Page 82 of The Pumpkin Bride

After a few more turns, he slowly drifted her down his body and back to the courtyard. The friction of her homespun on his linen set his blood alight. Many a night in the Laughing Gourd, he’d overheard men complain about their wives, referring to them as the old shackle. But Marigold was the first person he wanted to talk to in the morning and the last hand he wanted to hold at night.

He’d never tire of her.

“Can we do it again?” she asked. “I want to practice until we get it fully right and then keep going until I never get it wrong.”

“Luck favors the sharpened blade,” he said.

“Exactly.” She squeezed his hand.

On they went, dancing the line back and forth and back again, with turns and kicks, jumps and lifts. His arms never wavered, as though their sole purpose was to support her.

“I feel ready,” she said, chest heaving.

He dropped into the chair next to Fuzzle. “All you need is a festival.”

“About that . . .” She opened the root cellar and dipped cider for both of them. “I had an idea. Grimroot Farm is the perfect place for a big celebration.”

Aha—was this the moment she confessed that tomorrow was her birthday? The crown made an enormous fuss about Rowan every year, since he was the heir apparent. She, in contrast, preferred to celebrate with a picnic. Perhaps that had changed?

“Do you, now? And what would be celebrate?”

“The Goldenmoon Festival, of course. What about hosting it here?”

Cold flashed through him as he gripped the chair’s arms. “Mare, what? All those people? You can’t be serious.”

“Hear me out.” She handed him a tankard, then sat on his lap. “You said the townsfolk gawk at you, so you don’t feel comfortable around them. How will that ever be repaired if you never go to town?”

The cider’s bubbles scrubbed his tongue as he drank to buy time. He’d been a fool to hope this wouldn’t come up again.

“You have the space, Jask. People deserve a celebration. They’d be so happy if you step in where Crispin stepped aside. And if it’s the expense, I can—”

“No.” He sets his tankard on the ground, then stood, careful to set her on her feet. “You’re too trusting and optimistic. I don’t want the entirety of Harvest Hollow here. Not when you’re in hiding—”

The words stuck in his throat. The idea of Crispin locating her and spiriting her back to Brambleton Castle was more than he could bear.

“Just . . . no, Marigold.”

“Please? It would be so good for you.” Her eyes widened. “Also, Crispin’s search for me is exactly the reason you should host it. It’s a feint. Why would you invite everyone here if you were really trying to hide a person? I could shrink. Not even be here.”

“Oh, really? You’d hunker down in the cottage, after you’ve gone to all this trouble to learn to dance? You know the first fiddle that comes out, you’ll be in the center of the circle.”

“You are completely . . .” Her laugh echoed over the fieldstones. Barnaby squawked in response. “Right. You’re right—I would. But I could wear a disguise, Jask. A wrap to cover my telltale hair. Mistress Meg, at your service.”

He waved off her curtsey. “Why do you want this?”

“Because you’re wonderful, and if you do this, everyone in Harvest Hollow will have a chance to know you. It isn’t healthy for a person to live in such solitude. And since you can’t leave, we should bring Harvest Hollow to you.”

He warmed at her kind words but bridled against the stratagem. “That’s a lot of opinion for someone who’s been here a month.”

“It’s empathy for your situation, Jask. Not judgment.” She raised her chin. “I did the same thing when Bram left. I hid in my tower, reading my books, convinced a world without him had nothing to offer me. Then he died, and I blacked out the windows until my parents and brothers dragged me from my isolation. Looking back, I would’ve healed sooner if I’d allowed myself the company of people.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Was it mad to be jealous of himself? As Jask, he resented that she tossed out Bram’s name as frequently as drunkards toss dice in a tavern. As Bram, he was jealous that she was happy and with someone new. He was both the ghost and the possessed body, locked in despair.

Today Jask’s jealousy won.

Through clenched teeth, he asked, “For someone who claims to have enjoyed the miracle of true love, you seem to regret the length of your mourning period often. Did he not mean as much to you as you claim?”

She shrank from him. “Did you really just say that to me?”