Chapter 5 INSUFFERABLE

EVAN

The second the wooden door clicked shut, I turned on Miss Wells.

"Evan Frizzlewitz?" I barked, my voice dark with anger as I glared down at her. "Are you out of your mind? I am a Lord. You just gave me the name of a circus clown!"

"Would you rather I told her your real name?" she snapped back, crossing her wet arms over her chest. "If I said Lord Evaniel Draycott, she would have called you an imposter because you simply do not exist here...yet, or left us to freeze in the mud. So you are welcome."

"You hit me in the ribs!"

"Because you were about to ruin everything with your big mouth!"

I opened my mouth to tell her exactly what I thought of her quick elbows, but a light knock at the door cut me off.

The door swung open and the older woman stepped back into the room. She carried an oil lamp in one hand and a tall stack of folded cloth in the other.

"I brought you some dry things," she said, setting the lamp down on the small table near the hearth. "The storm is not letting up tonight."

I took a step back, trying to smooth down my wet coat to look like a proper gentleman. "You are very kind," I said, trying to keep my voice even. "I must ask your name, so I know who to thank properly."

"I am Lucy Wells," she replied with a gentle smile.

Wells.

My head snapped around to stare at Isabeau. The name hit me like a slap to the face. Isabeau did not look back at me. She kept her eyes glued to the floorboards, her shoulders as stiff as a board.

"Thank you, Mrs. Wells," I said, turning back to the older woman and forcing a low bow.

She let out a soft laugh and shook her head. "Mrs. Wells sounds far too formal for this small place, son. Everyone around here calls me Mama Wells. You do the same."

I cleared my throat, feeling my face heat up. "Thank you, Mama Wells."

She smiled, turning her attention to the stack of clothes. She picked up a loose shirt and a pair of dark trousers made of rough wool. "These belonged to my late brother. They should fit a tall man like you, Mr. Frizzlewitz."

I winced at the name, but I took the clothes from her hands without a word.

Mama Wells then turned to Isabeau, holding up two thick dresses. "I had a few options for you, my dear. These dresses are from many years ago, back when I was pregnant with my daughter. They have plenty of extra room in the waist and chest for a full figure like yours."

Isabeau took the soft yellow dress, her fingers tracing the edge of the cloth. "Thank you," she said softly, her voice sounding strangely small. "Where is your daughter now?"

"Oh, she is in the neighboring village of Oakhaven," Mama Wells answered, her eyes brightening with pride. "She is learning about herbs and medicine from a local healer. She will be back home in a few days. If you two are still staying here then, you can meet her."

Isabeau swallowed hard, her throat working as she nodded. "I would like that very much."

Mama Wells looked back and forth between the two of us. She took in the small space, the single wooden bed in the corner, and the strange feeling in the air. A cheeky little smile spread across her face.

"Now then," Mama Wells said, stepping toward the exit. "I know how it goes with newlyweds. You are both jumpy and nervous, but there is no need to be shy with each other tonight. You are husband and wife now. Get out of those wet rags, stay warm, and have a good night."

Before I could even process what she was implying, she gave us a warm nod, stepped out into the dark, and shut the door behind her.

Silence settled over the room.

I turned around slowly, staring at the girl standing by the wooden table. The pieces were falling into place in my head, making my chest feel strange.

"You know her, do you not?" I asked, my voice dropping low as I took a step closer. "You knew who she was the second she pulled her cart up to the puddle."

Isabeau did not look away this time. Her chin came up, but her blue eyes were filled with pain, grief, and something soft.

"She is my grandmother," Isabeau said softly.

I stood there, processing her words. The woman who had just handed us dry clothes was her family. Which meant her own mother was currently a young girl living in Oakhaven. Time was truly bent out of shape.

"We need to get dried off," Isabeau said, breaking the silence as she gestured toward the far side of the room. "Turn around while I change."

"I am a gentleman," I spat, offended that she thought I would stare. "I have no interest in watching you."

I turned my back to her, stepping toward the small hearth. The air in the cottage was growing colder by the minute. My wet shirt was sticking to my skin like ice, and my coat felt like lead.

I unbuttoned my fine coat, letting it fall to the floor with a wet thud. Next came my vest. I reached down, grabbed the bottom of my soaked white shirt, and pulled it over my head, tossing it onto the table. The cool air hit my bare chest and shoulders.

I reached for the rough woolen shirt Mama Wells had given me. As I lifted it, I glanced back. Isabeau was already dressed in her yellow gown, smoothing down the front of her skirt. But as I pulled my wet shirt off over my head, her eyes went wide. She froze, her gaze fixed entirely on my bare chest and shoulders, her mouth slightly open.

A sudden, victorious smirk spread across my face. I turned around slowly, crossing my bare arms over my chest and leaning my shoulder against the wall.

"A minute ago you were punching my ribs," I said, letting my voice run smooth. "And now you are gaping at me."

Isabeau froze. Her face turned as red as a hot coal in a second flat. She quickly dropped her hands from her dress, stepping back.

"I am not gaping!" she shouted, her voice squeaking. "I was looking at the wall!"

"The wall is behind me, Miss Wells," I replied, raising an eyebrow. "You were looking right at my chest."

"You are insufferable!" she fumed, her blue eyes flashing with anger as she stomped right past me.

She marched straight over to the corner of the room, climbed up onto the single wooden bed, and pulled the thick blanket all the way up to her chin.

"You can sleep on the cold floor," she snapped, turning her back to me and curling into a ball. "I do not care."