Ever the Brave (A Clash of Kingdoms Novel)(37)

“Uh, thank you.” Britta studies the thing, bemused.

“Hello, Gillian.” I smile at the nurse, and she gives me a prim nod.

My stomach grumbles. After traveling long hours, I want to sink my teeth into something filling, wash up, and sleep for days.

My eyes catch on Britta’s cloak as she hangs it beside the door. It’s new. For the first time I remember that her old one was stained by Enat’s blood. Makes me ache for Britta and the losses she’s suffered. “I’m glad you got a new coat, Dove.”

Britta blushes my favorite shade of rose. “Oh, I . . . yeah.”

“The king gave it to her,” Gillian says.

“The king?” I’m not sure why Gillian’s comment doesn’t sit right.

Britt takes one look at my face and clarifies that the king noticed her cloak was ruined, so he replaced it.

“Nice of him,” I mutter.

“You should see what he gave her for her birthday.” Gillian sets her stitching down and moves to the bedroom door. Her birthday?

“Stop, Gillian,” Britta snaps.

And realization hits me hard. Britta turned eighteen a little over a week ago. I was so focused on getting home that I overlooked the day. “Gods, I’m the king of bludgers. I forgot, Dove. I—I’m sorry.”

“You’ve been hunting.” She shrugs like it’s not a big deal.

But it is. “Bloody seeds, Britt. What am I good for if I cannot remember your birthday?”

“You’re not a bludger. At least, not at the moment.” She nudges my shoulder, attempting to soften my own disappointment. Only makes it worse. “Besides, you’re good for catching dinner. I think I’ll keep you around.”

“I had time to work on my stitches since you shot out of here like there was a golden stag in the forest.” Gillian holds her handiwork to the light once more. “I’m nearly finished.”

Britta drops her head back and laughs. I’m mesmerized by the sound. I get distracted by the smooth column of her neck. I want my mouth on her, just there. “A golden stag would weigh more than Snowfire. How would I get it home?”

The nurse stabs a needle into the material. “It’s a figure of speech.”

“What kind of entrails does a golden—?”

“Clearly, you’re missing the point.”

The sight of Britta’s grin breaks my remaining disappointment at having missed her birthday. I like to see that she’s friends with her nurse. Six weeks ago, Britta and the maid got on like oil and water.

While they talk, I slip out of the cottage to fetch a bucket of water. I return and pour the water into a cast-iron pot. Once it’s in the embers, I stoke the fire and wait for the water to boil.

I overlooked Gillian’s presence here in my haste to meet Britta in the woods. Seems my plans for a private reunion are foiled. Wish I’d taken more time with her in the practice clearing. Since I became an official bounty hunter for King Aodren nearly a year and a half ago, our only moments alone were as fugitives.

I’ve loved Britta since she was fourteen years old. Loved that she could hold her head up, shoulders back, and face each day despite how townspeople in Brentyn taunted her. There’s no other woman who possesses her strength and resilience.

I’ve had time to know, without a doubt, she’s the woman I want by my side. And if she’ll have me, she’s the woman I want to spend my life with. Now that we’re not running from guards or stopping a war, we can focus on the future.

The entire way back from Shaerdan, I planned out what I wanted to say to Britta. Except, no matter what I hoped for tonight, it’s not happening. That’s not a conversation to be had while Gillian’s around.

So I tuck away my disappointment and save my words for another day.

When the water’s boiling, I drop in a goose, giving its skin time to loosen. When the stink of wet down fills the cottage, I thrust my knife in the goose and, with the help of a long spoon, lift it from the pot. The bird’s wet splat on the table draws the girls’ attention. But I keep to my business, putting another goose in the water before returning to the table to pluck out the first bird’s feathers.

Next thing I know, Gillian’s standing beside me, two bowls of pottage in her hands. “You’re not going to do that nasty business here?”

I drop a feather in the basket beside the table because obviously I’m doing this here.

She sets the bowls down. “How Britta doesn’t swoon at your gentlemanly ways is beyond me.”

“A struggle, certainly.” I wink at her.

Britta steps between us and rests her hand on the table. “Don’t let him get under your skin, Gillian.”

Smiling, Gillian shakes her head. I cover Britta’s fingers with mine. I’d do anything to make this girl happy, even if it means plucking geese in the cold. “Want me to take it outside?”

“Do you think the table’s large enough for all of us?” Britta looks imploringly at her handmaid as she hands me a bowl of pottage.

Gillian mutters something under her breath that I don’t catch because I’m still goose plucking in between taking bites of supper.

At first I think it’s another playful jab until Britta’s fists clench.

“What was that?” I ask.