Gerall stopped in the glassmaker’s shop to say hello. Then he traveled to the apothecary to restock his supplies and show them a few samples he’d picked up in Snow’s garden in Tanah Darah, to see if they could identify them.
By noon, his stomach growled loudly, and the smell of fresh bread and sweet rolls pulled him down the street. He passed the cobbler, the candle maker, and the butcher as if possessed and didn’t stop until he reached his destination.
The bakery window overflowed with every delight a person could imagine. The outside of the shop had been decorated with beautiful bright colors. Pastries and cakes, cookies, and loaves of bread of every shape and size filled his view. Times had obviously been good to the baker and his family. In looking about the town, he realized he couldn’t see any portion that lacked prosperity of one sort or another. Again, the edgy sword of dread hung low against his neck, making him wonder with so much prosperity why someone conspired against his family.
“Lord Gwyn.”
Gerall turned at the sound of his name. The magistrate wobbled over, his jovial, round face barely coming up to Gerall’s chest. “Hello again, Magistrate Jopin.”
Jopin’s gaze traveled into the bakery. “Getting a bite to eat?”
Gerall eyed the window of the shop. “I don’t remember the bakery having so many choices last I was in town.”
“It’s changed quite a bit in the past month or so. Anyway, I forgot to ask you if you’d do me the honor of dining at my home tonight?”
“Oh no,” said Gerall. “I couldn’t possibly impose on your lovely wife. Snow would kill me if she knew I’d shown up without letting your wife know first. She always called it bad manners.”
“I’m sure my wife would be just fine with it.”
“Thank you,” said Gerall. “Perhaps another time. I’m just going to grab something right quick, and then I’ll be joining my family for the rest of the day. It is wonderful to be able to come to Festivus. We have been so greatly blessed this year past. What with three new Gwyns born and another on the way.”
“Quite wonderful, indeed. And how are things with you all, now that Snow has left you?”
“Not quite as clean, unfortunately. And Snow was an amazing cook. But having Scarlet, Zelle and the children help to make up for it.” Gerall swallowed the lump in his throat. Over the past year, he’d spent as much time in Tanah Darah as he had in Westfall. With all the new family members that had joined them, he didn’t quite know where he fit anymore.
“See her much, do you?”
Gerall studied the magistrate’s face for signs that he might be probing for something deeper. But the man revealed no ulterior motive.
He and his brothers hadn’t made any formal announcement of her engagement, and there’d been no town celebration. The only reason anyone knew Snow had even gone was that soon after her wedding, Jamen had resumed his late nights at the tavern, which had mercifully stopped since Scarlet had returned.
“Every chance we get.” Gerall smiled.
“Magistrate Jopin?” a woman called from across the way.
“I’ll let you go,” said Gerall. “See you tomorrow when the festivities begin.”
“Very good,” said the magistrate. “I hope that your family will be there to begin the ceremony with the cleansing of the wishing well and the pronouncement of the Festival Queen.”
“Of course.” Gerall gave a small bow. “We would be honored.”
Jopin stepped away from Gerall and hurried as fast as his little legs could take him, toward the woman calling to him.
Gerall opened the bakery door and stepped inside. A chime sounded, and the smell of sugar and yeast filled his nose, making his stomach growl again. All around him, pastries filled baskets and jars and containers. His mouth watered at the sight. He walked around, looking over the various sundries. Gerall hadn’t seen even half the variety of pastries in the store before. The magistrate was right; the bakery had changed.
After several minutes of browsing, no one appeared. Strange. He’d never seen the shop without the baker behind the counter.
“Hello?” Gerall called. “Mr. Lenter?” He couldn’t have gone far. The old baker’s living quarters were attached to the back of the shop.
Gerall glanced at the fabric curtain that separated the kitchen from the front. Perhaps something had happened. Maybe Mr. Lenter had fallen.
“Mr. Lenter,” he called again, walking around the counter to the curtained-off area. He pushed the curtain aside slightly and looked into the space beyond. Four large ovens burned hot, warming the room and providing its only light.
“Hello?” Gerall stepped beyond, and the floorboard squeaked. A girl appeared suddenly from around a corner, and her eyes widened.
“I’m sorry, were you calling? I didn’t hear you.” She wiped her hands on the apron front of her dress, pressing it down.
Gerall swallowed. “Are you alright?”
The girl advanced on him, forcing him to back out of the kitchen.
“Yes, thank you. I was just in the house.”
Gerall moved to the bakery floor. The girl stepped up to the counter, and the light struck her bright emerald eyes. Her peachy skin paled against dark, burnt umber hair. Lush, tempting lips accentuated high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes. He stared at her for several seconds. When he didn’t speak, she cleared her throat, and her cheeks flushed a deep shade of rose. Something about her held an exotic quality that he’d never seen before. The way her eyes turned up just slightly in the corners— the perfect bow of her upper lip.
“Can I help you get something?” she finally asked, meeting his gaze.
Gerall shook his head, and his cheeks heated. What was wrong with him? It wasn’t like he’d never seen a girl before.
“Sorry.” He coughed, trying to get his voice to work. “Yes. Is Mr. Lenter here?”
Her eyes grew sad. “I’m sorry, he’s not. He died a few months back. Is there perhaps something I can do for you? I’m his daughter, Eloa.”
“Eloa? Little Eloa. It’s not possible. Just a few years ago, you were so…”
“Young?” She laughed. “The last time I saw you, Lord Gwyn, you weren’t half so tall.”
Gerall laughed. “No need for formality. I’m Gerall, the third oldest. My brothers Erik and Flint are the ones people show respect to, not me. I’m just Gerall.”
He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been in the bakery. Was it five years? Six? He could have sworn that Eloa was no more than maybe ten at that time, but now… Now she appeared a full-grown woman of twenty.
Eloa cocked her head to the side. “Why shouldn’t people show you the same respect as your brothers? You have the same parents, do you not?”
Gerall’s brow creased. “Well, yes, but I’m not the oldest.”
“Does that make you less of a man somehow?” Her question came out honest, and her eyes remained full and round like a doe’s.
Gerall pushed his glasses up his nose. “I suppose not.”
She laughed. The sound twinkled around the store and warmed Gerall’s heart. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. What can I get you today, Lord Gwyn?”
What an intriguing creature she’d grown into. He could swear that just a few years prior she’d been playing with a doll in the corner. But with curves and dips in all the right places, hypnotic gentle eyes, and a mischievously bewitching mouth that begged to be kissed. She was nothing short of enchanting. And very much no longer a little girl.
Gerall cleared his throat. “I needed to get some lunch and some bread and some pastries to take home as well.”
“Here.” She pulled a puffy pastry from a basket. “I just made these. They’re filled with goose and cranberries. Eat that while I fetch your other items.”
Gerall took the leaf-shaped pastry from Eloa and sniffed it. It warmed his hand, and his mouth watered. He’d never smelled anything like it. He took a bite and let out an audible moan.
Eloa smiled. “I
’m glad you like it.”
The taste exploded on his tongue. The pastry was crusty on the outside but soft on the inside. The goose and cranberries melted in his mouth with spices that he couldn’t identify.
She pulled two loaves of bread out of a basket and set them in a bag. “Are you fond of any particular pastry, or would you just like a variety?”
“I have to say. I loved your father’s baked goods, but yours are… incredible.” He didn’t have the words. “I’ll take a dozen of these.” Gerall took another huge bite. “And I’m going to need a half dozen loaves of bread. Anything with seeds you might have, as well as gooseberries. My brothers are big eaters.”
“How many Gwyn lords are there?” Eloa put more bread into the sack.
“Seven—” Gerall stopped cleared his tightening throat. “There were seven of us. Our youngest brother, Kellan, passed a year ago.”
She stopped and turned to him. “I’m so sorry.” Her eyes misted. “I know how hard it is to lose someone you love.” Silence hung between them for a moment, and then she turned back to the bread rack. “Your brother, Kellan, was always a sweet boy.”
Boy? Surely Kellan had been older than Eloa.
“I should be used to losing loved ones by now. Mother and father died several years ago and now Kellan, and with Snow gone—” He stared at the counter, the feelings of sadness and loss quickly mounting inside. They never spoke about Kellan’s death.
“Hey?”
Gerall looked up to find Eloa next to him. She placed her hand on his arm, making his skin suddenly light with interest. The way her emerald eyes gazed up at him made his heart gallop.
“People move on from this life and into the life to come. That doesn’t mean they leave us; it just means our relationship becomes different. We may no longer see them daily, but they’re still with us.”
Gerall sucked in a deep breath, trying to clear his head. Why did she make him feel like he was back in school and flirting with the prettiest girl in the class? Something, admittedly, he’d never dared to do.
“Thank you.” He stepped away and turned toward the window.
Flint, Zelle, Scarlet, Jamen and the children browsed the toymaker’s shop across the way.
“I should get going. My brothers are waiting.”
“Of course. I’m sorry.” Eloa’s voice held a note of sadness. “I didn’t mean to keep you.”
Gerall finished his food. “Your baking is exceptional. Would you mind if I held a weekly standing order for the same as today’s?”
“That would be most agreeable and welcome,” she said. “Business has slowed a bit since father died. There’s been talk of another bakery opening.”
Gerall smiled. “Well, I’ll be sure to let everyone know just how wonderful your shop is.”
“Thank you, Lord Gwyn. You are welcome here any time.” She picked up the sacks and walked toward the door. “I can take these to the stable for you if you wish. So, you don’t have to carry them.”
“Oh, that won’t be necessary. I can do it.”
He reached for the bags, but she held on to them.
“It’s no bother.”
His hand rested on hers and for a moment, their eyes connected. Tremors of desire washed through him. His fingers lingered a moment too long, and then he slid them away.
He reached into his tunic for his purse. “What do I owe you?”
“Oh, um…” Eloa looked down at the sacks.
“Here.” He removed three gold pieces.
“No, no. That’s way too much.” Eloa pushed at his hand.
“Of course.” Gerall put one of the gold pieces back. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you two—” He put up his hand to stop her protests. “I’ll give you two, and you can add anything you think makes up the difference to my sack next week. How about that?”
Eloa bit her lip, and she eyed the money. “I would need to add half the shop to the bag to make up that much.”
“Then keep the rest for yourself and buy something nice at the Festivus Festival tomorrow.”
“Will you be coming?” Her cheeks flushed, and she pressed her lips together as if wishing to recant her question.
“Will you have a booth with more pastries?”
A broad smile played across her lips and crinkled the corners of her eyes. “Yes.”
“Then, I’ll be there.”
She chuckled. “I will see you tomorrow then.”
Gerall reached for the sacks again, and she pulled them away.
“But I insist on taking these to the stable for you.”
Such independence. He liked that. He fought for something more to say, some way to engage her longer, but he’d detained her enough already. It wasn’t proper for him to intrude on her time so much. She had things to do, and most likely a dozen handsome suitors vying for affection. He was just the third in line to a Lordship that would, gods willing, never fall on his shoulders. Aside from living in a warm, comfortable home with his family, he didn’t have much to offer.
He placed the money in Eloa’s palm. She shoved the gold into her apron pocket and headed toward the door. Gerall beat her to it and opened it for her.
They stepped out into the sunshine, and she looked up and closed her eyes, bathing in the light. He wanted to say something funny and endearing, but his brain wouldn’t work at the sight of her. She opened her eyes again and smiled.
“I don’t get out enough during the daylight.” Her gaze traveled behind him and her expression fell.
Gerall glanced over his shoulder and found two men leaning against the window of the butcher shop, watching them. He scanned the men. Beefy and menacing. Their stances belied that of a casual air, but they obviously waited for something— him perhaps, or Eloa. Their long coats no doubt held at least one knife, if not two. He turned, and Eloa’s gaze hit the ground. The hairs at the base of his neck stood on end.
“Are they bothering you?”
“What?” Her head snapped up. “No. I’m fine. I just… I’ll see you tomorrow, Lord Gwyn.” Eloa gave a small curtsy and tore off down the street.
His gaze traveled back to the two men. One of them caught Gerall’s stare and nudged the other. They nodded to Gerall and ducked into the butcher’s shop.
When Gerall sucked in a deep breath, he realized he gripped his dagger tightly. He hadn’t even remembered moving his hand. The men made Gerall’s skin crawl. He looked down the roadway for Eloa, but she’d disappeared.
“Gerall,” called Hass.
“Are you coming?” Ian finished.
He swung his gaze to the butcher shop. For all the beauty and prosperity of their township, something in Westfall wasn’t quite right. A danger that lurked under the surface, bubbling and churning like a pot ready to boil over.
Adrian rendezvoused with them, having found nothing that led to Fendrick.
“I’ll retrace my steps north and see if I can pick up the trail again,” he said.
“We’re here if you need us,” replied Jamen.
“And we’ll keep our eyes and ears open as well to see if we can find out more,” Gerall assured him.
“I thank you again. And pray mercy on whomever took Fendrick. If they have him chained, they are safe. But when he gets loose… Well, then gods help anyone that stands between him and returning home.”
Chapter Three
Eloa peeked around the corner from the stable toward her shop. Lord Gerall stared at Charlie and Trent. She held her breath as a minute passed, and then the men disappeared into the butcher shop. Lord Gerall removed his hand from under his cloak, where she decided he must have a hidden weapon.
He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and then ran his hand through his curly hazelnut colored hair. The only man she’d ever met taller than Gerall was his brother Flint. He wasn’t as stalky the rest of his brothers, but he sported broad shoulders and long, lean legs. His kind coffee-colored eyes and gentle disposition had appealed to her for as long as she could remember, b
ut something told her he knew how to handle himself in a fight. Soft-spoken and polite, his very nature attested to a silent strength that he only used when necessary. Though it had been over five years, she’d recognized him instantly, and had fought every girlish instinct to keep her delight hidden at seeing him.
It’d been the first day of Festivus five years ago, and his father had just finished the cleansing ceremony. All the other children had thrown a haypence into the well and made a wish, but she’d had none. He couldn’t have been more than eighteen or nineteen at the time. He’d offered her a coin and then asked her what she’d wished for. So embarrassed by his attention, she’d run off and hid in the bakery window until he, his brothers, and sister had continued down to the green.
She watched him now with the same rapt fasciation that she had those few years ago. She’d heard the rumors around Westfall about the Gwyn family. But watching him meet up with several of his brothers and their families, they looked nothing like what she’d imagined. Far from broken and unfit to lead, they appeared jovial and happy. A family. A real family. Her gut clenched. The one thing she’d always dreamed of.
Eloa looked both ways and then hitched up her skirt and ran back to her store. Refusing to look toward the butcher’s, her hands trembled by the time she reached her shop door. She slammed the door and locked it. Trying to control her racing heartbeat, she wrapped her arms around herself.
For months, Charlie and Trent had been nosing around trying to get Eloa to pay a protection fee. They’d never been able to intimidate her father, but lately, the pair of thugs had been making a regular appearance in the shop. Every time they’d come, she’d refused to pay, and every time they’d left carrying half of her baked goods for the day with them.
Eloa refused to go to the Magistrate for the same reason her father had. There were worse things that could happen to her if the law became involved.
“Eloanya?”
Eloa’s head lifted at the sound of her father’s voice. “Coming, Papa.” She looked out the front window once more to find the men back outside watching her. She checked the lock again and then strode to the back room. How would they make money if she had to lock her doors half the time?
Gerall's Festivus Bride Page 2
