"They're gathering up her plates," he whispered. "When she leaves, I'll snap at you about something so you can check on her, okay?"
That made me flash him a smile. "Mr. Warren..."
"Oddly, I no longer hate being called that," he said. "But only whenyousay it, Callah."
I had to take another bite to keep from smiling foolishly. This man said so many kind things, and most of them made me want to giggle like a child. His jokes were as funny as any Ayla or Meri had ever told. His thoughts wove in ways I didn't usually expect, and our conversations were just as riveting as the ones that had kept me up many nights in the girls' hall.
But there was something else about Tobias that made me enjoy his company. I couldn't quite figure out what it was, but it was always there. The way he made me feel safe was a part of it, but so was this twisting in my belly. Maybe I was more like Ayla than I realized and actually liked a little danger in my life?
Because the first time I'd felt that twisting and this pounding in my chest had been when I'd woken up to find his arm acrossmy side. Since I'd removed the rolled sheet between us, it had happened a few times, but I wouldn't tell him. Every morning, he was facing away from me, so there was no reason to ruin it, and I actually liked those little moments. The ones where he was completely asleep and still reaching for me in the softest, gentlest way I could imagine from a man.
Tobias snapped me out of my daydream by slapping his hand down onto the wood. "What do you mean you didn't get it done?"
"I..." My head whipped up. "I'm sorry!"
"Finish that and get it done!" he said, flicking his eyes over to the doorway just as those three widows hurried out of the dining hall.
"Yes, husband," I mumbled, shoving two more large bites into my mouth before pushing my plate back.
"I'll get that," he said, taking it. "Just go. And next time, don't forget!"
I nodded quickly, stood, and scurried out of the hall, heading the same way those women had gone. I didn't have a clue if anyone cared about Tobias's excuse for me. The only thing that mattered was I'd stopped feeling a rush of panic when he snapped like that.
Because I knew he didn't mean it, and his voice wouldneverbecome a hand.
Up ahead, the women turned up a hall. I followed, not surprised to find it was one that led to the facilities, but they weren't going to the laundry. Instead, these women ducked into a washroom caught halfway between the wives' area and the girls'. I stretched my legs to follow them in.
"It doesn't matter if anyone else understands..." one of the women was saying as I entered the room.
They all fell silent, and two sets of eyes glared at me. The third set was pressed into a handkerchief. One damp from far too many tears.
"What do you want, Mrs. Warren?" one of the glaring women asked.
"I came to see if I can help," I said, keeping my tone as gentle as I could. "I know none of this is my business, but I believe we women should help each other where we can."
"He's gone!" the crying woman blubbered, sounding like it wasn't the first time.
"And crying won't bring him back, Jemina," another said soothingly.
"This ispersonal," the first woman told me. "Her husband was killed in the last hunt. Now she'll be wed again."
And Jemina yanked her arm down hard enough to make a point. "That's not my problem, Ester! It's that I can't even grieve a man I loved!"
Loved?
Loved!
The air rushed from my lungs as her words slammed into me. Jemina had actually cared about her husband. I didn't know what kind of relationship they'd had - a fake one like mine or something else - but hearing her use that word for a man left me standing there, speechless.
"Hulda, get her out of here," Ester ordered.
"No," I said, waving them off before moving closer. "Jemina? Tell me about him?"
"He was my husband," she said, as if that should've been enough.
But I shook my head and claimed a spot beside her. "They clearly do not feel the same. You're grieving. It hurts, and that's a pain I've only felt when my mother passed. I am here to listen - not judge - but I can't do that unless you share the memories of him."
She looked up with red-rimmed eyes. "Luc was a good man, Mrs. Warren."
