She shook her head, as her hesitant smile grew wider. They laughed a little.
“It will happen for us,” he said, then sobered when he realized how it sounded.
“Oh, I don’t want it to happen to me,” she said, cringing and stinging his heart. “I never want to fall in love with anyone.”
Why did her words injure him? He shook his head a little as if to clear away his maddening thoughts. Thoughts of spending the day with her, being with her again tomorrow. She needed to go quickly. She wasn’t what he was looking for in a wife, anyway. He thought of a woman who was strong and sturdy, who could sow and reap with him, who wasn’t afraid of getting her fingernails dirty.
“Why won’t you fall in love?” He wasn’t going to play coy games with her by pretending he didn’t like her. He did. He wanted to know why she felt the way she did. So he asked.
“Because of my mother,” she answered softly and turned her chin away. “She was always quite unhappy.”
“Why?”
She shook her head, looking like she wasn’t going to tell him. “My father wasn’t always the king,” she began softly. “Once, many years ago, he was the Earl of Eloine, a quiet, peaceful province along the coast of Beldar. He was young and ambitious, and in love with my mother, and she was in love with him. But he changed. He wanted more and constantly rode off with his army to conquer kingdoms, believing, when he finally returned home, that the spoils he had collected could make up for his absence. Not that my father had ever been a devoted husband. There were concubines in my life for as long as I could remember, but if her husband’s many lovers troubled Lizbath Odarre, she never let it be known to me. Our days were filled with happiness and quiet time spent in the colorful, fragrant gardens sewing and spinning. But at night, I heard her cry herself to sleep. Every night. I used to go to her and crawl into bed and hold her until I fell asleep.”
He was quiet, surprised that she would share such an intimate story with him. He didn’t know what he could say. Whatever came out of his mouth would be wrong. He had to remember that they were talking about her father. Even if he was one of the worst men alive, Baltrasard was her father.
Her gaze flicked back to his and her eyes were filled with tears again, but then they stopped.
“I will get you home to her, Willow,” he promised.
She shook her head. “She jumped to her death from the terrace of her room at Silvergard last spring.”
He stopped walking. “Willow, forgive me for bringing it up. I didn’t know.”
“Don’t apologize. I like thinking and speaking of her but there hasn’t been any one to tell.”
He wanted to pull her into his arms, but she was unused to such behavior and he didn’t want to startle her.
They reached the green and yellow tent. It was much larger than any of the other tents and the canvas walls were thicker.
Caleb escorted her inside and paid a big brute who kept the naked patrons in order.
After Caleb paid him a handful of coins, they were brought to two sectioned off “rooms”, each with its own bathtub.
A bath… he didn’t know about Willow, but for him, especially while he traveled, was a rare occurrence. If you had water, you sponge-bathed. Filling tubs was expensive and wasteful, unless like Opher, the bath merchant, one sold a bath of used water for significantly less. Caleb chose fresh warm water for him. Willow chose the same.
“Enjoy your bath,” Caleb said, wishing he didn’t have to leave her.
“You too.” She smiled softly and disappeared behind the curtained partition
Their water came and he watched a row of seven men dump the contents of their buckets into his tub. It wasn’t filled to the top, but it was enough to soak and bathe. Another man brought scented soap and towels.
He heard Willow sigh behind the thick dark curtain that separated them. He smiled, thankful that he could pamper her a little.
“What keeps you busy at Silvergard when you visit?”
“Books, and painting,” she told him. “How do you occupy yourself when you aren’t keeping the plains safe?”
“Taking care of things at home, or any place that needs help.”