“Rare,” she observed out loud, “for strangers to extend such kindness.”
He only shrugged. “My family’s always believed in the greater good. Folks in hardship should look after one another.”
“Oh—” He snapped his fingers, remembering. “There’s a revel tonight. Food, drink, dancing. You should come.”
Her chest tightened. The thought of it—the crush of bodies, the laughter, the stares—made her skin prickle. She already felt stripped bare without her veil; the idea of thrusting herself into a crowded celebration…
“I’m not sure—”
“I know,” he cut in gently. “With your husband still missing, it must be hard. But it’s free food. A pint of lager. Could help.”
She forced a faint smile, though inside she recoiled at the thought of so many eyes fixed on her.
“I’d be honored to attend.”
“Grand,” Owin said with a grin. His gaze flicked over her muddied hem, the salt-stiff fabric of her dress. “My sister will likely lend you something clean. I can introduce you to the lot before we head over?”
More strangers. More words I don’t know how to say. Wonderful.
“That would be lovely,” Ilys replied evenly.
The lane wound down toward the cluster of stone cottages, roofs thick with thatch and smoke trailing faintly from a few chimneys. Owin led Ilys to one, its doorway set low beneath the eaves, and rapped his knuckles against the wood, firm but unhurried.
No answer. He knocked again, louder this time.
From within came a muffled curse, “Fucking hell. I’m coming!”
Owin flushed, the tips of his ears turning red. He shifted awkwardly, glancing at Ilys with a sheepish half-smile.
The door swung open to reveal a woman, broad-shouldered, her apron streaked with flour and ash. Stray curls of dark hair clung to her brow, and her sleeves were shoved up past her elbows. Her eyes, sharp and assessing, swept over Ilys from head to toe.
“So,” she drawled, one hand braced on the doorframe. “This is the married little thing that’s caught my brother’s eye.” Ilys stiffened, but before she could muster a reply the woman turned on her heel. “Well, don’t just stand there gawping. Come in.”
She led them into the dim warmth of the cottage, where the air was thick with peat smoke and the yeasty scent of baking bread. A round loaf cooled on the table, steam curling from its cracked crust.
“Don’t touch the food,” the woman said flatly. “It’s for paying customers. Owin tells me you’ve no coin.”
Ilys blanched, heat pricking her face. So much for Owin’s talk of hospitality. She hadn’t even looked at the bread.
“Kara,” Owin cut in quickly, “could you lend her one of your dresses for tonight?” At once, Ilys saw the shift in the woman’s posture, her shoulders stiff and jaw tight. Kara’s smile was sharp as a knife.
“Do you have any other requests for your sister? Lone mother to three hungry mouths? Perhaps I should fluff her pillows come morning too?” Her tone was all sugar; her eyes were ice.
Owin gestured Ilys toward a chair by the hearth. “Sit,” he directed, before following Kara through a side door, promising over his shoulder, “Just a moment.”
The words were muffled but heated, like sparks hissing in a banked fire. Then came silence, long enough for Ilys to shift uneasily, before Kara’s footsteps stomped deeper into the house and Owin’s tread returned.
“Sorry,” he said, lowering his voice. “The family had a rough go of it. Kara’s…a bit sensitive.”
“I don’t want to be any trouble,” Ilys promised quickly. “Please–”
He cut her off with a small shake of his head. “We lost our brother, and then her husband a couple years back. She can be hard to crack, but she’s happy to help. Truly.”
Just then Kara’s voice rang out from the back. “Bring the waif back. She’ll look a proper fool in my gowns with those wee titties of hers. I like mine with room for swinging.”
Owin closed his eyes and tipped his head back with a groan, half chuckle, half defeat. “I’m sorry,” he offered, exasperated.
Ilys couldn’t help a laugh. “Best deliver her these itty things, then.” She rose and followed the sound of Kara’s voice toward the back room.
