Page 80 of In the Shadow of a Hoax

Lachlan lifted a shovel full of horse manure and dumped it into the wheelbarrow. “Yes?”

Trevis appeared in the doorway to the small room, an oil cloth and tack in hand. Given he was only sixteen, the young man’s skill with leather astounded Lachlan, though he’d learned from their conversations that Trevis’s father and his father before him had been tanners and leather smiths. Credence and Horance had taken Trevis in after an illness orphaned him.

“You think the only gift a girl might like receiving is flowers?” Trevis asked.

Lachlan paused and studied Trevis. He remembered being that age, though he hadn’t had to work very hard for a girl’s attention. “I’m probably the wrong person to ask—being as I’m not a girl.” He grinned at the boy before scooping another shovel full. “I’d venture a guess that a woman would like any gift, flowers or not, depending on the motive behind the gift.”

He thought about Tarley, wondering what he could give her.

“You got a specific girl in mind?” he asked Trevis. Over the last week, they’d come to know one another better and spent most nights on their respective pallets reading, then chatting about what they’d read. Lachlan loved that Trevis was a deep thinker, often delving into philosophical questions Lachlan felt well-equipped to handle, thanks to his extensive education.

Lachlan emptied his shovel into the wheelbarrow when an extra-large shadow blocked the light in the doorway.

“Greetings, Horance,” Lachlan said and pushed the shovel through the pile of muck once more, grateful his newly developed callouses had stopped his hands from smarting.

The big man shoved his hands into his back pockets, an action Lachlan noticed Horance did when he was uncomfortable. He glanced at Trevis. “Ollie, you take a break,” Horance ordered in that deep voice of his. There wasn’t a preamble or explanation. Justtake a break.

Lachlan straightened, one hand holding the shovel, the other draped over the top. “I still have one more stall.”

Looking at the stalls he’d completed, he realized he liked the work, and the accompanying accomplishment. While his family would have been appalled that he was standing in horse poop and dirty straw, his boots no longer so pretty, there was something altogether satisfying about being Ollie and finishing the task he set out to do. About being the man who worked to do something that needed to be done. It made him feel… fulfilled.

It was a far cry from his life before. A prince who lived for what was easy and fun. It wasn’t a surprise his father had believed what he had about him then. He wondered if his father saw him now—besides the shit-covered boots—would he recognize Lachlan? He felt so different.

He knew, however, that getting this treaty to work would be a strong way to prove he’d changed, that he could do what needed to be done for Jast. Now if he could just get Tarley to say ‘yes.’ He had less than a week to do it.

“Trevis,” Horance called.

Trevis’s curly blond head peeked out from the tack room once more. “Yes, sir?”

“Finish up that stall and meet us in the kitchen.”

“Will do.”

Horance’s dark eyes returned to Lachlan. “Credence needs you.”

Lachlan nodded and leaned the shovel against the wall, closing the gate behind him and shrugging into a shirt, pretty sure it meant he’d been summoned by the queen. “Is she kicking me out?” He replaced the suspenders.

Horance laughed. “Not yet.”

Lachlan followed the other man across the courtyard, their heavy steps cutting through the loose rocks. When Horance disappeared into the kitchen, Lachlan followed, blinking against the relative darkness.

When his vision adjusted, all the people he’d come to know over the last few weeks at the inn stood in the kitchen. “Happy Birthday!” They chorused.

Lachlan stopped short. Set on the workstation was a tall sweetcake frosted in white with fresh berries, a narrow candle flickering in its center. His eyes bounced from Mrs. Barnwell, to Credence, to Horance, then to Genevieve and Trevis—who’d obviously raced through the other entrance of the inn to make it to the kitchen—and finally to Tarley.

“You remembered?” he asked Tarley.

His eyes moved from the cake to Tarley again. Some wild and unruly bird unfolded its wings in his chest. He knew he was attracted to her, but this sensation was different, like watching her in the rain. A moment that hit him squarely in the chest. The way her eyes were tilted up at the corners, softened as her mouth into the semblance of a smile. Then she looked away.

“Yes. Tarley’s to blame,” Mrs. Barnwell said.

“How young now?” Trevis said and leaned forward to look at the sweetcake.

“Twenty-six,” Lachlan answered and tried to keep his eyes from Tarley.

All these weeks, he’d looked for her. His favorite time of day was as the sun began its descent. He knew it was the right time because the light in the stables turned a vibrant hue of gold. He knew he’d find her out in the courtyard, pulling the dry linens from the clothesline. He’d see her silhouette on the other side of the sheets. He’d watch her fold bedsheets, the sunshine touching the red-gold strands in her brown hair. Seeing her like that did the same things to his insides as they were doing now. It made it difficult to draw a breath.

“This is so unexpected,” he said, remembering himself and his audience and offering a smile to each of them.

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