27. Catriona

27

CATRIONA

F elix smiles, playing with a strand of my hair.

I never knew we could be like this, and now that we are, I can't imagine going back. But suddenly, I'm questioning whether he wants this. Whether he wants me .

"Do you want to annul our marriage?" he asks, his tone solemn despite the warmth in his eyes.

"What?" I breathe, raising my hand to his chest, preparing to shove him away.

He tugs my hand from his skin, raising it so it's between us. "This ring brings me more joy than you can know. I have no desire to see it leave your finger, but I don't want to trap you, either. I know I coerced you into this marriage. Until you're sure you want to be my wife for life"—he squeezes my hand affectionately, pressing a gentle kiss over the golden band—"let's move slowly."

I sigh, my heart swelling. I bring my hand to his temple, studying him in the morning light. This feels like a dream—a brief reprieve from real life. Impossible but perfect.

"You know we can't stay married," I say quietly. "Your father is Lord Arthur Cunningham, one of Valette's elite, and you are his heir. You have to marry someone titled." I wrinkle my nose. "Those are the rules."

"I love breaking rules, bluebird."

"I believe you mean that."

"Do you love me for my money, Cat? For my title?"

"Of course not."

"Then it doesn't matter what my father or the rest of society thinks. I'd give it up for you, gladly, without looking back. I'll become a clockmaker for you. A farmer. A cobbler, if your father will take me on as an apprentice."

How did we ever pretend we weren't mad about each other? Because we were, we are . We have been for over a year now. We just hid it, buried it—sensed it, but never confessed.

"I love you," I whisper.

He drops his forehead to mine. "And I love you."

"Truly?"

"More than Greg loves apple-fed deer."

I laugh, pulling him down next to me. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

He claims my hand again, his thumb playing over my ring. "Because you usually have some sort of blade on you, and I like my blood to remain inside my body."

"So, I was right," I tease. "You are a coward."

He laughs, and the sound of it warms my heart. After a while, he rolls his head to look at me. "We should get up. We have things to do."

"Do we?"

"I really do want to send Benjamin one of the ceramic redcaps and see what he can make of it. If we hurry, we can have it boxed up and ready for the coach when it arrives."

"All right." I throw back the covers, sitting up. "Let's pick out a particularly terrifying one for him."

The next few days pass peacefully, with no attacks and no sign of the wolf. It's disappeared, hiding as it licks its wounds and plots its next move.

With nothing better to do, Felix and I continue with our original plan of integrating ourselves into the community.

Today, I'm learning about the village's favorite fruit.

The Dahlheimer's cozy house smells like apples and spices, and the kitchen is hot even though we've opened the windows to let in the breeze. Several bushels of apples wait to be processed just outside the back door.

Arnold and Carl are pressing cider, and Luther will be home from a trip to Hellenford to help them soon. I'm inside with Mrs. Dahlheimer, Annika, and Heidi.

Yesterday, we made applesauce. Today, I'm learning how to make apple butter. Sighing with satisfaction, I look at the finished jars, feeling a sense of accomplishment.

"What is Felix doing today?" Annika wipes her hands on a dishcloth.

"Working on the shop."

"I imagine you'll want to open it before the jubilee," Heidi says.

"That's the plan. I probably should get back so I can help."

"Fill a basket for Catriona, Annika," Mrs. Dahlheimer instructs. She sits at the kitchen table, sipping tea and supervising our work.

I laugh when I see the large basket Annika chooses. "I don't need that many—a few jars will suffice. You need the rest of them for your stand at the jubilee."

"Come back in a few days, and we'll make pies," Mrs. Dahlheimer says, ignoring me. She waves her hand as Annika places jars in the basket, motioning for her granddaughter to add a few more. "We have dozens to make."

Heidi laughs, tucking a dishcloth around the jars to protect them before she hands the basket to me. "Thank you for helping today."

"It was my pleasure. Thank you all for the lesson."

We say our goodbyes, and I carry the basket down the lane, enjoying the cool air and sunshine. The path is thick with yellow leaves from the cottonwoods that grow between the orchards and fields. Already, many of the branches are bare.

I pause when I enter the village, my eyes catching on Jane as she enters the bookshop. Instead of crossing the bridge, I continue down the street that lines this side of the stream.

Belinda and Jane turn toward me as I enter, the bell on the door announcing my arrival.

"Catriona," Belinda says warmly, dressed in mourning black but not looking any more somber than usual. "Welcome."

"Hello, Belinda, Jane." I smile at the women, and then my attention moves to the white-haired curmudgeon behind the counter. "Hello, Mr. Martin."

He glances up, turns away without so much as a greeting, and walks into the back room—pleasant as always.

"He's working on the books," Belinda whispers, keeping her voice low so he won't overhear. "It always puts him in a foul mood."

"I don't think he cares for me much, especially not after Felix suggested we cancel the jubilee."

Belinda shakes her head, smiling softly. "I'm sure he likes you just fine."

"I imagine he'll warm up to me eventually," I respond, not particularly caring if he doesn't. "How are you, Jane? Is school out already? I'm afraid I lost track of the time."

"It is, and we won't begin again until after the jubilee. The children are antsy for the festival, and their parents are eager for extra hands to help with preparations."

I smile as Belinda and Jane chat about the jubilee, nodding as needed, studying the schoolteacher. She's still a suspect, never around when the attacks take place.

"Did you come looking for something specific?" Belinda asks me, pulling me from my thoughts.

"Not really. I saw Jane come inside and thought I'd drop in to chat."

"I think this is your first visit, isn't it?"

"It is." My eyes move to the back door. "Has Mr. Martin owned the shop very long?"

"Oh yes," Jane answers. "My grandfather has stories of the two of them when they were boys. Mr. Martin opened the shop when he was a young man."

"He never traveled?"

Jane laughs softly. "You'd have to tie him up and throw him in a wagon if you wanted to get him out of the village. He's a homebody."

Another dead end.

"What's in the basket?" Belinda asks, noticing it.

"I helped the Dahlheimer's make apple butter today. They sent me home with some."

"I'm going to browse a bit," Jane says. "See if I can find something new to read in my time off."

As soon as she disappears around the shelf, Belinda's expression becomes solemn. "I don't feel like there will ever be a time I'm not indebted to you and your husband. I heard you rushed to my father's side after the attack." She blinks several times. "I'm glad he didn't die alone."

"I'm sorry we weren't able to save him," I say heavily, nearly sick with remorse.

"You can't blame yourself. And what were you supposed to do, anyway? I'm just thankful Millie is all right."

"How are you?" I ask gently.

She shakes her head, swallowing and looking away. "I'm not as upset as I should be." She looks back, blinking quickly and tilting her face toward the ceiling. "How awful is that? My father's dead, and mostly, I'm relieved."

"You are allowed to feel however you feel, and though I didn't know him well, I know your father was not an easy person."

A tear runs down her cheek, and she nods. "Thank you, Cat. Truly. I'm happy we've become friends."

Another patron enters the bookshop, a man I don't recognize.

"Welcome." Belinda quickly wipes her face. "May I help you find something?"

"I'm going to go," I say quietly. "If you need anything, or want to talk, you know where to find me."

Belinda squeezes my arm. "Thank you, Cat."

My heart is heavy as I step onto the street.

"Felix?" I call when I open the door to our shop, expecting to find him tinkering with the clocks. He won't admit it, but I think he's fascinated by them. "I made apple butter."

"I'm up here," he calls from the apartment.

I climb the stairs, my thoughts on Belinda, Hubert, and the werewolf. But I come to a dead stop as I walk in the doorway, forgetting about the village's turmoil.

"What…" My eyes go to the potted chrysanthemums on the kitchen workbench. "Where did those come from?"

Felix sits at the table, fiddling with an anniversary clock. The flat brass spring is uncoiled, lying all the way across the room and yet still curled.

"The flowers?" Felix grins, his eyes on his project. "I asked Luther to pick them up from one of the greenhouses while he was in Hellenford submitting his last report. He just returned and dropped them off. Don't worry, I paid him for his time and trouble."

"Why?"

He finally looks up. "I'm going to plant your window boxes as soon as I'm finished with this clock. I thought I'd be done by now, but I didn't realize how tightly that coil was wound. It nearly took my finger off when I opened the back plate."

"But why would you do that?"

His smile becomes soft and lopsided. "Because you want flowers."

"They're going to die in a few weeks, if they'll even make it that long."

"You'll enjoy them for those few weeks, won't you?"

"Well, yes, but?—"

"Then it was worth it."

I set my basket of apple butter on the workbench next to the chrysanthemums and walk to the table, pushing his project aside as I sit on his lap and drape my arms over his shoulders.

Felix chuckles as he raises his eyebrows. "I would have bought you flowers months ago if I'd known they'd elicit this sort of reaction."

"It was a waste of money."

He smiles, bringing out the slightest dimple in his cheek. "I have enough of it to waste some here and there."

"I really love them."

"I'm glad. Should we plant them?"

I brush my lips over his. "Not yet."

He places his hands on my sides, sliding them to my back as he leans forward and presses his mouth to mine.

The kiss is long and sweet, unrushed, uninterrupted, and completely perfect.

Our second week in the village is bizarrely quiet and deliciously cozy. Felix works on his clocks, preparing for our grand opening on the first day of the jubilee. Together, we plant the chrysanthemums. I learn how to bake three kinds of bread, have tea with Jane and her grandmother, and help the Dahlheimers make dozens of pies.

I visit Belinda each day in her bookshop and stop at the general goods store to collect the latest gossip from Johann. And every evening, Felix and I walk hand-in-hand to the tavern, where we share a meal with our neighbors I'm growing so fond of.

But nighttime is my favorite, when he and I return to our little apartment and sit in front of the fire, cuddled close together under a blanket, talking about our day before we retire for bed.

And though I'm enjoying it, the peace concerns me. The werewolf won't stay hidden forever, and I suspect the jubilee will draw it out. Tourists already started arriving days ago, and the festivities don't begin until tomorrow.

The village is full-to-bursting, and Otis still hasn't hired a constable. The man he interviewed from Kentora turned down the job, likely when he discovered what happened to the last constable.

"Once you run out of rooms, where do people stay?" I ask Bruno.

Felix and I are in the tavern for dinner, as usual. Benjamin won't be happy we're eating out this often, but I suspect he'll send the bill to the Alliance anyway.

"Many will stay in Waldst and travel in by coach," Bruno answers. "They have several inns."

"With all those people, I imagine they'll be running more coaches."

He wipes down the bar. "They'll be going back and forth all day."

I frown at the door as another new couple walks into the tavern. "So many people."

"Any luck on your search?" he asks quietly, ensuring Millie doesn't overhear him. She's nearby, leaning against the counter when she should be working, flirting with a tourist.

So far, Bruno, Johann, and Otis have kept our secret, but I know they're getting impatient.

"No," I sigh. "It takes a while."

I don't mention it to Bruno, but I'm beginning to wonder if Felix's last shot was truer than he realized.

But if the werewolf limped off to die, surely Greg would have seen it during his nightly patrols? Unless the redcaps took off with the body, which is possible. But as far as I know, none of the villagers have disappeared.

Felix sets a hand on my shoulder. "Are you ready to go home?"

Nodding, I slide off the stool and bid Bruno a good evening. Seeing we're leaving, Cyril joins us.

"Do you have any news to share?" Felix asks him when we're alone on the cold street.

"I think Friedrich is sweet on Jane," he says.

I give him a wry look. "How about something we don't already know?"

"People were spooked after Hubert's death. Everyone was careful to walk in groups after dusk. But it seems like everything is going back to normal, and no one is obeying the group rule anymore." He frowns in the light of the streetlamps. "It's been a week since the last attack. Do you think the werewolf figured out you two were hunters and decided to move on? Maybe it left the village."

"It's possible but not likely," I say. "They're too territorial."

"And tomorrow is the full moon," Felix says. "Stuck as a wolf, it will have nothing to do but prowl the woods. The temptation to take out those who wander will be great."

"I want you to make a list of everyone you see tomorrow," I say to Cyril.

"I'll do my best to track everyone down," he promises. "Tell Greg if you need me. He'll let me know."

"You've been talking to Greg?" I ask, surprised.

"He followed me a few days ago, landed right on top of me and pinned me to the ground. I thought he'd decided to eat me, but apparently, he just needed to attack me so we could communicate."

"He doesn't have to attack you—he just needs to make physical contact the first time."

" He makes it sound more dramatic than it was ," Greg says, joining the conversation in his usual, unpredictable way.

"Did he hurt you?" I ask Cyril.

" No, I didn't hurt him ."

"I'm fine," Cyril answers. "He's been complaining of the cold, though. Says it's not good for his bones. Do you think he'll be all right?"

"Next time he whines about it, remind him he has a hot spring," Felix answers wryly.

" I'm not feeling like a valued member of the team, " Greg says petulantly.

"I value you," I tell the dragon.

I also miss him. I see him more when we're in Valette. It hasn't been easy slipping into the woods.

" I know you do, Cat ."

Felix snorts, letting me know he was in on the conversation.

"Be careful tomorrow," I tell Cyril.

"I will be."

We part at our shop. Cyril disappears into the night, and Felix and I walk up the porch steps.

But as soon as we reach the entry, Felix draws me back. "Did you leave a lamp burning?"

"No." I frown at the light coming through the closed drapes over the windows. "Did you?"

"No."

We pull our pistols. Felix unlocks the door, slowly pushing it open. Together, we step inside, weapons raised.

"That's quite the welcome," Atticus says from a stool behind the counter, the tall, golden hunter looking out of place in the room full of clocks.

"Atticus," I say dumbly, and then my eyes travel to dark-haired, dark-eyed Ambrose, who sits cross-legged in the middle of the empty floor, sipping tea from one of our new cups. "And…Ambrose."

Atticus's floppy-eared basset hound sleeps on the rug, but he perks up when he spots us. Howling once, filled with joy, he struggles to his feet. He crosses the space on short legs, his whole body wagging with his tail.

"Hello, Victor," I say, delighted. "We could have used your nose these last few days."

He stares up at me with his sad eyes, his rolls quivering as he lifts his paw to say hello.

"What are you doing here?" Felix asks our friends, looking as baffled as I am.

"Benjamin sent us," Ambrose says. "This tea isn't bad. It's not particularly good, but it's not bad."

"But why did Benjamin send you?" Felix asks.

Atticus grins, raising his brows like we're in trouble. "He wants to know why you packaged a live redcap in a box and sent it to him."