Miles sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, Graden.”
Graden shook his head, watching Ella move out of the Great Hall and into the kitchens. “Don’t be. I can’t blame her.”
“I do.”
“Don’t. I don’t want to come between your sister and you.”
Miles shook his head as his fist tightened around his mug of wine. “She’s just being stubborn.”
“She feels betrayed by our friendship, I’m sure. She wasn’t with us at Agincourt. Remember how you felt when you first saw me in the king’s army.”
Miles consented with a humored nod. “How can I forget? I wanted to pound you into the ground.”
Graden nodded and placed a piece of bread into his mouth. He twirled the rose between his fingers.
“But that passed,” Miles admitted.
“After I saved your life. I haven’t had to do that for your sister yet.” Graden replaced the rose in the vase. “I’ll talk to her.”
Miles snorted in surprise. “You’re likely to end up with a spade in your eye.”
“It would be better than the pile of shit you left in my mattress.”
Miles snorted in laughter and his food sprayed from his nose across the table. “But quite a bit more painful!”
Graden rose and patted Miles on the shoulder before pausing. “Where did she learn of the Zoroastrian text?”
Miles shrugged. “She reads a lot.”
Surprised, Graden gained new appreciation for Ella. Reading was something he had not expected her to do. He looked forward to speaking with her. If she didn’t stab him with a spade.
Ella bent over, pulling the weeds that threatened to choke her beloved rose bushes. She enjoyed taking care of the plants because she loved the way they bloomed and came to life. Sometimes, though, ripping the stubborn weeds from the ground helped to alleviate some of the aggravation she felt. Like now. She used a small shovel to help dig out the weeds, careful to avoid the roots of the rose bush.
Dumount had managed to make breakfast tense and uncomfortable. She had hoped that by dining late she would have missed him. That had not happened. She yanked another root from the ground and placed it into the pile beside her. She wished it was his throat.
She spotted a weed near the back of the rose bush by the castle wall and reached for it. Her hand scraped against the rose bush and a thorn scratched her skin. She pulled her hand back and saw the ragged red line on her skin. The sting started immediately.
“Are you hurt?”
She whirled, surprised at the sound of his deep voice. When she saw him standing beside her, she clenched her teeth. Must he follow her even here, to her sanctuary? Her lips thinned, and she turned back to the rose bush. She bent forward, determined to reach that weed.
“You should use gloves. It would help protect against the thorns.”
Ella wanted to bang her head against a stone wall. “I’m not afraid of the thorns.” She reached farther, bending forward, stretching, almost reaching the weed with the very tips of her fingers.
“I’ve seen the smallest of wounds kill the strongest of men.”
She sat back, empty handed, furious. “And I’ve seen the dullest of blows kill my brother.”
That got him to close his mouth.
Ella turned to him, looking at him over her shoulder. She regarded him with a cool demeanor. His dark hair fell to his broad shoulders. Her gaze moved up over his square, strong jaw, past a slash for his lips, and beyond a strong straight nose to his eyes. Deep blue eyes stared back at her steadily. He was not the young man she had heard tell of all those years ago. They had told her he was a brash, foolish man with nothing to lose. But somehow, even then, he had won the sympathy of the sheriff. Why? How did he manage to imbue trust in him to all he met? If she truly cared to find that answer, she could figure it out. But she didn’t. “Why did you come here?”
“Miles is a friend. He asked me to stop here on the way home.”
“I meant here to the gardens.”
“Oh.” He took a step toward her. “I just want you to know…” He bowed his head. “I’m not asking for your forgiveness.”
