Page 78 of No Place in Time

Finn’s hand found hers under the table and gripped tight. Her fingernails dug into his palms.

“Though no one’s seen her in months,” the merchant continued as he filled his mouth with a spoonful of stew.

“How’s that?”

“Word is she’s taken ill. Keeps to her chambers mostly. Been that way near half a year now, I think.”

Cecily pulled her hand free and pressed it to her mouth.

“What kind of illness?” the tradesman asked.

The merchant shrugged. “No one knows. Servants say she’s weak, can barely walk some days. The physicians can’t explain it.”

“Poor lass. And her so young.”

“Aye. Married last Pentecost. Not even a year yet, and wastin’ away.”

Finn leaned slightly toward their table.

“Pardon me. I couldn’t help overhearing. The Lady of Veyron is unwell?”

The merchant looked over. “So they say. Shame, really. Lovely lass, from what I heard.”

“What is Lord Julian doing to help her?” Finn asked.

The merchant snorted into his wine. “Julian? Too busy with his ventures. Him and that favorite of his, always travelin’, always schemin’.” He lowered his voice. “Strange thing is their travels. Him and that favorite of his are gone fer days, then return with coin to spare. Not my place to ask where it comes from.”

The tradesman nodded knowingly.

“What about the lady?” Cecily asked. Her voice came out barely above a whisper.

“Poor thing. Barely seen since winter. Waste of a good marriage, that.” The merchant shook his head, then looked more carefully at Cecily. “Why, ye’ve got somethin’ of her about ye, now I look.”

Cecily lowered her head.

Finn thanked him and turned back to their table. Cecily continued to stare at her bowl. The stew had gone cold.

After a long moment, she stood. “Excuse me.”

Finn rose and followed her. She walked toward the stairs, her legs unsteady enough that Finn had to put his arm around her waist.

In their room, she stood by the window. The street below was dark and quiet. Finn closed the door behind them.

“Cecily—”

“It can’t be.” Her voice was sharp. “It must be another fair-haired woman.”

He had no answer.

He moved to the bed, pulled off his boots, and lay down close to the wall. After a moment, Cecily came and sat on the edge. She didn’t move to lie down.

“Cecily,” he said quietly.

She turned and looked at him. Her face was colorless in the dim light from the window. He held out his hand.

She took it and let him pull her down beside him. She curled against his chest, still in her dress, her hair falling loose around her shoulders. He wrapped his arms around her, held her close. Her body was warm against his, trembling slightly. He could feel her breathing, quick and shallow.

“I’m with you now, Cecily,” he murmured against her hair. “You’re safe.”