single item made of wood is within ten feet of any of the hearths or ovens, milady.” He gestured toward the items as he spoke. “The tables and stools have been sealed with a wash of lime to help prevent them catching fire, should they be placed too close. And, most importantly, I’ve extended the channel running through the church all the way here, that there is a source of water within the kitchens should a small flame need dousing.”
Eva moved around a large wooden table to have a better view of the floor at which he pointed. Though much of the floor was packed earth—without flammable rushes atop it—along the wall shared with the church a small row of stone flooring as wide as her arm lay, running the length of the wall. In the center, a deep groove carried water from a natural spring on the other side of the hill to a cistern large enough to hold the overflow. Eva had seen the design in monasteries first, to bring fresh water to their extensive gardens and their own kitchens. Once she learned of it, she wondered why anyone would do otherwise.
Nodding her approval and thanking Tómma for his fine skill and hard work, Eva took her leave to relay the good news to Illadan. He’d been pestering her for several days as to how much longer they’d be forced to endure the carpenter’s ceaseless hammering and sawing. She knew that today, the day before the trials began, the three judges would likely be holed up in the solar discussing the particulars of the following day.
The buildings at Cenn Cora were almost all separate. Though some, such as the kitchens and the church, shared a common wall, they had no door connecting them. Eva entered the royal family’s quarters, where Illadan and Cormac lived and worked. Doors of carven oak opened into a small receiving room, lit by braziers and decorated with several chairs and one long bench. A single guard stood watch at the back of the windowless room.
“Illadan?” Eva queried.
The guard tilted his head in the direction of the solar.
Eva nodded her thanks and headed down the narrow corridor. She heard men’s voices long before she reached the first door on the right. It was cracked just enough to betray their conversation. Eva had no intention of eavesdropping, but when she heard the topic of their conversation, something inside her bid her wait.
“…lurking around Finn’s tent.” It was Illadan speaking.
“Are you certain?” Broccan questioned. “You were drunk off your arse last night.”
“I was not!”
Broccan laughed until Cormac’s serious voice interrupted. “He’s probably found a lady from the village is all,” he suggested.
Eva’s heart rose into her throat. What on earth were they talking about? Had they discovered her meetings with Finn by the lake?
“Then he needs to go to the village to see her,” Illadan replied. “I don’t want strange women wandering about the men’s tents at night. ’Tis utterly undisciplined.”
Pain gripped Eva’s chest, followed by an unfamiliar feeling. Jealousy? Could that be it? She shook her head to clear it of such nonsense. Why should she care if Finn had taken a lover?
The thought brought another surge of jealousy, frustrating her further. It wasn’t as though they were courting. Indeed, it wasn’t as though they couldevercourt one another.
Oh, aye, Eva knew she felt a close bond forming with Finn. And the man was too charming for his own good. He seemed to always know what to say to coax a smile from her, no matter how forlorn she felt. Finn was always kind enough to go out of his way and cheer her up.
