of oatmeal at the back of the cupboard. It’s porridge. Do you have any honey?”
The hopeful glint in her eyes made him laugh. Years of experience and learning all slid away, and he couldn’t help but smile with her. He liked honey, too, but the jar had been empty for weeks. “No, Nin, I don’t. Perhaps we can trade for a pot of it in the village.”
Her mouth dropped open. “I can’t go back. They’ll kill me. Agnes swore they would kill me if I ever went back.” Her dark, fearful eyes locked on him as she moved her hand toward the pot.
Before he could warn of the heat, she yelped with the burn. He strode over, took her hand, and dragged her across the room to thrust her palm into the full water bucket. “I may leave you behind, after all,” he said. “Not that you should fear them, only because of what you might do.”
She bit her lip.
“If you accompany me to the market, believe me, not one of them will lay a hand on you. When they sent you here, Nin, what did they say would happen?”
The red flush on her cheeks confirmed his suspicions, while her closed eyes suggested more. “Tell me if you can,” he said. “I will stir the porridge. Leave your hand in the water until the burn feels cool.”
“I’m lost to them,” she murmured after a minute or two. “I’m marked with the sign. No matter what I do, it will find me out. I can’t live among them. I’m…”
He glanced back over his shoulder. “Yes.”
She opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling. “I’m meant for you.”
Her words came slow. He sucked in a deep breath at her obvious meaning. Surely, they had spared her the more lurid of the old legends. He studied her, sensing the pain in her hand did not cause her sorrow. How could they? He concentrated on the pot, in the hope she would feel free to speak while he stirred the porridge. “I see. What did you think they meant?”
“I don’t know.” The water splashed as she raised her hand.
“Put it back in, and Nin, do not keep secrets from me. It could be dangerous to both of us if you do. I can imagine what was said—all lies, of course.” He hoped he’d said enough to reassure her and moved the pot from the fire. “If I discover you have a gift, I will help you use it. So far, your one talent seems to be for trouble, and that is a talent I will certainly not help you use.”
At the table, she watched his every movement with the concentration of a hunting hawk. He spooned the porridge into two bowls and set them both to cool before he reached for her arm. “Show me?”
She gave him her dripping palm.
He assessed the burn. Not too deep, perhaps there might only be a small blister. He slipped her hand back into the water bucket. “In a little while, it will stop hurting, and I will dress it with a marigold salve. And you…” He held her deep, dark stare. “You will learn to take more care.”
Today she met his glance with less of the belligerence she’d worn like a cloak when she arrived. Of course, his mood had been as fierce. He smiled. “I will get the salve. Once I’ve dressed your palm, we will eat.”
Her eyes were not as wary now. She gave him a brief flash of a smile.
Returning from his workshop, he dried her hand. “Does it feel cool?”
She nodded and didn’t even wince when he smeared on the marigold ointment. “I trust you will remember what I say about being more careful.” He wrapped a light bandage over her palm.
“Yes, Thabit, I’ll remember.”
He looked up at the whisper of his name. Her wide eyes remained locked on him.
“Hmm, see you do. After we eat, I will find you something clean to wear. The gown you have on is less than pleasant. What is your favorite color?”
She sat opposite him. “Red.” She picked up the spoon.
“A bold choice.” He placed the porridge in front of her.
This should be easy. His charm on the cloth would show him how susceptible she might be to all manner of magic. While she ate, he went up to his room where he sorted out a long sleeved, knee length tunic he’d worn in his youth. One of the last his mother had made. A good quality cloth, decorated with a little embroidery at the collar. The only patches were on the elbows of each sleeve. Perhaps the tunic would be long enough to gown her small frame. He returned with it tucked under his arm.
She had eaten and sat worrying at the bandage.
“Here, Nin, as fine a red as you will ever see. You can wear this while you wash the dirty gown.”
Her brows drew together. A little wrinkle appeared on the bridge of her nose. She raised a questioning glance as she took the tunic.
Interesting.
“Thabit?” The soft whisper came again along with the down-swept lashes.
Things would be far easier had they not made her so afraid. He picked up the spoon, intrigued by her thoughtful expression. “Yes.”
“This isn’t red. It’s very nicely made, but this is blue. Is it what you meant me to have?”
He dropped the spoon in the bowl. Unless his skills had slipped, his little sparrow had seen through one of his simplest but most effective glamours. “By the gods of the waters, Nin, you may have a talent after all. I know the tunic is blue, but it should fit you well. You put it on.”
“What, change here?” Her swift glance held the spark of challenge he saw so much of yesterday.
“Is the cloth not to your liking?”
Only as she continued to stare, did he notice the little tremble of her chin. He turned his back in sudden haste to give her privacy. Fabric rustled.
“I’m changed.”
He swiveled around and smiled. The tunic covered to her slim ankles, enough for modesty, indeed. The fine-spun, blue wool hung at her small waist, for the thing was too big. “Hmm, not a bad fit.”
Her chin quivered. She gnawed at her lip.
“What is the matter with you, girl?”
“Oh, there’s nothing the matter.” She picked up the grubby brown gown. “Shall I go to wash this now or start to clean up? It will take me a while to tidy in here.” Her eyes glistened, reflecting the torchlight as she stared at the hearth.
He ignored her remark. She had the makings of a sharp tongue, a trait he would curb before it became a real irritation. “You may begin on the kitchen and be quick. I have tasks I must complete. When those are done, we have business in the forest.”
Her gulp in response amused him. She would learn her place quickly if she possessed a modicum of sense.
Chapter 4
The dishes done, Nin picked up the broom to sweep the grimy cinders from the hearth. He must be in his workshop by now.
