Page 101 of The Pumpkin Bride

Marigold paced the cottage.

She needed fresh air. On the porch she scanned the horizon. It was devoid of Bram—wait, no. There was movement. She focused on the shadow moving through the pumpkins. It lifted its head and . . .

Marigold exhaled as her fear blew away as a leaf on the wind.

A young fox sniffed the air. From what she’d read, the young ones were kicked out of their mother’s territory in the fall to find their homestead. They wandered until they found a hospitable place to call their own.

To say she identified was to put it mildly.

She tapped her fingers against her lips. Bram said Crispin ordered the autumn sprite to curse him, despite answering the riddle correctly. Why? Sprites were notorious mischief-makers and did not respect human hierarchies. Rather, they mocked them.

That was the mystery here.

One that she’d need to resolve before she’d feel safe. Even if she convinced the sprite to return Bram to his human form and untether him from Grimroot Farm, Crispin could compel him to curse them both.

Despite all Bram’s warnings, she had no choice.

She must seek out the sprite.

Chapter 29

The cold slapped Bram’s cheeks as he stood at Coldpress Lake. The water offered him no wisdom. He blew out his lips. He’d been far too harsh with Marigold. He believed that she believed the form he took did not matter. That she loved him as an orc as much as she had the man.

But surely, she lied to herself.

His breath plumed in the air as he waited. Cottages dotted the lake’s rim in the distance, their windows faintly glowing like beacons on this gloomy autumn day.

Footsteps crunched the rocky shore behind him.

A hundred yards . . . fifty . . . twenty-five . . . ten.

He twitched his ears. “Hello, Coby.”

“Sir . . . I mean, Jask.” The young knight stood next to him.

Bram folded his arms. “No one’s about. Call me what you prefer. How do you fare?”

“Well, thanks,” Coby said. “You?”

He was brimming with turmoil and fret.

“I’ll do.” Bram ran his hands through his hair, then cradled the back of his skull. “That’s a lie, kid. It’s been a devil of a day.”

“It’s eight a.m., sir.”

He twitched an ear toward Coby, listening for any shifts in breathing pattern. Anything to help discern if the young knight spoke with truth on his tongue. “Can I trust you, Coby?”

The kid took a quick breath. Still in the realm of normal, though. Not the heave of someone who was about to lie to you. “Yes, sir.”

Bram sucked in a breath. Coby had never broken his trust, but it felt like the world had when Crispin betrayed him. With Crispin maintaining the ruse of the wedding . . . His gut told him another plan was afoot. To protect Marigold from whatever might come, he needed more allies.

“If I need to reach you without attracting attention from the rest of the guard, where can I leave word?”

Coby rubbed his chin. “The Laughing Gourd, I suppose. The tavern nearest Brambleton’s keep. These days, most of the knights prefer to indulge at the Black Dragon.”

The Laughing Gourd was Elenor Brewster’s tavern. Handy, that.

“Good,” he said. “Next—would you be willing to keep an eye on Sir Kevin?”