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She took a moment to consider how much to tell him. His reaction might give her a clue if it sparked some recognition in him. “I had left my previous job due to that issue of not being very good at it and was just wandering until I found a place I could stay. I thought of the idea of a tea shop when Mair was having tea with me in the kitchen. A healer used to live in this house, so the garden is full of herbs.”
“You’re holding out on me, Wyn,” he said with a grin. “There’s got to be a story of passion and intrigue. Let’s see, you’re a runaway heiress who took refuge in a cottage in the woods, where you learned the trade of a healer, until a handsome nobleman happened by and offered you a position in his court and fell in love with you, but the romance went wrong, and you ran away again to find this cottage, where you live simply.”
She shivered with the awareness of how close he’d come to the truth. How had he done that? Maybe she wasn’t the only one with an ability to read people. “I’m afraid it’s not that exciting,” she said.
He yawned, then hurried to say, “I wasn’t agreeing with you about it not being exciting. I just may be more tired than I realized after today’s excursion.”
She stood and took his cup from him. “Then I will leave you to get some rest. Perhaps one more night down here. Then I’ll get the spare room ready in case you feel up to climbing stairs. That might be more comfortable than sleeping on the floor.”
“The floor isn’t that uncomfortable.”
She paused in the doorway on her way out. “Good night.”
“Good night, Wyn.” The way he said her name and looked at her made her grow warm. She felt almost as though he was looking through her, and she couldn’t help but wonder what she’d feel if she touched him and read his emotions. She hurried to the stairs so she wouldn’t be tempted to do so.
As she got ready for bed, she considered that she’d actually enjoyed the evening. Not the part in which she’d had to discuss her past, but it had been refreshing to have a man actually interested in hearing about her. She didn’t think the duke had ever asked her anything about her past. Her role had been to listen while he talked about his day and the problems he was wrestling with and occasionally ask him questions to help him consider different angles. He’d never asked her what she’d done, other than updates on patients who mattered to him. Maybe he should have lost his memory so he’d have had less to talk about, she mused with a smile.
The next morning, Bryn was livelier than she’d ever seen him. He claimed not to be in pain, and he clearly had more energy. It seemed he’d turned the corner. That meant that when he invited himself along on her trip to the market, she didn’t have a good reason to tell him he couldn’t come, other than the caution that it might be dangerous to reveal his presence, in case the person who’d wounded him was looking for him.
“I could also encounter someone who recognizes me and can tell me who I am,” he said. “I can’t hide out in your house forever. People are going to learn about my presence sooner or later if this village is as small as you say it is.”
She supposed it was his problem if the person he encountered was an enemy. She had tended to his wound but had no authority over him. She couldn’t make him stay home. “Very well, then. Come along. But I can assure you, there’s not much to the market.”
It turned out that the market was actually a bit larger than usual, since the miller, apparently having recovered from his stomach woes, was there, and there was a peddler Elwyn hadn’t seen before. The Chicken Lady had staked out her usual spot, from which she spewed insults at the peddler, much to Mair’s amusement.
“This seems a lively scene,” Bryn remarked.
“That’s a new peddler,” Elwyn said softly to him as they approached the market. “Perhaps you should stay away.” She wondered if she should avoid the market, herself, since she didn’t know what the baron might be doing in his search for her. Sending one of his men to prowl villages in the disguise of a peddler would probably require more imagination than he had, but she couldn’t afford to lower her guard.
But it was too late for her to avoid attention, as the Chicken Lady shouted, “I have some eggs for you, girlie, and I could use your help!”
“What help do you need?” she asked the Chicken Lady as she drew nearer. She’d yet to learn the woman’s name, and she wasn’t sure that anyone else knew it. Even Mair called her the Chicken Lady.
“I’ve got this tickle in me throat,” the woman said, scratching the scarf wound around her neck.
“Do you have a cough? Does it hurt to swallow?”
“It’s just a tickle.”
“Any warm drink may help it, then, preferably with honey. I can bring something over to you later. I don’t have the right thing with me now.”
“I could go get it,” Bryn offered.
“Are you sure you’re up to it?”
“I feel fine. The sage?”
“Yes. And I think some of the cold blend, just in case.” She asked the woman, “Do you have honey?”
“Yes, I trade eggs for it.”
To Bryn, Elwyn said, “That should do it. Three days worth of each.” He nodded and headed off. She found it interesting that he knew just what was needed. She’d never met a male healer, but she didn’t know if that was because the gift was exclusively feminine or if it was merely that most men weren’t inclined to that sort of work. It didn’t fit with the armor and sword, unless perhaps he’d served as a battlefield medic, as he’d speculated.
Once he was gone, she checked with the miller. “How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Much better. I’ve even managed to eat regular meals. The worst seems to be over.”
“You should be more careful with wild mushrooms in the future. Perhaps you should stop experimenting, or else learn more.”
