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I stop eating, but Aedre forges ahead.

“My father is overprotective because of it. But I’m grateful for his love. And for my grandmother.”

Not knowing what to say, I finish the stew in silence. Not an awkward silence, but a companionable one, shared by two people who know the pain of not having a complete family.

The crack of thunder reminds me of being with her in that cave. The desire to reach out and touch her is nearly overwhelming.

When the serving maid takes away my bowl and slams down a tankard of ale, apologizing for it slipping from her hand, Aedre and I exchange a glance.

“’Tis still raining,” I comment.

“Aye.”

“Can you stay or will your father worry?”

I refill my mug, waiting for her to answer.

“He will know I’ve taken shelter. I can stay.”

I still don’t move.

“Do you want to stay? The other day you said you no longer wished to see me.”

I’ve thought of nothing else these past few days—the glances Aedre stole when she didn’t think I was looking, the feeling of connection we had, and the way she left me in that cave without a backward glance.

A woman like no other.

“I said ’twas not necessary for you to retain my services.” Aedre nods to the mug. “Nothing more.”

I fill her mug, hope swelling inside me.

Perhaps I should feel guilty for enjoying myself so thoroughly with Meria on the verge of collapse, but I push such ominous thoughts aside.

I may not have time for a woman such as Aedre back at d’Almerita, but for the few days I remain in Murwood End? I savor the thought of more pleasant conversations with this extraordinary woman.

Even if I’d prefer much, much more.