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Done with her.
Good riddance. She didn’t believe a word he said. Didn’t believe he had nothing to do with the fire. She had seen the documents—seen the caveat to the purchase that the lands had to be free and clear of all tenants.
Except…
Except he had looked truly dumbfounded when she had mentioned the Swallowford lands. Like they meant no more to him than a blade of grass at Wolfbridge. Strike that—a blade of grass at Wolfbridge probably did mean more to him than the name Swallowford.
The air prickled the skin on her left arm so she picked up her glove from the floor and tugged it onto her left hand and along her arm. Air usually did that to her skin after a few minutes. Dried it. Stretched it. Made her want to itch the scars so viciously she would draw blood. She’d done it before, too many times.
It wasn’t until she’d had the long kidskin glove securely in place, the hem snug on her upper arm, that the thought hit her just as hard as her fall from the vines at Wolfbridge.
Reiner hadn’t even mentioned the book.
He’d said she’d stolen from him, yes. But beyond that, he hadn’t mentioned the book. Hadn’t demanded it back.
She ran to her valise, ripping garments from the bag until she found the false bottom tucked into the dark shadows of fabric. Her fingernails went into the side of the flap, wedging it upward.
The book—the red leather-bound ledger—still sat in the bottom, securely hidden away.
She folded the false bottom down on top of it, tossing her half-folded clothes back into the bag with no care other than to hide the bottom.
Reiner hadn’t demanded she return it.
So it was either not as valuable—as damaging to Reiner—as Lord Falsted had told her.
Or it was that Reiner trusted her with it.
Trusted her not to ruin him.
Blast it.
All she had done was spew hate onto him. Hate, just like Torrie’s. Hate that demanded vengeance.
Vengeance she no longer wanted.
She realized that after walking out of Torrie’s room. She didn’t want vengeance if it meant Reiner was hurt by it. She didn’t want it if it meant that he walked away from her and never looked back.
Damn the man.
Damn her own idiocy.
Several minutes had passed since he left the room, and she ran to the window facing the main road through the village and searched the thoroughfare in front of the coaching inn.
No Reiner.
She spun, racing to the door and out into the hallway. Down two and a half flights of stairs, her speed out of control, she ran into the broad back of Reiner.
He stumbled, slipping down two steps before using the wall to catch both himself and her from breaking their necks.
His arm tight around her waist, he held her upright. She wiggled to wedge her face from his chest and looked up at him.
“Reiner…”
Her voice trailed off, her tongue useless as she stared at him. For all she wanted to stop him from leaving, she had no words. No words when she could very well be locked in the arms of the man that killed her brother.
But it didn’t matter. She wanted him.
Awkward silence hung heavy in the breath of air between them.
