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A corner of his mouth kicked up. He was only in shirtsleeves now. “Helen, lass, dinna fret.”
o;Steady,” he murmured. The line was jerking through the water in circles. “He’s wearing himself out, that fish of yours. You’re bigger, stronger, and smarter, too, than the fish. All you have to do is wait him out.”
“Shouldn’t you help her?” Mrs. Halifax asked.
“She hooked the fish,” Sophia said stoutly. “She can land it, too, never you fear.”
“Aye, she can,” Alistair said quietly. “She’s a brave lass.”
Abigail’s face was set in determined concentration. The line was moving more slowly now.
“Don’t let go your hold,” Alistair said. “Sometimes one fish is a wee bit smarter than the rest of his family and pretends to be tired, only to jerk the pole from your grasp.”
“I won’t let go,” the little girl declared.
Soon the movement slowed to nearly a stop. Alistair reached out and caught the line, swiftly lifting a sparkling fish from the water.
“Oh!” Abigail breathed.
Alistair held up the fish, flopping on the end of the line. It wasn’t the biggest fish he’d ever seen, nor was it the smallest. “A very fine trout indeed. Wouldn’t you agree, Sophia?”
Sophia solemnly inspected the catch. “The finest, I declare, that I’ve seen in quite some time.”
Abigail’s cheeks tinged a faint pink, and Alistair realized she was blushing. Pretending he hadn’t noticed, he caught the fish and, kneeling, showed her how to remove the hook from its mouth.
She watched intently and then nodded as he placed her fish with the others in the basket. “I’ll do it myself next time.”
And a strange emotion welled in his chest, so foreign that it took him several seconds to identify it: pride. Pride in this prickly, determined child.
“Yes, you will,” he said, and she grinned at him.
And over her head, her mother smiled at him as if he’d handed her an emerald necklace.
Chapter Nine
Truth Teller turned to the monster’s cage, and there already lay the woman.
He walked close to the bars and asked, “Who are you?”
The woman drew herself wearily to her feet and spoke. “I am the Princess Sympathy. My father is the king of a great city to the west. I lived in halls of crystal, wore clothes woven from gold and silver, and had my slightest wish granted.”
Truth Teller frowned. “Then why—?”
“Hush.” The lady leaned forward. “Your master is coming. He has caught the swallows, and if he finds you talking to me, it will anger him.”
And Truth Teller had no choice but to go inside the castle, leaving the lady caged. . . .
—from TRUTH TELLER
By that afternoon, Helen was wishing she could take a nap. Abigail and Jamie didn’t seem at all tired from their early morning adventure. In fact, they’d eagerly accompanied Miss Munroe and Miss McDonald on an expedition to go hunting for badgers. Helen, however, was yawning as she climbed the stairs to Sir Alistair’s lair.
She hadn’t seen him since morning. He’d been closeted in his tower all this time, and she’d just about run out of patience. What had he meant by those kisses? Had he simply been playing with her? Or—awful thought!—had he lost interest after tasting her twice? The questions had nagged her since that morning until she felt she must find the answers.
Which was perhaps why she carried some tea and scones to him now.
The tower door was partially ajar, and instead of knocking, she simply leaned her shoulder against it and pushed. It opened silently. Sir Alistair sat at his accustomed table, oblivious to her presence. She stood and stared. He was drawing something, his head bent to the paper in front of him, but that wasn’t what had caught her attention.
He drew with his maimed right hand.
