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Chapter Four

Aedre

Ishould walk away.

We are healers, little one. Healers of the heart.

My grandmother taught me of love and attraction. When our ancestors’ remedies are needed, and when they are not. She taught me to trust myself, trust the knowledge of my ancestors and to pass on the belief in oneself to every person who will listen. Against my father’s wishes, she taught me enough to know that Lord d’Abella is dangerous to me, however much I hold him in contempt for his association with the king.

There’s no denying the way my heartbeat quickened when I first saw him earlier today. Or my excitement at finding him near the docks.

Both are signs of attraction. So I know better than to be standing here on the dock, trading barbs with him. And yet . . .

“What are you doing here?” I ask again. It’s been many years since the king sent men to Murwood End, and though we trade often with both Meria and Edingham, its nobles rarely visit our shores. Except for one reason.

“I am not at liberty to discuss it.”

He acts exactly as I’d expect a member of the Curia would.

No, not just any member. A commander. Skilled in battle, loyal to the king, not a man to be trifled with. But I’ve never been one to follow rules.

“Not at liberty?” I freeze when he takes a step toward me.

Aware of the looks we’re getting, I hold my ground. Although most of the Voyagers wear mail hauberk and chausses as he does, his brightly colored tunic, emblazoned with the Merian coat of arms, clearly marks him a Southerner. Fine fabrics for a fine lord.

“I make you nervous?”

Oddly, no.

I shake my head. “Curious”—for more reasons than I’m willing to name—“but not nervous.”

That seems to surprise him.

“I’ve not met a maid like you before, Aedre.”

“There you are,” a familiar voice says as footsteps hustle toward us.

Damnation. Not now. Not him.

“Your father bid me find you.”

Agnar sidesteps a fisherman passing in the opposite direction, his gaze never leaving the commander. I’ve no more desire to introduce the two than I do to leave and return to the forge and inform my father about this discussion.

But I need to.

Nothing occurs in Murwood End in secret. From nobles and captains to freemen and fishermen, all will know of this conversation between the king’s man and me.

“My father can wait,” I inform Agnar, who looks at me as if he’s tempted to snatch me away at this very moment. Eyeing the commander suspiciously, he introduces himself.

“Agnar Haroldson.”

Lord d’Abella does not flinch at the clipped introduction.

“Lord Vanni d’Abella.”

I roll my eyes at their display, unable to say which of them puffs their chest out more than the other. Agnar, despite my having told him many times over the years we are more akin to brother and sister than husband and wife, asks for my hand often. Thankfully, it’s been some time, however, and he’s been lately spotted with the miller’s daughter.

It would be a good match. Both of them are kindhearted and pleasant to look at, and their children would come into the world blessed in many ways. If they marry, I will be happy for them.