Page 4 of Tangwystle
Trouble.
The sensation—and realization—ran down me.
Baz had already made it to the servants' stairs and didn’t stop.
Master Blackwell never went into the kitchen. Baz, on the other hand, seemed at home. He flicked his hand at the empty hearth and fire crackled to life.
“Y-you have magic.”
“Just a bit.” His smile wasn’t smug.
He took his jacket off, hanging it up, his finger skimming the white pinafore on the next hook. I rocked forward, wishing to snatch the material away from him, but before I could, he turned to me.
His white shirt was completely wet.
“How did you get so dirty?” I asked.
He smirked, but I noticed the tiniest of shudders.
“You’re cold.”
I didn’t know if I liked this. Having someone show up and replace the former master. Baz had the legal right, but I’d had a good time of it of late. Plenty of time to read.
But I sprang into action when he shivered.
I filled the kettle with water, almost spilling it when I turned and spotted a half-naked Baz.
He hung his wet shirt by the fire. His pants remained snug and low on his hips. Blue eyes glanced at me for just a second, and I saw him decide to leave them on. Like he understood now wasn’t the time.
“That will take a moment,” I said of the kettle, ashamed at how small my voice came out.
As a rule, I didn’t like it when men threw themselves on women, but I could at the very least admit when a man had a nice physique.
Baz was tall, broad-shouldered, and defined with muscles. Hair from his navel traveled down, and I jumped to open a pot. We were down to a tiny spoonful of tea leaves.
“I. . .”
“You weren’t expecting company,” he said.
It irritated me for some reason how understanding he seemed. I already felt completely destabilized as it was.
“It’s market day.” I tried to play it off as if I’d expected to go stock up on a few things. In truth, it’d been bitterly cold the past few days, and with just myself there, there wasn’t a pressing need to go into town.
“Shall I go with you?” he asked.
“No!” I whirled around to the hook near the side door. The one used much more than the front.
“It will be crowded.” He frowned.
“I am more than capable.” I wrapped a black cloak around my shoulders.
“Surely, I should come.” His eyes widened when I dropped a black pointy hat over my head. “Are you a witch?”
“No.” I pulled my cloak tighter and prepared myself for the walk.
Boswell occasionally accompanied me to the market, but with such a big manor and only the two of us, we believed in dividing and conquering. Meaning, throughout the years, I’d come up with several tactics to ensure that the townspeople rarely messed with me.
“There is a mug?—”
