The Unwilling - Kelly Braffet Page 0,112

on the bench more or less next to her. Far enough away that her skin no longer crawled, at least. “Intriguing,” he said. “All right, foundling. I’ll warn you if I go, so you can find some other excuse for your tryst. But there will be conditions.”

“I would never imagine otherwise,” she said, still alight with anger.

“Tell Lord Gavin and Lady Eleanor how much you love me. At great length, with particular emphasis on my intelligence, knowledge and trustworthiness. Within two weeks, I want to be seen publicly with them. Lunch in the solarium, perhaps. By their invitation.” As an afterthought, he added, “You needn’t be there. In fact, it might be better if you weren’t.”

Judah didn’t like it, but she said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Please do. I’m not exactly welcome in Cerrington, but occasionally business does draw me out of the city, sometimes with very little notice. I’ll expect to be asked to your rooms, as well. Again, publicly. An invitation from Lord Gavin himself would be ideal.” The idea of Firo sitting in the parlor made her feel greasy. He pointed a long, thin finger at her. “I’m going to figure you out, foundling. And when I do, I’m going to plant a hook so deep in you that you’ll think you were born with it.”

Gavin had used the same metaphor. She almost laughed. As if the hook she’d begged Elban to sink into her left room for anyone else. “Good luck with that.”

“Don’t underestimate me, my precious love. Now, I would bet any money that as soon as we leave this room, some curious soul is going to duck in to see if it smells like sex. They needn’t be disappointed, but if you don’t want to help, you should probably leave now.”

“That’s all I want to hear about that, thanks,” she said. “Turn around.”

“I’ll close my eyes,” he said and did just that. She turned around and pulled herself out of the water. With her back to him she dried off and dressed as quickly as she could. When she glanced back, his eyes were still closed. His fancy purple coat hung next to the hook where her dress had been, and she considered dumping it in the bath. But, loathsome as he was, she needed him, and so she left him.

* * *

That night, as they sat on one of the big rocks in the pasture, she asked Darid if Firo’s story about the carpenter was true. “Most likely,” he said. “It was before my time, though. Elban’s father tried gelding all of the staff boys when they came in, but too many of them died, and the ones that lived didn’t ever reach their full strength. Not worth it. Now it’s just a punishment. Or a solution to a problem, if a man has a skill too valuable to lose.”

“That’s terrible,” she said.

“Beats hanging. And they’ve gotten better at it. They hardly ever kill anyone anymore.”

Sick with horror, Judah said, “I thought it wasn’t common.”

“It isn’t. But it happens.” Darid hesitated. Then, “When I came inside, one of the kennel boys I worked with, he...well, I think he’d been—damaged. Worked hard enough, and did what he was told, but he had trouble controlling himself.” He shook his head. “Jon never meant to hurt anybody. He just didn’t understand. Which didn’t help the people he went after. So they gelded him. It was a mercy. They could have killed him.”

“He’s still alive?”

“Works in the midden yard.”

“And does he still—have trouble?”

“Different trouble. One of the reasons he works in the midden yard. I know what you’re thinking, by the way.”

One of his arms was underneath her, cushioning her head from the hard rock. The hand attached to that arm was lazily stroking her hair. The motion didn’t falter, didn’t even slow. “What am I thinking?”

“You’re worried that if they catch us, they’ll do the same to me.”

“Aren’t you?”

He shrugged. “Not really. Lots of people are good with horses. They’d probably just kill me.”

She sat bolt upright. “Don’t say that.”

“I’m not going to die of old age, Judah.” His smile was amused. “Every day I wake up and there’s no way of knowing: is this the day a courtier gets kicked by one of my horses, or falls because their tack breaks? Or I say the wrong thing, or do the wrong thing? Every month, my mother waits for the coin that means I’m still alive. One day, it won’t come.” Suddenly he sat up,

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