Page 17

Now that’s a tragedy…

“I adore her...”

I was just thinking the same thing…

Violet muses, smiling down at the baby. “Do you think they would let me keep her?” She turns to me, her eyes glistening like the sun on the ocean, sadness and hope just beneath the surface. I slip my arm over her shoulder, but before I kiss her, she turns away, looking back down at the baby. “Never mind… Even if they would let me, I don’t have a safe place for her to live.” I swallow. I’ve been working on getting to Richard; he’s at the top of my personal list. The guy is rarely secluded enough to grab, though. And while he is still a pawn, he’s important enough to have assigned guards.

“How bad is it?”

“I don’t wait around to find out… I leave dinner waiting and hope it’s enough to keep him from coming to me. Legally, I have to be there, unless Pru invites me to stay at the manor. Once he gets home, I turn off my light, then sneak out the window like some teenager and go stay with Dean.”

Dean…

Dean’s the best friend a guy could ask for. He’s also the only other person whom I honestly believe could steal Violet’s heart from me.

Taking a breath, I loop the reins around the rail. I angle myself to Violet, gently grab her jaw, and turn her to me. “What do you do with Dean?” I say, pressing my thumb to her lower lip and dragging it down to her chin.

“We sleep… Does it matter?” She drops her head and brushes her lips over my fingers, leaving a peck on my thumb before looking back up at me.

“Yes, it matters… Why would you go to him and not me?”

“He offered… I’ve been staying with him for years at this point.”

My stomach twists. Years… I’m not about to stop her from staying somewhere safe, but I will find a way for that safe place to be with me. I need to find a way to get her into the manor.

Pulling Violet to lean on me, I look out. The sun casts lavender and steel blue over the mountains and the road ahead. Aurelia sits within the valley of those mountains. One more night, another day of travel, and we will be there.

When I look at Violet and the little girl who has grown on both of us, I know I’m not ready for this to end.

Grabbing the reins, I turn off onto the side road that leads to the rest stop. Once there, I unhitch the horses and get them situated at the post. Then I get a fire going for the girls and set up the pot crane to start dinner.

Violet steps out of the caravan, her white and lavender floral cotton dress swaying with each step. The baby is held securely against her chest in a mustard yellow wrap. She’s carrying a tray with a bowl, a dish of flour, yeast, salt, and water. “I thought I would make us some bread tonight,” she says as she sits down on the bench by the fire. I burn this image into my brain for later. Given the right paint and brush strokes, this is my own version of a Monet.

I watch Violet knead away at the bread dough while I start peeling the vegetables for the potage. That’s when I catch it, the purple embroidered A on the baby’s wrap.

“Aria…”

“Aria?” Violet meets my gaze.

“The A on the wrap… Every baby needs a name. What do you think?” I pour water into the pot hanging from the crane, then drop in the vegetables, beans, and rice. Violet smiles down at little Aria.

“It’s perfect.”

A distinct squeal and hiss of a grouse prick my ears. I slide my hatchet through my belt loop, sheath my knife, then grab my bow and quiver from the caravan.

“Where are you going?” Violet says, grabbing my hand. I look down and meet her gaze; her brow is pinched together as she looks over my face.

“I’m checking the perimeter for some birds. You won’t be out of my sight,” I reassure her. Leaning down, I run my fingers along her jawline, then I move until I can grab a fistful of her hair and pull her in for a kiss. Violet sucks in a shallow breath through her nose and jumps, just enough for me to notice. She acts surprised every time I kiss her. “I’ll be right back.”

Turning on my heel, I nock an arrow as I walk toward the birds. The rest area has about enough space for four campsites, nothing too big, but just enough space from me to Violet to leave me feeling uneasy as I reach the perimeter. I slow down, walking toe-heel as I approach the tree line.

The birds flush. Three. Four. Five sets of wings shoot from the bushes. I raise my bow to bag one, then a shadow catches the corner of my eye in the woods, one step, two.

My stomach tightens... There’s a voice from camp.

“That baby yours?” A deep, raspy voice registers, and I spin back to face camp. Arrow drawn, I don’t wait; I let the arrow fly—throat strike.

Dropping my bow, I grab my hatchet in one hand and my knife in the other, and pivot on my heel. Clashing with the shadow from the woods, his blade comes down, slicing my forearm.