Page 57 of The Pumpkin Bride

“Your kirtles’ sleeves and lacings seem to frustrate you.” He slid a palm against his neck. “Thought you could use more practical options while you’re staying here.”

“Thank you.” As she hugged the garments and met his eyes, the pleasant pulse thumped harder.

To be seen was to be loved.

And after the feel of Jask’s hands on her hips, she knew as surely as she knew his name that she’d make things awkward if they were alone together. A solution to that particular problem stood before her.

“Will you stay for dinner, Alfred?” she asked. “We’ve pumpkin-and-apple porridge left from breakfast. Humble, but satisfying.”

Alfred lifted his cap and scratched his head. “That’s mighty nice of you. I’ve been cycling through here for years, and this is the first invitation I’ve received.”

Jask shrugged, looking embarrassed. “Never felt like fit company, but you’re welcome to break bread with us.”

“Tether your horse to the maple, Alfred, and come inside. I’d love to hear all the town’s gossip.”

Chapter 15

In the cottage, Bram showed Alfred where to stow his shoes while Marigold sorted out lunch. He cut a glance her way as she ladled the porridge onto toasted trenchers. Her body language was stiff. Please let her heed his advice about the autumn sprite.

After he and Alfred washed up, Bram filled mugs of water for the three of them.

“I know it’s customary to set the trenchers directly on the table,” Marigold said as she set full plates and spoons in front of them, then sprinkled the dishes with cinnamon, drizzled them in honey, and added a knob of butter. “But I’d rather wash plates than the table.”

Both he and Alfred remained standing until Marigold took her seat on the bench.

“I’d never question you, Miss Meg.” Alfred dug into the porridge with his spoon. “Delicious. Much better than the hunk of cheese and venison jerky in my satchel.”

“Glad you like it.” Marigold dashed an extra sprinkle of cinnamon onto her porridge. “Now, tell me all there is to know in Harvest Hollow. Isolde Fenlow’s gossip column has nothing compared to you.”

“I’ll take that compliment.” Alfred raised his mug of water. “The sprite activity in the Shivering Dales continues. You have a new neighbor to the west. A widow and her boy have moved into the caretaker’s cottage at Kindlewood.”

“Is that a country estate?” Marigold asked.

Alfred shook his head. “Cemetery. Other than that, the only other news is the Goldenmoon Festival has officially been canceled in favor of the prince’s wedding celebrations.”

Bram cut his eyes to Marigold, whose color had drained from her face. Alfred, deep into his porridge, seemed not to notice her distress.

“The wedding is still going ahead?” he asked.

“Yessir,” Alfred said. “The second banns were delayed until yesterday on account of Thornwick being so far away. Need to give local parish folks more of a chance to object, though I can’t imagine why they would. The princess is quite beautiful.”

He exchanged a glance with Marigold.

Her mug trembled slightly as she sipped.

“Have you seen her?” Bram ripped a corner from his trencher and sopped up melting butter with it.

“Not with my own eyes, no,” Alfred said. “But the royal guard have been describing her to those in the marketplace. Tall and strong, they say, which makes all the biddies crow about children. Hair as fiery as a sunset, and eyes the color of a clear sky. Not unlike Miss Meg, here.”

Alfred pointed at her with his spoon.

Bram closed his eyes and prayed Alfred’s dreamleaf kept him from connecting the dots between the missing princess and the woman sitting across from him. The royal guard wasn’t in the habit of waxing eloquent about a princess’s beauty. They were obviously canvassing for her whereabouts.

“Thank you, Alfred.” Marigold’s grip on her spoon tightened. Only those who knew her well would pick up on it.

Bram was one of those people.

“Meg?” he asked. “Would you mind refilling my water?”