Page 34 of Hooked

“I wasn’t kidding,” Marilee continued, “when I suggested that you marry Falstone to prevent—“

I stood abruptly, turning my back on my dear friends. “I can’t.”

“But he could protect you.” There was a pleading in her tone.

“I can’t.” I turned back to look at them but couldn’t bring myself to sit. “And it wouldn’t be fair to him.” He didn’t want the responsibility of a wife. He wanted to be free to die for the sake of protecting the very woman who was telling me to marry him.

“Not marriage then,” Beatrice chimed in, patting Marilee’s hand to try to dampen the princess’s enthusiasm. “But a formal betrothal? A contract of our own?”

“Yes,” Marilee jumped in. “If he has a contract that he’ll try to enforce, then we could draw one up ourselves.”

“Wouldn’t the earlier contract take precedence?” Emeline asked and we all stared at her for a moment, surprised she was willingly offering up such an astute observation. “I’m probably wrong,” she said, dropping her eyes to the table.

“No,” I said. “I’m sure you’re right.”

“Then why not marry him?” she asked, directing her question to the table.

I scoffed. “It’s a lifetime commitment. I’m not going to use him that way. It’s horribly wrong.” And even if he agreed, he’d come to resent me for putting that responsibility on his shoulders. “I won’t manipulate him into being shackled to me. That would make me no better than Huckley.”

Emeline looked up at me, her eyes wiser than they should have been. “He wouldn’t mind.”

I closed my eyes against the panic that such a consideration brought. “I won’t give my life to someone else!” When I blinked my eyes open, they were each staring at me. I just shook my head, unable to explain how my soul rebelled against such an idea. “I can’t.”

“It’s not a death sentence,” Beatrice said, her eyes kind and wise. “It’s a companionship, to a man who I think we all agree admires you.”

“That’s not enough. And this is my burden. No one else need carry it. I should just leave.”

“No!” the voices of all three women said in unison. I didn’t bother arguing, knowing they wouldn’t help me consider it, but knowing I needed to prepare for just such an option, because it might be my only one.

“Do you think the captain truly gave your uncle the money?” Marilee asked.

I thought for a moment, and the truth was, “No. I don’t believe he would ever part with his money without the guarantee that he would get me in return. He doesn’t do things out of the kindness of his heart. He doesn’t give for the sake of giving. If there was no trade to be made, I cannot imagine he actually did it.”

“So you think it was all a bluff?” Marilee’s face brightened a bit at that thought.

“Yes,” I said. “But I can’t count on it.” I could try to have faith and believe that Huckley could never truly enforce his contract, but wishing wouldn’t make it so. And I had no way of knowing what his motives might have been so many years ago. Perhaps he’d found good reason to pay off my uncle. I just didn’t know.

“Well then,” Marilee said, her brow furrowed in doubt even as she tried to hold on to her optimism. “We must send inquiries to Norsing.”

“But what if that strengthens his case?”

“We will”—I could see her mind turning—“be discreet. We will say nothing about you or the contract, only inquire after your uncle and his situation in general.”

I could barely manage a nod, appreciating her efforts on my behalf, but my hope continued to dim.

“In the meantime,” Marilee said, drawing herself up and showing a confidence that I knew was feigned, “if we hear any word of him returning here, we will simply run off to Dalthia. He can hardly enforce Winberg law if we are not in Winberg.”

I forced a smile. It was the best I could hope for, so I would allow these women to plan for that while I planned my escape.

11

True to her word, Marilee led out on her horse in search of her fairy realm. Sir James accompanied her today, which meant that neither I nor Falstone were truly needed, but she’d insisted we come anyway. She was either matchmaking or trying to keep my mind off of Huckley. Either way, I didn’t mind it.

We followed along the stream that separated the broad, flat meadows of Sutton land from the Bridgefield land which butted up against the hills, letting the horses pick their way along the narrow path that cut through the undergrowth. The sound of Marilee’s humming drifted on the breeze back to me, putting a smile on my face.

“Look, my darling,” Sir James commented, sounding too innocent as we came upon a portion of the stream that was wider and deeper than the rest. “It’s our swimming hole.”

Marilee turned back to look at her husband with a glare. “It is not our anything. No swimming hole will ever be claimed by me.” She turned forward again.