The kitchen fires warmed her as she walked past them and into the large adjoining room fit with two beds, a table, and chairs. Her father sat on the larger of the two beds. A worn, cornflower blue comforter pushed to the side.
“Eloa darling, is everything okay? I heard the door slam.”
She put on her best smile. “It was just a gust of wind.” She sat on the edge of the bed and patted her father’s back. The oven explosion that had almost taken his life had been no accident. She was sure of it. His hands, arms, and feet remained wrapped in the makeshift bandages she changed daily. His wounds weren’t recovering properly because she couldn’t get him a real healer without exposing that he still lived. The best she could do was keep them clean and moist.
“Did I hear a customer today?” he asked.
“Yes.” She picked up the hairbrush from the small nightstand and brushed at his long silvery hair. “Lord Gwyn stopped by and picked up some goods.”
“Lord Gwyn? The eldest?”
“No. Gerall. The third eldest.”
He turned to her. “The one with the glasses?”
Eloa nodded. “That’s him.”
“He’s a nice boy. But you need to marry someone with more inheritance. It will keep you safe.”
Eloa pulled her father’s hair into a leather strap and tugged down the sides to cover his ears. “I shall marry for love. Like you.”
He shook his head. “You must find a man, a powerful man. Only then will you and your children be protected here in Westfall.”
“And who will protect you?”
“All I want is to see you find happiness and then I’ll return to Ville DeFee to be buried with my kin.”
Eloa hugged her father, trying to hold back her tears. “Don’t say that. You still have years and years ahead of you.”
Sadness clouded her father’s face. “I should have gone back to my homeland after your mother’s death instead of hiding here. If I’d not been so selfish when you were young, and I’d sent you to live with my mother, no one would have known that you weren’t full-blooded fae. You have their beauty and power.”
“You know I don’t wish for that. I have always been happy here. And who would I have become had I been raised in a society so judgmental of those without magick? They’d never have let me see you again.”
He gave her a sad smile. She knew her magick brought her father both pride and pain since his had all but completely faded by the time he’d met and married her mother.
Eloa’s father sighed. “It’s too late, anyway. My mother is dead, as are my brothers. There is no one left there to care for you even if I did send you. I’m sorry, my daughter. Sorry for keeping you here. For not giving you brothers and sisters to comfort you when I’m gone. For not giving you the life I should have.”
Eloa’s heart squeezed. She had no interest in going to live in Ville DeFee. Her place was with her father in Westfall. The home where she’d spent her life learning magic and writing and reading and baking. The area that smelled of sugar and cinnamon. Her place. Home.
“Look.” Eloa dug in her pocket and pulled out the gold coins. “Lord Gerall paid for the baked goods and told me that he wants a weekly order.”
“Two gold? Did he buy the whole shop?”
“He tried to give me three, but I refused. He said that I could give him extra goods next week.”
“You could give him a day’s worth of goods for that price.” Her father’s gaze stayed on the coins for a moment. “Take one of them and put it in a safe place. You never know when you might need it.”
Eloa’s brow furrowed. “What could I possibly need it for?”
“It’s time we started looking toward your future. This shop isn’t where I want you to spend the rest of your days. You put that gold away and save it. And from now on, anything he gives you over the asking price, you put somewhere safe.”
“But father—”
“I won’t be disobeyed in this. Too long, you’ve waited on me. Nursed me and let life pass you by because of my sins. But no more. You will no longer tend to me as a burden. I will do for myself or not at all.”
For the first time since the accident, a determination lit in her father’s eyes that gave her hope.
“If that is what you wish, Papa.”
“It is. I am your past, and you have a long future ahead of you. You need to look to it.”
Eloa stared at the gold pieces. Her future. She’d never thought of having a future before. Lord Gerall’s kind, handsome face flashed into her mind. His strong jawline and ears that stuck out just a little too much made her smile. Somehow, between the way he looked at her and his kindness, she almost thought a future of her own might be possible.
Eloa spent the next several hours tidying up the shop and making a to-do list for the following day. She had much to accomplish. She’d already gotten together her table and baskets, and she magicked up a beautiful banner to hang from the front of the table. She had just begun pulling out crates to pack up various glass plates when Lars the stable hand stopped by and bought two loaves of bread. After him, the glassmaker stopped in for a few cookies and a pie for his wife. Both asked if she’d be attending the festivities the following day. Eloa could only attribute the customers to Lord Gerall. His kindness truly knew no bounds.
She was just closing up when Magistrate Jopin entered. Eloa licked her lips, and her gaze shifted to the curtain, separating her from the hut behind the store.
“Good evening, Magistrate,” said Eloa. “How nice of you to stop by. Would you like a cup of tea?”
“No, no thank you, my dear. It’s my wife’s birthday tomorrow, and I had hoped you might have something for the occasion.”
Eloa’s heart skipped. If she could impress the Magistrate, it might mean even more business. “Of course.” She smiled. “Is there something specific your wife likes?”
“She’s very fond of draepons, but they are so hard to find this time of season.”
“I have some preserved draepons in reserve.”
His eyes widened in surprise. “Do you? How many do you have?”
Eloa’s heart sank a bit. She didn’t want to sell him her draepons; she wanted to sell him her baked goods. “Not too many,” she lied. “But enough, maybe for a few things.” If she was going to have to sell them to him, she wasn’t going to sell them all.
“Oh.” His face fell. “That’s too bad. I’m throwing her a celebration this weekend, and I had hoped to order several cakes as well as pastries. Of course, I’d also need some rolls and such as well to feed say, twenty people?”
Eloa swallowed hard. Pastries and cakes and bread enough for twenty people was an incredible order.
“But if you can’t do it—”
“I can,” she blurted. Eloa cleared her throat. “What I mean is, yes, I think I should have enough for that, if I don’t overdo it on the draepons.”
The Magistrate wagged his finger. “I don’t want you to spread it too thin though. I don’t want to be perceived as cheap.”
“Of course not, Magistrate.”
“So, I can count on you for the baked goods?”
“Absolutely.” She tried hard not to beam. Twenty people. Twenty, influential people, no doubt.
“Splendid. Then I shall have them picked up Friday, say around four?”
“I would be happy to deliver them free of charge.”
“Then we are agreed. I’ll pay you when the items are delivered.”
Eloa nodded. “Thank you, Sir. You won’t be sorry.”
“I’m sure I won’t.” He turned to leave and then turned back. “Oh, I almost forgot. Gerall said that you had some goose and cranberry pastries that were heavenly. Do you think I might…”
“They’re right here.” Eloa showed him to the basket. “Feel free to help yourself.”
“Are you sure?” He gazed at them and licked his lips.
“I insist,” she replied.
He smiled. “Thank you, my dear.” The M
agistrate reached in and plucked the remaining three pastries from the basket. He shoved two into his cloak and the third he bit into immediately. His eyes widened in surprise. “Remarkable. This is truly delicious,” he said through full cheeks.
“Thank you.”
“Your father never made anything half so good. Where did you learn to make these?”
Goosebumps ran up her arms, and she hoped her father hadn’t heard the unkind remark. “It’s an old family secret from my mother’s side.”
The Magistrate laughed. “Well, if she’d given it to your father, he’d have been a wealthy man before he died.”
Eloa’s throat tightened. “Perhaps he would have.”
“If I were you, I’d make up dozens and dozens of these to sell tomorrow at the festival. I’m sure they will go faster than rabbit stew.” The Magistrate wiped his mouth on his sleeve before sticking his hand out to her. “I wish you goodnight. And look forward to having more of these tomorrow.”
Eloa shivered at the thought of having to shake the hand of a man who’d just shoved food into his mouth and then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Goodnight.” She shook his hand quickly and then pulled her palm away. Her fingers twitched with the need to wash.
Opening the door, he dug into his pocket and pulled out a second pastry. He’d bit it in half by the time the door closed. Eloa locked the door behind him, flipped her sign to closed, and then headed to the kitchen washbasin.
Plunging her hands into the water, she scrubbed her fingers with the gentle soap. Then inspected her nails and wiped her hands with a towel. The last thing she needed was someone becoming ill from her baked goods because of dirty work conditions. That would be the ruin of her before she had even started.
A hand landed on the front doorknob of the shop, and she heard someone try to open the door. Her heart thundered, and she tiptoed to the curtain partition that separated the shop from the back room. Trent and Charlie loomed outside the front door, staring through the window. She swallowed hard and waited as they spoke to each other. A minute passed, and then the men disappeared out of sight. She paused to see if they would try the back door of the hut, not that they would succeed in getting it open. She’d spelled the door to the hut as well as the window first thing after her father’s attack. No one could see inside the window, and no one except her father or herself could open the door. She wished she could spell the front of the store as well, but if she wanted to continue running a business, she had to let people come inside.
Eloa pressed herself into the wall of the back room and took several deep breaths. She had to keep it together. If they found out the truth about her father, it could mean the end of both of them.
Chapter Four
A knock awoke Gerall the next morning.
“Come in.” He reached for the glasses on his nightstand and looked at his clock. He’d overslept. They’d gone out on patrol again the night before in hopes of finding the missing vampire girl as well as Fendrick. But to no avail.
Jamen popped around the corner of the door. “Morning, sleepyhead.”
“Sorry I slept so late.”
“Dreaming of the girl who baked those amazing pastries?”
Gerall looked over at Jamen, standing in his doorway.
Jamen threw up his hands. “Hey, if I weren’t completely in love with my wife, I’d consider marrying that baker’s daughter on the spot. Her baking is extraordinary.”
A pair of emerald green eyes flashed into Gerall’s mind.
“She is quite beautiful.” He cleared his throat, embarrassed to have said that out loud. “I... I mean... She’s well... She’s...”
Jamen chuckled. “As fun as it is to stand here and listen to you stammer, that isn’t why I woke you.”
“Has something happened?” Gerall was more than happy to change the subject.
“A messenger arrived from Magistrate Jopin. He’s having a birthday celebration for his wife on Friday after the last festivities, and he has invited us all.”
Gerall stretched. “That was nice of him.”
Jamen nodded. “Problem is, he invited all of us, and if we show up without Erik, it will appear strange.”
“Why don’t just you go then? Tell the magistrate the rest of us were feeling poorly.”
“I could.” Jamen opened the door wider and leaned against the jamb. “But I have no desire to go.”
Gerall nodded. “What about Flint?”
Jamen shook his head.
“I guess I could ask the twins to go. They’re the liveliest of us.”
“Maybe a little too lively considering the company?”
Gerall’s thoughts turned to Eloa. He wondered if she would be there. “Well, you don’t want to go, and the twins can’t be trusted by themselves.”
“Can’t be trusted to what?” asked Ian entering the doorframe.
“Who says we can’t be trusted?” asked Hass.
Jamen laughed.
“What’s going on?” asked Flint.
“It’s the party for the Magistrate’s wife,” said Jamen
“So why can’t we go?” asked Hass.
“Because Erik is gone, and Snow is gone, and Kellan is—”
“Gone,” Hass whispered.
“There will be a lot of questions,” said Flint.
“We’re going to the festival this week. Everyone will have seen us already,” Gerall said.
“But in a very open place like the festival, I doubt anyone will be too invasive,” Flint replied.
“Trust me,” said Jamen. “These parties are nothing more than the gossiping of old hens. Nothing good can come of subjecting Scarlet and Zelle to attend.”
“But it could also be a good place to find out more about what’s going on,” Gerall said. “Yesterday at the bakery, two men were hanging around staring at the baker’s daughter, Eloa. They stared me down when I came out of her shop, which is something that never would have happened three years ago. I saw her when she’d finished delivering the baked goods to our carriage; she peeked around the corner, scared.”
The brothers stood silent for a long moment.
“He’s right,” Jamen finally said. “We can’t wait around for Erik. We said we were going to make our presence known and show our faces more. This is part of it.”
Flint nodded. “Then we go.”
“But who will we get to watch the babies?” asked Hass.
“We could ask Snow,” said Ian.
Jamen nodded. “Snow would love that.”
“It’s settled then,” said Flint. “We all go to the party for the Magistrate’s wife.”
“Come on,” Hass clapped Ian on the shoulder.
“There is food waiting to be eaten at the festival,” Ian finished.
“Yeah.” Jamen threw Gerall a sly smile. “Gerall’s girl sure does know how to bake.”
“I wouldn’t mention that to your wife,” said Flint. “She still thinks her burnt rolls are edible thanks to you.”
The brothers groaned.
Eloa pulled her last cartful of baked goods toward the grassy knoll where all the vendors had set up their wares around the maypole and stage. She couldn’t help but smile as the minstrels practiced their music. Mr. Blen, the dairyman, had donned the costume of a juggler for the day and currently had four small balls thrown in the air. Three of the local girls tied their shoelaces on the stage, dressed in bright fall colored dresses. Golden flowers and vibrant leaves adorned their hair. Light and laughter filled all of Westfall, and the festival hadn’t even started. A portion of the knoll had been sectioned off, and a group of women hid buns and toys and other goodies for the children to find. A band of the townsfolk had apparently gotten together and decided to put on a play. They rushed about with set pieces and costumes all trying to hide their things behind the stage.
Eloa smiled again and set her goods on a long table. The lively colors of her pastries had been designed to catch everyone’s eye. She’d stayed up most of the night just mak
ing sure every last one of them looked perfect. Since her father’s supposed death, she’d barely survived on what the bakery made. And ever since her visits from Trent and Charlie had started, her customer base had dropped drastically. Which was why she’d taken extra steps to make sure that everything not only looked perfect but tasted perfect as well. This was her chance. Even with Lord Gwyn’s generous offering, if she couldn’t pull the townspeople into her bakery, she’d be no better than a kept woman on his money. And as much as she liked baking, it wasn’t what she wanted a man to keep her for.
She set the last cake on the table with care. Three tiers of white cream filled with berry spread and topped with edible flowers. Her masterpiece.
She stepped back to admire her handiwork, promptly bumping into someone. She spun around to find Trent leering at her.
“Hello, sweetie. How are we this fine day?”
Eloa scanned the area. Though everyone busied themselves with their own setup, she doubted Trent would do anything overly threatening with so many witnesses around.
Or so she hoped.
“I’m not your sweetie. Now if you will excuse me, I have to finish.” She spun on her heels and moved to her table to arrange the miniature pies.
“It’s a beautiful day,” said Trent. “Pity your father couldn’t be here to see it.”
Eloa froze, and a chill raced down her spine.
“He was truly an interesting man, your father. Gutsy, I’ll give him that. He never once gave into my protection, and you saw what happened to him. Pity. It all could have been avoided had he just let me protect him.”
Eloa spun around. “You stay the hell away from me, or I’ll—”
He strode toward her, making her back up into her table. “You’ll what, dove? Use magick on me?”
She glanced around at the other vendors. Each glanced at her for a moment before pointedly looking away. Sweat slicked her palms and the urge to pee almost consumed her. They all knew. And none of them were willing to stand up to Trent.
Gerall's Festivus Bride Page 3
