I’d never heard of cranberry, but I’d had an orange once before. Father brought one home after he and Merrick met a traveling merchant in the next town over. He’d peeled and sectioned it carefully, giving us each two small slices. I remembered how the juice stung the splits in my chapped lips and made my cheeks pucker. It was unlike anything I’d had before or since.
“I’ll take two,” I said.
Rosie’s skirt fanned out as she spun and retrieved a piece of brown paper from the back of the booth. She set a pair of muffins on it side by side, then carefully wrapped them before tying off the bundle with a piece of twine.
Those I carried, too afraid they would end up smashed if I put them in my pack. After paying Rosie, I thanked her, said goodbye, and made my way back to the cottage.
Pushing through the front door, I was equally excited and nervous to show Kit my haul. I found him perched on the edge of the couch cushions, looking more alert than I’d last seen him but no more at ease. He held a tin coffee cup almost to his lips, staring through the faint steam it raised.
The sack slid off my shoulder and hit the floor with a thud that betrayed its substantial weight.
Kit cocked his head and gave me an appraising once-over like he hadn’t seen me all day every day for two weeks.
“The market’s nice.” I closed the door and stepped forward to set the wrapped muffins on the table like an unspoken apology for spending so much of his coin.
He reached for the bundle, untying it and peering at the contents.
“They’re orange cranberry,” I offered, which proved more encouragement than he needed to grab one and take a bite.
“Looks like lunch to me,” he said around a mouthful.
A grin tugged at my lips, and I bent to rifle through the sack until I found the bottle of whiskey. Pulling it out, I held it aloft, watching sunlight beam through the golden amber liquid. “You asked for this earlier…”
Kit looked up, and I could have sworn I saw a weight drop off of him. He abandoned the muffin and stood, snatching the bottle from my hand. Dropping back onto the sofa, he bit down on the cork and yanked it loose, then held it between his teeth as he tipped the whiskey into his coffee cup.
The two liquids mingled in a combination I couldn’t imagine would be appetizing, but Kit didn’t hesitate. He flicked the cork onto the table before lifting the tin mug and doing his best to consume its contents in as few swallows as possible.
I stood by, considering helping myself to the other muffin. About the time I reached for it, Kit finished guzzling and set the cup on the coffee table.
He looked like he had something to say, and my mind raced with possibilities. Was he upset about what I’d done with the journals? Mad that I’d taken his coin purse without permission? Or was he thinking about how I’d slipped my arm around him, taking advantage of his sleep-deprived state to satisfy my own selfish desires?
Kit refilled his cup with whiskey and sipped it slowly as he stared at me. “What exactly does your brother do in the militia?”
The tension building in me rapidly unwound, and I huffed a breath. “I’m not sure.” I shrugged. “He says he’s in line to become Ward Commander. He’s stationed a few wards away from ours.”
“And he’s gone quite often?” Reaching over, Kit broke a chunk off the muffin and popped it in his mouth.
“Constantly,” I replied. “I thought he might come home after Father fell ill and take up his responsibilities on the farm, but he said his loyalties were with the militia.”
Specifically, Merrick had denounced my mother and verbally disowned Sayla and me, claiming the farm and everything about it was in his past and he intended to leave it there. Father was heartbroken over it, but his protest only made Merrick angrier. The fit he threw reminded me of the times in my youth when he’d pinned me to the bed and screamed in my face, his voice so loud it left my ears ringing.
He’d berated Father that way, looming over his frail form and shouting until I’d stepped between them and shouted back.
My cheek throbbed at the memory of Merrick’s fist cracking into it, knocking me off my feet. He’d always been bigger than I was. Stronger, too. But mostly meaner.
I looked at Kit and found him chewing while swirling the liquor in his cup.
“Why the questions about Merrick?” I asked. “You don’t usually like it when I talk about him.”
Rather than answer my inquiry, Kit responded with a statement of his own. “You said he went back on rotation right before your father’s body went missing.”
I frowned. “Yes. What of it?”
“How long before?”
Thinking back made my brow furrow. “I don’t know. A day? Maybe two?”
Kit pinched off another piece of muffin and held it up for inspection. The coarse sugar across its crusted top glittered in the light. “And you didn’t find that at all suspicious?”
