Page 64 of Ruthless, But for Her

“Magge has a gown,” he said, still at the shutters. “Grey wool, mended twice. You’ll want it over your own, not in place of it.”

He turned to her. “You’ve a ring.”

Cassia looked down at her hand.

“A wool merchant’s widow would have sold it,” he said. “Or buried it with him.”

She twisted it from her finger and closed her fist around it, and found she felt nothing at all.

“I have no pins,” she said. “Nor veil. Nell kept mine.”

He did not move from the shutters. “Pins are naught. Your hair will hold without them if it’s done right.”

Cassia turned to look at him.

“You know how it’s done?”

“I was raised in a house of women.”

“And can you?”

He was quiet a moment.

“Aye.”

Then, without another word, Ashton left the chamber. She re-barred the door, only to find herself opening it once again sooner than she had anticipated. This time, he was not alone.

“It’ll hang on ye,” Magge said as she and Ashton came into the bedchamber. “But that’s better than seeing you hanged,” she mumbled to Ashton, bidding Cassia to stand as Magge helped her pull the plain wool gown over her own.

“Fools, both of ye, heading to the village when yer best off hiding here. You’ll be harder to disguise,” Magge said to Ashton as he escorted her back to the door. “Best you slump those broad shoulders of yours and keep your gaze down.”

Cassia couldn’t see the look Ashton gave her, but in response, Magge flicked her hand at him, as if brushing off a fly. “Go on with ye then. I’m fond of yer brothers and would not care to see poor Ryker saddened by your death.”

Cackling at her own jest, Magge left as quickly as she’d come, holding the wooden door open a moment longer to bid Ashton not to ride into town. “Walk behind her, too,” she added. “I’ve minded too many a lord and servant, and yer manners are more akin to the first.”

With that, she hurried down the corridor and Ashton barred the door.

“A lord,” he said, shaking his head.

Cassia agreed with the woman.

“The only difference is that you’re more well-mannered than most.”

Ashton smiled at her, a genuine smile that Cassia had earned by simply stating her mind.

“I’ve dealt with them often. Long enough to emulate one.”

She thought on that, but disagreed ’twas the only reason.

“You do not emulate the sort of confidence you project. ’Tis something else, a breeding you’ve not had. Owed to Walter Crey, perhaps?”

“Among others, I would suspect. Come,” he said, guiding her to the chair. “We should make quick work of this and be on our way.”

She sat, startling at the first touch of his hand on her hair. Without a brush, Ashton parted it down the middle and split her hair in two. Cassia closed her eyes. “I’ve told Nell often how much pleasure it brings me when she brushes, or washes, my hair. It’s a luxury I’ve never taken for granted.”

“Perhaps we should procure a brush in the village.”

“Aye,” Cassia agreed. “Nell carried it, along with my pins, in her belongings. I’ve had to let my hair run wild.”