Robin leaned back uncomfortably, her weight precariously close to the back of the bench.
Lind’s words were not surprising. Robin had guessed as much. Was that all?
“I couldn’t bear to think of returning to Lockwood,” Lind continued, her voice bitterly filling the space between them. “The silverreign frost always clutching at my fingertips.Boiling soup bones over and over, even after they have long since lost their flavor. I could never go back to that.”
“But then you moved to the manor,” Robin said. “It was mostly warm, and the soup was better. You know I would never let you go hungry again.”
Lind blinked furiously.
Robin followed her gaze to the wooden bowl of now-cold turnip mash. The familiar lumps and not-quite-white color made Robin’s throat twist uncomfortably.
“I’m sorry, Lady Robin,” Lind said. “I truly don’t want anything to happen to Humphrey.”
Robin shifted her cloak, unsure how to manage the warring emotions inside her. The kerchief of fresh buns still warmed the side of her leg.
Stealthily undoing the knot beneath her cape, Robin glanced around the room to ensure no one was watching. Then she slid a bun across the table, hiding it behind the bowl of unappetizing mush.
Lind’s eyes opened wide. She snatched the roll off the table, hiding it out of sight. “Thank you,” she whispered, her eyes still downcast.
“I’m sorry, too,” Robin said quietly as she stood from the table. She waited for a moment, but Lind never lifted her head. And Robin could think of nothing else to say. She left the kitchen once again.
Chapter 18
Stepping through the stable yard, Ian stopped to give Rowena a long scratch up and down her nose. “Not today, beautiful girl,” he said. “I cannot go riding into the capital city on the most recognizable mount in the kingdom. I have to keep my disguise for now.”
Rowena nudged his shoulder with her head.
“I will give you a long ride tomorrow,” Ian said.
He continued on into the stable, where Jette helped him saddle and mount the nondescript brown horse he had borrowed from Robin previously.
One thing had become abundantly clear as he’d reviewed the accounts with Bernard two days prior. Ilida’s stress about the lack of gold at Lockwood was entirely well-founded.
The moneylending program had survived for a time, but Robin’s big heart had stretched it far too thin. She needed to learn how to retain some of the coin for Lockwood itself. Perhaps build a larger forge, or a water-powered mill. Anything that would allow them to produce resources at a larger scale, resources that would be valuable enough to trade to other cities that did not have easy access to such things. Then, she could takethe gold she produced within Lockwood itself and help as many people as she pleased.
The road to Berwell was quite empty, but as he turned onto the larger route that led to the capital city, Ian lifted the hood of his cloak to hide his face from other travelers. Fortunately the thick wool served to both keep him warm and help to cool him from the glare of the sun, as it did for the rest of his ride.
Having learned from Robin about how to avoid notice, Ian left his horse at a sorry-looking stable on the outskirts of the city. He made his way through the capital on foot, avoiding the main streets, until he arrived at a familiar shop just down the street from the castle.
Pushing open the door, he stepped into a comfortable room filled with bolts of fabric and spindles of thread. Mistress Cedrice, the seamstress and proprietor, was attending to a wealthy middle-aged woman at the back of the shop.
Fortunately, Ian did not recognize the woman, but he turned quickly to inspect a bolt of fabric leaning against the wall to keep his face hidden.
“These adjustments will work wonders, my lady,” Mistress Cedrice was saying. “No one will notice that it is even the same dress. I promise you it will look entirely new.”
“Thank you,” the woman responded. “I knew you would be able to save me some coin. You are so skilled with a needle.”
“You are quite welcome, my dear,” Mistress Cedrice responded. “Everyone is asking for similar things these days.”
Ian waited for a few more minutes as the women continued to discuss the details of the dress and payment, until finally the other customer left the store.
He listened for the sound of the door fully closing, waiting to turn around and reveal himself.
“How can I serve you, Your Highness?” Mistress Cedrice spoke quietly, but her voice came from directly behind him.
Ian spun around. “How did you know?” he asked.
“I have fitted jackets and vests on those shoulders many a time,” the older woman said with a smile. “Follow.” She led the way to a small door on the back wall, inviting him into her home behind the storefront.
