He began making for the parlor, which usually had a fire going, all the while keeping his eyes open for any one of the servants.
The place was desolate, perhaps the servants had long since gone to bed.
“You’re very kind,” Lia mumbled. “The princess is a fool not to like you.”
Tyrell would have smiled, but considering the state Lia was in at the moment, he didn’t feel like he deserved the compliment.
He was about to reply when he spotted a maid carrying a mop and bucket at the end of the hall.
“Miss!” he called.
She set the bucket down and scurried over. “What’s happened, my lord?” she asked, observing the wilted figure in his arms.
He explained about Lia getting caught in the storm and then his mind rushed as he tried to think of how he could tell this maid why Lia couldn’t go back to her room without causing yetmorescandal and gossip.
“Um, Princess Tavia . . . is really not herself at the moment,” he tried. “Lia doesn’t want to disturb her. Can you perhaps make up a separate room?”
“I won’t be but a moment,” the maid answered.
The parlor was right around the corner and as Tyrell suspected, there was a fire in the hearth. Relief washed over him when he noticed a sofa just beside it. He couldn’t admit this, even to himself, but his arms were starting to ache.
When he leaned down to set Lia on the sofa, she seemed to stick to him somehow.
Glancing down at her face, he wondered if she had fallen asleep in his arms—her eyes were closed and her head was snuggled into his chest.
“Um, Lia,” he whispered. “I’m putting you down now.”
Somehow, that made her stick to him even more.
Awkwardly, he shimmied to his knees, and finally managed to push her onto the waiting couch. Blood rushing back into his arms came as a welcome relief.
“Thank you, m’ lord,” she mumbled without opening her eyes.
“It’s alright,” he answered. Then, probably from the stress of the situation, he flushed.
Finding a throw on a nearby chair, he covered her in it. Then, made up his mind to get them both something to drink while they waited for the maid to return.
What was that strong drink folks used to treat a chill? Brandy or mead?
Not that Tyrell needed any. Somehow, he was feeling warm all over and his heart was racing in his chest. Perhaps he already had a fever, or maybe he was just recovering from the direness of the situation. What a day they had!
10. A New Plan
The idea of breakfast in bed had never really appealed to Lia. The thought of getting crumbs in her sheets made her squirm. So when the kindly maid who readied her room the night before offered it, she politely declined, got dressed and wandered down to the kitchen where one of the cooks, a plump mother-hen type of woman named Abigale, fixed her up with an egg and toast.
Lia poked at the food on her plate without really seeing it. She kept wondering where Tavia was . . . probably a hundred miles out to sea by now.
The entire castle staff had somehow noticed that Lia was left behind and, as she attempted to eat, Abigale was fuming on her behalf.
“It’s deplorable,” she insisted. “You’ve practically served her since birth! She can’t just cast you off like that!”
“She isn’t herself,” Lia mumbled. Part of her wanted to forget all about the princess. Afterall, Tavia had made her decision and could live with the consequences. She was a maid and she had been dismissed.
But then she would remember the two of them racing around the garden together as children, jumping on the beds, gettinginto trouble one way or another. She had always been more than a maid to Tavia and they both knew it. Those happy memories only served to make Lia more furious about her dismissal, and yet, they also made her care more than she liked about Tavia’s safety.
Tavia was not acting like herself, and Lia could not—would not—simply wait when her friend needed her most.
“There you are!” came Tyrell’s chipper voice as he appeared in the doorway. “Feeling better?”
