“The Birch Cove elders wish to talk with you,” Ricard continued. “And the Lord Mayor of Octara and the heads of the Merchants Guild are asking questions about trade. A few others be wanting your attention as well.”
“Warna first, then Narthing,” Verice said. “We can set up a meeting for the others this afternoon.”
Ricard nodded his agreement. “I’ll try to hold them off.” He indicated a doorway where a cluster of men had gathered. “But they’ll not be satisfied just talking to me for long, m’lord.”
“They’ll have to be,” Verice snapped.
Ricard started, but covered it quickly. “Yes, m’lord.” He gave a quick bow of his head, and turned toward the group of men headed their way.
Verice grimaced, regretting his sharp words. His irritation lay with himself, not his people. But delaying this conversation with Warna would only make it worse. He quickened his pace, determined to face the consequences of his actions.
There were women gathered before the Third Barracks, with buckets, mops and cleaning cloths, all talking at once. They were wringing out rags, pouring fresh water, surrounded by soap bubbles, wet cobblestones and endless chatter.
Another group was a bit farther along, away from the damp, beating rugs and stuffing mattresses with fresh straw. Children ran in and out of their midst with handfuls of straw, throwing it at each other in a game.
Warna stood at the heart of the activity, her blonde hair caught up in a twist. She was wringing rags with the best of them.
He hesitated, not sure if he should—
She lifted her head, and turned toward him, as if she knew…
Her eyes found his unerringly, like an arrow to the heart.
For one long instant, Verice feared the worst. He caught the red heat on her cheeks, the confusion in her eyes as she dropped her gaze.
Pain sliced through his chest. He was in mid-stride, or else he’d stop where he was, not really wanting to face her.
He caught his breath when she looked up again, her eyes back on his. Was the barest trace of an embarrassed smile on her lips, a light of welcome in her eyes?
He kept walking toward her, half-afraid to hope.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The crowd of human women silenced as he approached and then all curtseyed, their faces solemn. There wasn’t a sense of happiness about them, not exactly. More a sense of contentment. Or satisfaction.
“Ladies.” His voice sounded rough even to his ears. “Warna, I’d speak with you, if you’ve a moment.”
Her blush was pink now, but the smallest of smiles was definitely in her gaze. “Of course, m’lord.” She stepped out of the shelter of the gathering and walked toward him. The women returned to their work, although Verice could feel their eyes upon him.
Warna approached him, the heat still on her cheeks. He turned slightly away, standing close, hoping to shield her from prying looks. He lowered his voice, “Warna, I—”
She reached out a hand, and touched his arm. He felt the heat of her fingers through the cloth. “For all my training,” she said softly, “I’ve no idea of the deportment required for this situation.”
Verice huffed out a breath, feeling his tension ease. “I confess that Elven Court etiquette offers no suggestions either.”
Warna chuckled and nodded, her head down. “So, I resolved to apologize for my inappropriate intrusion into your chambers. Except that…”
Her brown eyes darted to his, then she lowered her gaze to stare at the cleaning rags in her hands. Her lashes were dark against her skin.
Verice stepped closer. “Except that?
Her voice was the faintest whisper. “I don’t regret the—”
“Excuse me, Lord Verice, but—” One of the merchants was approaching.
Verice lifted his head, throwing the man a long look.
The man blinked and retreated. “Your pardon, m’lord,” was all he managed to stutter out.
