She spun on him, her forehead lined with annoyed anger. Then her brow creased in concentration, and she cocked her head to the side as she studied his features. She suddenly let out a delighted gasp. “Finn!” She embraced him, squeezing tightly enough to lift him off the ground. “It’s good to see you, boy.” She set him on the floor and released him. “But you couldn’t have come at a worse time.”
The door bumped into Finn’s back, and a girl entered.
“Maria!” Agatha shouted. “Ale. Now.”
Maria blew a strand of brown hair from her forehead and bobbed a nod, hurrying past Finn.
Agatha set her hands on Finn’s shoulders. “You’ve grown, boy.”
She whirled as the stew over the hearth bubbled over the pot onto the fire beneath it, sending a plume of smoke hissing upwards. She let out a frustrated wail and clutched her head. “Now look what you’ve done! Stir, girl, stir.” She turned back to Finn. “Lady Arianna is in the storage room.”
Finn frowned, wondering what she was doing there.
“She was supposed to fetch me cinnamon, but that was a while ago.”
Finn headed down the stairs to the storeroom. A flicker of light shone from the partially open door. He eased it open and stepped inside. The smell of salt and spices filled the air from the stacked crates and barrels throughout the small room. But there was no sign of Ari. Finn scowled and glanced back up the stairs. Had Agatha been mistaken? Then he heard the rustle of clothing.
“Ari?”
She peeked around the side of one of the rows of wooden boxes. “What are you doing here?”
He walked toward her. “What areyoudoing?”
She sat behind the crates and ran a finger along the edge of one of the stones on the floor. “I came to get Agatha some spices.”
“Which she is still waiting for.” He paused, staring down at her. His gaze swept the furrow in her brow and her downturned lips. His heart ached at the uncertainty written on her face. There was a time when he had known her so well that she was a part of him, but the distance between them seemed like an insurmountable chasm now.
“I’m having trouble finding them,” she said but didn’t continue searching.
He glanced around the room and saw bags on one of the crates. One of the bags was opened, and rust-colored powder stained the outside. Finn looked at Ari again. “You’re hiding,” he observed, his tone gentle with no accusation in his voice.
She shifted her weight, her fingers skimming the intricate embroidery of the fleur-de-lys that adorned her dress. “Everyone is waiting for me. That wouldn’t be a very ladylike thing to do.”
Finn sat beside her, leaning back against a crate. “No, it wouldn’t.”
“I have responsibilities,” she admitted.
“Yes,” Finn agreed.
“I was just trying to help Agatha.” She looked at him with trepidation and guilt.
His heart twisted for the anguish in her gaze.
“Have you been in the Great Hall? Is it crowded?”
Finn nodded. “Yes.”
She dipped her chin to her chest. “Like wolves circling a lamb to slaughter.”
Finn’s jaw clenched in frustration. No matter how pompous they were, the nobles had titles and lands to offer her. He had nothing to give. He couldn’t help but feel bitter resentment at their privilege and status. Yet what right did he have to judge them? As he straightened his legs uncomfortably, Finn was torn between longing and loathing.
“You know, I don’t know most of them.” She shook her head. “I haven’t even been home for two days yet. It’s almost as if they were waiting for my return.”
“Some were.”
She closed her eyes and sighed deeply. Her hand quivered as she reached for his and twined their fingers together.
His hand enveloped hers, instinctively tightening. He wanted nothing more than to keep holding her, but at the same time, every voice in his head told him he should let go. Her skin was warm, and she clung to him almost desperately. “Did your father give you a gift when you returned?”
