The afternoon warmth faded as evening approached. Mia stepped outside to close the shutters, pulling her cloak in a bit tighter. Alma’s afternoon nap stretched into the mealtime hour. Mia smiled. Alma had played hard today, chasing the kitten through the bursting green leaves, returning every few minutes with a new bloom for Mia.
She had smelled rain as she gathered wood earlier today, watching Alma. It might rain yet, she thought. Hard to judge from the dull gray sky, hanging low and listless above.
Bjorn came down the path. “Leave the shutters,” he called. “I’ll attend them.”
Mia stood with her hands at her sides. Her face turned hot, so she looked down, picking her skirts up so she could see the condition of her shoes. Bjorn’s work made him good at spotting a liar. He would be just as fast uncovering betrayal. They were the same thing, really.
He went to work fastening the shutters into place, then squinted up at the sky. “I smelled rain earlier today. ’Tis a shame it did not come in the afternoon and cool us off. I got soaked through with sweat.”
“It was that hot today?” she asked. “I did not think so.” She pressed her lips back together. “Were you working hard?”
“What goes through your mind? What else would I be doing?”
Mia flinched and stepped back.
Bjorn cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “I had a lot of work today. Last night Bastion gave me a list of inquiries to be made. He wanted me out the door early this morning, to get it all done.”
“I did not mean to say I doubted you. I didn’t know.”
“Because I didn’t say anything, I know. But Bastion asked me not to. He even asked that I not tell you of that conversation. He didn’t know I would have to defend myself to you. He’s not married. Probably knows nothing about women.”
Mia rested her fingertips against her mouth, bringing her other hand to her throat. She said nothing.
Bjorn sighed. “Rose gave us names. I had to make arrests today, bring women to Bastion for interrogation later.”
“Did you see Bastion today?”
He slammed a fist against the window frame. “Of course I saw Bastion. I am following his instructions.”
“I only meant to ask of your day. I am not trying to provoke you.”
A light rain began. Bjorn put a hand on her back, lightly pushing her toward the door.
Mia tried a new approach. “Last night Bastion said many new things, things I have never heard.”
“Yes.”
“And today? Did he say anything of interest? Anything you would want to share?” Mia paused at the doorway.
“Who cares what he said today? I arrested seven women. I worked hard.”
“Of course.”
“Bastion told me that you would seem skittish today. A lot happened last night. Your mind needs more time to understand it all.”
He pushed past her and went in, heading for the pottage pot. Mia nodded to herself, grateful she had attended to it earlier. Her home looked perfect, swept and tidied, serene with its full pottage pot. She could not bear to be idle today; at every moment she had found work to do. She had not sat down once, save to feed Margarite and Alma.
“I wish Stefan was not so offended by this man,” Bjorn said. “I would like to talk of these things with someone.”
“You can talk to me,” Mia said, in her quiet child’s voice, though it didn’t suit her anymore, she knew. A different version of her had taken over, one who hungered.
Bjorn snorted. “You can listen. But do not offer anything to me in conversation.”
Mia tried not to feel the sting of his words. “I will listen, then.”
“Bastion says women are a necessary evil. He is a bachelor. What does he know of my pain?” Bjorn watched Mia’s face as he laughed. She kept her expression still and empty, and Bjorn settled down into his chair with a bowl of pottage, talking between bites. He didn’t look at her again. “Bastion is a true man of God. His words change me. Today I learned even more. The Devil may occupy the body, but not the soul. A man may be essentially pure and good and right before God and still be driven by lust to a mistress’s bed, all by the power of a witch—a witch with charms, or the Devil occupying his mind and body. ’Tis a wondrous thing. A good man who sins is not always guilty. There is a type of madness, a strange lust that does not come from his own heart, but another’s. It’s as if something possesses him, and in this mad fit, he does things he should not.”
“I don’t know if you are accusing someone or confessing to something,” Mia said.