Page 80 of A Bluestocking’s Secret Courtship

The boys dashed away as soon as their mother released them.

“Now it’s your turn,” Evangeline said.

Kiya blushed and shook her head.

“I promised Menar. Please, I would love to draw you. Why don’t you sit by the fire?”

Kiya did as directed. Sunlight fell over her, and she closed her eyes, lifting her face toward the warmth.

“Lovely,” Evangeline said, her hand already flying over the page. “Stay like that.”

Kiya was a much more cooperative subject, and Evangeline was pleased with the final results. Kiya gasped when she saw it and insisted Evangeline follow her as she showed it to her neighbors.

Evangeline basked under their praise, though she couldn’t understand their words, and she readily agreed to draw their families, too. Her charcoals were nearly gone, and the sun was setting when Kiya announced it was time to join the men at the feast.

On the way, Evangeline glanced sideways at Kiya. “May I ask a question?”

Kiya nodded.

“You speak English very well. How did you learn?”

The other woman laughed. “Menar. Nekara teach lower chiefs. He teach me.”

“Interesting. Do you know French, Spanish, or Italian?”

“Oui. Si. Si. Only little. Too Deutsch and al-Arabiyya.”

“Arabic?”

Kiya nodded.

“I’m impressed.”

Near the center of the camp, the sky glowed orange as sparks swirled into the air like fireflies. In the clearing, a massive bonfire crackled, its heat chasing away the evening chill. She spotted Jonathan on the other side of the fire. He had also changed clothes and his frame drums were propped against the side of a tent. He came to meet her. Menar was on his heels.

“The First Matron has invited us to join her table,” he said, holding out his arm.

She accepted his escort; her stomach filled with butterflies. The true test was coming.

Nekara gestured for them to sit across from her as they neared. Kiya approached to whisper in her ear. Nekara nodded, and Kiya sat beside her. With keen eyes, the First Matron regarded Evangeline across the table.

“My people are pleased with your drawings.”

Kiya smiled at her. Perhaps they had passed the first phase of Nekara’s test. Evangeline bowed her head in reverence.

“Thank you, First Matron. It was my pleasure.”

“Many of them will never have a portrait, and you have blessed them.”

Jonathan squeezed her hand beneath the table.

“I only hope my drawings do them justice,” she said.

Nekara reached for a fig from the long wooden platter in the middle of the table. “Eat,” she said. “We will have full bellies for your husband’s performance.”

Evangeline could barely swallow past the lump in her throat, but if Jonathan was nervous, he never showed it. His hand was steady as he drank the wine, his voice friendly and strong as he answered Nekara’s questions and chatted with Menar. Beneath the table, he held onto her hand, even as hers grew damp with worry.

At the end of the meal, he stood and helped her up, lifting her hand to his lips to graze a kiss across her knuckles.