Revenge and the Wild(5)

Three


After a bath and a short attempt at a nap, Westie entered the dining room. The servants were still in the house. They prepared the meal and set the table. The food smelled far better than any of Nigel’s concoctions.

Nigel and Alistair had already taken their seats. Alistair had an empty place where his plate of food should’ve been. It was no surprise, for he never ate with them, not since he’d stopped taking off his mask. There were two other settings, one for Westie and one for the mystery guest. Westie sat down next to Nigel and watched a young servant girl haul a stack of linens up the stairs.

“Did someone piss the bed?” Westie asked.

Nigel coughed into his hand. “Honestly, Westie, at the table?”

“Well,” she said, noticing Alistair’s eyes squint the way they did when he smiled, “why are the servants changing all the sheets in the house?”

Nigel said, “I told you the mayor’s friends will be in town tomorrow.”

“You mean they’re staying here?”

“I’m not about to let them stay at that flea-infested inn.”

“How long will they be staying?”

“However long it takes to convince them that Emma, when it’s complete, will be worth the money they invest and then some.”

Westie meant to ask Nigel more about the investors but was distracted by movement in the corner of the room as a man—no, a boy—peeked in from the hall.

“You?” she said, twisting in her seat to look at the young aristocrat from the saloon. Her knife fell off the table with a clatter.

He smiled with his entire face. “Hello again.” He’d cleaned up and had changed his clothes since the last time she’d seen him, wearing a crisp white shirt beneath a leather vest. “Sorry I’m late.”

Alistair and Nigel rose from their seats. When Westie tried to stand, she stepped on the hem of her gown, teetering before righting herself. She hardly ever wore dresses while on the road. It would take some getting used to again.

“You two know each other?” Nigel asked.

The young man exposed a trellis of brilliant white teeth when he opened his mouth. “She saved me from a troll this afternoon.”

Nigel’s face was electric with joy when he looked at Westie. “You did?”

“It was an ogre, actually,” Westie said, enjoying Nigel’s smile for the moment. If tradition held, it was only a matter of time before she disappointed him again.

“Wonderful!” Nigel said, turning to his guest. “James, this is my daughter, Westie, and my assistant, Alistair. Westie, Alistair, I’d like to present James Lovett Junior, the son of our former mayor and nephew of the investors.”

“Pleased to meet you,” James said.

“Why didn’t you travel with the rest of your family?” Alistair asked. His words were monotone, part of the mask he wore. There was a sharp grinding noise as he spoke, like the gears were starting to seize. It was the sound her own mechanical device made when it needed to be oiled.

James leaned away from Alistair, clearly not used to the quirks of prosthetic machines.

“I’m terrified of air travel, actually. I prefer my horse,” James said.

His easy admission of fear was somewhat endearing to Westie, but she was still uncertain what to think of him. At a glance he appeared good-looking, wealthy, and well bred—a stark contrast to the tipsy boy she’d seen fighting with creatures in front of the saloon.

They sat down to their meal. James took his seat across from Westie and tucked his napkin neatly into his collar, pressing it down. One of the servants set a steaming plate in front of him.

“This looks delicious,” he said.

He used the tips of his fingers on his fork and knife to slice off dainty pieces of meat. When he chewed, his jaw barely moved. It looked tiresome.

When Westie bent to grab her knife off the floor, Nigel shot her a look that said, Don’t even think about it. On the road, dirt and manners had been the least of her worries. She rolled her eyes, sat back up, and began to eat.

James watched the twisted fork in Westie’s metal hand as she scooped heaping loads of food into her mouth and smacked her lips. Nigel tapped his fork against his plate, a reminder for her to chew with her mouth closed.

Westie pressed her lips together, breathing heavily through her nose.

James continued to watch her. It wasn’t just her machine he studied—that she could handle; she was used to it. When James looked at her, he looked at all of her. She felt exposed, as if he could look inside her head and see all her secrets.

She dropped her fork on her plate, startling the servants refreshing their drinks.

“Anyone ever tell you it’s not polite to stare?” she said.

“Westie!” Nigel stuck a sharp elbow into her rib. She winced, grabbing her side. He turned to James. “I’m so very sorry—she didn’t mean it. She’s just a bit cantankerous from traveling.” Nigel’s eyes bulged when he looked back at her. “Isn’t that right?”

Not wanting to upset Nigel on her first day back, she submitted, sagging in her chair. “Sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. “I’m just tired from being on the road, is all.” That part was true. Her eyelids and limbs felt heavy, and a yawn waited at the back of her throat. When she was traveling alone, it wasn’t safe to close her eyes more than a few minutes. The lack of sleep was finally catching up with her. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll turn in for the night.”