Page 49 of The Pumpkin Bride

She searched his face. Curse not knowing him longer—she could swear he was lying to her but had no proof.

With a sigh, she laid a linen over the bowl. “This is ready to rest.”

Unlike her mind. She eyed the shelves near the hearth. Had he truly read that line in a book? Perhaps, as she learned new skills around the farm, she could catch up on her reading.

Chapter 13

Bram sipped Marigold’s latest tisane—apple and rosemary—as he watched her through the windows. From the moment he’d injured himself, she’d dived into the routine chores of the small farm. After a week, it was as though she’d been born in the countryside instead of a castle. No hesitant opening of gates, wincing at splinters or the sudden puffs of steam from pots. She’d always been a confident woman, but the way she wore it here was more resplendent than any crown.

After finishing in the coop, she found him inside. “What else for today? Everything went quickly this morning.”

“How do you feel about apple picking?”

She grabbed his forearm. “Yes, please. I’ve been desperate to know what the rest of Grimroot Farm looks like. Is it far?”

“Not very. A half hour’s ramble.”

He’d intentionally stalled, suspicious that Crispin’s guard might circle back. But the week had been calm, and he sensed that Marigold might like to stretch her legs. She’d never lasted longer than a week in Thornwick Castle before plotting an adventure outside its thick walls.

Within the hour, after gathering the apple-picking bag and the ladder, they were in the orchard. Apples periodically thudded to the ground around them, and many of the previously fallen ones were half-eaten. Clearly Paloma had been here. Hopefully she hadn’t eaten too many of the ones that had gone soft.

A tipsy pig could be difficult to coax into a pen.

“Did you plant these trees?” Marigold asked as they strolled through the tidy rows. “They’re so orderly.”

The breeze fluttered the green-and-yellow leaves and carried with it a heady fermented scent from the fallen fruit. Within the enclosed orchard, there was a constant hum of eager insects, along with a chorus of cardinal, crow, and sparrow song.

“No.” He shook his head. “The previous owner did. From what I gather, he was the last of his family and the land reverted to Harvest Hollow after he died.”

At least, that was what Alfred had told him.

“How sad that he died here alone.” She clapped her hand over her mouth. “Sorry. Living on one’s own is admirable. My words get ahead of my brain sometimes.”

He hitched the bag he carried further up his shoulders. “No offense taken. It’s the way things have worked out so far. But I loved once, and I may yet take a wife.”

Unlikely. A suitable companion would need to stumble into his path without dashing away, screaming. But the worried flicker behind her eyes was too much to bear, so he broke his chivalric code and told the lie.

“Jask Bone-Cracker, I forgot! The deep true love from your palm.” Marigold bounced on her toes. “What’s her name? What happened? Please, I must know everything.”

Saints, how had he fallen into this trap? Second to Alfred, Marigold was the biggest gossip he knew. Never ill-intentioned—just relentlessly curious and searching for ways to be helpful.

“No, Marigold.” He stepped from the walking path and onto the sward, then paused in front of a tree laden with apples. “This one’s plentiful.”

Under the thick canopy of this tree, he felt sheltered with Marigold. The sun breaking through the foliage dappled her face, which was currently pinched in frustration.

“This is so unfair. I’ve told you so much about Bram.” She clasped her hands together. “I beg. One tiny crumb of a detail? Then I promise I’ll leave it.”

With a sigh, he withdrew the minimized ladder from the bag, then leaned it against the tree. “Can you do your magic?”

“Yes.” Marigold teased her middle finger against her thumb but did not snap. “As soon as you tell me something about your love. And you can’t cheat like that first night. I want something specific.”

“Now who’s being unfair?” he asked. “You can’t force a person to be indiscreet about their romances.”

“It’s very bad of me—that’s true.” With her chin resting on her fist, she nodded. “Spill.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and streamed a deep breath through his nose, then out through his mouth. Marigold would not relent. Not when she had that gleam in her eye.

“Fine, you win. My sweetheart doesn’t live here because I stupidly thought I could make a life for us elsewhere. During our time apart, another asked her to marry him. She said yes.”