“Just a scuffle. It’s under control now.”
“Hm.” Aerity moved into the side study room, an old library with shelves upon shelves of rare editions only a scholar could appreciate. She went to the window and saw two hunters being led toward the castle, surrounded by guards. She could have sworn the bowed head among them was Paxton’s. Aerity rushed back to the doorway of the study and peeked through the crack as the men were led in: one of the gruffer Ascomannians, bloodied and swollen, followed by Paxton, his hands in loose fists, his hair a mess of brown waves around his face.
A flash of vivid red covering Paxton’s closed hand caught Aerity’s eye, turning her stomach. Another injury. This one from a fight. She waited until the men had all passed, then followed them quickly down the hall. Droplets of blood trailed the floor in their wake. A maid was already at the entrance of the hall, rag in hand.
Around the first corner, Wyneth and Lady Ashley stood arm in arm as the men passed. Wyneth kissed her mother’s cheek and then went straight to Aerity’s side, taking her arm instead as her mother went toward the High Hall.
“What happened?” Wyneth whispered.
“I believe Paxton and one of the Ascomannians had a fight.”
Wyneth sighed and shook her head.
“Will you do me a favor?” Aerity asked. “Will you go to the men and find out what happened for me?”
Wyneth stiffened a bit. “You mean, outside? With the hunters?”
“Erm, yes.” Aerity didn’t understand her cousin’s reluctance. She’d been around the men many times now. And then she remembered the way Lord Lief had watched Wyneth. “You know what? Never mind.”
Wyneth cleared her throat. “No, it’s not a problem. I’ll go.”
Wyneth began to turn away, but Aerity kept hold of her fingers. “No, Cousin. The details don’t matter. Won’t you talk to me?” She gave a gentle tug until Wyneth faced her and met her eyes, smiling gently. “Tell me what’s on your mind?”
“Nothing at all.” Wyneth squeezed her fingertips. “I’m feeling a bit off, perhaps coming down with something—”
Aerity shook her head. “Stay inside, rest in the warmth.”
“No, the fresh air might be good for me. I will find out what’s happened and return shortly.”
“Wyn, wait.”
Wyneth ignored this. “I’m fine. Go check on the skirt raiser.” She kissed Aerity’s cheek and walked away, unwrapping a shawl from her waist as she went and tossing it around her shoulders.
Aerity watched her cousin until she had gone. A wave of worry batted at her heart—it was unlike her cousin to keep her thoughts so guarded from Aerity. She wished they could talk about all of this, no matter how awkward the circumstances.
Aerity made her way to the infirmary wing where the guards had left the men in separate rooms. She went to Paxton’s doorway. His back was to her, and he seemed to be looking down at his hands. A young, beautiful nurse bustled up beside her with a steaming bucket of water and clean rags.
“I’ll take that,” Aerity told her.
The nurse’s eyes widened, looking from Aerity to Paxton. “But, Princess . . .”
Aerity gripped the edges of the bucket and gave the girl a reassuring smile. “It’s fine, I assure you. If you could tend to the Ascomannian hunter I’d be much obliged.” The girl glanced toward Paxton’s still form again, and nodded, looking somewhat crestfallen.
Aerity waited for the nurse to disappear before entering Paxton’s room, kicking the door shut behind her. She set the bucket on the table. If possible, he was even dirtier than he’d been when she found him that afternoon.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Paxton said morosely without looking at her.
The despondency in his voice filled her with worry.
“We should clean your hands so Mrs. Rathbrook can tend to your injuries better.” She dunked a cloth into the hot water. “Come here, Paxton.”
He stared at a blank point on the wall. “I will wash myself, Princess. You can go.”
Aerity bristled. “Can you not set aside your asinine pride for one moment, Paxton Seabolt? Are you like this with every person? Every woman? Or only me?” Her emotions were rising. She’d tried over and over, driven by the chemistry between them and the few glimpses of warmth he’d shown, like fleeting gifts of golden flecks she couldn’t keep hold of.
Still, he stared at the wall, unmoving, hands clasped tightly.
“Why did you even join this hunt if you hate me so thoroughly?” Aerity snapped, immediately regretting the question.
Without looking her way, Paxton said, “It was never about you, Princess.”
She swallowed hard. She’d known that. Perhaps it was even one of the reasons she felt so drawn to him—he wasn’t after the prize of promised wealth or a royal lass in his bed. Yet she swore there’d been a mutual attraction from the beginning. Had it all been wishful thinking? Girlish imaginings?