Page 6 of Hooked

The truth was that I admired Falstone. All my observations of him had led me to believe that he was solid, reliable and good. But he was always aloof, which I had assumed made him safe. It was part of the reason I was happy to fashion stories about him.

I sucked in a sharp breath as the pieces fell into place. The stories. Was that what his odd new interest was about? Had he heard me telling the tales of “Walstone” to the children in the stables? The thought made humiliation wash over me. I must have sounded like such a little fool. I would have to stop those stories right away. I could not allow him to believe that I was some simpering maiden, desperate for attention and ready to slather compliments on any man wielding a sword.

I would have to do my best to ignore him, lest he think I wanted anything from him. I turned the problem over and over in my mind as I made my way below stairs.

After taking care of Marilee’s laundry, I realized I had nothing to do for the time being. There was work to do, certainly, but my duties were now finite and specific instead of all-encompassing. It was so different from Bridgefield. After Master Damian died and the princess fired the rest of the staff, it was left to the four of us to run the household. Beatrice, Emeline and I had worked together, doing what needed to be done, half the time joined in our work by Princess Marilee herself. It was a dynamic that was impossible to continue once we were part of a well-managed staff.

So instead of pacing and wringing my hands over the oddity of Falstone and my lack of pressing duties, I made my way down to the kitchens and found Emeline working away over a pile of dough. Her blonde hair was confined to a braid for practicality’s sake, and her entire person was dusted liberally in flour. Several staff members were in the kitchen with her, sitting at the rough wood table to partake of their own meal, but I knew the thirteen-year-old would wait until she could sit by herself to eat. That way she wouldn’t be expected to speak with anyone.

I sat on a stool close to her, drawing designs in the flour spread over the countertop. Emeline looked up at me, observing me in her quiet way as her hands continued to work. Then her brow furrowed in question. “Cecily?” It was her way of asking me if I was all right, or if I had a story to tell, or simply a concern. It was her way of inviting my confidence.

Confiding in Emeline was easy. Though she was more than ten years my junior, she had an old soul. “Falstone came to speak with me,” I admitted in consternation.

Her brow jumped in interest, but she said nothing.

“And not about the princess, but just…to talk.” My shoulders slumped as I looked at her, but she only raised one corner of her mouth in commiseration. “Do you think it meant something?”

“Meant something?”

“I don’t know,” I lamented, gathering my thick hair over one shoulder with nervous hands. “It felt meaningful. He’s never just spoken to me before, so it might have meant something. But then, it might be nothing. I hope it’s nothing. I can’t have him…” My gaze dropped to my hands, caught in the tangles of my hair. “I don’t want him to…”

“See you?” she suggested.

I was always amazed at how much Emeline saw. “Yes. What if he has an interest in me? What in the world would I do then?” I asked in a whisper so that only she would hear.

The corner of her mouth and one eyebrow curled up as she gave a little shrug. “Get to know him?”

I gave a vehement shake of my head. “You know I don’t want that.”

Emeline looked down again, speaking to the pile of dough in front of her. “Not all men are like Lord Rockwell.”

“They’re not all like Mr. Sutton either.” I propped my elbows on the counter and rested my head in my hands, frustrated that every man I encountered had the potential for both extremes inside him. “And I don’t trust myself to know the difference.”

“Why not?”

I gave her a sad smile. Because I was wrong about my own father. His treason had cost me everything. “I’ll let you get back to work.” I stood and kissed the top of her head.

As I went about my work, I tried to reconcile the past few days with the past year. Watching Falstone with those children, having him speak to me…how could he be the same man who had been stoic and aloof—safe because he never gave me a second glance?

I kept coming back to my stories. He must have heard them. He must think I wanted something from him.

I did not.

3

I tried not to be curious. I tried to avoid Falstone altogether, but it seemed my feet had different ideas, because they carried me to the windows constantly as I continued to look down into the yard by the gardens, wondering if I’d catch a glimpse of Falstone and his band of warriors again. And then when I did catch a glimpse two days after finding him the first time, my feet carried me downstairs and outside, basket in hand, though Marilee’s flowers were still fresh and thriving.

Instead of going to find the wildflowers that dotted the edges of the stream, I went into the little flower garden that sat alongside the vegetable garden behind the kitchen. The flowers and bushes were dense enough, and some tall enough, that I could stay somewhat concealed as I went about my task while still giving myself a view of Falstone and the youngsters, which today included a small girl amidst the boys. I moved slowly, hoping to avoid any sudden movement that might draw attention.

Falstone had the four boys paired off, instructing them on how to properly hold a sword and how to plant their feet. He himself paired off with the one little girl, dropping to his knees so that he was down on her level.

I wandered the garden, gathering a few blooms while keeping an eye on Falstone and the children as they slowly and deliberately clashed swords. It was clear he was a hero in their eyes, and it made a little spark burn in my chest. Children deserved to have a hero. I’d worshipped my father. He’d been loving and attentive and kind. Until he was gone, having chosen a need for power over his daughter and wife. I’d never reconciled the two versions of my father—the one from my bright, happy childhood and the one who left me with a life of pain and misery. Hopefully Falstone would not let these children down.

As I watched their swordplay, Falstone looked up and caught my eye. I stepped out of sight, embarrassed that I’d been caught spying. Honestly, if I had just smiled, he probably wouldn’t have thought anything of it. I’m certain he knew that the children were adorable. Surely others stopped to watch on occasion. But by hiding, I’d given away the fact that I had been spying, and he would likely think that I was being coy—flirting. I cringed at the thought. Clearly, spying was not a career option for me.

I dared to glance back at him, but he was crouched down with the children circled around him, probably giving instructions. I went back to gathering, determined to keep my mind and my eyes on the task at hand.

It wasn’t more than a few moments later when the determined cries of children entered the small garden area.