Page 65 of Paladin's Faith

Wren twisted in the chair, put her feet up, and gazed into the middle distance with a vague, silly smile on her face.

“Seen your young man again?” asked Marguerite, amused.

Wren flushed. “He’s not my young man,” she said. “He’s not…I mean…we haven’t…”

A growl from the corner seemed to indicate that Shane’s porcupine was not agreeing with him.

“But he has sought you out? Repeatedly?” Marguerite asked.

Wren nodded, the smile still on her lips. “He always finds me.”

“Well, I can’t speak to his background, but in the Court, that’s certainly considered meaningful.” Among a group like the Hundred Houses, that would be tantamount to a proposal, but without knowing where this Ian was from, Marguerite couldn’t be sure.

“He might just be friendly,” Wren said, apparently determined to bring herself back down to earth. “I mean, it’s hard to make friends here, and I’m not very threatening. He could just want to talk.”

“Uh-huh,” said Marguerite. There were certainly young men in the world who simply wanted a friendly chat with a young woman. She had met at least five of them. The other three or four hundred, on the other hand… “Does he kiss your hand? Lingering looks? You glance over at him and he’s looking straight at you?”

“Nmmmff,” said Wren, turning scarlet.

The porcupine was definitely proving indigestible. Marguerite ignored the grumbling from the corner. “Does he ask you about you or talk about himself?”

Wren dug her shoulder blades deeper into the chair. “He wanted to know all about my life back home. And he asked me to go down to the lake with him, where all the shorebirds are nesting.”

Is looking at shorebirds a euphemism now? Did I just miss it? “And did you see them?”

“The shorebirds? Yes. There’s a spot where they all nest, so if you walk down the path, suddenly there’s a dozen adult birds trying to convince you that they have a broken wing and running in all directions. It was completely ridiculous.”

Regardless of Ian’s intentions, Marguerite was pretty sure that Wren was infatuated with the man, if she was willing to risk the elevator just to look at strange birds. “You’ll have to bring him by some time,” she said. “I see the merchants more than the nobility.”

“Except for Maltrevor,” said Shane darkly.

“Yes, well. He isn’t terribly welcome among the nobility with marriageable daughters, so he slums it with the merchants. Speaking of which…” She glanced at the water clock. “Probably time to get moving.” She went into her bedroom, slipped into something that, while not terribly comfortable, was certainly minimal, then pulled a cloak on over it.

Wren took one look at her and started laughing. “Oh my god!”

“Subtle, isn’t it?” Marguerite struck a pose. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Shane turn the color of an overexcited tomato.

“Those shoes!” said Wren, sitting up.

“Dreadful, aren’t they?” She bent down and rubbed her heel. “Fortunately there are no steep staircases between here and there, or I’d probably break an ankle.”

Shane finally regained the power of speech and said, “You cannot—you can’t possibly—you don’t mean to—to—”

“To?” She pivoted to face him.

“Go out dressed like that!” He tried to demonstrate what he meant with his hands, ended up tracing an exaggerated hourglass figure, and turned, if possible, even redder.

Marguerite’s eyes narrowed. “Are you getting moralistic on me, paladin?”

“I’m afraid you’ll start a riot!”

She started laughing. She couldn’t help it. “Thank you for the compliment. Don’t worry, the cloak hides a multitude of sins.” She adjusted it, pulling it closed at the front and pinning it in place. “There. I am as modest as a nun.”

“Nuns don’t wear shoes like that,” said Wren.

“Lucky nuns.” She leaned down to adjust the strap on one of the shoes. Shane threw his forearm across his eyes as if afraid that he would be struck blind. Marguerite snorted. Being judged by a knight ought to have been funny. I’d think it was funny if Stephen was doing it, I bet. Somehow, when it was Shane, it was irritating. You know what I do for a living. You knew what you signed up for. You don’t get to judge me for it.

“Time to go,” she said, settling the cloak back to respectability again.