Pleasure sprung up in her chest. He was agreeing. And his requirements were more than reasonable.
For any man other than Evan, that was. She hated the thought of parading him before the entire village with his hands bound like a criminal’s. Maybe Evan’s only crime was stumbling upon the walls of Laurent. In truth, if she’d not seen him first, he might not be in this predicament at all.
This was the situation they had to deal with, though, and she was fairly certain he would submit willingly to the requirement. He’d proven himself far more forgiving than most men would be in his position.
Evan paused in his exercises when the outer bar on the door clanged. He’d finished the additional sketches of the inner workings of a cookstove, then attempted to wear off energy while he waited for news about the feast. With the exertion, he’d not heard Brielle’s steps in the hallway.
The door opened, and Brielle stepped inside, her regal beauty sending a surge through him. She had the ability to capture his breath with just the sight of her.
He had to wait for her gaze to do its usual sweep aroundthe room before she really looked at him. He tipped his head in a nod, then she turned her focus on the guard and closed the final steps to reach Philip.
“The chief is permitting me to bring our prisoner to the feast as long as he’s bound. So, no one will need to miss the festivities.” Her warrior expression softened as she looked at her fellow guard. “Go, attend with your family. Your wife will need help with the little ones.”
Philip’s solemn expression brightened with her words. He gave one of the first grins Evan had ever seen from him. “Thank you.”
With a nod to Evan—which Evan returned—the man strode to the door and slipped out. He was moving so fast, Evan was half surprised he stopped to shut the door.
Brielle finally turned to him and raised her brows. “Looks like you’ll get to meet everyone at last.” Her mouth tipped in the workings of what might have been a grin.
His heart lurched, maybe from the sparkle in her eyes, or maybe from the thought of seeing the entire village. He’d watched from a distance each day when he was allowed time outside. He’d seen the children playing, the women cooking outdoors when the sun shone, the men stretching hides or skinning game. They’d become real to him, this tight-knit community.
But he’d not had the chance to speak with anyone except his guards. He’d been held at a distance from them all. Would the feast be any different?
He moved a hand up to brush the coarse hair covering his jaw. Too bad they would see an unkempt version of himself.
“What’s wrong?” Brielle’s voice brought his focus to her. She was watching him with twin lines marring her brow.
He stroked the beard again. “I don’t usually let myself get this long.” He’d showed her his razor and strap when they were going through his saddle packs, but he hadn’t asked if he could use them. Allowing him use of the blade would likely violate the orders she’d been given.
She glanced toward his packs that had been placed against the wall where the guards usually sat. “Would you ... like to shave?”
His breathing stilled. “Are you certain?”
She looked back at him, her gaze saying she wasn’t sure at all. Maybe a bit of levity would help clear the worry from her eyes. “I’ll let you do the honors if you’d rather not let me hold the blade.” He was only jesting, of course. Mostly.
She shook her head, the certainty clearing all other emotion from her eyes. “You can do it.”
A smile spread through him. This offer showed more than anything the trust she was beginning to place in him.
He met her gaze, letting her see his earnestness. He would make himself worthy of her trust. No matter what that required.
Yet how could he prove trustworthy while keeping such a critical secret? Did he dare tell Brielle about the mineral he’d been sent to discover? If anything were to grow between them, he had to be honest with her.
But he couldn’t break the secrecy required of his mission. Even for Brielle.
18
Once Evan had settled on the fur with his shaving supplies spread around him, Brielle took her seat against the wall. Silence settled over them as he focused on his work, but the more time passed, the more tension tightened his arms and made his fingers clumsy. The only woman who’d ever watched him shave had been Sophia, but she’d never sat and openly stared at him the way Brielle was doing.
As he paused to wipe the shaving soap from his blade, he sent a smile her way. “I’m not accustomed to an audience.”
She raised her brows, and her mouth pressed into a pert line. But she didn’t say anything in answer.
He lifted the blade to his jaw again and peered into the metal jar lid he used as a mirror. “Am I doing it wrong?” If he kept prodding, maybe he’d get a word or two out of her.
“I’m usually hunting outside of village walls when my father does his shaving, so I wouldn’t know. I think you’re doing all right.” There was a response. And something in it struck him almost as sassy. As though she’d relaxed around him enough to tease.
He kept working without glancing at her again, pullinga steady swipe across his skin, then wiping the soap off the razor with the cloth. “I’ve always figured as long as I get the hair off without drawing blood, I’ve accomplished my goal.”
