Hunted(12)

Yeva felt the bottom falling out of her stomach. “I—never—”

“Not to me,” he said, with a smile. “To one of the huntsmen in the baron’s service. I overheard you. I tried in vain to talk about hunting with you but I think the baronessa had you too well trained. Never before have I so envied a mere huntsman.”

Now that he spoke, Yeva remembered more clearly the evenings they had both attended dinner. He had always sat at her elbow, always spoke of the huntsmen and asked if she knew any of them. She had thought he was engaging in some form of gossip, and had deflected the questions as best she could. Yeva closed her eyes again. How had she been so blind?

“Please,” said Solmir. Yeva heard a soft footfall, knew he had taken a step toward her. “When I got the news of your father’s caravan, your family was already gone and I had missed my chance. And now I’ve come all this way, instead. I will have to come back and speak with your father but everyone knows how he loves you. If you want something, he won’t refuse you. Please, Yeva. Consider my offer. I would like to take you back with me—as my wife.” He had run out of breath, forced to gulp down another before his last words.

Yeva felt as though the weight of his cloak on her shoulders might drive her to her knees. She forced herself to meet his eyes and immediately wished she hadn’t. He was too earnest, gazing at her with such feeling. How had she never noticed?

“I can’t marry you,” she mumbled, shivering again despite the warmth of his cloak. “I’m sorry.”

“Why not?” He looked merely puzzled, not comprehending what she was saying.

“I can’t marry anyone.” As the words came out, Yeva realized how much truth they held. Of all the men in the world who might ask for her hand, she could not hope to find someone more suited for her than this one—and yet the thought of marriage made her want to startle like a wood thrush and fly away into the forest. “I’m not—I’m not a wife. You should marry my sister, Asenka, she’s kind and good and—”

Solmir shook his head, moving forward and reaching for her hands. Yeva, too dumbfounded to protest, stared as he enclosed them in his. “It’s not your sister I want, Yeva.”

She looked up, caught by the longing in his voice. The depth of it left her speechless.

He met her eyes and the corners of his mouth drew up in the tiniest of smiles. “Yeva,” he repeated softly.

“I can’t.” She pulled away, dragging the cloak from her shoulders and presenting it to him at arm’s length. “I’d offer you refreshment but we’ve only just moved and we aren’t ready to receive company. Please, go.” If she weren’t so thrown, she’d be shocked at her own behavior. She was being unforgivably rude.

But Solmir only gathered up his cloak, hugging it to his chest. He kept hold of her outstretched arm with one hand, his fingers encircling her wrist. He was watching her as though wishing it was she, and not the cloak, pressed against him, but he made no attempt to draw her nearer. “I must come back to speak with your father. A fortnight, perhaps. That will give him time to return. Please, only think about it until I come again. We can hunt together, travel together, until the baron names me his heir. Then you will be my baronessa, and no one will dare tell us what we should do.”

Yeva could say nothing, breath stuck in her throat, heart thrashing against her rib cage.

Solmir bowed over her captive arm, and Yeva expected him to kiss her hand the way a gentleman would kiss a lady’s. But then fingers as dexterous as a weaver’s turned her wrist over, and he bent her hand back gently so that her fingers opened like a flower. Then he placed a kiss in her palm. Yeva shivered again—and this time not from the cold.

“Please give my regards to your sisters,” he said, releasing her hand. “And tell them I’m sorry I can’t stay longer to speak with them.” Then, pulling his cloak over his shoulders, he made his way back to his horse and mounted with practiced ease. He sat like someone born to the saddle, which was plain and unadorned—worn with use and care. Solmir saw her looking and smiled.

Yeva dropped her gaze to the snow, but felt his eyes on her for long moments before he turned his horse and disappeared back into the forest.

She longed to remain where she was, neither returning to the house nor going after Solmir, but cold inevitably drove her indoors. She opened the door as quietly as she could, slipping inside, but stealth was useless. They were all waiting for her.

Her eyes went immediately to the figure standing in the house’s center, one hand steadying herself on the table. Asenka smiled, and Yeva could see no hint of anything but pleasure in her sister’s face.

“I’m so happy for you, Beauty,” said Asenka, raising her arms. Yeva went to her, ducking her head against her shoulder, and felt her sister’s arms wrap tightly around her. “He’s a good man.”

Late that night, as Doe-Eyes dreamed of fat rabbits and twitched at her side, Yeva heard a sound from the back bedroom. Whispers, barely audible over the wind and leaves—and then a sob, low and quickly muffled. Just once, a single cry in the quiet. Yeva spent the rest of the night awake, arms wrapped around Doe-Eyes, the palm of her hand burning in the darkness.

Yeva rose before dawn, dressing in the dark and wrapping herself up well against the chill. She took a slice of day-old bread and slipped it into her pocket, then made for the door. Doe-Eyes scrambled up from her nest by the fire and trotted after her, toenails clicking on the wood, but Yeva held out a hand and the dog dropped to her haunches. “Mind the house, Doe-Eyes,” she whispered. Doe-Eyes cocked her head, trembling with the desire to accompany her mistress, but when Yeva slipped out, the dog remained obediently still.