Drystan coughed to cover up his laugh.
“Who else knows?” her father asked. “Not your mother or me, but someone surely found you all out. That’s why you’re truly here, isn’t it?”
“No one. Not a peep to anyone,” she said. “Why Drystan only found out last night.”
Her father’s furrowed brows lowered. “I don’t understand.”
“I confessed it all to him, so no worries,” she said. “He does.”
“What did you confess to him?” her father said. “Is this a joke?”
“Yes,” Drystan said.
“No,” she said at the same time. When Drystan raised one brow, she whispered. “Are we a jest?”
A knowing curve to his lips, Drystan turned to her father. “Yes, and no.”
Standing again, all look of vulnerability gone, her father boomed, “Elizabeth, I demand an explanation.”
“I’ve loved him for years and years, but I only told him last night.”
“You…love him, and there’s been no compromise, no coercion?” Her father’s eyes narrowed as if he couldn’t believe it. Exhaling roughly, pinching the bridge of his nose, he said, “It’s been so many years since you’ve been mischievous, I almost forgot what it was like. I still don’t like it, Elizabeth. Not one bit.”
“Yes, Father.”
Drystan did laugh then.
Her father lowered his hand. “What’s so funny?”
“The fact you believe it’s been years since I’ve played a jest,” she answered quickly. “Why only last week, I was singing and rearranging mother’s prized plant pots, they’re all simply sticks anyway this time of year, so it’ll take her ages to separate the flower from the herbs. When Susan came in, I dropped one or two…perhaps three.”
Drystan’s mouth was tightly closed, but his shoulders were shaking. Her father, however, opened his mouth in shock. “Was she the one who tied knots in her hair?”
“The very one,” she said. “But I didn’t do that, it was only because—”
“I don’t think your father wants to know how Susan got knots in her hair,” Drystan said.
“Drystan’s been by your side all this time,” her father said. “How long has he been protecting you?”
“Forever.”
Her father sunk into his chair again. “With what?”
“All of it,” she said. “Everything. Since the time I could, he was there.”
Her father leaned his elbows on the desk, his thick fingers tapping, tapping. “He’s not the one who hit John’s head with the tackle, is he?”
The way her father looked at her now…it was as if he had never seen her before. It felt good. Almost as if there was a chance he’d stop comparing her to desserts or crops.
“That was me swinging a branch at John’s head, and he ducked…unfortunately.”
“Why?” he asked.
Drystan growled, but that was all he did. Good. It was her turn now to talk.
Her father noticed Drystan’s reaction, however, and his nostrils flared. “A father doesn’t want to hear the specifics, but if I had to guess, he deserved it.”
“He deserved more,” Drystan said.
