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I grip my basket tighter as they head into the stock room.
He doesn’t have to be this close to me. The thyme plants are scattered throughout this area of the forest in a bountiful plenty, but Jordy hasn’t left my side. The weather is getting colder, though, and my thin coat does little to stop the wisps of chilled wind that whistle through the trees in quick gusts. We have to pick the last of the thyme now before the first hard freeze.
I was more than surprised when Jordy offered to help collect the thyme leaves. I want to make a tea for Gram to help with her cough, and as long as we are already out here, Jordy and I might as well collect enough leaves to stock the apothecary for the remainder of the winter. Gram will be pleasantly surprised, and I love seeing her happy. I still feel terrible for the words we exchanged yesterday, and her cough was worse during the night. Hopefully, the thyme tea will give her more rest this evening.
“It is getting a bit colder,” Jordy says, blowing a puff of warm air in his hands. “Some of these plants are showing the effects of it too. Good thing we came to gather these when we did. I fear they’ll be gone very soon.”
We both have white aprons tied on our waists, compliments of Jordy’s mother. The aprons gather in the front to create wide pockets to hold the leaves as we collect them with our free hands. Jordy also brought a large basket to put the leaves in when we’re finished.
Jordy leans close to a targaroot plant and lifts a couple of yellow leaves to his noise. “For Christ’s sake, Milla, these smell like sweated feet. That’s absolutely revolting. What are they used to aid?”
I grin. “The feet.”
“Come now, lass, you’re just joshing me.”
I sneak glances at Jordy’s arms as we work, his tight muscles visible through his white shirt. I clear my throat when he notices me staring.
“Are you all right, Milla?” he asks. I can see the grin he tries to hide with his hand. He caught me dead to rights.
“Quite all right, yes. But I will admit that I’m quite shocked that your mother encouraged you to help me today, Jordy. I know you should be working in the bakery. Master Orwan said he needed you today.”
He empties his apron in the basket and wipes his hands on the tops of his pants. “Honestly, Milla, my mother thinks the world of your grandmother. When you told her the thyme was to help your gram’s cough, she practically pushed me out the door to help you.”
Jordy stands close to me again, busily picking the thyme. We reach for the same cluster of leaves and our hands touch. I move my hand quickly, then peek in Jordy’s direction.
“My apologies,” I blurt. “I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine, Milla,” he says. “Very fine.”
We work quietly for the next several minutes, the basket nearly full when Jordy says, “I think we have enough. Should we make haste?”
“Certainly.”
I empty my apron a final time and Jordy picks up the basket. We make our way through the edge of the forest when we hear voices.
“Who could that be?” I ask.
“I’m not sure,” Jordy says. “Stay close to me. It could be rogues.” He uses a hand to nudge me behind him.
We both notice the golden armor at the same time and instinctively duck behind a patch of shrubbery. The two knights are members of the king’s guard. Most of them are honorable, but a few can be difficult to deal with. We both know it is better to avoid a confrontation, but Jordy has bravery in spades, nonetheless. He glances back at me and puts a finger to his lips.
He mouths the words in a hushed whisper, “If we are confronted, run. I will negotiate with them alone.” He moves his shirt aside, revealing a dagger in his waistband.
It is no secret that Jordy is masterful at swordplay. He used to duck out of his schooling to practice archery and dueling with the other young men in town, and his mother whacked him for it a time or two. But he never yielded. So quick is Jordy with a sword, it is surprising he is not a member of the king’s guard himself. His heart is wild, but mine is beating so fast, I fear the knights will hear it. Jordy reaches backward and puts his arm to the side to shield me. If ever I were to be safe in a situation like this, it would be in the arms of Jordy.
“I’m telling you, Rodrick, the king is evil,” the tallest of the two knights says.
“Your words are treason,” the knight he referred to as Rodrick replies. “They could see us both beheaded.”
“My words are the truth,” the tall knight says. “And I need you to hear me out.”
I peek around Jordy for a better view. The tall knight has his helmet off, his rich walnut eyes pleading and widened as he begs his friend to listen. His blond hair is streaked with lines of chestnut and red. His skin is bronzed, yet smooth, and his shoulders are broad, matching his height. He is a tower of a man, and keenly handsome.
“All right,” Rodrick says, annoyance lining his voice, “I’m listening. Explain yourself.”
The tall knight looks about for a moment then leans closer to Rodrick. “The king is evil. But that shouldn’t be any great revelation. Anyone who bolsters Sir Malek into a position of power can’t be anything short of a monster—”
“True or no, he is our king,” Rodrick replies. “We cannot defy the king—”
