Page 2 of Fate's Sweetest Curse
I already knew that he’d been named after the first Knight of the Order of the Mighty, a legendary hero whose given name ofNolanhad morphed intoNobleover centuries of retellings. The Noble in Richold’s tent had essentially been named after a mistake. He’d never said as much, but I had a feeling that had shaped much of his self-image growing up. He’d always had something to prove.
His wry amusement toward my comment was there and gone in a flash of teeth. “My parents thought themselves clever,” he said, slow and low, giving nothing away.
Oblivious to our familiarity, Richold asked, “What can I help you with, dear?”
What I really needed was to learn why Noble washere, of all places. His blank stare gave me no clues. I glanced down at the array of axe heads on Richold’s display table, trying to think of an excuse to get Noble alone. “Noble, did you, um, happen to arrive here on horseback?”
“Yes, last night.”
Last night? Did Anya check him into the Possum? How had I not noticed him in the same Fates-damned building as me?
“Why, is…something wrong with my horse?” Noble prompted.
The leading question was just what I needed. “Yes,” I said, settling into the charade. “Yes, perhaps? Is it a sorrel mare?”
“Indeed.” Green eyes bored into mine as if to say,You’re terrible at this. “What’s wrong with her?”
“She’s…loose.”
“Loose?” he repeated dubiously.
“Loose,” I confirmed. “I’ll show you. Please excuse us, Richold.”
The blacksmith glanced between us, forehead creased.
Noble unfolded the cloak that had been draped over his arm. “Mind if I visit the smithy later?”
Richold bobbed his head. “Please do. Good luck with your horse.”
Unceremoniously, I lifted the hood of my cloak and stomped into the downpour, leading Noble away from the crowded market. When we reached the southern end of town, I glanced over my shoulder, making sure no one was watching. Then I lifted my skirts and stepped off the cobblestones onto an overgrown deer path.
We passed through the dreamy shelter of willow boughs, over fallen logs, through a tangle of wild rose bushes. Lush spring foliage caught at my cloak and snagged Noble’s trousers, but he didn’t question our path. He simply followed. Trusting me, even after all this time.
When the brush opened up again, we’d reached the old fishing dock that Anya and I liked to bask on in the summertime. It extended out over a wide, shallow stretch of the River Wend, its location unseen from the rest of town.
I walked down the length of the dock, then turned and rested my hands on my hips. Noble halted, facing me at a respectable distance. A gauzy gray haze of rain sheeted around us, hissing on the river’s calm surface, shrouding us in privacy.
His smirk was knowing. “Sorrel mare?”
When we were kids, the private stable utilized by our families had housed a rather mean-spirited copper-colored mare named Sweetpea, who once took a chunk out of Noble’s shoulder with her teeth. She and I had gotten along splendidly—she and Noble, not so much.
I folded my arms across my chest, too rattled and impatient for nostalgia. “What thefuckare you doing here, Noble?”
His indifferent mask fell away in an instant, revealing a pained expression underneath. “What amIdoing here?” Noble asked miserably. “What areyoudoing here?”
So, he hadn’t come to Waldron for me. Could this really just be an awful coincidence?
A knot formed in my throat. “I live here,” I answered tightly.
“But you were married off to the mayor ofPoe-on-Wend.”
“I left.”
A muscle in Noble’s jaw ticked. “When?”
“About three months after I arrived.”
He stared at me for a moment, then ran a hand through his rain-wet waves, pushing them back—only for a few unruly strands to fall across his forehead again. The prominent bulge in his throat bobbed, drawing my attention to his Oath tattoo.
