children feel warm if you hold them too long.’
She took the child who, despite her length, was light, and carefully unwrapped the swaddling.
Thin, gaunt cheeks. Bone-like arms, a swollen stomach and sunken hip bones.
‘How old is she?’
His brows drew in, his eyes searching the child as if asking her to answer. ‘Around a year.’
She did know something of children and this condition, she knew it very well. Thin, emaciated. Greyish skin. Listless. An unwise anger swept through her. ‘She’s—’
‘Yes.’
‘She’s...hungry,’ she blurted. ‘You’re starving her! When was the last time she ate?’
At his mystified look, she demanded, ‘Did you give her something to drink?’
Lips clamped shut and his eyes narrowed.
‘You haven’t fed her, or given her a drink? Has she been crying? Restless?’
Another bout of silence. Aliette had no patience with it. Maybe the wealthy had time for waiting, but if she stalled or waited for anything she’d have starved to death. ‘She needs oats or bread all warmed with milk and honey.’
‘You want me,’ he said in that terrifyingly even voice of his, ‘to provide that for you.’
‘I don’t know this place. These men don’t follow my orders. How else am I to get it?’
‘This isn’t—’
‘Whatever you want of me, I won’t do it, not when this child needs me.’
He looked to the child and to her. He looked to argue, the superiority of his expression one she’d seen many times when a shopkeeper thought to abuse a street urchin. She stared him down. If he meant to kick or strike her, he could join the others. She’d survived many such blows over the years.
If he intended to kill her, there was nothing she could do to defend herself, though she’d try to protect the child first. But if this was her day to die, it was simply like every day she ever lived. In truth, she wasn’t meant to have made it this long.
With another narrowed gaze, he pivoted towards the door, but not before she saw a flare of victory in his eyes.
What he thought he’d won Aliette didn’t care about, as long as the child had what she needed. She’d seen enough suffering in her lifetime—the fact that this child was surrounded by gold and silk and was still hungry she couldn’t tolerate.
Reynold left the room and closed the door. The two men who had escorted the thief were on the other side and he gave them the unusual tasks. If they wondered about the requests, they didn’t ask. He paid them not to question. Although one of them looked behind him. To see if the thief was unharmed? He would have to be dealt with later.
When they marched down the stairs, he turned to go back into the room, but stopped. The door was partially closed and the thief wasn’t looking his way, her attention fully on the child in her arms.
She was doing this walking, swinging motion and singing softly.
The morning sun filtered through the unwashed windowpanes delicately lighting its two occupants, the shimmering reds and greens of tufted cushions and the rich browns of well-polished carved furniture.
The woman was slight, not much more substantial than the babe she held. Her clothes were an odd, but practical mixture of layers. Two coarse surcoats, one much shorter than the other, over a thick, overly large chemise. She had no gown and her shoes had distinct holes. Grace’s greying swaddling dragged on the floor as the thief swept them from side to side. Both were slight, filthy, their clothes unkempt.
The room was small and the subtle distinct tang of abject homelessness, blood and fresh dirt clashed with the resonating fragrance of lavender and lemon, the warmed silk from the tapestries and the musty familiar perfume of his books.
But she was perfect. Everything about this was perfect. Hair that almost matched Grace’s and both appearing filthy from the streets. No parents to care for her. No one to suspect or question the child she held so carefully and sang to so beautifully was his.
Even more so now that her mothering instincts resurrected themselves. Against him, which both grated on and amused him.
The thief was the solution to keep Grace close to him. A woman of childbearing age in a desperate situation. She would be a servant to him and raise the child. He could then see Grace, keep her close through the years. And because the thief and Grace would be perceived as servants, his arrogant family wouldn’t perceive Grace as his greatest vulnerability.
He turned to the mercenaries taking the stairs behind him and instructed them to place the food for the babe, the woman and himself on an empty table. He’d propose to the thief what needed to be done and she would thank him profusely for saving her from gaol and poverty. It was all too easy.
Although...there was that one moment of lapse in his control which was concerning. Her request to take Grace catching him off guard. The blade was out of its sheath before he thought to draw it. An indication of how much he cared though he hadn’t had his daughter for a day.
Such action would be an anomaly from now on. People did not catch him unawares and now that he knew his feelings existed, he’d hold them in check so he didn’t reveal anything more. Until he dismantled his family, not even his daughter or the thief could know him.
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