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He tried touching the bruises on my wrists, and up to the scars on my inner arm. I gasped, backpedaling.
“Did someone hurt you?” he asked.
I couldn’t speak past the wedge in my throat.
“I’ll make a deal with you,” he said unexpectedly, running a hand through his thick, auburn hair. “Help me cook dinner for my workers tonight, and you can have as much food as you can carry for the rest of your journey.”
He offered his hand as if to shake mine and cement the offer. When I didn’t accept his gesture, he grabbed for my hand, but I jerked away.
“What if I throw in a nice, warm bed and a stable for your horse?” His tone was light and in stark contrast to his earlier mood. “Then you can be gone tomorrow.”
My chest warmed at his kindness. The rest of me… Well, my whole body buzzed from the way his eyes held me captive. But I doubted he’d even give me a second glance. I must have looked like a ragged mess with my uneven and messy hair.
Spine straight, I stood taller, contemplating his offer, unsure whether I should go with him. What if he tricked me and called the sheriff to collect me for stealing? They might send me straight back to certain death at the hands of my stepmother.
Of course, I wanted to run, but the old Snow said otherwise. She urged me to go with him, proposing that I’d never learn to trust again if I refused the generosity of a stranger.
That blind faith in a stranger, I told her,might get us killed.
She countered me with more rationale.Not everyone is out to hurt us.
That stung. Ever since my stepmother’s betrayal, the murder of my father, my imprisonment and torture, I’d lost the ability to trust anyone.
Hypocrite, the old Snow said.
She was right. Here I was following my horse to a bunch called the resistance who were supposed to protect me. That was blind faith. Why couldn’t I believe in this man’s good intentions, too?
Maybe the old Snow was right. Maybe she wasn’t. Either way, I conceded to her. I needed food because I could barely stand. But at the first sign of danger, I was out of there.
I nodded to the man.
With a warm smile, he left me glued to the spot, staring after him, admiring his broad shoulders and muscled forearms. The farm must have kept him active. By the look of him, I bet he lifted a lot of bags of tealeaves and was very active planting new trees. He picked some more berries, and upon his return, he dropped the gift into my palms. His eyes drilled into mine as if wanting me to say something.
“Thank you,” I said, clutching the berries to my chest. “But I warn you, I’ve never cooked before, and I hope I may still repay your hospitality.”
The man’s eyes squinted as if something I’d said alerted him. “Never cooked? That must mean you’re an aristocrat.”
Damn it. He was observant and clever. Something I liked in a man under normal circumstances, but not when I was trying to avoid bringing attention to myself.
After my escape, I couldn’t be too careful. What if the hounds and soldiers arrived with questions? Not that I was worried about them catching up to us. Thanks to the river’s rapid current, I estimated we had at least two days’ travel between us. By they time they arrived, my horse and I would be long gone. But dropping a few false clues would throw them off my trail.
“No, I worked in the fields with my brothers,” I said, giving some truth mixed with a lie.
My father and I had worked many a day in the fields, planting new trees, cutting down dead ones, fertilizing the orchards, harvesting the fruits. Unlike other wealthy farmer’s daughters in the region, I loved the feel of the soil between my fingers, the sight of it underneath my fingernails, the grit and sweat on my skin after a long day in the field.
“Worked in the fields,” the man said in a way that suggested he didn’t entirely believe my story. “And riding a fine stallion.”
Crap.He was onto me.
“Did you steal that, too?” he asked.
My facade came crashing down, and I’m sure he noticed my lips part, and my eyes widen.
Poseidon flicked his head as the man reached for my horse’s reins.
“No,” I said, snatching the leather from the man, suspicious he might try to take away the only thing left that I loved. “He was a gift from my father.” My voice shook as I said the words.
The man’s tight eyes softened with tenderness. “I’m sorry you lost your father.”
