“Hm,” she murmured, softly. Then her plastic smile reappeared. “Good. Because you should know that he has been betrothed since he was a child to my own daughter, Rona.”
I had to fight to keep my expression from turning to disgust. Bastien is betrothed to his cousin? That would be like me being engaged to Ben or Jeramiah. Ugh.
I cleared my throat. “I assure you, Mrs. Northstone, there is absolutely nothing of that sort going on between Bastien and me. It would be a stretch to even call us friends. We’re just two people thrown together by circumstance. If I could just find a safe gate that would lead me home, I would not even be here.”
She hm’ed again softly. “For your sake, my dear, I hope so.”
With one last biting glare, she turned on her heels and left the room, leaving me gaping after her.
Victoria
Man, these she-wolves are more fierce than their male counterparts.
“For your sake, my dear, I hope so.”
What on earth did Brucella mean by that? Was she threatening me?
Resuming my seat on the mattress, I tried to shake away the encounter, but since I had nothing else to do in this apartment that could distract me, it continued to play back in my mind until eventually there was another knock at my door. I was half afraid that it might be her again, but no. To my relief, it was Bastien standing in the doorway, fully dressed in his usual loose, casual garb.
“Are you all right?” he asked as his eyes roamed my face. “You look pale.”
“Yes, I’m okay,” I said, even as I wondered whether to mention the encounter with Brucella to Bastien. I supposed it was best that I did. “It’s just that your, uh, aunt visited.”
Bastien’s jaw tensed. “What did she want?”
“Well, she brought me some clothes and a satchel to put them in,” I said, gesturing to the bed where she had left the items and where they still sat, untouched by me. “And then she, uh, informed me that you are betrothed to Rona.”
Bastien scowled, shaking his head. “She just won’t let that lie.”
“So you are really betrothed to your cousin?” I asked.
“Yes, she is meant for me,” he said through gritted teeth. “If and when I decide to marry.”
He dipped into his pocket and withdrew a long band of fabric. I sat down on the bed as he lowered to my ankle and held it. He raised it gently and unwrapped the old cloth before starting on the new one. As he wrapped the bandage round and round, he concentrated with such focus, it was almost like it was some kind of therapy for him.
Once he’d finished, he stood up and walked to the window. He gazed out at the clear blue sky and turned his back on me.
“I was supposed to marry Rona last year,” he muttered after a span of silence. “But I put it off. I was not interested in entering such a bond as marriage then… and neither am I now.”
I bit my lip, unsure of what to say when he went quiet again. Whether he even expected me to say anything at all.
“The delay has been one reason that the relationship between the Northstones and the Blackhalls has been more strained than it once was,” he went on.
“Does Rona know?” I asked, recalling her warm smile as she greeted me, quite unlike her mother’s icy glare. She had been the friendliest of the three women to me, which struck me as odd.
Bastien shook his head. “No. It’s a custom of our tribes to have the man be the one to inform the woman. Rona’s parents informed her from an early age that she has been betrothed to someone and will have a husband—to ensure she does not go looking for a mate herself—but she does not know whom.”
“I see,” I said, even as I frowned. At least that would explain Rona having no reason to be jealous of me.
There was another lapse of silence as he continued to gaze out of the window. I found myself wondering whether we shouldn’t be heading down by now—after all, Bastien had said that we would leave within an hour. I was sure more time had passed.
Piling the clothes into the satchel, I rested it over one shoulder before approaching him. I stood next to him by the window, daring to steal a glance at his face. His expression was stoic, quite devoid of emotion, except for his eyes. Behind them brewed a storm of discontent.
His Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed hard. Then he spoke in a voice so soft I wondered whether he was talking to himself more than to me. “My heart wants to be wild,” he whispered. “Free. Like my feet in an endless meadow. My arms in the mighty trees. I cannot stand enclosures.” Finally, his eyes lowered and met mine, penetrating. “You understand that, don’t you?”
I nodded, my mouth oddly dry. “Of course,” I said. His gaze suddenly felt a little too intense to hold. I looked back out of the window.