Page 51 of Gilded Locks

Grace was asleep minutes after they left, dreaming of huddling beneath a hoodless verdure cloak with the masked rebel, his dark curly hair unhidden.

Chapter 14

“Water…” Grace moaned as she dropped another ear of corn into the wicker basket at her feet.

A canteen also sat at her feet, but that required bending down. She sighed and moved to retrieve it, groaning. She closed her eyes and let the water, no longer fully cool, wet her mouth and ease her thirst.

The sun was on the decline, but a couple hours of work remained for her. Then, the second day of harvest and the Klossner corn field would be done. Tomorrow she could move on to the first of her family’s fields of wheat. Or she could switch with someone threshing the Tuckers’ harvested wheat—whichever her parents weren’t doing.

She was thoroughly sick of the disappointment written on their faces every time they made eye contact. They’d still been upset the morning after the harvest celebration and her terrifying dash through Sherwood Forest when she’d told themhow she’d seen no escape besides bringing the Rogue into the forest fortress.

The only thing that had saved her from a fifteen-minute tirade was her brother.

“It’s bacon, egg, and biscuit day!” he’d shouted, bounding into the kitchen. In an effort to provide a good start to an exhausting couple of weeks, their parents had deemed the first day of harvest worthy of such rare breakfast treats. Russell always looked forward to any day he didn’t have to eat porridge.

The three of them had fallen silent and joined in the meal. Grace had been avoiding the impending reprimand ever since.

She took another swig of water.

They should be praising her. The Rogue had kept his promise. There hadn’t been a report of even the hem of a verdure cloak.

Of course, tonight marked the end of the two days he’d agreed to, and Grace’s parents had pointed out that there was no guarantee they’d find the Rogue again to make a unmask him or make a new deal.

And then there was the mayor’s decree delivered by the town crier the day before.

A Proclamation from our mayor:

Citizens of Fidara,

Terror has fallen upon our town. The Rogue, menace of Fidara, has returned. Patrols will be instated immediately. Aid him at your own peril. He is not the friend he pretends to be, but a harbinger of disaster.

She wanted to believe James would see sense, but she feared it was a vain hope.

Grace pinched her eyes shut. Hadn’t she rehearsed this set of thoughts enough? Harvesting was hard physical work, but it left the mind unengaged and susceptible to obsessive spiraling.She set the canteen in the basket of corn, adjusted her hat, and pulled her gloves higher, making sure no skin was exposed. A sunburn was the last thing she needed.

As Grace bent down to drag the basket of corn farther down the row, she winced. Her back and neck were sore, which was to be expected. But a dull throb at her temples had started early in the day and reared now and then. Stress and sleep deprivation were a potent combination.

“You sure you want to be out here? You’ll get dirty.”

Grace straightened at the words—but too fast. Her exhausted body rebelled, her eyes blurring and her head going fuzzy.

“Whoa, there.”

It took Grace a moment, but she finally regained composure enough to glare at Willa Leroux, whose steadying hand was not a welcome help. Grace shrugged away from her.

“I thought you’d given up harvesting after yesterday. You looked beat.”

Willa, whose expression hadn’t changed from its annoyed frustration even while she’d helped Grace, scoffed. “I don’t give up. You’ll get my help whether you want it or not.”

Grace looked at her skeptically. “Three hours past midday? Oh yes. Thanks for the help.”

“Grumble all you like, Robbins. If a vandal couldn’t scare me away, your petty condescension won’t.”

“Vandal?”

Willa narrowed her eyes, giving Grace a once-over. The examination made Grace squirm.

Since the few moments of admiration and jealousy Grace had felt toward Willa when she’d sassed the mayor, Grace’s animosity had begun to feel out of place. Willa’s behavior was not that of a mindless follower.

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