sign of dawn and she felt rather gloriously tired. Physically tired this time; naturally tired. Her nightgown was partially soaked from playing by the river and her hair was tangled and full of leaves and flecks of earth. It was the wolf who had led her back here and even though she wouldn’t have chosen to go back, she was glad he had.
Before, she had tried to avoid being caught but ultimately hadn’t really cared. Her father’s exasperation wasn’t an experience she relished but it didn’t particularly hurt. Neither did the guards’ looks or the humiliation of being found. Sometimes she’d even wanted to get caught as though one day, it would lead her father to understand who she was and what she wanted or needed. But if he did, he never showed it.
This night, however, the wolf and Owain were involved and the idea of getting them —
him
— in trouble caused her a surprising amount of discomfort.
“Are you coming, too?” she asked quietly, raising her brows.
It was difficult to gauge the wolf’s gestures and body language, but he sat down and Moira supposed that meant no. Images of how he might turn back into the man she knew sprang to mind and made her shudder a little. She looked at him closely.
Finally, she sunk to her knees and nudged up her chin. The wolf inched a little closer and she closed her arms around his massive neck. He smelled like river and earth and adventure.
Chapter Eight
The room was empty. The windows open wide, a dress on the floor, pillows padded under the blanket. But no young lady.
Iris inhaled but her sense of smell wasn’t as keen as it once was. Instead, she quietly crossed toward the windows. The moon was bright but she couldn’t quite see much of anything; dark shrubs, dark trees. Again, no young Lady Rochester.
Nightly wanderings had been among the rumors she had picked up from the servants and the general chatter of the castle but faced with an empty bedroom, it still surprised her. Her bed was still neatly made; the blanket was stuffed but not pulled out from under the edges. The girl hadn’t been in bed at all. Iris couldn’t imagine she had climbed down the open windows but nothing else in the room gave any indication to where she might have gone. There were jeweled hairpins and earrings, a necklace, and bangles carelessly strewn across her little bedside table. It made Iris frown with a sense of annoyance, deep enough to surprise her.
Neither the ornate four-poster bed, nor the wardrobe or any of the other appliances caught her eye. Everything looked perfectly neat — clean and orderly. It made the dress and the jewelry stand out even more. Clearly, the maid cleaned and she hadn’t been in since Moira had returned from dinner.
According for Sir Fairester’s quickly given report, her advice had worked to a degree. She hadn’t shrunken away from him and talking about the things she enjoyed had made her more inclined to pay her suitor attention and even smile at him. The young man had been quite delighted with himself and Iris had carefully avoided mentioning any hint of her involvement in his success.
The next day, of course, she would have to come up with a new step in the process but when she had mentioned meeting him in the morning, he had waved her off. Unsurprised, Iris had smiled and nodded submissively even if it didn’t bode well. It was her own fault, really, for using the hunting metaphor; what self-respecting hunter would take step-by-step tutoring from an old woman?
With little confidence in his success on his own, Iris had decided to look at the girl herself, even if it was her sleeping self. The girl was rarely seen in the more public parts of the castle and Iris had only glimpsed her a few times and never from anywhere close. She had a strange reputation in the castle; she wasn’t disliked necessarily and she had found that most servants seemed to feel varying amounts of pity for her. Most of them also avoided close contact, found her strange
Before, she had tried to avoid being caught but ultimately hadn’t really cared. Her father’s exasperation wasn’t an experience she relished but it didn’t particularly hurt. Neither did the guards’ looks or the humiliation of being found. Sometimes she’d even wanted to get caught as though one day, it would lead her father to understand who she was and what she wanted or needed. But if he did, he never showed it.
This night, however, the wolf and Owain were involved and the idea of getting them —
him
— in trouble caused her a surprising amount of discomfort.
“Are you coming, too?” she asked quietly, raising her brows.
It was difficult to gauge the wolf’s gestures and body language, but he sat down and Moira supposed that meant no. Images of how he might turn back into the man she knew sprang to mind and made her shudder a little. She looked at him closely.
Finally, she sunk to her knees and nudged up her chin. The wolf inched a little closer and she closed her arms around his massive neck. He smelled like river and earth and adventure.
Chapter Eight
The room was empty. The windows open wide, a dress on the floor, pillows padded under the blanket. But no young lady.
Iris inhaled but her sense of smell wasn’t as keen as it once was. Instead, she quietly crossed toward the windows. The moon was bright but she couldn’t quite see much of anything; dark shrubs, dark trees. Again, no young Lady Rochester.
Nightly wanderings had been among the rumors she had picked up from the servants and the general chatter of the castle but faced with an empty bedroom, it still surprised her. Her bed was still neatly made; the blanket was stuffed but not pulled out from under the edges. The girl hadn’t been in bed at all. Iris couldn’t imagine she had climbed down the open windows but nothing else in the room gave any indication to where she might have gone. There were jeweled hairpins and earrings, a necklace, and bangles carelessly strewn across her little bedside table. It made Iris frown with a sense of annoyance, deep enough to surprise her.
Neither the ornate four-poster bed, nor the wardrobe or any of the other appliances caught her eye. Everything looked perfectly neat — clean and orderly. It made the dress and the jewelry stand out even more. Clearly, the maid cleaned and she hadn’t been in since Moira had returned from dinner.
According for Sir Fairester’s quickly given report, her advice had worked to a degree. She hadn’t shrunken away from him and talking about the things she enjoyed had made her more inclined to pay her suitor attention and even smile at him. The young man had been quite delighted with himself and Iris had carefully avoided mentioning any hint of her involvement in his success.
The next day, of course, she would have to come up with a new step in the process but when she had mentioned meeting him in the morning, he had waved her off. Unsurprised, Iris had smiled and nodded submissively even if it didn’t bode well. It was her own fault, really, for using the hunting metaphor; what self-respecting hunter would take step-by-step tutoring from an old woman?
With little confidence in his success on his own, Iris had decided to look at the girl herself, even if it was her sleeping self. The girl was rarely seen in the more public parts of the castle and Iris had only glimpsed her a few times and never from anywhere close. She had a strange reputation in the castle; she wasn’t disliked necessarily and she had found that most servants seemed to feel varying amounts of pity for her. Most of them also avoided close contact, found her strange
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