Page 20 of Tangwystle
“I am not a fairy,” I grumbled.
He smiled, toying with the strand of hair before letting it drop. He backed away, and then the side door opened.
Part of me had been flattered when he pointed out that the Manor might like me. But now the two were colluding together.
“Come on, fairy,” he called over his shoulder.
“It’s very sunny,” I complained under my breath. I balanced a tray of cold cuts and bread, my boots crushing the grass as I hurried after him.
“Where should we go?” he asked.
There was a great tree in the garden which provided the most shade. But he’d already moved toward the gate, making to leave the property.
“You can’t really mean to?—”
“To what, Tangwystle?” Baz interrupted, a glint in his eye. A test.
He really thought of going down to the riverbank to eat. It wasn’t a particularly busy area, but it wasn’t private. Gentlemen in the neighborhood would get word that Baz Coldwell ate lunch sitting on the grass next to his servant.
In some ways, it was so much worse than a gentleman fucking his maid. It implied a familiarity. At best, Baz would be taken as a fool. At worst, I’d be declared a temptress ruining Blackwell Manor and find myself stoned by the town mob.
“Come along, my fairy,” he purred, taking my hand and pulling me forward.
For two glorious seconds, my mind emptied. It was the blue sky, the green grass, my hand in Baz’s, and the beauty of the river.
But then I spotted the lump by said river, and I knew instinctively who it was. Because I had been here once before.
Crumpled on the grass, Gretel’s feet almost touched the river. For one horrible second, I wondered if she wanted the river to carry her away.
Baz’s hand slipped from mine, and the plate in my other hand clattered to the ground. I don’t know which of us ran first.He might not have understood it in the way I did, but he ran too, the moment he saw her on the ground.
“Gretel!” My knees landed with a thump. “Gretel!”
The blood was worse. Or maybe it was about the same as last time. All I knew for sure was the sun that day seemed brighter than normal, and I swear it made things look worse.
“Go, call the doctor,” Baz ordered, lifting Gretel, who moaned. Her golden curls were stained red.
“We can’t!” I ran ahead. I found the side door open and swept everything off the table.
Baz carried Gretel through, laying her as gently as he could.
“Supplies in the cupboard!” I shouted, filling a bucket with water.
“We must call the doctor.”
“And have Rufus Clinemell take the doctor’s fee from her wages,” I replied, grabbing a clean towel. “That’d be another six years of service from her. And that’ll be nothing compared to how he’ll handle the embarrassment.”
Baz blanched. I let him work through his naivety, not that I gave him long.
“Alcohol, Baz,” I snapped at him. His head jerked at the order. But I knew by the way Gretel’s head rolled around and her cries that she needed something to take the pain away.
Baz went for the good stuff, running to his office, and I was glad. I could’ve used the obnoxious tasting sherry I kept in the kitchen, but I wanted the strongest that we had.
We poured it down her throat, and Baz stroked her hair back while I did my best to clean the wounds. Eventually, she passed out; the kitchen suddenly too quiet.
I usedthe last of the magical balm Master Blackwell had kept and tried to send Baz off to fetch more. By then, the wounds were clean and Gretel slept. But Baz continued to pace, only stopping occasionally to brush strands of Gretel’s curls back.
He needed to move. To get out. And I needed him out of my hair.
