Free Adrian by Heather Grothaus

rumblings of new anger grow as she saw herself in the role of laundress for this particularly arrogant Englishman. “She is a good woman.”
    He harrumphed.
    â€œShe is,” Maisie insisted, turning away from the curtain before she did or said something she would very soon after regret. She tried not to think of the purpose for Adrian Hailsworth’s journey to Wyldonna. “You’ll see. She meant nae harm to the king or her people. Quite the opposite.”
    â€œAny who aligns himself with the likes of Glayer Felsteppe cannot have selfless motivations. He is a liar and a murderer and a traitor.”
    Maisie dropped the boots to the floor and felt her cheeks heat, and not only from the flames in the cauldron as she reached up high to hang Adrian’s clothes from the hooks in the ceiling.
    â€œI’m certain she didna ken his full character when first they met.”
    â€œI’m certain she was only interested in whatever he promised her when they did,” he shot back from behind the curtain.
    Maisie spun to face the embroidered cloth. “It’s easy to see why it was your brother who was made lord and nae you.”
    â€œYes, it’s called primogeniture,” he said with a sigh, and Maisie could picture him stretching out on the narrow bunk. “Had I the misfortune to have been born first, I assure you that I would have gladly forfeited the title.”
    â€œRather disrespectful to your father’s legacy.” She sniffed, lifting her nose into the air and admittedly feeling quite superior.
    â€œIt would have been more disrespectful to have taken on a role for which I am ill-equipped,” Adrian Hailsworth said blithely. “I’ve never had any desire to rule or to manage. I want only to read and think and learn and build. To be left alone, really.”
    Maisie blinked at the curtain. For a moment she wondered what it would be like to be so very certain of your own person, your dreams and talents and desires. To be certain of them, and to have the means to act upon them without fear of the consequences.
    But then she remembered where she had found Adrian Hailsworth.
    â€œThen why did you agree to come to Wyldonna’s aid?” she asked, fearing it was unwise to learn too much about this man’s motives and character, but at the same time unable to withstand her curiosity about him.
    Silence filled the cabin of the crawler for several heartbeats.
    â€œI don’t really know,” he said at last.
    And Maisie did not believe him in the least.
    â€œI’ll send your clothes through once they’ve dried,” she offered.
    He didn’t answer her, and so she turned from the curtain to face Adrian’s wet and dripping garments hanging from the ceiling. She could have seen them bone dry in an instant, but she needed some distance from this man, whose firm ideals seemed to take up so much room both on the crawler and in Maisie’s head. Glancing over her shoulder to make certain he wasn’t spying on her, she reached up and took hold of the hem of each garment in her hands and concentrated.
    After a moment, she dropped her hands with a frustrated sigh. They weren’t even his clothes, unless he transformed into an aged tailor in the night. Likely they’d been fashioned for him shortly before he’d left Melk.
    Then Maisie’s gaze fell on the old, worn boots she’d dropped on the floor near the cauldron. One had fallen over onto its side, and although the leather that fashioned the whole of the thing was so worn that it was almost black with age and oil, the boots sported obvious new soles. On the upright shoe, darker splotches punctuated the toe area, as though the stains had not been tended to right away, and had permeated the leather. Maisie crouched down and touched a finger to one of the free-form discolorations. She drew her hand back to her chest in a fist.
    Blood. Adrian’s blood.
    Maisie looked over her