Page 99 of Four Promises to Love

Arriving at Finn’s doorstep, Owen felt strangely nervous. He’d returned from Thymehill that morning and spent the day preparing for what amounted to his first public outing with Finn. He’d realized with wry amusement that this was his first attempt at courtship. He’d left for war at eighteen, when he’d been too young to take matters of the heart seriously; after his return, he’d lost the capacity to play games of love. Mostly, he’d focused on keeping afloat and not drowning in the memories of violence and fear.

Now he was calling upon his lady love and felt as awkward as a greenling.

Might as well get on with it.

He rang the bell.

Finn opened the door almost immediately. His heart thudded at her beauty: the emerald sparkle in her hazel eyes, the lush curve of her smile. The top section of her hair was braided and pinned back, the rest cascading to her waist in glossy chestnut waves. She wore her usual black dress, but a jaunty scarf with a pink floral pattern added a splash of color. She looked young and fresh and even more captivating than he remembered.

“Welcome back,” she said.

“It’s, er, good to be back.” He cursed himself for sounding like a fool.

“You look different. Did you get a haircut?”

He was embarrassed that his attempt at vanity was so obvious.

“It was getting in my eyes,” he muttered.

When she reached a hand toward him, his heart stuttered. Gently, she brushed the unruly wave, which was already falling over his forehead.

“I like it,” she said. “But I also like you with your hair in your eyes.”

Her smile tempted him to take her into his arms. Then he remembered.

“These are for you.”

He thrust the bouquet he held toward her. He’d picked it himself, choosing three pristine roses from the garden: a blushing damask, a pink old Bourbon, and a moss rose the shade of rich wine. He’d added foxglove and harebells, along with a spray of lavender. To fill out the posy, he’d gone to the woods to gather wild roses, thyme, and lemon balm. The result was colorful and lively, both cultivated and untamed, which he thought suited Finn well.

“How pretty!” Her eyes lit up. “I’ll put them in water before we go.”

“Wait. Keep this one.”

Taking out his penknife, he removed a sweet briar rose, paring the stem.

“If I may?” he asked.

At her shy nod, he placed the flower in her hair, tucking it into the pins by her braids. The pink petals fluttered against her shining tresses and were a perfect match for her scarf.

“How does it look?” she asked.

He smiled. “You’re perfect, Finn.”

Before he could steal a kiss, Tansy popped between them. Like Finn, she wore a somber dress, but her hair was plaited and tied with sky-blue ribbons that matched her eyes.

“Finally, you’re here,” Tansy said.

Owen hid a smile at her impatience. “What fine plaits, Miss Tansy.”

“Finn did them. We have been waiting forever. We’ve had so many sittings today that I missed luncheon, and I hope there will be food left at the fair or I shall perish from starvation.”

Finn rolled her eyes. “You had a snack.”

“A snack is not the same as a meal. Because I worked so very hard today, I am famished.”

Tansy’s pout had the look of practice. Crouching, Owen looked into her rounded eyes.

“Why don’t we put Finn’s flowers in a vase, and then I shall buy you supper at the fair?” he suggested.