“Mmhmm. It’s not hard to see how Norditchman could be shortened to Dutchman over time.”
“I guess that’s true.” She set the spyglass down and glanced at him. His muscles were tense and rigid, though his face held no sign of discomfort. “What about the flying part?”
He shrugged. “My conjecture is that someone likely saw his ship approaching in the fog or some other form of bad weather and an optical illusion occurred. Or perhaps the story just became so sensationalized as it was passed on that it was just accepted that he was flying. Or even a little of both. The more a story is passed along from person to person, the harder it becomes to separate fact from fiction.”
Sienna turned fully to squarely face him, wrapping her arms around her middle to stem the temptation to slide them around his and step into his arms. “Have you ever seen him?”
A shadow crossed in front of his face. “Several times.”
That’s it? Give me more to go with than that, Casp!
“And…?” she prompted.
He raised an eyebrow. “And what?”
“And, did he actually fly? What was he like? Did he terrorize the Johns? Did Jem give him advice from his dear old Mormor?”
“Why are you so invested?”
“Just curious.” She loosened a hand long enough to poke him in the arm. “So?”
Casper sighed and shoved a hand through his hair. His gaze turned to the window and the dark sea beyond. “Jem would give Mormor’s advice to anyone he met, regardless of legend status. The Johns are not easily terrorized, and men from Norditch as a rule are unable to fly.”
She couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of her. The answer was just so…Casper. Delivered with the same dry tone that she had heard him dish out to Jem on so many occasions,the information was exactly what she asked for, nothing less and nothing more.
Except.
“What about my second question? What was he like?”
Casper’s eyes slid from the view back to her.
“He was hopeless.”
Chapter fifteen
The Midwinter Festival
Sienna
Sienna stood in the corner and looked around the common room of Nivem’s largest inn, taking in the full effect of the efforts of the Midwinter Festival committee. A large pine tree stood in one corner of the room, its branches looped with cranberry garlands and strings of popped corn. Tiny candles sat among its branches, no doubt spelled to protect the pine needles from catching flame, even as the head from the tiny fires warmed the natural oils in the tree and carried its scent throughout the room. Garlands and ribbons were strung from the rafters and along the walls, with big red bows in place to hide the hooks and nails that kept them from falling. Arrangements of red poinsettias and fir branches adorned the tables on oneside of the room, and wreaths dotted with red holly berries hung over the windows.
She stood by the long buffet table while she waited, kept company with the scents of smoked turkey and ham, fresh bread, and oranges. The smell of sweet and spicy gingerbread drifted over to her from the desert table, where Devri stood and beamed at all who came by to study the house she had made from the cookie. Sienna smiled and sipped at her mulled cider, appreciating the warmth as it slid down her throat.
“He’s not going to know what to do with himself.” Jem’s voice at her side nearly caused her to jump. He joined her against the wall and gestured to her dress. “Devri’s ‘unexpected emergency,’ I assume?”
Sienna blushed and ran a hand down the dark green velvet. “Is it that obvious?”
“That she knows what she’s doing? Yes. You look lovely, Enna.” Jem’s warm smile helped put her nerves at ease.
“You don’t think it looks like I’m trying too hard?”
“I think it looks like you’re trying just the right amount. But, for what it’s worth,” he leaned in, his voice lowering so as not to be overheard, “I don’t think you would even have to try as far as Casp is concerned. He can hardly keep his eyes from trailing after you across a room, even when he wants to.”
She frowned. “Why would he want to?”
He sighed heavily, and his shoulders bowed as if under a heavy weight. “Because Casper has a very hard time allowing himself to believe that he could ever be worthy of the type of selfless affection that love entails. He clings to guilt like a comfortable blanket and refuses to let go, punishing himself instead for a mistake that was made in ignorance years ago.”
“You’re speaking about the incident with the investor from Hollander’s?”
