Page 67 of Wolfhaven

Wistfully, she touched the statues of the dancers.

“I hope you find a good home,” she whispered. “Good luck on your adventures.”

Then she closed the bedroom door firmly and went downstairs.

Chapter 30

Evaine

In the kitchen, she found a cheerful Hazel and a guarded Gareth drinking tea and packing things away. Evaine’s foraging basket sat on the counter, half-filled with the remaining apples and their dwindling food supply.

By noon, they had loaded all of their collective possessions into the wagon. All that was left to do was harness the horse and they could be on their way by mid-afternoon. It was more than twenty miles to Leeds. They would need to find somewhere to stay tonight. But she knew without having to ask that none of them had a desire to stay at Wolfhaven for a minute longer than necessary.

“Hazel, we are going to lock up the house and then search the north wing ruins. You stay here. Take this.” He held out the pistol, handle first.

She handled the firearm with confidence that surprised Evaine. “I used to be quite the marksman in my youth.”

“I didn’t know you could shoot,” she said.

“Haven’t had much reason to since before I married your grandfather.” She tucked the pistol into her apron. “Go on. I’ll wait right here.”

“Don’t leave the kitchen,” warned Gareth.

“I am not an imbecile. Now go on. You’re wasting daylight. The sooner you finish your inspection of the ruins the sooner we can leave.” She shivered and eyed the sky apprehensively. “I don’t want our things to get all wet.”

“There is an inn about halfway between here and Leeds. I passed it on the way out. We can stay there for the night.” Gareth glanced at her. “I’ll need to stop in the village and return the horse.”

“Of course. Shall we?” Evaine jerked her head in the direction of the exit. He gripped the sword-cane and gestured for her to lead.

Upstairs, they checked each window to ensure none had been left open. Gareth locked the door to the ducal apartments. Evaine couldn’t help but feel a wave of relief. He felt it, too.

“All these years, I’ve thought I was like my father,” he said as they put their backs to those carved double doors and proceeded down to the main gallery.

“In what way?”

“I had a sort of superstition that if I came back here, I would find myself acting like him. I already look like hm. Or did. Before this.” He gestured to his scars.

“I hardly notice them anymore,” she said, smiling. “They are a part of you, but they don’t define you. Like your father. He is part of you. But he doesn’t define you, either.”

“He especially won’t once I relinquish this place to the crown and finally clear my debts,” Gareth said dryly.

They ducked into the parlor they had skipped previously, saw nothing notable, and went out the back doors into what had once been a garden. No late-blooming roses grew here. Only wild tangles of waist-high weeds. Insects sang.

“Mind the path.” Gareth pointed out an overgrown cracked stone walkway. Grasses brushed her skirt as she strode past them.

“How is your ankle today?”

“Better.”

“Promise me you’ll rest it when you get to London.”

“Yes, Nurse Ballard. What shall I do with myself without you fussing over me?”

She grinned at that. “I do wish the sun would come out. It seems to not shine on your estate very often.”

“You are not the first to make that observation. Whatever reason my ancestor chose this plot of land for, it was not a decision driven by a pleasant view.”

“Perhaps things were different back in the time of William the Conqueror.” They came around a corner. Evaine stopped short. “Speaking of unpleasant views.”