‘We don’t have any coin.’
‘It’s fine. Trust me.’ She tugged on Blake’s arm, leading her over to the younger boy working at the stall. She put on her most brilliant smile as she pulled out her empty coin pouch. ‘Two, please.’
Blake prepared herself for humiliation.
‘You from the merchant borough?’ the boy asked as he placed the cups in front of her. He was no older than sixteen.
Lyndal’s smile grew. ‘I am. Importers of fine cotton. You must be from another borough, because I would definitely remember that face.’
The boy’s cheeks coloured. ‘No, merchant borough, same as you.’ He held out his hand. ‘Importer of wine—when we can get it.’
Lyndal took his hand for a second before asking, ‘How much do I owe you?’ She reached into the empty pouch as she awaited his answer.
The boy glanced sideways at the man serving at the other end of the table, likely his father, then leaned closer to her. ‘These are on me.’
Lyndal picked up the cups. ‘What a gentleman you are. Be sure to come find me later for a dance.’ She flashed him a final smile before turning and walking off, Blake following at her heel.
‘I guarantee you if I tried something like that, it would end with me being arrested,’ Blake said.
Lyndal handed her one of the cups. ‘That’s because holding a knife to someone’s throat doesn’t have quite the same effect.’ She bumped her cup against Blake’s. ‘Cheers.’
They found a bench to sit on and watched the dancing for a while. Blake found herself looking over to where Harlan had been earlier, but he was no longer there. Disappointment swelled in her. She liked having him in sight. He looked ridiculously good in that black uniform of his. It fit him like a second skin, highlighting every curve of his muscular frame. Not that she had anything to compare it to because she had only ever seen him that way.
‘What I like about farming men is that they have a good covering of muscle,’ Lyndal said.
Blake rolled her eyes. ‘Because they have food.’
Her mind went to Harlan again, a wall of solid muscle. Her neck heated at the memory of the day prior. Her hand pinned to his hip, the feel of his breath on her face and hair. He had held her in place with such ease, and instead of fighting it, she had leaned into his masculine scent. She knew the kind of strength he was capable of but had not been afraid in the slightest. Perhaps there was gentleness to be discovered in the commander.
‘Well, look who’s back,’ Lyndal said, lifting her drink to her lips.
Blake glanced over and found Harlan standing in the spot he had been earlier. As if sensing her eyes on him, he looked straight at her.
‘He hasn’t taken his eyes off you all evening,’ Lyndal whispered. ‘If there’s any doubt left in your mind as to his feelings, dismiss them this instant.’
‘It doesn’t matter. What he feels, what I feel. None of it matters.’
‘What do you mean, howyoufeel? How do you feel?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Why do you have to be so private? It’s very annoying.’
Blake smiled into her drink.
A young man approached, fair shaggy hair reaching down to his eyes. Lyndal sat up a little straighter when he stopped in front of them, but he extended a hand to Blake.
‘Care to dance?’
Lyndal gave Blake a push in his direction. ‘She’d love to.’
Blake snuck a glance at Harlan as she rose. He shifted his weight as her hand was swallowed by another’s. The man led her into the centre of the square, and she could feel Harlan’s eyes on her the entire time.
‘Name’s Col,’ the merchant shouted over the music, pulling Blake to him.
It was a little closer than the song required.
‘Blake.’
