Seventy candles lit the great hall and an abundance of wine gladdened the hearts of those who had just lost a good lord.
Lina hoped her mask was firmly in place.
She had obeyed Robert’s command, but she wore a black gown and a veil for her father. And if Robert dared tell her to dance, she would refuse.
Now, she sat glaring at the merry-makers.
But one person stood silently.
It was a man standing at the edge of the room, his body leaning against the wall like a cat ready to strike.
He was watching the room, but now, mayhap, because he felt her stare, he turned.
It was the miller.
She hated that her heart skipped as she thought of the night her father had died, still dumbfounded at her own response.
She’d been so overcome with grief and anger that reason had left her, and she was ashamed that this miller had witnessed it though she was more ashamed that she cared of his opinion at all.
He had serious brown eyes, and now he gazed at her, not looking away but holding her there, openly reading her face. She tried to glare at him, but she felt too confused by the touch of his kind eyes.
There was a change in his demeanor towards her. He’d seen her behave as a fool, and now, he recognized the pain and anger that she’d successfully hidden from others.
She dropped her eyes, uneasy that the only man who had always slipped past her defenses knew so much.
“Your common friend from the village gapes at me openly, brother.”
Robert chuckled edgily. “He may not be so common to you for long, sister.”
She could not think what he meant, and before she could ask, he jumped up, hailing a visiting lord.
Anon, friend. Fair thee well!
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