“So, how are you liking Shadowcrest so far?” Jennica asked her companion, trying not to stare through the–she thought–absolutely pointless window into the hallway.

“It gets me away from mater . I can put up with almost anything for that.” Vivianne told her with a snicker in her voice.

“One of those mothers?” Jennica smiled faintly. Either Igraine was a complete nightmare–or like most seventeen year olds, Vivianne exaggerated how terrible her mother was.

“Aye. No man wants a woman who is more clever than he is.” She ticked off on her fingers. “There’s a reason that freckles look like devil marks. Servant women walk around without their heads and faces covered, ladies do not. The list goes on, and on, and oooonnnnn.” Vivianne tossed her hair out of her face.

“So, you don’t like it here?” Jennica chewed on her lip, her heart plummeting, what was she doing?

“Well, it’s different, mostly.” Vivianne told her, thoughtfully blowing a loose piece of hair out of her way. “Some things are good, some things aren’t so good, a few things kinda suck…” She paused. “Is something wrong?”

“Uh,” Jennica shrugged. Other than my best friend is being a complete and total idiot? Nah, not much. She rubbed at the back of her neck and once more pulled her eyes away from Fiona.

“So, aye, there is. You just don’t want to tell me what it is.” Vivianne said. Jennica snorted. She had pretty much walked into that one. Vivianne was not unobservant and Jennica had been being pretty obvious about watching–and worrying over–Fiona.

“Yeah, pretty much.” Jennica said.

“Shouldn’t Lady Fiona be back by now? I mean I thought she was ‘freshening up’ not exploring the countryside.” Vivianne blew a strand out of her face, her green eyes darting toward Jennica. “Or she is back, just not in here. And that’s why you keep staring out into the hall like you’re watching some Bartal tragedy playing out before your eyes.”

“Bartal?” Jennica asked

“Mater’s idea of proper reading, he was like the quintessential Golden Age poet and playwright.” Vivianne’s eyes rolled upward.

“I take it–you’re not fond of him?”

“Every play the gent wrote, everybody dies. You can just sit there going down the cast list, gonna die, gonna die, gonna die. Plus all of the girls, if they don’t die, usually by killing themselves after being rejected by a gent, they all go to convent. Without a gent in your life it’s kill yourself or pray.” Vivanne shook her head. “It’s ridiculous. And the things he thinks a girl should say? Ugh. The most intelligible things out of a woman’s mouth in a play is usually the monolog she gives right before she jumps off a bridge or poisons herself. Pater and I always groan when some set of players decides they’re going to do a revival of Bartal’s plays. Because of course we have to go, we’re supposed to be cultured.”

“I’ve never understood how Mater, who can detect the slightest little backhanded comment in a pile of worshipful praise, could miss the fact that all of the guys in Bartal’s plays are complete sleazy. I wouldn’t share the air in a really big room with most of his ‘heroes’, let alone my bed and the rest of my life.” She continued.

“Sounds like a few guys I’ve read about before.” Jennica murmured. “Heck, a few I’ve known before.”

“Gavin sort of reminds me of one.” Jennica’s eyes shot to Vivianne.

“What?”

“Oh, Mater says–ugh, I hate that, Mater says, Mater says, I really don’t usually go on that much about my mother, really. But she says I’m ‘overly sensitive’–and sheltered. But he trips every skeeze alarm I have. I dunno why, I mean it’s not like he’s ever been mean or rude or even tried to look down my dress–but…” She shrugged, twining her hair around one finger. “Makes me glad for doors.”

“…Doors?” Jennica’s eyebrow migrated upward again.

“Yeah, back home we don’t have doors on rooms. There’s a front door and usually metal gratings on the tabernae. Rather than having a true business district, especially in smaller towns, there’s just a shop front put onto houses, it’s called a tabernae. Anyway, so people don’t break in and steal everything, they put a metal grate across the doorway to the taberna. For all the rest of the rooms though, it’s just an arch with a curtain across it.” Vivianne explained. “But here we have doors–which is so wonderful. I think when I go home, I’ll buy myself a door. Gavin makes me grateful for the door.”

Jennica’s stomach sank as she stretched her legs out in front of her and glanced at the hall where she could see Gavin joking–or whatever–with Fiona.

“Don’t worry about your friend. It could just be that I’m overly sensitive.” Vivianne offered. Jennica nodded before forcing a smile onto her face as Fiona finally opened the parlor door and came in.

“So did you find the lost works of Morely?” Vivianne asked batting her long lashes at Fiona.

“Huh?” Fiona asked.

“Morely, he was a novelist–and recluse–legend has it he wrote a tons of books and then hid them away.” Fiona looked blankly at Vivianne. “You were gone a long time.”

“Oh.” Fiona tittered a small laugh and looked at Jennica and rolled her eyes.

“Well, I should probably get to work. Good afternoon, Lady Jennica, Lady Fiona.” Vivianne stood up from her chair and skipped to the door. “See, doors are wonderful.” She looked over her shoulder at Jennica before shutting it behind her. A few moments later Vivianne appeared in the window that Jennica had been watching Fiona through. Gavin apparently still standing outside the room. ‘But he trips every skeeze alarm I have’…

“Work? For me? You shouldn’t have, m’lord.”

“She’s crazy.” Fiona murmured as Jennica got up from her seat in the chair and sat down next to Fiona. “I wasn’t gone that long.”

“Long enough for her to tell me all about doors and her mother’s favorite playwright.” Jennica countered. “It doesn’t do much good for me to be your ‘chaperone’, Fi, if you disappear on me.”

“I don’t see why you think I need a chaperone in the first place.” The younger woman gave a disgusted sigh.

“Maybe because he flirts with you–and you flirt back.”

“When have you ever seen me flirt with a guy other than Lock?” Fiona chewed on her mint green nail.

“Less than five minutes ago.” Jennica gestured toward the arched cut out where they could still see Vivianne and Gavin talking.

“That was just being friendly.” Fiona said, shaking her head and standing up. “We should probably get back.”

“Fi, slow down.”

“You’re not my mother, Jenn.” Fiona said warningly.

“No, but I am your friend and I’m Lock’s friend too.” Jennica told her. “If you’re not interested in Lock anymore, tell him that. Nothing good is going to come of you playing the both of them.” Fiona scoffed.

“I am not playing Lock. I like Lock, it’s just, he’s so–earnest. I mean he doesn’t flirt, he doesn’t compliment. It’s nice to sometimes hear that I’m–pretty or funny or whatever. It’s harmless.”

“Fine, you’re pretty or funny or whatever. Now you can stop flirting with Gavin.” Jennica said.

“That is not what I meant.” Fiona rolled her eyes.

“It’s not harmless to Lock. It’d probably really hurt him.” Jennica told her bluntly, not caring if Fiona thought it was ridiculous or not. There were a lot of things that she’d forgive Fiona for. But this wasn’t one of them. Not after what Dinh had done to her.

“Why are you suddenly the flirt police all of a sudden?” Fiona asked.

“Maybe because I know how it feels to trust someone and have them betray you.” Jennica said, arching her brow.

“Oh–you aren’t comparing what just happened to what your ex did to you. You can’t be, it’s not the same thing!” Fiona protested.

“It is the same thing–or close enough.” Jennica shook her head.

“You aren’t gonna go tattle on me to Lock are you?” Fiona asked.

“No, it’s not my place. If you think it’s nothing, I guess I have to accept that to you it’s nothing. But I will point out that you got your knickers all in a twist when Tiffany and Lock were talking about that magic theory the other day. And it was an esoteric conversation about something completely benign in front of nearly a dozen people. That was ‘something’ to you. But letting Gavin brush your hair off your shoulder and touch your arm in front of no one is nothing. Make up your mind, Fiona. You can’t play this both ways.”

Nessa wouldn’t be surprised if she soon looked down at the floor and found herself walking in a trench. It was just that the king had told her that he’d be by, today–this morning–sometime with Master Jarrett. Oooh. She pressed a hand against her stomach and waited for the ache to pass. She tried to tell herself that Sawyer adored Jarrett, and she could tell that darn near everyone was fond of him. Well, Lord Gray didn’t seem that impressed, but if Lord Gray could tell his ass from his elbow it was probably sheer coincidence.

She supposed Alistair didn’t either, but Alistair liked one person Shadowcrest and he saw him in the mirror, you couldn’t really trust an asshat like that. She pressed her palm against her stomach again. Really? She’d managed to trust Mitch for–ugh. She pounded her fist against her forehead. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Kian’s voice washed over her. He doesn’t have any power over you, Nessa. You’re free from him. You never have to go back.

Was it sad that she still clung to the sound of his voice? Maybe she’d only hear Mitch in dreams–well, nightmares, in her own head she could call a spade a spade–but she’d only hear Kian’s in her dreams too. She leaned her head against the cool plaster wall and heard a little choking sound. God, she missed him. What else could you do when you lost the only angel you ever knew?

Funny to imagine a guy with a funny drawl, tight black wranglers with a Copenhagen ring and a battered old hat as an angel. But if there were such things, and Nessa believed there were, he was one.

She went and peeked out the window again. The leaded glass was warm from the spring sunlight and comforting. Except, as her stomach dropped again, this time she saw something–something other than just the church or the cemetery, or the hills.

Sawyer was easy to pick out, walking along the top of the stone fence before hopping down into the yard, one of his companions also easy to pick out. The king. The third, blonde, brown leather clothes. That must be–ugh–she pressed her hand against her stomach holding it to the count of ten then she fumbled with the door and walked out.

“Morning, Nessa!” Sawyer grinned up at her. She caught her hand before she could press it against her stomach again and smiled back. He was a good kid, even reminded her a little of Kian. They had the same black hair, though Kian’s was always kept short and neat.

“Lady Nessa.” King Lachlan said, mounting the steps. “I hope we didn’t keep you waiting, there were half a dozen minor crises that demanded my attention this morning. None of which could wait.”

“Oh, no, I kept myself occupied.” Nessa said. Wearing a moat into the new parquet floor. “Nothing serious, I hope?” She couldn’t keep her eyes from wandering past the king’s shoulder toward Master Jarrett. He didn’t–he didn’t really look how she expected. Those sad, very dark eyes wandering around the street, rather like her own seemed to wander.

“Well, c-come in, won’t you?” She asked, unable to keep the small stammer out of her voice. Mitch was screaming in her head–what an idiot she was–how stupid, the house was supposed to be for Jarrett, they were–they were just letting her live there and here she was pretending like it was hers. Like she had the right to invite them in. Nessa turned to the door, closing her eyes briefly before fumbling with the door handle.

She could feel the eyes on her back and took a deep breath, releasing it slowly so with luck no one would see that she had taken it. She pushed the door open and walked in. Toward the kitchen, hopefully that would, hopefully that would put her out of the way, before turning and watching the three men unable to keep the quiver out of her hands and needs, and hoping they didn’t notice how much like a mouse she felt, cornered by cats. She wasn’t cornered, there was another door, she could get out. There was no reason to feel trapped.

“Can-can I get you anything, tea? Um,” She thought hard about what else there was to offer. Did you offer a king tea? Her eyes shot past the king though, toward Master Jarrett, trying to gauge his reaction. He was a disgustingly unreadable man. She couldn’t tell anything about what he was thinking. That was good, though, maybe? Mitch, you could always tell. She felt a mewl crawling up her throat throttled it back.

“While tea sounds lovely, I’m afraid I don’t feel I can stay.” King Lachlan was watching her with a measured look. He hesitated, so she wasn’t sure what passed over her face. “Unless–,” he took a step toward her. Her stomach flipped and shivered and she held herself very still, fighting every instinct to back away, perhaps run for the door.

“No, I’m–it’s fine.” Nessa said glancing at the flower arrangement on the table rather than the king.

“Well, if you’re sure.” The King said, his voice still uncertain.

“I told Blake I’d help him with these beams this afternoon.” Sawyer said looking uncertainly between Jarrett and Nessa.

“Then you’d best be off.” Jarrett said, his voice was deep and very quiet. “Don’t forget to take lunch this time.”

“Mistress Raquel said she’d be making lunch.” Sawyer said.

The sound of the door shutting seemed very loud, leaving Nessa alone with Jarrett. Everyone said that it wouldn’t be a problem for the two of them to share a house. That Nessa needed to get out of the barn and so did Jarrett. The house had three bedrooms, oh it had all seemed quite logical while everyone else was saying it, but Nessa had never found herself so badly wanting to be back in the stall next to Brick-the-fat-plow-horse and across from Daisy-the-cow in her life as she did watching Master Jarrett.

He turned and looked around the room, looking at the little touches that Raquel and Peyton had helped her put together, put up. Nessa bit her tongue and tried not to apologize immediately when he said nothing.

“So you like horses?” He asked, looking at a southwestern print of galloping horses. It was very like one she had admired in this bar in Phoenix that they sometimes stopped in when she had still be on the circuit. Nessa had no idea how they had come by it, how they’d even known she’d like it.

“Not as much as I–once did.” She heard herself admit. “But I still think they’re beautiful.” Master Jarrett turned those dark eyes toward her and her breath hissed between her teeth. I don’t even know what I’ll say if he asks. The truth was out of the question. But he didn’t ask.

“Would you like me to show you to your room?” She asked. She didn’t know if he was still supposed to be on bed rest or not. But he had just come off of bedrest and it seemed like something to say. He looked at her for a long moment before nodding.

Nessa tried not to scuttle, like a crab, but feeling Jarrett’s eyes on her back made her stomach clench and turn all sorts of unnatural directions.

He looked around the upper hall at the various doors and she nodded at one, letting him lead the way into it. It was just a basic room, the personalization mostly in the wall treatment, nothing much more than a double bed, a window seat, an armoire, a wash bowl and a nightstand.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like this room?”Jarrett asked, sitting on the window seat. He patted the cushion beside him, in indication for her to sit. Which she did, warily. He didn’t seem like she should need to be cautious, but you never could tell…

“Is something wrong with it?” She asked.

“I suppose not.” Jarrett said staring for a moment at the bed. “I just…” He trailed off and glanced at her.

“I’m kind of already set up in the other room. Tiffany–well, Tiffany told me that I was staying here cause a barn was no place for a lady. I don’t know why she was so upset about it. I like animals far more than I like most of the people I know.” She slumped, realizing just how that sounded. But Master Jarrett didn’t do anything more than chuckle.

“I’ll let you get settled.” She said. “I turned the dirt for the garden yesterday, but I haven’t gotten anything planted yet.” Nessa slipped off the cushion.

“I can help.” Master Jarrett offered her a smile. It was a faint smile, one that was, to her eyes, full of sadness and pain, but it was a smile.

Help apparently meant something different to Jarrett than it had meant to Mitch. When Mitch said he’d help, mostly that meant he’d stand around with a beer and watch her and tell her she was doing it wrong. Jarrett worked at planting the seedlings as Nessa poured the fertilizer over the turned up ground.

It was weird. Not hearing insults or how she did things wrong. There was mostly just quiet, but not a looming storm sort of it. She could actually almost relax in the warm light.

All in all it was a strange day, she thought as she settled in to bed that night. Her fingers laced over the scars on her stomach. Lightly tracing them for the familiarity of it. The house was utterly silent except a faint rustle from the overhead thatch. Her eyes went over the walls, the horseshoes hung over the bed, the post cards. It was kind of scary to think that this was her life now. But she couldn’t deny it was better, probably better than since Mitch had made his way into it seven years earlier.

Whether his specter would ever go, she didn’t know, but as tiredness crept into her bones, she couldn’t help but cast one last thought upward. Kian, if you can–please don’t let me dream tonight.