Page 11 of Bought By the Revenant
I pause outside the doorway and listen to their easy conversation. Amity sounds relaxed and enthusiastic, nothing like the frightened woman who clutched my cloak at the market. This is who she might be when she’s not running for her life. This is who she might become in the safety of my home.
I touch my chest where her head briefly rested against me. Maybe Tomas is right. Maybe I should expect something different.
I take a deep breath and step toward the kitchen, ready to try a new approach with this woman who chose me when all the others turned away.
Chapter Seven
Amity
I smooth my hands over the tablecloth and adjust the silverware for the third time. The dining room looks different at night, with shadows gathering in the corners even though the chandelier gives off warm light. The long table feels too grand for just two place settings, but I can’t imagine us sitting at opposite ends.
The door opens and Riven stops in the doorway. His white eyes widen when he sees I’ve arranged our places side by side at one end of the massive table.
“I hope you don’t mind,” I say, my voice too loud in the cavernous room. “I thought it would be easier to talk this way.”
He moves into the room with that strange, heavy grace. “Of course. This is... nice.”
Fria appears from the kitchen carrying a large tray. Her eyes dart between us while she places the first dish on the table.
“I made lamb stew,” I explain as Riven takes his seat beside me. “It’s simmered with rosemary and thyme from your garden. My mother used to make it on cold nights when I was little.”
Fria places a basket of crusty bread beside the pot, then hurries to bring the second dish.
“And this is roasted root vegetables with honey glaze. Simple food, but filling.”
Riven stares at the spread. “You made all this yourself?”
“Nell helped, but yes. I wanted to.” I don’t add that cooking helped calm my nerves and gave me something to focus on besides the strangeness of my new situation.
Fria fills our glasses with deep red wine, curtsies, and retreats to the kitchen.
“Please, eat,” I say, serving him before myself.
Riven compliments the food but barely touches it, pushing the stew around his bowl. I watch him from the corner of my eye while I eat, noticing how he tilts his head to hide his mouth whenever he takes a bite.
“Is something wrong with the food?” I ask.
He looks up, surprised. “No, not at all. It’s delicious, truly. I’m simply not accustomed to such... flavor. Nell’s cooking has always been adequate but basic.”
“Then dig in,” I encourage him, but I continue watching.
His discomfort grows more obvious with each passing minute. Finally, he sets down his spoon.
“I apologize,” he says. “It’s strange for me to eat in another’s presence. The stitches at the corners of my mouth...” He trails off, one hand unconsciously rising to touch the black threads that pull at his mismatched skin. “When I chew, they stretch. It’s not a pleasant sight.”
My stomach drops when I realize I’ve been staring at him.
“I’m sorry,” I say, pushing back my chair. “I didn’t think… I’ll move over there.”
“No.” His hand moves toward mine but stops short of touching. “Please stay. I enjoy your company. I’m simply not used to dining with someone.”
I settle back into my chair while guilt washes over me. We eat in silence for several minutes, both stealing glances when we think the other isn’t looking. I curse myself for not knowing how to behave around him and promise myself I won’t stare again.
Fria returns with the cinnamon bread, and its sweet aroma fills the room. She places it between us with a small pot of honey glaze.
“It smells wonderful,” Riven says.
“It’s my mother’s recipe,” I reply, cutting thick slices for us both. “She made it for special occasions.”
