Page 64 of Chivalry in the Meadow
She turned it over in her palm. “Why are you helping me?”
“Because someone, or something, is watching you,” he said, his gaze intense. “And I don’t think it’s just me.”
His voice was quiet, but fierce beneath.
Mia felt heat rise in her chest. Not fear. Something else. Trust. Wanting him. Wanting his arms around her, to hold her and make all danger go away.
Mia and Lilly wove through the crowd, skirts swishing, drawn toward the lists, where the knights were polishing armor, and testing lances, for the day’s tilts.
Sir Cedric stood near the horses, his white surcoat hanging open as he ran a cloth along the gleaming length of his helm.
When he saw Mia, his smile lit like sunlight on water. “Good morrow, my lady. Did you dream of my victory?”
Before Mia could muster a reply, a commotion erupted near the edge of the encampment and frustrated, fearful voices rose.
She and Lilly exchanged a glance and then turned to follow the current of people to a merchant’s tent.
The scene inside was… wrong.
Clothing and trinkets lay scattered across the ground as if swept aside by an impatient hand. A satchel lay ripped open, its contents half-chewed.
Tiny footprints, too small for a human child, too many to count, dotted the dirt in erratic, swirling patterns.
The merchant, pale and shaking woman, stammered to the gathered onlookers. “I, I swear, they weren’t here when I closed last night. And… and the sound. Like claws on wood. Chittering and chittering.”
Sir Alaric stepped forward from the crowd, his calm dark gaze sweeping the scene. “Mistress Young, was anything taken?”
She nodded. “Bread. Dried meat. And… and a silver hair comb.”
Sir Cedric appeared at Mia’s side; his voice pitched low. “It’s nothing you should trouble yourself over. Mischievous thieves, nothing more.”
But Sir Alaric’s glance toward Sir Cedric was sharp enough to cut. “You know better.”
Before Mia could ask what, he meant, the air shifted.
A whisper of movement brushed past her ear, and she looked up to see the great horned owl perched atop the merchant’s tent pole. Its feathers rippled in the light wind; its golden eyes fixed directly on her.
The world seemed to narrow to that gaze. The noise of the crowd fell away.
The owl’s beak opened. Not in a screech, but in a low, resonant voice she felt and knew more than heard.
They watch. They want. Beware the dark between the tents.
Then the owl was gone, lifting into the sky on silent wings, vanishing against the bright morning sun.
Mia turned to Lilly, her pulse racing. “Did you hear?”
But Lilly shook her head, frowning. “Hear what?”
From somewhere beyond the festival’s music and chatter came a faint squeak, like the sound Mia had heard before.
And this time, it felt closer.
Early morning at the food court area the energy felt slightly off. Venders were whispering to each other and the knights appeared tense.
Mia picked at her croissant as Lilly paced nearby, arms crossed.
“Her name was Tessa,” Finn said grimly. “She was supposed to work the bakery booth this morning. Never showed.”
