Chapter 3: Last Night
Freya had just finished packing. It hadn't taken long. In fact, she wished it had taken longer. Then she wouldn't have time for thinking. She supposed she just didn't handle change well, though that was something she never would have thought of herself. She sat on the edge of the bed, staring out the open balcony doors.
It's been quite a busy year for you, Emma had commented earlier that morning. You lost your husband, then you moved, you were married again, and now you're facing another move.
Freya reflected on this time last year. Gaius had a new roof on his office. Merlin had touched her twice – once to save her from Burton's dart, and once to save her falling out of that tree. And that brought a flood of other memories. Freya rolled to her side and hugged her arms to her chest, her eyes filling with tears again.
Why were her feelings so mixed up where Merlin was concerned?
When he noticed her, she was afraid he would suddenly decide to take her. And when he didn't notice her, she was afraid he wished he hadn't married her. She knew that he was aware of much of her inner turmoil, but she hoped he didn't know what had caused it; he always seemed to read her so well.
Even last night at the Hamstead Manor. She hadn't been sorry to leave, and she'd even been comfortable on the ride back. Merlin had been distracted, lost in thought; she was pretty sure he hadn't looked at her once. Then they reached their room again.
Why was it she always wanted to look and look at him, but when he looked back, she felt flushed and scared?
And then he told her. I'm turning in my writ tomorrow, he'd said. And, if you can be ready, we'll leave the day following.
She hadn't slept well. Then she'd spent the morning at Sycamore Avenue saying her goodbyes, and now she was done packing. Except for one small handbag for last-minute items and a change of clothes, she fit everything they owned into a small trunk she found in the middle of the sitting room when she returned from visiting her cousins.
And what of the trip back to Emmett's Creek? And when they settled in there?
She tried to think of Helen and Chadin's little horse ranch in Ealdor, tried to picture herself with a little baby, Merlin lounging in a rocking chair by the window – and succeeded so well that she blinked dreamily at the image for a moment before rolling to her back. She stretched on the bed, luxuriating in relaxation, remembering that she was really lying in the chalet suite, not sitting in a farmhouse kitchen.
But she was sure she'd seen…
Half on her side, arms stretched overhead, unshod toes pointing toward the balcony – her skirt probably hiked to her knees – she opened her eyes wide.
Merlin sat with her in the bedroom, the ladder-backed chair from the writing desk in the other room propped against the wall beside the fireplace, the heels of his boots supporting the front legs of the chair, his hands clasped loosely in his lap.
Because her eyes flew open so suddenly, she was sure he'd been watching her. But he blinked, and suddenly his attention was on his hands; if it was a pretext, he did it without obvious embarrassment.
She sprawled across the bed, gaping at him, completely vulnerable. And he was pretending he hadn't noticed.
Freya swung her legs quickly over the edge of the bed, straightening her skirt, adjusting her bodice – the heart beneath the fabric pounding.
"You're all packed?" he said only.
She said, sounding a little panicked to herself – how long had he been sitting there? and she never heard him – "Yes, everything's done, we can leave in the morning." Maybe she should move away from the bed; would it seem suggestive to him?
"Did you ever consider…" he asked slowly, not looking at her, "staying here, instead of going back to the Creek?"
She thought he had almost added, with me. Didn't he want her with him? Did he think she'd make trouble for him? Maybe he was tired of her already.
But the thought of what he suggested – she'd be embarrassed, there'd be more gossip – would she stay with Morgana or Emma? would it be a temporary separation or permanent? And he'd never written back when he'd been in the cadet corps. She'd… she'd miss him. And without him around, would she feel any safer? Even though someday he would exercise his right to her as his wife, he was also her protector from everyone else.
"I was…" She cleared her throat. "I was looking forward to seeing everyone there." She made it into a half-question so he wouldn't think she was begging to come along.
He nodded as though she'd made a decision. Then he eased the chair down and leaned forward, pushing off his knees to a standing position, still not looking straight at her.
"Come with me?" he said. "I have something for you to see."
He waited for her to slip into her house shoes, then led her out of the suite, down the hall, the stairs, another hall, past the guest-reception chamber where she'd waited with Arthur to see Merlin after his bludgeoning at the reeve's holding cells. The halls were quiet, with only a faint echo from the rest of the chalet's occupants at dinner – she hadn't meant to sleep that long, why hadn't he woken her? – when Merlin stopped at an ordinary wooden door opposite the receiving room.
With one swift glance back the way they'd come, he knelt at the door and produced a pair of small slender metal rods so quickly she couldn't have said where from. She heard a faint click as he inserted them into the lock of the door and began to manipulate it. She watched his face, intent but unfocused, for one disbelieving moment before she realized Merlin was picking the lock. Which meant he was taking her somewhere they weren't supposed to be.
"Merlin," she started to say, but the door slid open, and Merlin stepped up and in. She remained outside as he left the door ajar; she could hear him rummaging quietly, then the snap of a match preceded a faint glow.
"Come in and shut the door," he told her, and she obeyed. He bent over a small bookcase, now picking the smaller lock of the glass doors. It took him longer to find the book he was looking for than it had taken to open the doors.
She glanced around – map table, writing desk and chair, bookcase – she said in alarm, "Is this Morgana's office?"
He didn't take notice of the question, selected one of the books – a ledger, she saw – and stepped to the most comfortable chair in the room. Turning to her put his back to the candle on the writing desk; she could see none of his face.
"Come," he said again.
So she did. He moved so she could sit within the circle of the candle's strongest light, then he knelt almost on top of her feet to page through the ledger on her lap.
"There," he muttered. "No, that's not worth reading. Start – there." He indicated a line with his finger, then turned the ledger so she could see properly. Then he stepped back. She looked up at him, uncomprehending. He added, "Leave the door just ajar; I'll be on the training field when you're finished."
The greater part of the ledger lay under her right hand. She said blankly, "Am I to read it all?"
"There's not much – you'll know when you're through."
"But Morgana–"
"Don't worry," he said, the ghost of a smile crossing his face. "If she finds out, she'll know to blame me." Then he was gone, a shadow slipping around the door.
How very strange. What could Morgana possibly have in a ledger locked in her office that would only matter on the eve of their departure? She looked at the line he'd indicated and read the cryptic notation: Gw. prim. Fem. vic. Mal. disfig. face/chest. Neighbor susp./confirm. Judgement: doc fees – nose broken, face scarred. Mer. appr. 1.
What on earth? Freya looked at the next entry; it was just as unclear. What did Merlin expect her to learn by reading this, and how was she even supposed to understand what she was reading?
She was staring blankly at the door when it swung inward, and Amery peered in at her. "You're not supposed to be in here," the apprentice revenger said, but came in herself and shut the door almost all the way behind her. "What are you doing?"
Amery had been kind to her, if not overly friendly – polite and professional. Freya wondered if, as lead apprentice, she'd be bound to tell Morgana about the intrusion.
"I'm not really sure," she said honestly. Amery came further into the study, hitched one leg over the corner of the map table. "Merlin opened the locks and wanted me to read this, but I can't tell what it means."
"Opened?" Amery said. "With a key?"
Freya felt her face redden, but Amery just laughed. She twisted her braid back out of her way as she reached for the ledger, swinging one leg casually. She glanced down at the entry, then looked more closely, tilting the book to catch the most light.
"It's a record of past jobs we've done; goes about three years back." She indicated the entry Merlin had pointed out. "This one? Gwaine was the primary revenger on the job. They had a female victim, maliciously – that means intentionally, rather than accidentally – disfigured about her face and chest."
Freya's breath caught in her throat and she put one hand over her mouth. Why had Merlin insisted she read this?
"Looks like they thought a neighbor had done it, and Gwaine confirmed the man's guilt. So they collected the cost to pay the victim's doctor–" Amery traced her finger across the page to a column of numbers. "That barely covered the revenger's fee. Also Gwaine must have marked the man's face."
She said it so matter-of-factly that Freya shuddered in response. Amery caught the gesture and explained without taking offense.
"If we can prove the fellow did this on purpose, the law allows for the same to be done to him. Eye for an eye, you see. And he'd have known that before he hurt the woman." She looked down again. "The apprentice assisting was Mer – probably Merlin. His first time. Ah." She scanned down to the bottom of the page, then looked at Freya without raising her head. "Was that the only entry he wanted you to read?"
"There's more?" Freya said, not really a question. He'd been with Morgana almost two full years, of course he'd done more than one job.
"What did he say when he gave you this?" Amery asked, curious.
"He said, start reading here, and I would know when I was done."
Amery turned the previous page. "Well, there's a few notes on his training – oh, this is interesting. How Morgana found Merlin."
"I already know that story," Freya said quickly.
Amery arched an eyebrow at her, and paged in the other direction, flipping and pausing to read, skipping sections and flipping again. She asked absently, "Do you know why he wanted you to read this?"
"I have no idea," Freya said honestly.
"Well, if it was anyone else, I'd say he was bragging, showing off."
"But Merlin doesn't like anyone to know about himself," Freya said softly.
Amery stopped and looked at her, thinking. "Yes, that's so, isn't it," she said. "Have you ever asked him about his work here?"
"No."
"But he never tried to hide it from you?"
Freya remembered bathing the raw welts on his wrists, kneeling close to him in the small bedroom at Percy's Place, asking why he was pursuing Padlow. She said again, "No."
"Well, he's probably trying to tell you or show you something," Amery said, reading again. "No idea what that might be?" She didn't look up for Freya's answer, but commented, "This is strange."
"What?" Freya watched her turn more pages, turn back, then gaze off into the air over Freya's head.
"I suppose it might just be his way of being open with you about his past," Amery said thoughtfully. "But there are two things I noticed that were – out of the ordinary. I mean, given that you already know what he was like during those years."
Freya nodded. Probably not much different than he'd been when he'd first ridden into Emmett's Creek. Angry, combative, uncommunicative.
"Well, then – first is that he never took a case against a woman." Amery met Freya's eyes. "Those are uncommon anyway, but there were two cases while he was lead apprentice that he should have been on, and wasn't. And the other thing is, he seemed to have lost his temper only when the victim was a woman. The one case when the victim was a child, Gwaine had to knock Merlin unconscious to keep him from strangling the guilty man."
"That's written there?" Freya gasped, leaning forward.
"Morgana has personal notes on some of the cases at the bottom of the page. My guess is she was trying to see if Merlin's judgment could be objective regardless of gender, and he wasn't here long enough for her to tell for sure." Amery hopped off the table and replaced the ledger in the bookshelf, knelt and produced her own pick to lock the case again. "We shouldn't stay. I was coming back from an assignment and saw your light; usually no one is along here at this time of night, but we shouldn't take chances."
Freya followed her from the room and waited while Amery locked that door also. It took her quite a lot longer than Merlin, and Freya was pretty sure the other girl cursed under her breath at least once.
"Probably he meant to come back and lock it again," Freya ventured. Amery just shrugged one shoulder and finished.
They walked silently down the hall together; Amery evidently felt no need to further discuss what she'd read. And Freya hoped it was enough that she'd listened to the other apprentice's evaluation of the information. What did Merlin expect from her, anyway?
The door to the training ground at the apex of the two wings was only a few steps from the door to the dining room. Amery paused when Freya stopped to open the outer door.
"So you two are leaving tomorrow, is it?" she said, and Freya wondered if it was regret she heard in Amery's voice; she nodded. "Too bad," the apprentice replied breezily. "I was hoping to get a match with Merlin. Wrestling, you know – just to see how long I'd last. I know he's not an apprentice anymore, but it doesn't feel like I'm truly the lead if I haven't at least tried my hand against his. Not that I'd expect to win–" she gave Freya a friendly, open grin – "but, since he won't fight a woman, I guess I'll never know, hm?" With a casual little wave, she continued on into the dining room, where the meal, by the sound of it, was still in full swing.
Freya's stomach rumbled. But Merlin said he'd be waiting on the field. So she opened the door and stepped outside.
Trying to tell me something, show me something, she thought as she stopped there in the shadows and looked down the field at Merlin at the far end. He stood beside a table; it looked like he was throwing something at a single target further down. His back was to her; there was no indication he'd noticed her yet.
What was he trying to say? Why did he think she'd want to read those accounts? In the interests of being open about his past? Then why now – why not before he'd proposed? If there was something he'd been hiding, surely sooner rather than later was the better idea.
But – what if he meant her to see what wasn't there?
So what wasn't there? One, Amery said, he never took a case to punish a woman for a crime. And two, he'd more than once lost his temper at a man who'd harmed a woman or child. Why would he think he needed to tell her he'd never hurt a woman?
"He thinks I'm afraid he'll hurt me," Freya said aloud, then repeated a rearrangement of the words. "Does he think I'm afraid he'll hurt me?"
Since their marriage, and the certainty that he'd demand intimacy at some point, the pain and humiliation that would come as a result, she knew she'd been nervous and jumpy, though she thought she'd prepared herself for the eventuality of the consummation. And she knew he'd noticed… but maybe he attributed it to Padlow's routine rough handling of her. She hadn't said much about it, but if Shasta had discussed the lack of a wedding ceremony with him, for sure she'd mentioned Padlow's habitually casual cruelty.
How could Merlin think she'd assume him capable of violence against her? Yet how could she reassure him, that wasn't it, without inviting him to have his way with her? She'd steeled herself to endure when he decided he wanted her, but she instinctively shied away from any encouragement of it.
He turned then, looking right at her – like he'd known of her presence the moment she stepped out, and had waited, giving her time to digest the information he expected she'd read.
Somehow she had to let him know… what? That she feared one thing, but not the other? She was afraid of him…
Across the field, Merlin held out his hand, beckoned once. And she began to move toward him.
You know, a little voice said in her mind, he wouldn't hurt you on purpose. It wouldn't be like with Padlow. Remember… how he'd held her that morning on the front steps when she told him she hadn't really been married, the night she offered her acceptance of his proposal. He'd taught her those defensive moves; he'd put himself through two more days in Ealdor at her request.
Morgana had been right – she did love him.
Freya felt confused and flustered as she neared him, acutely conscious that he would be looking to see how she took the revelation of his revenging career. She kept her eyes on the grass, and halted when his boots came into view. They stood so for a brief moment, and she could feel the heat of a flush in her face.
"Here," he said. His voice was calm and quiet, and she risked a glance up. As she did, he shifted so his back was mostly to her where he stood over the table.
The table had been laid out with a dozen or so knives, and a small heap of leather straps and buckles to one side. Freya stepped up, not quite beside him, but not far enough to be deliberately avoiding him.
"I want you to choose one," he continued, looking over the knives and not at her. "These might be a little small to accomplish anything without calculated precision, and these might be too big to be comfortable for you, but any of these…" As he gestured, she noticed the cuffs on his shirt were loose, and he wore a harness or sheath on each wrist, stretching back up the sleeve on his forearm.
"But I don't –" she objected, then stopped.
It was obvious he had put a lot of effort into planning this, had taken a risk to let her read his record. He was trying to reassure her before they left the next morning, trying to tell her – that she could trust him. Merlin rounded the table, trailing one hand gently on her elbow so she followed a few steps.
"This'll be easiest for you, I think," he said, picking up the top leather piece. "Percival told me he gave you one – once."
She remembered. Percival had given her a little knife in a wrist sheath – and Padlow had found it, had assumed the worst. If the blade had been longer, she supposed, she wouldn't be alive today.
And now her husband was moving her sleeve back from her right hand.
A little shiver went up her back as it always did as his infrequent touch, but because he was so focused on a task that was nowhere near undressing her to take her, she felt strangely relaxed. And kept her arm outstretched as he fitted and laced the piece in place – the leather as soft and pliable as clothing. She watched for glimpses of his own as he worked, and saw that his was a harder, thicker, tougher leather.
"They make these for women?" she said curiously, and he nodded without looking up.
"You can practice until you can take it on and off with one hand," he said, jerking back his own sleeve and demonstrating with short, efficient movements. Off, back on. "Which knife?"
She looked again, immediately dismissing the ones he had tacitly advised against, passing over two that seemed too thick, and one that was wickedly thin, finally pointing to a smaller silver knife with a line of filigree down the handle. He picked it up, seemed pleased with her choice.
"You'll keep it in here, blade pointing toward your elbow. See how the sheath covers the whole blade, so there's never an edge exposed while you're wearing it. And this snaps down like so, over the hilt."
Merlin drew her out from the table, toward the target he'd been using, about half the distance from where he'd been standing. He positioned her with his hands on her shoulders, and she shivered again, remembering his lesson in unarmed defense. Whether he felt it or not, he let go immediately, and came to stand facing her.
"Since you put your hands together and like to fiddle with something when you're nervous," he said, putting his hands together with one fist inside the other palm, "you'll be able to do this quite naturally. Just unsnap the clasp, slide the blade out, and release like you're pointing."
He showed her slowly, not actually throwing his knife. She noticed since he was facing her, he was doing it left-handed so she could mirror him.
"You can practice that until you can do it without being noticed," he said. "Also you'll have to be careful at first so you don't catch your sleeve and cut it. But if you really need to use this–" he grasped her forearms so his thumb pressed the length of the blade and she could feel its position through the leather next to her skin – "don't think about your sleeve. In that case, you need to be prepared up here." He tapped his temple.
She looked into his eyes and was struck by how seriously he was taking this. He was trying to provide her protection even when he was unable to protect her, for whatever reason. She swallowed a lump in her throat and nodded; her inclination was not to use or carry a weapon, but since her husband wanted her to, she would.
He stepped back, then showed her the technique again, this time releasing the blade. It sang through the air and thudded into the target faster than she could follow with her eyes, buried its blade slightly left of the center, though she would have guessed he'd never even glanced at it to aim.
"You'll aim right here." He indicated the area where he'd previously instructed her to plant her elbow in case of an attack from behind. "Any further up or to either side, the aim has to be near-perfect to get between the ribs, or else have enough force to go through. Like the moves I showed you before, you'll not be trying to kill, just slow someone up so you can get away."
She nodded, her mouth too dry to speak, and readied herself for her first experience in knife-throwing. He transferred his second blade to the empty sheath and showed her again, this time hitting the target next to his first cast, but leaving the center open. She tried to imitate the fluid way Merlin's blade seemed to leap from his fingers of its own accord, but hers wobbled across the ten paces to glance off the target. He retrieved it from the grass without comment, and slid it back into the sheath for her, then stepped back and nodded again. She cast twice more.
Then he suggested, as he handed it back hilt first, "Try throwing through the target. Aim six inches past it."
That time, at least it stuck in the painted wooden circle. It was a good five inches below the center, but Merlin gave her an approving look as he returned the blade.
"That would do it," he said. "Now, if he's close enough you can't throw it, or use those other moves, try to slash the inside of the upper arm, the thigh, or the sides of the neck. Don't stab; you'll likely lose hold of your blade, and that takes more strength and determination, anyway."
She nodded and began to unbuckle the sheath, but he stopped her with his hand over hers.
"You should wear it except when you're washing," he told her. Though the torches around the training field were burning, and close enough to light his face, his eyes were dark and unreadable. "Get used to the feel of it – less likely someone else will notice it, if you don't notice it anymore."
"Even when I'm sleeping?" she said. Surely he would be there to handle whatever knife-throwing was necessary – but he misunderstood.
A small frown wrinkled his brow, and she opened her mouth to say, she never intended using it against him. But he said evenly, "Especially when you're sleeping."
He moved past her to begin gathering up the rejected blades and equipment from the table. She tried throwing it one more time and was pleased when it stuck in the target again. He strode toward the small shed at the edge of the field behind the target as she followed to retrieve her knife, opened the door and disappeared inside. Freya realized what he was doing, and fumbled to put the knife away so she could help, but as soon as she grasped the base of the target, he was there, yanking the stake from the ground. She let go, and he gave her a quick, tight smile. Then she stepped back and waited while he dragged the table to the shed, toying with a loose strap on the new sheath.
Probably he wished he'd married someone he didn't have to worry about protecting all the time, she mused, uncertain whether she could actually use the knife on someone.
"So this is mine, now?" she asked him as he returned, sleeves still up above his elbows but forearms bare. The scars of the rope-burns were fading a little, she noticed. Possibly one day, maybe in another year, they would no longer be visible.
"It's yours," he responded, and she followed him inside.
Odd to think, now she was armed, and he wasn't – apparently, she amended silently. Did that make her feel any safer?
What made her feel safer was knowing he was trying to do so.
As Freya and Merlin re-entered the chalet, Amery bounded from the now-silent dining room, clutching the last half of a bread roll and glancing alertly up and down the hall. Freya sensed Merlin's immediate wariness, but he made no objection when Amery came up close, herding them into the stairway.
"I've been waiting for you," she said in a low voice, speaking mostly to Merlin but including Freya with a glance. "The others are planning something – a kind of farewell. You know." She crammed the rest of the bread in her mouth.
Freya started to smile, but Merlin remained grim.
"The others?" he said pointedly.
Amery grimaced and swallowed, but took no offense. "I've been out since yesterday morning," she said. "Late to dinner because I was locking up after your little escapade–" Merlin glanced swiftly at Freya, who confirmed this with a nod – "and overheard just enough to warn you – something's up."
"Morgana and Gwaine?" he said, leaning to glance up the stairs.
"If they knew, they didn't stop it," she answered.
"And you?"
"I'm with you." Merlin sent her a piercing look; it seemed to Freya to be the same soul-searching gaze he sometimes pinned her with. And Amery added, "It's not fair if they intend involving her." She nodded toward Freya.
Merlin apparently agreed, and began to ascend the stairs on his toes, taking two at a time and making no sound, for all the world like a prowling wildcat. Freya wanted to ask what was going on, but Amery gave her a nudge, so she followed Merlin, gathering her skirt and trying to move as quietly as possible. Amery was just behind her, but Freya couldn't hear the apprentice revenger, either.
They reached the landing and stepped out where they could see part of the hall of the wing where their suite was, all of the hall where the apprentice cells were, and the alcove that opened onto the balcony. Merlin leaned around for a quick look; Freya thought she heard something from the open balcony doors. Amery heard it too, moving up next to Freya and pressing her closer to the wall.
Merlin glanced back, making several quick gestures which included pointing to his chest, the balcony, his eyes. Amery gave a single nod, replied with more gestures that included Freya, herself, and the rug they were standing on. Merlin acknowledged with the same nod, eased into the hallway, crossed it and was out the balcony doors. He paused at the edge of the wall, took a swift glance around it, then disappeared.
"What–" Freya whispered, but Amery hushed her with a warning finger to her lips.
They waited, Freya's breath sounding too loud even as she willed her heart to slow its pace. What was going on? What kind of farewell would have Merlin and Amery so intent and secretive? No one that she knew of had anything against Merlin that would need to be resolved before their departure.
Merlin returned to carry on a swift but silent communication with Amery, and Freya had no idea what either was indicating, gathering only that Merlin had decided what to do and was giving the girl instructions.
Amery nodded, glanced around the corner down the hall toward their suite, then edged out and kept going. Merlin turned; Freya stopped him with a hand on his loose sleeve, wanting to ask, what about me? Without pause or thought, he reached back to lay his first two fingers across the back of her hand in some signal. She released him, still unsure what he wanted of her – but he would correct her if she did something wrong.
Merlin moved back to the balcony doors, shut them carefully, then bent over with his lockpick, working swiftly. He stood, strode toward her with an enigmatic look on his face, then removed the glass chimney from the lamp on the wall, and unstuck the candle from its holder.
It came to her that he was enjoying himself for some reason.
He took the candle back to the locked balcony doors, giving one swift glance down the hall where Amery had gone, and worked for a moment on the lock again. Then he waited for the female apprentice, apparently not worried about stealth anymore, and beckoned her with a preemptory gesture subtly different from his summons that had brought Freya across the field, replacing the candle in the wall-lamp as they waited.
Amery returned on a noiseless rush, chuckling as she reached Freya. Merlin touched her shoulder and she turned back to catch a few more signals, which ended with a firm handshake. Then Amery descended the stairs, and Merlin drew Freya up to the third floor. That held Morgana's suite, Freya knew, and more apprentice cells, one of which Merlin directed her to.
Then he proceeded to lock each and every door on the wing, before coming back to her and gently pushing her back into the cell. His movements were so decisive, his demeanor so businesslike, it never occurred to her to be frightened.
"I'll come back," he told her. "Lock the door and hold the lock, unless it's knock-scratch-knock." He closed the door behind him.
It was quiet in the cell, and too warm, so she opened the window at the head of the bed all the way. The stars were out, though dimmed by the glow of the torches on the training field below. She still didn't know exactly what was happening, but she trusted Merlin after all, and he didn't act like there was any real danger for her to worry about. She heard nothing until a quick knock at the door, followed by a quiet scratching sound, and a second knock.
It was Merlin, balancing a pitcher of water and basin in one arm, towel over his shoulder, and a small tray in the other with a plate of food and a candle. She stood back and held the door out of his way; he crossed to the writing desk next to the bed and set his burdens down, careful not to spill. Then he faced her.
"I'm afraid you're in here, tonight," he said. "The apprentices were planning to ambush us – or me, rather – in our suite. So Amery and I locked them in, and closed the locks with wax." There was that gleam in his blue eyes again that made her think he'd enjoyed the incident, rather than otherwise.
And that explained the candle, Freya thought, but asked, "Ambush? Why?"
"A sort of farewell joke." She must have looked as confused as she felt, for Merlin added, "They might've swung me over the balcony by my heels, or dragged me down to the field for a good-natured beating." He looked at her again and shrugged. "Or something else. Anyway, they're locked in our suite now. I thought, instead of fighting it out and taking our chances…" He glanced around the tiny cell. "It'll take them awhile to get out. Then, if they come looking, all the cells are locked. You'll be all right, especially if I'm not here." He moved to the door again, crowding past the cot to keep his distance from her.
"But what about–" she started as he opened the door.
"They won't harm the trunk or your things," he told her, adding under his breath, "or I'll take a couple of their fingers." Disconcerted, she wasn't sure if it was meant to be a joke, but he went on, "There's some dinner for you, some water for washing. I'm sorry I couldn't get you your – anything else for the night. I'll be on the roof if you need me – and that same signal when I come for you in the morning."
"But, Merlin–"
He stopped, looking at her expectantly. She squeezed the knife in its wrist-sheath behind her back, thought of how he'd damped his impulse to fight it out, because of her. Thought, even if he did take her, tonight or any night, he wouldn't intentionally hurt her.
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a moment, then looked him full in the face and said, "You could stay?"
He glanced around the room behind her, gave her that soul-searching gaze, then said in a low voice, "Are you sure?"
Freya nodded, stepped back. Merlin shut and locked the door behind him.
Her throat and her chest felt tight. She backed away awkwardly; usually in their suite they could move around each other without saying much, readying themselves for sleep. Here, in this tiny space… she backed one more step and sat heavily on the cot as the back of her knee banged into the edge.
He passed her, stood sideways to her facing the window as he divided the dinner. Then, handing her a portion larger than she needed, he swallowed his own quickly. She watched him stare absently out into the darkness as they ate, and wondered what he was thinking. When he was through, he retreated to the corner behind the door, knelt on one knee as though at a campfire. She hurried to finish what she had left, forcing herself to swallow even after she was full, but once it was gone, she felt awkward and unsure.
"It's not that late," Merlin finally broke the silence. His eyes were still on the window. "But we'll have an early start, and a long trip. If you want to sleep…"
"Yes," she said quickly. "That would be – good."
He glanced at her fleetingly, and she found herself wondering yet again if he wished he'd married someone like Amery. Someone who could take care of herself, understand those signals he knew, someone who was comfortable enough to be herself when alone with him. He pushed himself upright, turned to face the corner.
"There's a blanket on the cot," he said, pointing without looking. "Tell me when you're ready."
Ready for what? she wondered wildly. But he'd said sleep…
Freya stood to the basin at the desk, keeping her back to him also as she removed skirt, blouse, and sheath, washed, then sat on the edge of the cot to remove her shoes and stockings. She watched him as much as she could, but he never glanced around, just waited quietly. When she was finished, she pulled the blanket up to cover her, toes to chin – debated facing the wall, and couldn't quite bring herself to it. The moment she found a comfortable position and rested her head on the pillow, he spoke.
"You ready, then?"
She blushed to realize he didn't have to see her to know exactly what she was doing. But what was the solution to that? Make him stop up his ears like a child?
"Yes," she said, and closed her own eyes, squeezed them shut.
Freya couldn't face the wall and leave him unseen behind her, but she didn't want him to think she was watching him undress. She wasn't watching, but she could tell pretty close what he was doing from the sound of it. Quiet as he always was, he was no more than three feet from her at any time in the tiny cell. There went his boots in the corner, thud-thud. And the softer whisper of cloth as he unbuttoned the light yellow work-shirt, pulled it from his trousers, slid it down his arms, tossed it to the floor. And the snick-snick-snick of his belt coming out of its loops.
And then she had to peek through her lashes, not because he was undressed and she wanted to look at him – she tried not to look at him – but because she needed to see what he would do next, even if it was what she feared.
He was already lowering himself to the floor, stretching himself out next to the cot. But the thing about the cot was, it was made of a canvas sling knotted to a wooden frame, which meant that instead of lying atop a mattress as she had done in the suite, she hung down several inches, and couldn't see the floor at all from where she lay unless she was right at the edge of the frame. So Merlin lying on the floor, sleeping or not, was out of her range of vision, unless she wanted to pillow her cheek on the wooden bar of the frame all night.
All her nerves were tight, and her eyes didn't want to stay closed. It made no sense to expect he would change his mind about sleeping; it made no sense that he would let her have the roomy bed in their suite to herself for a month, then try to join her on the small uncomfortable cot, but she still found it difficult to relax. She tried thinking of the group of apprentices, wondering if they were still trapped – or maybe they'd gotten out of the suite – maybe were starting to search the rooms.
What would it be like lying there alone and listening for someone else to come picking the lock in the middle of the night?
She did feel safe with him. She did. He would never hurt her on purpose.
Freya woke once that night, maybe to some sound inside or outside the cell, but the first thing she saw in the flickering candlelight was Merlin at the door. His trousers sagged low on his hips as he stood with his back to her, laying his ear to the door to listen, his body all muscle and shadow.
She noticed that she had shuffled the one blanket far to the side in her sleep and lay only in her underthings, but in the heat of the cell and the exhaustion that calmed her, she found it hard to care.
Merlin tensed momentarily, reaching to secure the bolt on the inside of the door – she heard voices outside but not what they said – then he relaxed, easing back from the door. He stretched so his hands almost touched both side walls simultaneously, and as he laid himself back on the floor, she closed her eyes again.
