Page 50 of Lady's Knight
Gwen muttered something under her breath and stepped forward. “Two minutes,” she promised Isobelle.
“By all means, dance!” said Isobelle cheerily, and clamped her jaw shut before she managed to say something likeDance all night, you make a lovely couple!Or, even worse:No—stay, and dance with me instead.
Fortunately, before any of those words could escape, Gwen and Theo were gone.
“Poor lad,” drawled a dry, amused voice behind Isobelle.
She desperately wanted to pretend the voice wasn’t talking about Theo, and wasn’t talking to her. She needed space to steady herself, to try to calm her whirling head, which was reeling like a punch-drunk boxer from a succession of blows.
“Though hardly his fault,” the voice continued. Slowly, Isobelle turned.
The woman standing in the shadows was older than her, but not old enough to have earned the gray and white streaks through her sable hair. They gave her the air of a striped tabby cat, and the slow blink of her eyes as she took Isobelle in did nothing to dispel that image. Her dress was plain, well mended and cared for, and she wore a wide belt holding up several pockets and pouches.
If everything about her didn’t screamhedge witch!, possibly while waving some of those streamers the cheerleaders at the tournament were using, then the wicker charm dangling from the leather thong around her neck certainly would have gotten the job done.
Isobelle reacted on instinct, bobbing a polite curtsy—not too deep, but flawless in execution. On the upper end of the I-very-much-respect-hedge-witches spectrum. She threw in a smile and a dimple for good measure.Sweet, harmless maid from the castle. That’s me!
The woman’s brows rose—Isobelle had a feeling she’d just been thoroughly examined and completely understood—but when she laughed, the sound wasn’t unkind. “Well, aren’t you charming? And you’re new.” She inclined her head in a hint of a bow, an oddly formal response to the curtsy.
“Izzie,” Isobelle offered. “I’m from the castle. Gwen told me she’d show me what a real celebration looked like.”
“Delia,” the woman offered. “And therealcelebration won’t start until later this evening. The circle will take place by the river—there’s an old oak. You’ll find it if you follow the creek out past the fields.”
“The circle?” Isobelle blinked at her foolishly before understanding arrived. “Oh! I’m—I’m afraid I’m no witch.”
Delia studied her for a moment that went on a beat too long, her lips curving into a faint smile. “Are you not?”
“I’m—” Why was Isobelle even hesitating? It wasn’t the sort of thing you missed about yourself, any more than you missed that you were seven feet tall, or a knight in shining armor, or that you were attracted to... “No,” she said, her tone somewhere between apologetic and confused.
“Mmm,” Delia said eventually. “Forgive my mistake, in that case. How are you enjoying the tournament?” the hedge witch asked, and Isobelle suddenly knew what it felt like to be a mouse played with by a cat. Did Deliaknow things, or did she just cultivate an air that made it feel as though she did?
“It’s very loud when the knights crash together,” she replied. “None of it makes much sense to me.”
“You should ask our Gwen about it,” Delia replied. Bat, bat, went her paws. Isobelle-mouse squeaked somewhere inside. “Shecould explain it to you. And here she comes.”
Isobelle was sure she whipped around far too fast, and sure enough, there was Gwen bearing down on them. Without thinking, she extended her hand, and Gwen simply took hold of it, curling her warm fingers around Isobelle’s as she reached her side.
“I see Delia found you,” she said, but with a warmth that suggested she was quite pleased to see the hedge witch. “I got away from Theo by pointing out that old Bertin is setting up over on his crate. It’s dragon bonfire night. I wanted Izzie to hear a real story. She’s only ever heard the nobility’s versions.”
Isobelle blinked. “Your stories are different from those told up at the castle?”
“Ours are true,” Delia replied. “Go, listen. Learn. I have my own business to attend to this evening.” She inclined her head again in one of those almost-bows, and Isobelle couldn’t help feeling that it was directed at her. “Gwen, it is good to see you are well. Izzie, I feel certain our paths will cross again.”
There was a great deal for Isobelle to consider as they walked away from the hedge witch, but one look at Gwen’s expression distracted her from her own issues. Though her tone had been easy enough, there was a hint of a line between her brows that Isobelle immediately wished to smooth away.
“Did he step on your toes?” she asked, giving Gwen’s hand a daring squeeze.
“Mmm?” Gwen glanced across at her, and then let out a slow breath. Isobelle tried to ignore the little leap her heart gave, realizing that squeeze had eased Gwen’s tense expression. “Not the way you mean, no. There’s nothing wrong with Theo.”
“Oh my. Nothing wrong with him? Now there’s some high praise.”
Gwen led her through the crowd before she replied, and found them a place together on a log that had been rolled up to the edge of the circle around the fire. Isobelle made a brief and fruitless attempt to dust the log off enough to keep her borrowed skirts clean, then conceded.
Once they were seated side by side, Gwen turned her head to speak quietly to Isobelle once more. “It’s true. There’s nothing wrong with Theo. He’s from a family a couple of villages over. His father’s the blacksmith in Nether Foxholm. His older brother will inherit the business.”
“Ah,” said Isobelle slowly, feeling many feelings at once. “And perhaps Theo will work for his brother. But perhaps he might also marry the daughter of a blacksmith who lacks a male heir.”
Gwen grimaced in reply. “He’s a nice boy. I think he’d be kind to me.”