Chapter 12 He Laughed

Scarlett’s POV (Now)

Edward's attendant came at first light to ask whether I'd join him for breakfast in the east room.

On the way down, I rehearsed two versions of the quarrel. In one, Edward asked about the seat Thomas was keeping for me, and I interrupted before he could accuse me again. In the other, he said nothing and left me to explain why I'd gone. I was still deciding how to begin when I opened the door.

The room had one window and a newly lit fire that hadn't warmed it yet. Edward stood beside the table with his coat on. He dismissed the servant, waited for the door to close, then looked at me.

"I asked what you'd promised before asking whether you'd promised anything. I shouldn't have done that."

I kept my hand on the chair back. He remained standing too.

"I haven't sent anyone to question Thomas's people," he continued. "I'm not going to. If I want to know what happened, I'll ask you."

"You could have asked me last night."

"Yes. I was angry, and I didn't listen."

I'd expected him to defend himself. Now that he wasn't, I couldn't find a use for the answers I'd prepared. I pulled out the chair and sat. He sat opposite me and moved the bread basket within reach.

"Did you eat last night?"

"That has nothing to do with it."

"All right."

He poured himself a drink. I thought of the tray Naomi had covered and left on the table.

"Sending food isn't the same as talking to me," I said.

He set down the pot. "I know."

I took some bread and broke it into pieces while the butter softened in its dish. He began eating without pressing me to do the same.

"I didn't promise Thomas anything," I said eventually. "I could have told you in the carriage. I refused because of how you asked."

"I should have let you explain."

I spread butter on a piece of bread. I still didn't tell him I meant to write to the settlements clerk myself. He hadn't asked about that, and I wanted to hear from the man before either brother became involved.

For a while we ate without speaking. I finished my bread, and Edward finished what was on his plate. Neither of us hurried to leave. When I finally stood, he rose too.

"I'll be in the training yard before noon," he said. "Come down if you'd like."

I went with an excuse ready for why I'd happened to pass that way. Before I could finish it, he was having a stripped log laid across two low blocks.

"Have you come to watch me fall?"

"Yes." I sat on the low wall and rested my heels against the stone. "Go on, then."

At the far end of the yard, men were training with staves beside a patch of sand. A few glanced over before returning to their practice. Edward stepped onto the log, which was about a hand and a half wide, and walked its length without losing his balance. I watched his feet, hoping to catch a stumble. He stepped off at the other end before I found one.

"What counts as winning? Getting all the way across?"

"Without stepping down."

"You were leaning to the left."

"I stayed on the beam."

"Your right foot hardly touched it. You slid it along the side."

He looked at me, then nodded toward the nearer block. "Try it. Put your weight on your left leg first."

"You're making it easier for me."

"I'm taking your knee into account."

I climbed up, determined to get farther than he expected. After three steps I lost my balance and put a foot down in the sand. My knee hurt when I landed. I stood still until the sharpest pain eased, hoping he hadn't noticed how carefully I was moving.

"You didn't say touching the sand ended my turn."

"I said without stepping down."

"Then I want another turn."

He waited at the far end while I tried again. This time I went more slowly, keeping most of my weight on the left. I came within a step of him before my foot slipped on the smooth, damp wood. I caught his wrist and tugged, trying to pull him off balance too.

He didn't move. I stepped down, and he closed his other hand over mine to steady me. Close to him, I could smell sweat and the wood he'd been handling. Once I was firmly on the ground, I could have let go. I kept my fingers around his wrist instead.

"I still haven't beaten you," I said. "I thought that might work."

He laughed. It was brief and unguarded, so different from the polite amusement I'd heard at dinner that I looked straight at him. Some of the men at the far end glanced over, then looked away.

I knew that sound. For a moment I waited for something else to come with it: a place, something he'd said. I could see only the yard around us, the wall and the sunlight on the beam.

"Have I heard you laugh like that before?"

"No."

He released my hand and turned to pick up his waterskin. I watched him take a drink, still trying to remember. Perhaps I'd heard him from another room. I wanted him to laugh again so I could be sure, but he was already asking whether I was ready to go inside.

On the way back, he spoke about the work waiting for him: the quartermaster, grain from the eastern villages, two wagons that hadn't arrived. His voice sounded as it usually did in the corridors. I let him finish before returning to the beam.

"You've never lost at that, have you? Not to anyone."

He hesitated, and I thought he might tell me who had beaten him.

"Next time, follow the rules."

"You said next time." I stepped around in front of him. "You can't pretend you didn't. There are witnesses."

His mouth twitched. He slipped the waterskin's strap off his shoulder and handed it to me.

"Have some water first."

At the next turn, he left for the quartermaster's courtyard. I stood holding the waterskin, then took a drink before going back to my rooms.

I told Naomi about the first fall, my second attempt and the way I'd tried to pull him down with me. I enjoyed telling it more than I would have enjoyed describing a victory. By the time I reached his laugh again, she stopped brushing sand from my coat and looked up.

"You lost, Scarlett. And you've told me three times."

"Because he laughed."

"I've heard him laugh at court."

"It wasn't like that. At dinner he sounds as though he's being polite. This time I actually surprised him."

I sat on the end of the bed, still wearing my boots. Naomi resumed working at the seam, where sand had caught in the stitching.

"Why does it matter so much?"

I bent to pull off my boots. I didn't want to explain the familiar sound when I couldn't explain it to myself. And I'd liked making him laugh, which was harder to admit with Naomi watching me.

I set the waterskin on the table. "That's his. I'll give it back tomorrow."

She moved it away from the edge so neither of us would knock it off, then shook out the coat. Some sand fell onto the floor.

"I can't get it all out," she said. She turned away and tried again, though I'd have told her not to bother if she'd asked.

I lay down and closed my eyes. After a while I got up, carried the waterskin to the stool beside the bed and set it where I could see it without turning my head. I turned the Blackridge mark toward the wall, then lay down again.