The Spymaster’s Prize: A Fantasy Romance Tale (Artisan Magic Book 2)
The Spymaster’s Prize: Chapter 5

The cabin was dark when Cass woke. Something tickled his face in the dark and for an instant, he forgot where he was. That woman’s small form lay curled close against his chest, his arm draped across her side and his face nestled in her reddish hair. It was soft, and he inhaled the floral scent of her.

It took a moment to realize he shouldn’t have been comfortable.

He didn’t recall her moving close, nor did he remember gathering her into his arms. Considering how short he’d been with her, he couldn’t fathom she would have allowed him to do any such thing, had she been awake. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to feel shame. How else was he supposed to react? She was bold, enticing, the most beautiful woman he’d seen since he’d settled within Kentoria’s borders.

But from the sound of things, she was also the daughter of a lord. He squeezed his eyes shut and gave himself a stern reprimand. Wealthy women were trouble. Troublesome, spoiled, meddlesome. And the very last thing he needed was some nosy woman with social connections becoming entangled in his life.

Curse it all, why had he acted? Why had he helped? He’d never been known for valor, and it would have been easier to let those thugs cart her off along with the sugarmaker’s nephew.

That issue was another problem. If anything, he should have followed, scouted out what he could and carried word back to his employer. He wasn’t about to twist himself up in the brat of a young man’s problems, but his boss would certainly want to know what sort of trouble was skulking about in the sugarbushes outside the capital. Considering he worked there, Cass wanted to know, too.

Mindful not to jostle her, he extricated himself from the bed and left the blankets tucked at her back.

She did not stir.

The faintest sliver of light spilled in through the cracks between shutters. Had the fire not gone out, he might have thought he’d just fallen asleep for a moment. But the hearth was cold, and the wooden plank flooring was frigid beneath his feet when he stood. As stealthily as he could, he crept to the window with the widest gap between shutters and peered outside.

A thick blanket of white covered everything, but the dark trunks of nearby trees made a perfect backdrop for the fat snowflakes that still fell. They came down lazily on a gentle wind, still plentiful, but a far cry from the shrieking storm the night before. If the clouds were less menacing than they’d been yesterday, he dared say they could make it to Samara before things got ugly. Vinson swore the tail end of the storm would bring ice, but snow was still all that clung to the branches.

Cass shifted back and glanced at his boots. First, he’d slip outside and check the weather. Then, he’d figure out something for breakfast. Eager as he was to get Elia home, heading out without a proper meal would be unwise.

Elia.

He rolled the name around in his thoughts, wondered what it would feel like on his tongue. Then he caught himself and gave his head a shake. There were a thousand other things that deserved his attention before that, beginning with what—or who—might be waiting for him outside.

What would he do if those thugs had come back? If he opened the door and found them waiting? All it took to land him in trouble was for the wrong one to be out there, one who might recognize his face from their skirmish before. His injury hadn’t been severe, but it would prevent him from fighting well.

If they found them while he was trying to get Elia home, he didn’t know what he would do. Trouble. That was all he could think of.

Yet he’d dragged her right back to his rented cabin and spent the whole night with her in his arms.

Curse it all.

Cass scrubbed his face with his hands and turned his thoughts to donning his boots. He hadn’t done it on purpose. He hadn’t done anything wrong. It was cold, she was warm, and it made sense to nestle together after the fire had gone out.

Ah, the fire. He glanced toward the hearth. He had every intention of slipping outside to see the state of things, but the moment he opened that door, the cabin would be left freezing. Hardly the hospitable sort of welcome a lady deserved. He scooped up his boots and pulled them on, then took a log from the stack beside the door. The moment he turned away, the pile tipped and clattered to the floor and Elia jerked awake.

He grimaced. “Sorry.”

For some reason he couldn’t fathom, she smiled, her face just faintly visible in what little light slipped in between the shutters.

He considered explaining his plan to prepare breakfast, but his tongue didn’t work when he tried to speak, so he just turned to the hearth to clean out the ashes left from the old fire. Once he had the kindling ready, the snap of the sparking steel and flint was noisy in the stillness.

As the sparks took hold and a soft glow filled the cabin, Elia pushed herself upright. “Good morning.”

Was it a good morning? Confusing, more like. Or maybe he was the only one who was ruffled up, flustered after how he’d woken.

So he grunted in reply.

She didn’t seem bothered. “Did you sleep well?”

Perhaps a little too well. “Sure.” He tried to replace something else to focus on. The soup kettle still sat beside the fire, though it was all but empty now. “Soup got cold overnight. We’ll need to make something fresh before we head out.”

“I can make breakfast,” she offered with another smile.

Good. That would be good. She could cook, and he could take a moment for the cold air to wake him up and set his head straight. His cloak still lay on the floor where she’d left it after the door was patched, so he picked it up and draped it around his shoulders.

Her smile faltered. “Where are you going?”

“To check the weather. Open the shutters.” He lifted the door’s bar from its brackets and set it aside. “See if anyone’s waiting for us outside.”

“Should I stay here, then?” She laced her fingers together atop the blankets, as serene as a dove in the snow.

“Go ahead and cook.” He checked the clasp of his cloak and opened the door. He considered taking his axe, but left it leaning against the wall. Better not to invite more trouble than he already had. With that thought in the forefront of his mind, he cast her a pointed look and slipped out the door.

The moment he had it closed behind him, he drew a deep breath through his nose. The air stung with cold and the sharp scent of snow, but it was refreshing, grounding, and took his thoughts away from the pain in his side. He’d have a proper healer look at that when he took her back to Samara. As little as he cared about a reward, it did occur to him that accepting a token sum as thanks for her rescue would make it easier to pay for treatment.

But he would ford that river when he found it. Right now, he needed to scrape together some sort of plan for getting her home to begin with, and what he would do if something went wrong.

Most of the footprints leading to the cabin had been obscured by fresh snow, but some remained on the side of the house that was sheltered from the wind. Some of the boot prints were his, but there were some clustered around the window that didn’t match. Someone had come along and tried to peek inside. Looking for him? Or for Elia? It was hard to guess; the shutters were still fastened closed, which meant they hadn’t looked too hard.

One collection of prints were better defined than the rest, and they were only partially obscured. Instead of running toward the thick part of the woods where the toughs had gone, they led east, toward Vinson’s place. Maybe someone had come to look for the man’s nephew. But if that were the case, why hadn’t they come to the door?

Cass ran a hand through his hair until his fingers snagged on tangles. He’d gotten himself into something, that was for sure.

Against his better judgment, he followed that trail a short way toward the east. The prints weren’t so clear once he left the shelter of the cabin, but enough depressions remained in the snow for him to be certain it was one man, and he’d definitely headed in the direction of Vinson’s house. Or, Cass assumed it was a he. There weren’t many women in the sugarmaker’s employ, and he couldn’t fathom the stubborn old goat would let any of them venture out into a snowstorm on their own. Even after the blizzard had cleared. Fat snowflakes still fell, but the worst of the storm was over.

Satisfied by his short excursion, he made a circuit around the cabin, then went to open the shutters. He started to pull them open, then paused. Elia was inside. Was she ready? Was she decent? Erring on the side of caution, he gave the shutters a good thump and rattle before he pulled them open to let light inside.

Beyond the dirty glass, candles glowed, and the flustered way Elia glanced his direction indicated he’d guessed right. Instead of cooking, she took advantage of the privacy to freshen up. Well, he wouldn’t begrudge her that. The sweet fragrance of her hair came to mind and he ducked his eyes.

It wouldn’t hurt to take time to freshen himself up, too. Nothing he did would make him smell like flowers, but maybe if he washed up and changed his clothes, he’d be presentable enough to…

Cass snorted and shook his head as he trudged to the next window. Presentable enough to what? If she wasn’t impressed by the part where he’d saved her, she wasn’t worth the attention. And, he reminded himself sternly as he opened the next set of shutters, he didn’t need her attention. He was there because he had a job to do, and her presence was a small hiccup that he needed to ensure stayed small, lest he have to explain himself.

Still, offering her a little respect struck him as appropriate, so he lingered outside for longer than was necessary. Certainly because she deserved a moment alone, and not because he needed the time to compose himself and work out what they were going to do.

When he finally let himself back into the cabin, his nose and ears ached with cold, but the fresh air had been invigorating, and he returned with his head clear.

Elia knelt beside the hearth and the pleasant fragrance of something cooking filled the air. She offered a smile as he stepped in and shut the door, trapping the fire’s warmth. “I found your stash of cooking supplies. This should be better than the soup.”

He crept forward, curious. “What are you making?”

“Pancakes.” She punctuated the statement by flipping one on the tiny griddle.

Cass glanced at the little stack already on the hearth. He didn’t know where she’d found the ingredients. He certainly didn’t have eggs hidden anywhere in the cabin. But they looked good and the aroma elicited an eager rumble from his stomach, so he was willing to give them a try. “You know I don’t have syrup, right?” Which was ridiculous, considering the job he’d taken here, but it was also his first season.

“Well, yes.” She nudged the edges of the cooking pancake with the wooden spatula she’d turned up from who knew where. “But I saw there was an apple in your box of produce. It was a bit withered, but I made something with that.”

He noted a bowl warming near the griddle and made a soft sound of understanding. What she could have done with a single shriveled-up apple, he didn’t know, but he’d replace out soon enough. In the meantime, crossed to the water barrel in the corner. Its contents were lower than he liked, but it was enough to get them through the day. When he came back, he’d melt snow. He shed his cloak and draped it over a nearby chair, then unbuttoned his shirt.

Elia remained politely focused on her cooking, and her sudden reticence left him strangely self-conscious.

He rolled his shoulders and turned his back to her as he dipped the bucket and peeled back his shirt. The bandages she’d made for him stuck to his wound when he tried to pull it back, but what he could see of the edges appeared clean enough. One visit to a good apothecary in Samara would fix things fast.

With his shirt still unbuttoned, he found a cloth and wet it in the bucket so he could wash his face and neck. He’d just retrieved a comb when she spoke.

“How did things look outside?” Her tone was laced with expectant caution.

“Weather’s all right.” He combed his beard first, checking the length with his fingers. It was still tidy enough that he wouldn’t frighten her family, he decided; he still looked more like a field worker than a wild man.

“Does that mean we’ll be going today?”

“Sooner the better,” he replied, and regretted it the moment it left his tongue. It sounded like he was eager to be rid of her. The fact that bothered him caught up with him a moment later. Curse it, shouldn’t he look forward to removing himself from this situation? Maybe the thugs out there in the woods would forget about her. Maybe they wouldn’t. The longer they stayed together, the more likely it was he’d have to deal with unnecessary hardships.

Despite the brusqueness of the words, Elia still smiled over her shoulder. “Yes, I think so. That is, if we’re going to have time.”

Cass frowned. Time for what? “It’ll be a slog through the snow, but it won’t be that bad. I’ll stay in Samara tonight if I have to.”

“My father will pay for that,” she said without hesitation. “But we have to go see Vinson first. I don’t know Peretor’s father, so Vinson is the best choice.” She plopped the last pancake on the stack and stood with the food in her hands.

For a moment, all he could do was stare. “I can go see Vinson myself.”

“Yes, Tomorrow. What if something terrible has happened by then? We need to let Vinson know immediately, and it makes more sense to head to his house and then to Samara, instead of the other way around.”

Cass hated that she was right. He tried to think of an argument, but before he could, she carried the dishes to the table and divided the stack of pancakes onto two plates.

“Sit down and eat. And let me see that comb.” She held out her hand and he deposited it into her palm, thinking she meant to do her own hair.

Instead, as he sat and reached for a spoon to scoop some of what appeared to be some sort of fresh apple chutney onto his steaming pancakes, she stood behind his chair and set to work on his tangled mane.

“Do let me know if you like it,” she said. “I’d do better at home, but I think I did all right here.”

After the first taste, he was convinced she’d done more than all right. He considered his response carefully as she combed his hair and inexplicably set to twisting it into braids along the sides of his head, but all he could think of as her soft fingertips brushed his scalp was that when this job he’d been given was over and he could go home, it might be time to take a wife.