Chapter 9: Nearer the Heart

Footsteps sounded on the stairs outside Merlin's room, heavy and deliberate – but not Percival's, he could hear the big bartender's voice through the floorboards. Not either of the younger girls, and not Arthur – he prepared himself to receive an unwelcome townsman.

But just at the head of the stairs, the intruder wheezed in an unfeminine breath of air, which conversely assured Merlin that it wasn't a man. So his crooked smile greeted Shasta as she appeared at his open door.

"Whew!" she exclaimed again, glancing around his room. "Now I remember why I leave the stair-climbing to the girls."

Merlin wasn't about to interrupt his ablutions for his hostess; he finished stripping off his shirt and wetted the washing cloth. Lathering it with a bit of cheap yellow soap from its dish, he passed it over his face vigorously, even gave his shaggy hair a little dry-scrubbing. And rinsed the cloth and wiped the suds from his face. And Shasta was still watching, with an odd, amused look.

He finally eyed her back. "Well?" he said. "You didn't climb the stairs to watch me wash."

"Maybe I did, and maybe I didn't," Shasta countered, her grin widening. "You forget – I already know what the rest of you looks like."

He grunted, and turned his attention to ridding his upper body of the layers of sweat and smoke he'd gathered at the smithy.

"I saw your reaction to what happened this afternoon," Shasta went on. "If Elyan hadn't've stopped you, you'd have bent that tool around Burton, and straightened it out again on the reeve."

Merlin shrugged, unconcerned. They all knew his reputation.

Shasta interpreted, "So what? he says. Just instinct, maybe. My Percival's got the same instinct. Except he's learned to think it through before he whacks the shire's reeve with something heavy." She chuckled. "No, I think it's something more with you. Something a little nearer the heart."

Merlin's eyes narrowed and he gave her a flat, humorless smile. "Now, Shasta," he said. "You know I haven't got one of those."

She snorted. "Sure you have. Just buried under all that anger." She crossed her plump arms over her midsection, drawing the pink cotton of her dress even tighter. And her eyes were sharp as she studied him. "And I think it's something nearer her heart than she'd like to admit, too."

Merlin reached for the towel to dry himself with. Reeve Whatley had warned him away from the girl the first night he'd come to town. Arthur had initially assumed Freya to be Merlin's chosen woman, and Burton had jealously believed they'd been – intimate. What was it, that made people jump to this conclusion?

"I've been arguing with myself for some time now, trying to guess was it right for me to tell you," Shasta commented. "But for sure you're not given to gossip…"

"Tell me what?" Merlin said tiredly. He wanted to kick off his boots, but that wasn't polite in front of a lady, however unladylike she might be. Though he was already shirtless, anyway. He slouched down on his cot, shaking water droplets from his hair.

"Something Gaius said awhile back to me and Percival had me watching you pretty close," Shasta said. "He had half a mind to believe you meant harm to our Freya."

Merlin snorted, reflecting wryly yet again that the old physician was pretty sharp.

"Ever true or not, I don't believe it anymore." Shasta pushed herself upright from the doorway, grabbed his clean shirt off the hook on the wall and flung it at him. "Now you just put that on, and listen without looking at me so hard."

Shasta unsettled and unsure was a novel thing, so Merlin complied wordlessly. What on earth was she leading up to say? Shasta's conversation was usually arrow-like in its speed, brevity, and aim.

"Gotta come at it from the side," she mumbled to herself. "So you understand. Merlin, did you ever have loving parents?"

Short, quick, sharp, and to the heart. Merlin's breath caught at the pain of the question, and he sent her a deadly piercing glare in response.

She back-pedaled swiftly, "All right, then…"

He began fastening the buttons of the shirt, and she started over.

"My own ma and pa loved each other something fierce, though he hollered plenty and she scolded every chance she got." Shasta lowered herself uninvited to the cot beside him, sighed, and stretched out her feet, her ankles bulging over the sides of her shoes. "Most folks are like that," she continued. "Love each other and work out how best to treat each other over the years. And teach their children, too, about what it means to be a wife or a husband – good and bad. But you take Freya, now… She's different." Shasta paused a long moment, troubled.

Why did he care what she had to say? He hated Freya, and cared nothing for Shasta either, didn't he? Yet he kept quiet.

"You know, her pa never married her ma. Just had his fun, then up and left when he found out she was in a way to start him a family."

Merlin found his inclination was to nod; Freya had implied as much to him, too, during the rainstorm in the woods.

"Her ma – mind you," Shasta abruptly turned to stick a plump finger in Merlin's chest, her eyes on the dent she made in the fabric of his shirt and not on his face. "Mind you, I'm not telling it as Freya told me, I'm reading between the lines for you, so to speak. Her ma was that torn up over the whole thing, that she taught Freya strict-like, the first man ever to – to lie with her, had to be her husband. Repeated it, likely as not, every day to her little Freya-girl."

There was silence. Merlin was confused. Freya wasn't loose in any sense of the word, and already married.

"And during all these years of telling her about lying only with a husband, and having missed being married herself, Freya's ma never remembered to mention the ceremony." Shasta paused a moment, then added, "Making it all legal-like with vows to an official, you understand."

Scraps of conversation shot randomly through Merlin's mind. Freya saying, He married me. And Gaius commenting sadly, Sometimes you chose who your family is, and sometimes you don't. He turned slowly to study Shasta's troubled face; she spoke with her gaze on the far wall, not acknowledging him.

"And then her ma passed on, and she paid passenger fare for their tax farmer to take her to her ma's cousin." Shasta sighed. "And that was Padlow."

More scraps flitted by. Freya saying, I dream of my mother sometimes. She died when I was fourteen years old… Padlow was supposed to take me there. And instead he married me.

A girl could marry at fourteen with a guardian's permission. On her own after her mother's death, Merlin figured the marriage would be marginally legal – arguable both ways. But Freya was no idiot, and he couldn't imagine her at fourteen being much different. She was not blindly in love with a man almost two decades her senior, who mistreated and neglected her – had she ever been? The years could have been harder on her than he'd originally supposed; she could have been a beautiful and irresistible fourteen – yet why would a man mistreat and neglect a beautiful girl who'd somehow agreed to marry him? He realized that Shasta was watching him sideways, had guessed something of what had raced through his mind.

She shook her head and turned her eyes down. "She'd never talk to Gaius about it, just fair dies with embarrassment when I suggest it. And Reeve Whatley's worse than useless." Another long pause. "And I'm only telling you so you won't get Freya mixed up in your quarrel with Padlow. He's that mean and cruel, just takes whatever he wants without caring who he hurts." She heaved another sigh, and now Merlin heard tears in her voice. "When he brought her here, she looked pretty near to what you did your first night. Her eyes were just dead. And she never said a word to me or Percival the whole evening. And Padlow says, This is my wife, and laughs. And someone didn't believe him, and he says, Just ask her. She's gonna cook and clean and let me-"

Shasta's voiced failed; she shook her head and closed her eyes, drawing in several deep breaths to calm herself.

"Can't say what he said. Ain't right for a man to say what he said, about his own wife."

Merlin thought he heard a faint roaring in his ears above the noise that filtered up from the tavern's front room.

"Me and Percival figure he took her," she said, more quietly, with a quick side glance to see that Merlin understood. "Forced her. Probably rough-like. That one would never pay no mind to her struggling. Maybe even more than once that night. And that poor little girl, already so mixed up about husbands and wives and marrying, can only think of her ma's teaching – the first man you lie with must be your husband. Likely as not, Padlow would've taken her on to her ma's cousin, anyway. She was the one said they were married, she was his wife, and had to stay with him, after that."

Merlin's head was shaking without him intending it; he closed his eyes to shut out the sight of the tear that tracked down Shasta's plump cheek. He rubbed his hands over his head – really it was no worse than stories he'd heard while working for Morgana.

Except that Freya was someone he knew. Her sweet voice echoed once again, in answer to his questions – Burton? He tries. Padlow? Her silence. Her blush. Her efforts to be a good wife to a man who'd raped her as a young girl and had abused her continually ever since, taking advantage of her mistaken decision to stay.

"You've done nothing?" Merlin's voice sounded rough, and trembled with an anger he couldn't quite conceal. "Five years it's been, and you've done nothing?"

He felt the cot shift as she rounded on him. "Try to talk her into leaving every chance I get!" she flashed. "Only it makes her so miserable – and confused – can't quite believe her ma was wrong, can she? And now – if she ain't married to him, what's the word for a woman who lives with a man she ain't married to? I guess she can't quite believe that kind of word would fit her, and I don't blame her. She's done her best to be a good and loyal wife – and I believe that's the truth of it, even if it ain't a legal marriage."

Merlin pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. He'd hated Freya, had questioned over and over why she'd married a killer, had even intended to kill her along with her husband – only to find that she was another of his victims, and in her childish confusion, had believed herself attached to him for life.

Gone for good was his plan of torturing Padlow's family to cause him pain. Gone, too, was his inclination of extending mercy to her for leading him to the evidence that could make his revenge legal. Shasta's secret revealed that he was squarely on Freya's side, and had been since before he'd heard Padlow's name, before he'd been plucked from the gutter by Gwaine, Morgana's right-hand man. Before he'd stabbed Arthur in his escape, before he'd returned to a gruesomely silent farmhouse. Before his father had even begun to make claims about unfair taxes and proofs.

Freya had been suffering far longer than he had.

And still she was so sweet and kind. Still she helped her friends more than her keep was worth. Still she tried to do the right thing. And there was no hint of the black shadow that had covered Merlin for all this time, in her eyes.

How did she do it?

He dropped his hands to realize that Shasta had once again fixed a sharp eye on him. "Now that you know what she's been through, I hope I don't have to warn you about hurting her any more," she warned. Paused, then added meaningfully, "Won't hurt her much to consider herself a widow. But her feelings is mixed up, and she's a gentle and trusting sort. Take my meaning?"

Merlin's mouth twisted. "You're telling me, keep my distance from her?"

Her eyes narrowed, but she smiled. "Unless your intentions are something nearer the heart, like I said."

…..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Freya had never been one to spend much time with a looking-glass, but Gwen's expression of shock the next morning was enough for her to take a glance when her friend held out her little vanity mirror with a whispered, "Looks awful! Does it hurt much?"

She'd generally avoided her reflection even if she wasn't bruised, but one quick look told her that Gwen's reaction wasn't exaggerated. She'd been right to hide in the kitchen all evening, and now intended to spend the rest of the week in there. Almost the whole right side of her face was purple, darker along her cheek and jawbones, lighter in between. And her ear was tender, too.

"Never mind," she told Gwen quietly.

She wore the baggy drab dress she used during the winter months – the one she'd often mended when torn, and washed blood out of on more than one occasion - and took the damaged garment and a sewing kit. And left her scarf on the little bed table they shared, in order that her hair might fall forward to hide her face, if she kept her head down. Gwen gave her a little hug of sympathy and support before they left their sleeping-closet, bending to take responsibility of their chamber-pot.

Shasta was already up, dumping an armful of sheets, blankets, and other articles of clothing out on the back step for washing later. She shook her head over Freya's bruise and tsked gently.

"Don't worry about helping with breakfast," Shasta whispered kindly. "Got it started already, and Percival can watch it for a minute." Freya nodded, and seated herself in the chair closest to the fireplace, as Shasta closed the door behind herself and Gwen.

Percival came in with an armload of firewood for the kitchen stove, and his cheery whistle died abruptly into a darker scowl. His burden unloaded into the wood-box, he touched her shoulder and said in his quiet deep voice, "He oughta be shot."

He turned away, as the kitchen door swung open, and their two guests entered, boots thudding on the wooden floorboards. Freya ducked her head over the torn seam and her needle, glancing up to catch Arthur's surprisingly sympathetic smile before he left the kitchen through the back door. The second set of boots stopped.

Knowing it was Merlin, she kept her chin down. Til he reached out his strong, callused hand with scars on the knuckles and the thick rope-burn still visible in his sleeve. Til he touched her chin with a shocking gentleness and tipped her face upward. Afraid to meet his eyes, she set her gaze past him on Percival, checking on the breakfast at the cook stove in the corner. But Merlin's face was still in her line of vision, if not her focus, and she saw his teeth bare, heard his indrawn breath hiss.

"I didn't know he hit you," he said in a low voice, and it sounded like an apology. Which she didn't fully take in, too busy blushing over the realization that he too had witnessed the altercation in the street. Then, heard a lingering unspoken, Otherwise I would have…

He dropped his hand and turned away, and then she remembered something.

"Merlin?" she said, keeping her voice quiet so Percival would not overhear. He stopped and turned toward her, keeping his eyes on the floor so he wouldn't meet her gaze, either. She continued, "Burton said he wanted to ask me questions about you and Arthur." His expression didn't change; she could almost believe he hadn't heard her. "I – thought you should know," she finished lamely.

He nodded once, and left the kitchen. Shasta and Gwen returned to finish cooking breakfast, and Arthur to enjoy the morning meal, but Freya didn't see Merlin again that day.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Shasta, Merlin noticed, kept Freya close, after the incident in the street. And Freya, he noticed, wilted a bit more every day under the resulting loss of freedom. Her bruise healed, but her smile did not reappear.

One evening a couple of weeks after the incident, after Elyan had closed the forge for the night, Merlin casually hitched one leg over the barstool next to the wall just inside the door and behind the gaming table. He nursed a mug of Percival's beer as he watched the place fill up, and waited for Agent Arthur. Only a few noticed him, that he wasn't in his customary corner by the stairs, but their notice was momentary, and soon forgotten.

Percival glanced at him a couple of times out of the corner of his eye, the only one alerted by Merlin's change of seating, but asked no questions. Arthur came in less than an hour later, dusty and sweaty but for his face and hands, which he'd already washed outside. He barely acknowledged Merlin, but took the stool next to him.

Shasta pushed her way out of the kitchen backwards, hollering, "Soup's up!"

Her cloth-protected arms were full of the kettle, her face as red as her pinned-up hair. Gwen followed with a stack of bowls, smiling immediately at Arthur; she brought their dinners to them at the same time, but was too busy to linger for more than a quick smile at Arthur, receiving a whisper in her ear in return.

Arthur started in hungrily on the soup – a thick chicken and vegetable combination – while Merlin stirred his absently with the spoon. But the agent was waiting for him to speak first; he probably knew Merlin would have a reason to sit at the bar instead of his habitual secluded table. Merlin's back was to the wall; neither Burton nor the reeve was in the tavern, yet. The bustle of handing out soup bowls at the other end of the bar would cover their conversation.

"Those two have been asking questions," he said quietly to Arthur. It wasn't really a question; if they hadn't yet, they would start soon. It would be more like, interrogation with threats, but the agent would understand that.

Arthur gave him a sharpish look. "People will say what they have to say," he responded. "I watch my back."

A quick knife in a quiet alley would seem to solve the problem if Whatley and Burton were worried about higher law involvement, if they learned about the agent's writ, but his tone indicated sarcastic disbelief in Merlin's concern for his safety. Merlin waited a moment longer, sipping at the broth in the spoon. Warning Arthur was not exactly his intention.

"I figure they might try for the girl again," he said. He could feel the agent's eyes on him again, but he didn't look up from his bowl.

"Percival and Shasta–" Arthur began, but Merlin cut him off.

"They can't completely protect her from the reeve," he said. "And he'll back whatever play Burton makes."

Arthur chewed and swallowed two more bites. "You have a suggestion?" he said. "I can't have her tagging along with me, and I don't want to tell the reeve who I am, yet. You work right across the street from her."

Merlin ignored the implications of his last comment. "I figure one of us should take her somewhere safe," he answered. "Away from here."

"Somewhere they don't know about?" Arthur considered, and Merlin wondered if the agent would decide to keep his primary witness close at hand, regardless of her safety.

He'd been keeping an eye on the door, and slid off the stool with bowl and mug in hand, heading for the back corner table without another word or look, his expression giving nothing away. And as he seated himself with his back to the opposite wall, he watched the newly-arrived Reeve Whatley in keen glances over the edge of the bowl.

The reeve hesitated at the door to cast his gaze over all assembled there - those who ignored him and those who gave quick uneasy grins – before eyeing Arthur eating his soup unconcernedly at the bar, and Merlin in the far corner.

Then Shasta, who always behaved as though nothing were outside of normal, shouted, "Reeve! Soup will get cold if you stand there staring!"

Merlin had waited for an opportunity to come, when he wasn't under Elyan's or Arthur's keen gaze, and when the pair of his enemies was separated. He felt he could take either one alone, and possibly both together, but he had a feeling that Arthur would not prevent his arrest as he had prevented Freya's.

But that opportunity had not come. And the two had made no further moves against any of the tavern folk.

By late autumn, Arthur had spoken with most of the residents in and around Emmett's Creek, and was spending more and more of the afternoons and evenings in his room, compiling his findings and composing a report. Trying, Merlin guessed, to decide what to do about the situation. He wouldn't – couldn't, really – make a move until the tax farmer came home, unless he elected to simply return to Camelot and leave the decision and actions to his superiors. Which he couldn't do without leaving Merlin behind – a condition of the agreement for Merlin to surrender to him was that the vendetta against Padlow had to be resolved one way or another, first.

Merlin expected that Burton or Reeve Whatley would contrive to warn Padlow of the situation before he or Arthur could confront him, but as far as they knew, both men still believed Arthur and Merlin to be fellow criminals trying to steal the position of tax farmer for the region, or simply rob them of gathered profits. Padlow was not the sort of man to give up his business to competitors without a fight – he'd proven that when he'd killed Merlin's family to silence his father's accusations – so there would be a confrontation, likely a fight. It was inevitable, almost.

Arthur hadn't yet discussed his thoughts and plans with Merlin, even though Merlin assumed the agent would need his help enforcing his judgment, when the time came. But Merlin hadn't spoken to Arthur about his intentions, either.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

About a fortnight after Reeve Whatley had hit her, Freya risked another look in Gwen's vanity mirror, and was relieved to see only a slight greenish tinge along her cheekbone, barely noticeable unless she really searched for it.

She tied her hair back in her scarf and went early to the kitchen to help start breakfast, surprising Percival and Shasta in discussion with Agent Arthur. She would have passed without another thought; Percival and Arthur wore the slightly bored expression of making small talk about the weather, or horses – but Shasta blushed guiltily on seeing her, and wouldn't meet her eyes. So her feet slowed and stopped and she waited, her heart sinking through her stomach.

"What is it?" she asked, somewhat fearfully. If they were discussing something that concerned her, it probably wasn't good.

The agent muttered something like, "Better if it comes from you," and set his coffee mug half-finished on the table as he stood. He nodded to her and smiled politely as he passed her on his way out of the kitchen, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. He looked preoccupied, but that wasn't out of the ordinary for him, lately. When he'd gone, she turned back to Percival and Shasta, wrapping her arms around her middle.

"The bruise is about cleared up," Percival commented. Shasta smiled encouragingly.

"Yes," Freya said, waiting for the metaphorical axe to drop.

"What Burton did was bold, coming after you in the street in broad daylight," Percival continued. Freya nodded – she'd been more watchful, more careful since then… "Seems you haven't taken well to staying indoors, though," he added.

Freya considered. Autumn had always been her favorite time of year, the brisk chill welcome after summer's heat, all the harvest gathered snugly into barns and cellars, ranches and farms alike battening down cozily for the lasting snows, frost on the ground in the morning and a few flakes occasionally in the air. In spite of the fact that for the last four years autumn had also meant the return of Padlow.

But it would only last a couple more weeks before getting too cold for much unnecessary time to be spent out-of-doors, and snow could fall any day now, and Padlow would be coming home… and expect to find his hut warm and clean and ready for him. And her there waiting. She shuddered involuntarily.

"How long do you think it will be – first snowfall?" she asked Percival. Would the agent make his arrests – if that was his intention – before Padlow came? As soon as he arrived? Would it even be worthwhile for her to ready the hut? But what would happen if she hadn't, and it was required?

Percival glanced uneasily at Shasta, who made a face at him before turning to Freya and coming closer. "You see, the agent wants to arrest all three of them, but isn't so sure he can manage it," Shasta said. "He'd have Merlin's help, sure enough, but odds are it'll get ugly. Probably a good idea for you to lay low til it's over, you know?" She continued without allowing Freya a chance to answer. "He also wants you to go along with him when he leaves the Creek, to tell the judge and whoever else what you know about – about Padlow."

Freya's head was shaking on its own. "I don't think I should do that," she said uncertainly. "After all, he's my husband…" she stammered to a stop.

Shasta put her palms out in a shushing motion. "Well, Percival and me were thinking, maybe you should go to some of my relations for a little while, somewhere the agent won't know to find you, so he can't make you do what you don't want to do."

Freya's knees felt shaky, and with a glance behind to make sure she wasn't going to tumble to the floor, she sank into one of the kitchen chairs. "This is really happening," she mumbled, laying her forehead into her hand.

Padlow would be coming back – essentially into an ambush. Oh, she was sure the agent would be fair and just, and she could admit objectively that if there were truth in the rumors, grounds to the hatred often deflected onto her by association, then Padlow deserved to be punished. Not to mention Burton… and what of the reeve?

" 'Fraid so, darlin'," Shasta said kindly, bending over her.

"I don't want to – run away," Freya said. "I want to do the right thing. But… Do you mind if I take some time this morning to go talk to Gaius?"

The older couple exchanged glances. "I should stay here to help Gwen clean, myself," Shasta hedged. "Percival, you got some time to go with her?"

"Percival doesn't need to come with me," Freya started to argue, but Percival held up one big hand to silence her.

"Merlin and the agent both figure Burton or the reeve will try to talk to you again," he said in his deep voice. "And you know how gentle they'll be." His gaze shifted significantly to the fading bruise. "Agent Arthur doesn't want anyone standing up to Reeve Whatley just yet, so we'll have to keep an eye out for him, and duck the other way. But Burton can be sneaky, and the agent doesn't want you wandering around town on your own."

As much in concern for my value as a witness as for my safety, Freya thought sarcastically. Then corrected herself; she didn't know Arthur's motives, and it wasn't fair of her to make such an ungenerous assumption.

"Don't worry yourself too much," Percival said easily. "One good thing about tavern-keeping, not a lot of seasonal busy-ness. I can take you over to the doc's office right after breakfast, if you like."

"No, Percival, I'm going to need you to stay here this morning," Shasta changed her mind suddenly. "Got some heavy chores me and Gwen will need your help with."

Freya looked up, astonished to hear her say so, as Merlin moved further into the room. Percival seemed only slightly less astonished, but recovered quickly, shrugging his indifference to his wife's change of his plans.

And Shasta added, "Hey, Merlin, how about walking Freya up to Gaius' office?"

Freya said immediately, "No, Shasta, really I can go alone."

Shasta's plump hands lodged on equally fleshy hips. "A whole streetful watched the reeve hit you, would've watched him haul you off to the jail, and goodness knows what would've happened to you once those two got you off alone. Either walk with Merlin, or you don't set foot outside the tavern." She glared at Merlin as though he'd spoken a refusal.

Merlin held her gaze for a long moment before he shrugged. "I can walk down to the doc's office before Elyan needs me this morning." He headed for the back door without waiting for her.

Without considering breakfast either, Freya thought in dismay. Such sacrifices must be made. Her shawl hung on a hook by the door; she snatched it as she hurried to follow Merlin.

He wore only a vest over his shirt, no coat, but the chill wind that swept in fitful gusts up the alley didn't seem to touch him. He ducked his head against the dusty crest of one wave of air, and met her eyes for an instant. She was relieved to see their expression neutral, not angry or impatient.

"Thank you," she said breathlessly. "I hope I won't be too long with Doc."

He shrugged again. "Kendall's up on crutches," he said, referring to Elyan's helper. "He can give Elyan a hand til I get there."

Freya pulled the shawl closer around her shoulders, shivering in spite of the warm wool as air swirled up inside the bell of her skirt. "Gaius thinks he'll have full use of his leg soon?"

A short nod. Merlin's head was up again, eyes roving, never resting in one place more than a single second, keen and watchful. It was a habit with him, she knew, but today his vigilance was in service to her. The thought warmed her even as it caused another shiver.

"What will you do then?"

He turned his gaze on her, eyes dark and smile flat. "Season's changing," he said, by way of answer. "I guess you know what I came here for."

Freya wanted to stop right there in the alley, cold as it was, and demand that he tell her straight out what he was planning, but she suspected she'd be left behind and unanswered, both. "What is it you think Padlow's guilty of?"

Even in profile, she could see the furious fire light his eyes. His jaw clenched and his stride lengthened. "I don't think. I know," he bit out savagely.

"Percival says Agent Arthur is going to arrest him?" Freya asked, skipping a little to keep up with him. He didn't give a sign that he'd heard her, and she suddenly felt quite lonely, right in the middle of her obligations to her husband, and her desire to please her friends, to take the legally just course.

They arrived at the physician's office, and Merlin jerked the back door open. She entered, and he started to close it again, between them. She put her hand on the inside panel to stop it, lifted her face so that her eyes were fully open to his scrutiny, and said, "You might as well come in. It's very cold out there."

He shrugged and turned his back to watch the alley and the next row of buildings, placing his hands on his hips. This movement raised the cuffs of his sleeves enough for her to see the thick scars Burton's rope had made.

Which reminded her, and she whispered, "You must find peace," not sure if she intended him to hear or not.

He heard, she knew, because he straightened perceptibly, then turned to face her, his eyes that deep clear blue, and searching. His eyes, she thought for a fleeting second, could see her soul. Does he want, she wondered, to see my soul?

"I think it would be a good thing," she said, trying to choose her words carefully, "if you heard my questions to Gaius and his advice to me. I know you and Arthur don't trust me fully, and I don't blame you, my connections being what they are. So I want you to be able to hear what I'm thinking and feeling." Her face was flaming by the time she'd finished; she could feel the heat of her flush pouring down her body.

His face, however, seemed a little paler. "You're sure?" he said only, his voice sounding slightly hoarse.

She nodded. He might suspect her motives and every word she said to Gaius, with him so obviously in attendance and by her invitation, but she hoped he knew her well enough to believe her sincerity, in the end.

He put his hand to the door and followed her inside.

Freya noticed that Merlin's steps were hesitant though it seemed they were alone. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that his expression had hardened into anger as he looked around at the furniture the yellow of new wood, crafted by his own hand, tempered by something new. Not fear – but she couldn't tell what it was. She stifled a stray impulse to reach back for his hand.

"Doc?" she called out, her voice echoing in the dim light further down the corridor toward the front of the building. There were two windows in the back room where they'd entered, but the sun was hidden that morning by high, thin clouds that promised snow. She heard a door open near the end of the hall, and as the old physician emerged, Freya thought again how good it was to see him without a sling.

"Ah, Freya!" he greeted her with a smile. "And Merlin?"

"Shasta asked him to come with me this morning," Freya explained to Gaius. "For my safety."

The old physician nodded as if he understood the situation completely, which he probably did. "A good idea," he said, raising his voice to address Merlin instead of her. "You came to talk? Let's step into my office."

The thump of Merlin's boots sounded again on the plank floor; he passed Freya into the hallway and she trailed after him. Gaius stepped to one side, raising an eyebrow slightly at her as Merlin rounded him to enter his little study. Freya shrugged in answer to his unspoken question, fingers twisting in the pattern of the shawl.

"You know they're investigating Padlow," she said, referring to Merlin and the agent. "I invited him to sit with us in the interests of being open with them."

Gaius nodded, but his eyes were sad. "So, what's on your mind this morning?" he said, closing the door behind her and seating himself in the chair behind his desk.

Freya took her seat on the bench next to Merlin. With the wall at their backs, Gaius' desk was barely two feet from their knees. Closer to Merlin's, actually, because he slouched with his boots out in front of him, his arms crossed over his vest.

"Percival and Shasta want me to leave town," she began slowly, doing her best to ignore the audience of Merlin. "To go somewhere safe until the agent has time to – to deal with Padlow, and everything is resolved. I think Agent Arthur suggested it. I think he doesn't fully trust me. I don't know what to do – leaving feels like running away, which seems cowardly. But if Agent Arthur feels that I would be in his way, then…"

Gaius nodded, tapping his fingertips together. "It would be safer for you, elsewhere," he commented mildly. "But Shasta has told you that before, hasn't she."

Freya ducked her head, flushing miserably at the reference to the injuries she'd borne at the hands of her husband, some of which Gaius had seen to treat. "I think Percival and Shasta may be trying to protect me from the agent, too," she confided. "I know I haven't done anything wrong, and I guess the agent has been collecting testimonies from people in Emmett's Creek, but Percival and Shasta thought Arthur might want me to go to Camelot, myself."

Beside her, on the bench, she sensed Merlin straighten and turn to look at her. Maybe that was something he hadn't been aware of.

"I don't want to do it," Freya said honestly. Her fingers were twisting in the wool of the shawl again, and she forced them to lie quiet on her lap. "But, I guess… if it's the right thing…" she trailed off, then burst out, "Gaius, I just don't know what the right thing to do is!"

…..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

The old physician opened his mouth to respond to the girl's desperate statement, but a hoarse shout came from outside the room, the direction of the front door of the office, in Merlin's opinion. Another patient, maybe.

Freya stiffened, and Gaius sent her a quick warning flash of a glance as he rose from his seat. "Excuse me," he said only. "I'll be right back." The physician carefully shut the door behind himself.

It was a small room, the bench on the short side, which meant that Freya sat very close to him. No, not sat. Perched. Like a startled sparrow, every muscle tensed to fly, taking swift little breaths through half-opened mouth, as if straining to hear the exchange in the entryway down the corridor.

Merlin could hear another male voice in conversation with Gaius, but the wall and the distance prevented detection of word or tone. Freya evidently recognized the voice, though, why else should she react so strongly? And she was frightened, which probably meant the intruder was Burton or Reeve Whatley.

It might be a bad idea for Merlin or Freya to show themselves, but if he unlatched the door and allowed it to swing slightly ajar, he might be able to catch some of the conversation. He stood from the bench and took one long step toward the door, carefully moving his boots around the hem of her skirt.

He'd never seen her move so swiftly or decisively. In one instant she was in front of him, back to the door, hiding the latch with her body.

"I'm begging you, don't go out there," she said, a palpable strain in her low musical voice. Her eyes were on the top button of his shirt, her face pink all the way to her ears.

He made an impatient sound and tried to nudge her out of the way with the back of his hand against her upper arm, but he didn't push very hard, and she didn't move. "Open the door just a little, so I can hear," he said as an explanation.

She shook her head. He could see tears shining in her dark eyes. She had no reason to want to prevent him from overhearing Burton or the reeve – was it someone else, then? Even if she was too polite to eavesdrop on another, she would never put herself in his way to stop him, unless…

Realization hit him like the collapse of a burning building – a rush of sparks, flaming heat, dropping down from the crown of his head, burning through his body, down to his feet.

"It's him, isn't it?" he heard himself say.