He laughs, tries to choke it back when he sees my face, and then laughs some more.

“Delicate? You could wipe the cobblestones with just about anyone in Baalboden. I’d hardly call that delicate.”

“What do you mean, just about?” I’ve worked far too hard on my sparring skills to take that kind of insult lying down. “I can get the best of anyone who comes at me.”

“You can’t get the best of me.”

“Try me, and you’ll be singing a different tune. If I let you keep your lungs.”

His smile is a slow journey of warmth that lights up his face and lingers in his eyes. “I’m going to take you up on that.”

My stupid traitorous mouth smiles back before I remember I’m mad at him. Quickly wiping all expression from my face, I tap my foot on the cobblestones.

He leans closer and says, “I don’t undervalue you, Rachel.”

“Then why not take me with you?”

“Because I need the kind of supplies an upstanding merchant won’t sell me. And the place I’m going to is also home to some people who sound like they might be plotting against the Commander.”

“Really?” I bounce on my toes as I think of what a group like that might do for us if we decide to escape early.

He whips his hand into the air and says sternly, “I’m not getting involved with them, and neither are you. Getting caught up in that is a good way to ensure neither of us ever gets to leave Baalboden to search for your dad.”

“Good point. But still—”

“I’m already on this group’s radar, but you don’t have to be.”

“Fine. But I still think—”

“If we get caught, who goes looking for Jared?” He reaches out and takes my hand. I slide my fingers between his without thinking, press his calloused palm against my own and study the fierce purpose burning in his eyes. “If I get seen doing business with traitors, I alone will take the blame. You’ll still be able to leave.”

My lingering irritation dissolves, replaced by gratitude and something deeper. Something that tightens my chest and makes my heart hurt. I’ve misjudged him. Badly. His protectiveness toward Dad is eclipsed only by his unwavering commitment to protect me.

I don’t deserve it. I don’t, but he can’t see that. He takes his responsibilities seriously, and now that I’m part of his burden, he’d face the dungeons rather than let me down.

The heat between our palms seems to scorch me, and staring into his eyes makes me feel like all my secrets are slowly rising to the surface, whispering my truth without my permission.

Pulling my hand free, I step back and look down. “Thank you.” The words are inadequate, but if I open my mouth again, I’m afraid of what I’ll say. Instead, I quietly follow him to Oliver’s tent, the imprint of his palm on mine lingering long after the heat of his skin fades away.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

RACHEL

I’ve been cooped up in Oliver’s tent for hours helping him sell his baked goods when he finally says, “Why don’t we take a walk?”

He doesn’t have to ask me twice. I grab both our cloaks and hold the front tent flap open for him. He eases through and tosses his cloak across his shoulders to ward off the brisk afternoon breeze.

Sliding my arm through his, I drag in a deep breath of air layered with the scents of the Market—candle wax, leather cloaks, mutton, sun-warmed produce, dirt.

“Ready?” I tug his arm, and he laughs as we set off through the Market.

We circle a small cluster of men haggling over a small gray donkey with drooping ears, our steps slow enough to accommodate Oliver’s measured tread.

“I’m glad you’ve made your peace with your Dad’s … absence,” he says.

I flinch and look at my feet. I haven’t made my peace with that, but I don’t want to tell Oliver our plans until just before we leave. Maybe it’s selfish of me, but I can’t bear to put the shadow of an imminent good-bye over our day.

He pulls me to a stop in front of a stall selling steaming hot skewers of beef and onions. “Two, please.”

“It’s too expensive,” I whisper to him, even though I know he won’t listen.

He treats me to one of his wide, gentle smiles, his dark eyes shining. “Who else am I going to spend my money on? I already know you won’t let me buy you any of the pretty, frilly things girls your age like to have, and I’m not about to purchase another weapon to add to your collection.”

“Because I don’t like pretty, frilly things. And there’s nothing wrong with having a nice collection of weapons.”

His smile looks sad around the edges. “That may be my fault. Jared didn’t know how to raise a girl, and when he hired me to look after you in his absences, I didn’t do any better.”

I frown as I take my beef skewer, the juices running down the stick to sear my fingertips. “Or maybe that’s just the way I am. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

He wraps his arm around me. “I didn’t say there was. You’re a wonderful girl. I just worry I didn’t do enough to make up for you not having your mama alive to raise you.”

I lean my head against his shoulder, and then take a bite of the delicious beef. “You and Dad are all I ever needed.”

“And now Logan.”

Do I need Logan? We’ve fumbled our way into what feels like the beginnings of a solid friendship, but I’m still constantly looking to avoid awkward moments in our conversations. Moments where he remembers I once said I loved him, and he once said I’d get over it. The memory of his palm pressed to mine makes my heart beat a little faster, and I tug Oliver away from the food stand.