Page 75 of His Forsaken Bride

“It’s fine,” Fen assured him.

Bryce hurried over and peered at Fen’s wrist. “I shall fetch a poultice of chicory and nutmeg,” he said tutting. “For ‘twill counter any swelling.”

“It’s not swollen at all,” Fen protested trying to draw her hand back, but her husband held it fast. “Indeed, you are making quite a fuss about nothing.” She gave an uneasy laugh.

“Thank you, Bryce,” said Oswald with a nod and his assistant hurried away to fetch the poultice. Oswald drew her hand through his arm and led her toward his desk. “You wanted to speak to me?” he said, drawing out a chair and depositing her into it as thoughtfully as if she were an old, infirm woman. To Fen’s disquiet, instead of rounding the desk to take his seat, he propped himself against the desk so he was right in front of her and looking down at her.

Fen cleared her throat. “’Twas nothing, I just thought I would see if I could remember where your room was…” she trailed off wretchedly. When he said nothing, she peered up at him and found him steadfastly regarding her. “You took off so abruptly this morning,” she blurted. “I suppose I wanted to see if you were well, and naught was amiss.”

He seemed to consider this a moment. “There’s always some crisis,” he admitted with a shrug. “That needs my urgent attention.”

“Of course,” she said, starting to rise out of the chair. “I’ll just make myself scarce so you can-”

“No,” he interrupted her with a frown. “That’s not what I meant. I was trying to explain.”

Fen sat back down in her seat. “I shouldn’t have interrupted you,” she said, gazing around the room. Anywhere rather than at her perceptive husband’s gaze. Her eyes fixed on the wall hanging on the far wall and she blinked remembering a secret passageway.

“I did wonder if you’d remember that,” said Oswald. His voice sounded rueful.

Fen jumped. Were her thoughts really so transparent? “I – um, well I was half asleep…”

“You were dead on your feet,” he corrected her. “I shouldn’t have left you.”

The words hung in the room, and Fen told herself not to attach more import to them than he’d intended. He meant that night she’d cried herself to sleep after seeing Ambrose re-married. Not the night she’d cried herself to sleep all those years ago when her father had told her their betrothal was at an end. “So there really is a hidden walkway behind it,” she said aloud. Even to her own ears, her voice sounded husky with emotion. She needed to pull herself together.

“Would you like to see?” he asked, startling her.

Her eyes flew to his, he looked deadly serious.

“Really?”

He nodded.

“Does it run all the way through the castle?” she asked, rising from her chair.

“The older parts of it.”

She felt rather than heard him follow her across the room. He really was very light on his feet. She stopped by the curtain, tracing the faded depiction of the twisted vines. “This is rather dreary,” Fen observed. “Maybe Lady Martindale and I should weave you a new one?” she suggested.

“But the last thing I want to do is draw attention to it,” he pointed out to her with a twisted smile.

“Maybe a moral exhortation against curiosity?” she joked as she lifted the curtain. The door did not seem to have a handle.

“That could work,” he conceded lazily and reached up behind her to press the top corner. The door sprang open.

Fen peeped around it but all she could see was a shadowy passageway. She shivered at the blast of cold air which hit her.

“Shall we go out?” he suggested in a low voice.

Fen craned her head to look over her shoulder at him. “Where to?” she whispered, wide-eyed.

“Aphrany.”

“Can we?”

“Why not?”

“But what about – I mean, do you have you the time?”