Bless him.
Emma ushered me out of the decomposing building, whispering, “Poor Kenric is determined to save our souls.”
He even believes there’s hope for Quinn.
Emma tosses her thick chestnut braid over her shoulder. She has an enchanting spark of vivacity in her brown eyes. “Listen to me, going on about nonsense.” She’s been filling me in on local gossip while we tend to the laundry. As if I mind. Then she grabs another linen from her basket and shakes it out. “It’s just nice to have a woman to talk with. These ornery pricks are only interested in eating, fighting, and fucking. Usually in that order.”
I sputter out a laugh. “Well, you’ll get no complaints from me.” I pull out a shirt, smooth it, and drape it over the rope. “I’ve waited a lifetime to gossip.”
And have a female friend.
Emma lifts a brow as she hangs breeches on the rope. “Aye, I heard. Wren gave us an earful about you yesterday.” She snatches the last shirt from the basket and tosses it on the rope. Then she comes around the wet clothing and plants her hands on her hips. Although she’s a slender woman, her particular feminine strength and determination make her seem larger than life. “He told us you’re the reason our bastard king is destroying Rygard.”
“Did he?” I stiffen and, instinctively, smooth my braid. “What else did he say?”
Emma motions to my head. “Also said you have magic hair.” How blatantly spoken, the secret I spent my life captive to protect. But if Wren trusts these people, then I suppose I do as well. “Is it true?”
“Yes.” I brace for rejection. Horror. Disgust. Covetousness. All the reactions Sybil warned me people would have if they knew the truth.
Emma takes my measure as if inspecting each golden strand of my hair. “Like how? Do you wrap it around the person? Sing a song?” She steps toward me, and I back away, but she keeps coming until she runs her hand over my braid. “How does the magic work?”
Well.
This isn’t what I expected, and I almost weep with relief at Emma’s questions.
“Sing a song? Good Lord, no.” I finger a stray short brown lock that sprang loose from the plait. “I cut a small section, and when mixed with yarrow, comfrey, and woad, the hair dissolves into an elixir.”
Emma pulls a face and steps back. “That’s it? The person drinks it and it heals them?”
“Almost instantly.” I remember the day Sybil returned to the tower with a broken arm after a rather nasty fall. It took moments for the bones to knit.
She tilts her head, blue eyes narrowing on the bits where Sybil clipped it to take tiny amounts to maintain her youth. This information I keep to myself. “I understand now why John wants you. He could make himself and his army practically invincible if he got his vile hands on you.”
“That’s why I stayed in the tower.” I glance out over the courtyard, glad to be free but scared of all the things that could go wrong. I wonder if I was safer there, but John having destroyed Leeds, he had gotten too close. Dangerously close.
“That man is a monster. He slaughtered my family. He’ll stop at nothing to find you.” She shakes her head, and the sorrow in her eyes makes my heart ache for her. “He has no right to you. Whatever magic you have, Rapunzel, is yours, and he’s not entitled to it.” She comes at me and takes my hands. “John accused my father of treason. There was no proof, of course. None was needed. Nor was there a trial. Just the royal accusation and the remorseless slaughter of my family. That was his way of showing the consequences of questioning the king. I survived the attack only because the soldier who stabbed me was sloppy with his blade. Wren found me days later. I was hiding in a forest, near dead, and mad with grief. He brought me to Dyhurst, where he gave me a home and a family. But the true gift? Wren promised me revenge against John and retribution for Rygard.”
I glance away and blink back the tears as her anguish flows into me. If hers were a physical pain, I would heal it to give her peace, but this… Heartache is something even I can’t cure.
“I’m not sure what having a family means.”
Emma embraces me, and it feels so natural. “You’ll find it here, Rapunzel.”
“That’s my hope.” But I doubt it if Wren gets his way.
Emma sets me at arm’s length. “Although, I will warn you that living with eleven men may have you thinking differently. They drive me mad sometimes if you want to know the truth. It’s like living in a household of protective older brothers.”
I laugh loud enough to gain Quinn and Dax’s attention. They stop their training to watch us grab our empty laundry baskets and stroll toward the keep. We talk about our lives. Of the limited activities to keep the boredom at bay. And how she was the pampered middle daughter of Lord Gerold of Weston. But our pasts are painful, so we switch topics, with her explaining how she was at first scandalized living among these men, but then they swiftly became her family.
A glimpse around the courtyard—at the mismatched assortment of John’s defectors—and I see Wren’s beautiful collection of outcasts. All who now have a purpose other than only anger and revenge. They have a home and clan. It’s everything I want right in front of me—if I dare defy Wren and make Dyhurst my home.
From the aroma of roasting meat wafting from the kitchen, I assume someone is preparing the evening meal. I want to lend a hand in there given that I gained a talent for cooking. Sybil rarely went near a pot or pan when she was at the tower. I will not be a burden to these people. I will work alongside them to keep this castle alive. And when Wren strolls into Dyhurst carrying two fat pheasants, my gaze is drawn to him before my mind catches up with the action. He may not be as wide as Quinn or as tall as Dax, but he filled out well since his days of visiting me in Blithe. But what I find truly vexing is that whenever I look at him, I find something new to appreciate—damn him.
I want to find him repulsive.
I need to hate him as he hates me.
Instead, a delicious rush settles at the juncture of my thighs at the thought of his hands on my body.
