Page 50 of A Wolf for Winter

Her heart swelled. Despite everything, she had succeeded. She had the validation from the villagers. She had the support of her dear friend. And, most importantly of all, she was now truly convinced of her talent. Not only of its profitability, but of its truth. She was worthy of this.

But would her family agree when they found out? Would Grandmother accept the new role she had chosen for herself? Would she, if met with their opposition, bend to her matriarch’s iron will like a blade of grass before a wind, or stand tall like an oak tree unfazed by the storm?

The joy in her heart wouldn’t let her wallow. It wanted to relish this moment. And share it.

With . . . Allen.

He had been the one to find the loophole in Boar’s command and rescue her potions, to set up her booth and encourage others to take a chance on her goods. To believe in her when her own siblings didn’t.

Her gaze drifted to the scene beyond the attic window, to where the caretaker was chucking more wood into the little bonfire beside the pond. Just that morning, the Hawthornes had reset the ice and grown a deck and bleachers that curved halfway around the pond. In one corner by the ice, a string quartet all bundled up in matching pea coats and striped scarves reminiscent of candy canes played “Greensleeves.”

Garlands and string lights hung from the poles they’d grown from poplar seeds, and those villagers who weren’t ice skating in an endless loop along the pond’s perimeter lounged on the deck and bleachers out of the snow or roasted marshmallows by the fire Allen fed. Boar stood on the platform overlooking the pond like Caesar above a gladiatorial pit, monitoring the skaters’ safety, and Rose and her mountain man Darren skated amongst the crowd. When they weren’t making out under the bleachers.

Her eyes drifted back to the caretaker, watched as he finished feeding the bonfire and stacked the leftover wood neatly nearby so people could add it at will. Every movement was efficient, no energy wasted. And he had so little left. Rose had told her this morning that he’d been working since late last night to extend the wards to the edge of the forest at great personal cost.

To protect them. To protect her.

The caretaker had saved her . . . in more ways than one. She still felt the phantom touch of his hands on her waist as he’d shoved her out of the water. The strength of his arms as he’d cradled her to his chest. How, even as she slipped away into unconsciousness, she’d felt safe with him. That feeling was the very reason she’d been avoiding him.

She was here to seize her future and validate her worth as a potions master, not fall for the caretaker. He obeyed her family. And if the Hawthorne matriarch decided not to endorse Lilac’s new life, he would be a grindstone around her neck. Because he was tied to the Hall, he could never leave Annesley Valley. Which meant she would always be in her family’s shadow, within their clutches. And now that Lilac had had a taste of freedom, she could never go back to that life if they meant to pigeonhole her into the role she had not chosen for herself.

And yet, she’d never met a man so unfailingly kind. Who didn’t look at her as something to be possessed for his own gain. Who cared for her with no thought for himself. If she was being truthful with herself, something she was adamant about doing in this new life she was carving out, she wanted a man like that. But not just any man. Green Mother help her, she wanted Allen Sharpe.

Have you lost your mind? You’re not here for a winter fling, a traitorous voice that sounded oddly like her grandmother hissed at her. You have no business wanting—

I want to make my own choices! she shouted back.

The traitorous voice didn’t reply.

Releasing a huff, she stood and smoothed down her dress. Then she gave her reflection in the frosty window a hard look and started making adjustments. At least she could have some confidence in her appearance when she faced him, for she did owe him a thank-you and an apology. And if that went well, she’d risk telling him everything. Maybe.

“Lilac?”

She yelped as she spun from her primping, finding Allen standing there with a box of decorations in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted. “I didn’t want to startle you, but, um, apparently I failed. I’m just up here grabbing the rest of the ornaments for the Hanging of the Green this afternoon. I only have a few trips left, so I’ll be out of your hair soon. In case you, uh, need to”—he glanced at the window—“think some more. By yourself. So . . . bye.” He turned for a gap in the towers of boxes to retreat through the maze.

“Don’t go!”

He gave her wary glance over his shoulder. “Is that a Hawthorne command? I really need to get this done for Boar.”

“Just, wait.” She wet her lips, suddenly nervous.

Her heart ached at the sight of his tired shoulders slumping as he set the box down and faced her, arms at his sides. Allen had a physical ease with her brother and sister that she suddenly envied. Rose hugged him daily, and he and Boar got into the occasional fraternal shoving match. But he never touched Lilac unless it was necessary. Probably because she’d treated him with frost for most of their relationship, something she was beginning to regret. Perhaps her instincts had been wrong about him; maybe he really had nothing to hide from her except a past he wanted to keep dead. She herself was trying to shed her old image for a new one, so why couldn’t she afford him the same grace he was giving her?

“I’ve been ghastly towards you and I’m sorry,” she said in a rush.

After a beat, he asked patiently, “Why is that, do you think?”

His question made her squirm like a freshly unearthed worm. “Because when you present one face to the world and keep your real one hidden, like I do, you recognize when others are doing it too.”

“I never lied, Lilac. I came here to start over, befriended Zofia without knowing what she was, and then I ended up here as your caretaker. Your . . . friend, after a fashion, I’d think.”

She searched his face, finding nothing but sincerity.

“I had hoped I would’ve proven myself to you already,” he continued, a slight edge of reproach in his tired voice, “especially given yesterday.”

Lilac flushed. “Y-you did. And thank you for that. And this.” She thrust out Edith’s letter. “Here.”