“I’m begging you not to discuss my bodice.”
“Then stop putting all your feelings in it.”
Hob coughed into his beer.
Amelia closed her eyes. “I hate this household.”
“No, you don’t,” Edith said.
No. She didn’t. That was the problem. In fact, she loved the smoky hall and the badly behaved rushes, and the way the benches were never quite where they ought to be. She loved Wat’s solemn scowl and Alyson’s bright curiosity. She loved Hob’s sideways humor, Walter’s brittle devotion, Friar Huck’s honeyed theology, and Edith’s ruthless tenderness. She loved the autumn smell of apples drying near the hearth, the sound of rain against the shutters, the sight of Thomas in the yard with his cloak lifting in the wind and his whole body turned toward whatever needed protecting next.
She loved Ashcombe. And she loved him. Thomas Ashcombe, who thought himself a sword because swords were easier to understand than hearts. She loved his grim mouth and his gentleness with children, the terrible care he hid inside orders, the way he said her name. She loved the way he carried responsibility like armor that had fused to the bone.
Edith’s voice gentled, which was alarming in its own right. “You think making yourself smaller will keep him safe.”
Amelia looked down at the linen, at the uneven stitch where the needle had jumped. “Belmaine is going to use me.”
“Aye.”
“At some point, Thomas will have to choose.”
“He already did.”
“He chose today. Belmaine will come again with something worse.”
“Likely.”
“And if I’m visible, if I’m the faery lady, if people keep talking, then I become the easiest way to hurt him.”
Edith set her mending down. “You were visible the day you were found in the hay wearing a gown the size of a handkerchief and shoes fit for torturing chickens. We are somewhat past the point of making you ordinary.”
Amelia stared at her.
“What?” Edith asked.
“Shoes fit for torturing chickens?”
“They were pointed.”
“They were elegant and so pretty.”
“They looked like murder.”
“They cost three hundred and ninety dollars.”
“I know, a great deal of money, and each time you say it I am more certain it was foolish.”
Amelia pressed a hand over her mouth. The laugh escaped.
Edith looked satisfied. “There,” she said. “Better.”
Amelia drew a breath, then another. Across the hall, Thomas moved away from the mason and spoke to Hob near the hearth. His voice was low enough that she should not have heard it, but she had become unfortunately good at hearing his voice.
“Belmaine’s coffers run deep for a man living on honest rents.”
Amelia’s quill stilled as Hob grunted.
“He sits too near the old road,” Thomas continued. “Pershore to Worcester, then north for those with reason to ride that way. Great folk pass in autumn from feast to feast, and he has men enough to watch what goes by.”
