Chapter 3
“Why are ye here, again?”hissed Wynda, trying to keep up with her sister as Robena all-but-jogged through the village center. “I thought ye had some instrument tuning to do.”
Her long-legged sister threw a smile over her shoulder. “I’m yer chaperone. Ye cannae expect me to allow my big sister to visit a man alone, can ye?”
“That’s no’ true.” Wynda dodged a cart laden with produce and returned the cheerful nod from the chandler, her arms too full for a wave. “None of ye care what I get up to in my free time. I allow ye yer privacy, do I no’?”
“We share a bedchamber,” Robena pointed out unhelpfully.
“I just dinnae see why ye must—shite,” Wynda snapped, grabbing for the scroll which was slipping from beneath her elbow.
Ahead, Robena turned with a grin and spread arms. “Ye caught me, ye and yer clever mind. I’m no’ here to chaperone ye. I’m here to carry yer things. And take notes for ye,” she said as she pulled two more scrolls from the stack in Wynda’s arms. “Ye’re no’ an octopus.”
“What?”
“Ye’d need eight arms to carry all this nonsense.”
Wynda shook her head, tucking a stylus behind her ear. “ ‘Tis no’ nonsense. And I am just impressed ye ken what an octopus is.”
Her sister stuck out her tongue.
“Besides, admit it.” Wynda leaned forward. “Ye’re just here to spy on me.”
“Yep!” declared Robena cheerfully. “I promised Nichola and Coira a full report on what happens when ye visit yer falconer.”
Gasping, Wynda glanced around sharply. No one was close enough to have heard her sister’s words, but still, she leaned forward and lowered her voice.
“He’s no’ my falconer. I’m just helping his daughter.”
Robena winked. “Ye talk in yer sleep.”
Every single scroll hit the ground, some bouncing as Wynda’s brain went numb.
Damnation. Did my arms just forget how to arm? Ye had one job, arms! Holding shite! That’s why ye’re built the way ye are, all bendy at the elbows!
“I…didnae ken ye understood Latin,” she murmured weakly, remembering the Gray Lady’s teasing.
“I dinnae.” Robena winked again. “But I recognize Pherson’s name when I hear it.” She sank to her haunches to collect the implements Wynda dropped.
With a groan, Wynda followed, calculating the likelihood the earth would open up and swallow her right then and there.
Frankly, the odds are slim.
Aye, and in truth, she had no wish to disappear—not yet. Not when she was on her way to see him again. If she were to die of embarrassment now, she’d miss out on the opportunity to see him—touch him?—again.
Yesterday, she’d held his hand. It had been completely accidental; she hadn’t even realized what she was doing. But she had taken his hand, had held it for a while, after he’d held her in the comforting circle of his arms. And it had been wonderful.
“Comforting circle of his arms”? Ye’re beginning to sound like that drivel the Gray Lady spouts.
Well, was it any wonder? She’d spent years listening to the ghost’s recitation of her love exploits, and recording most of them. Just this morning, the Gray Lady had declared she’d thought of one more position, to finish the book at an even one hundred, and then she would consider her life’s work complete and could move on.
For Wynda, who’d agreed to this task in order to help the poor spectre, it should’ve been welcome news. But it was difficult to concentrate on anything when Visiting Pherson loomed large in her mind.
Robena was cheerfully stacking scrolls and the slate under her arms, since Wynda’s had apparently forgotten how to work. “I told them about yer theory, ye ken.”
“Told…who?” Wynda asked weakly.
“Nichola and Coira. Remember how ye had us out here, measuring Craig’s arms and other bits? Trying to qualify attractiveness? Nay, that’s no’ the word. Quabilfy? Countify?”