“You are God’s creature, same as the rest. Anyone with eyes can see what you do here.”
He pointed the honey knife at Thomas.
“And anyone with sense can see what it costs him when someone tries to take that from him.”
Thomas made a strangled sound as heat blasted up from her throat to the top of her head.
“Huck,” Thomas said.
“What? I did not say love. I said cost.”
Hob, who had appeared from nowhere in the manner of large men who enjoyed gossip more than they admitted, leaned one shoulder against the wall. “Best let him have his precision, my lord. Friars get troublesome when cornered.”
“Everyone in this house is troublesome,” Thomas said.
Alyson, who had been staring fixedly at the honey bread, whispered, “May I be troublesome too?”
“Not until you wash,” Amelia said automatically.
Huck beamed. “There. A woman of Christian discipline.”
Wat rolled his eyes. “She says wash for everything.”
“Because washing is good for everything.”
“It doesn’t help with sums.”
Amelia grinned. “It helps me feel better when doing them.”
Walter made a small approving noise before he caught himself.
Mistress Bell had gone quiet near the doorway, the salt still wrapped in her hand. Amelia looked at her and knew it wasn’t malice, not exactly, but the weakness of a person who would carry whatever story made her feel important until someone stronger put a different story in her hands.
So Amelia gave her one.
“Tell them,” she said as Mistress Bell looked up.
“If folk ask. Tell them I’m not a faery. Tell them I’m useful, terribly dull about lists, and extremely annoying about cleanliness.”
Hob snorted.
“And tell them,” Amelia added, before she could think better of it, “that if I had any magic whatsoever, Walter would be less difficult.”
Walter drew himself up. “I beg your pardon.”
“You may beg all you like. It won’t change the accounting.”
Huck laughed so hard his shoulders shook.
Even Mistress Bell smiled, though it was small and uncertain.
Thomas watched Amelia across the room, his eyes unreadable except for the warmth tucked somewhere beneath the steel. It was the look he wore when she said something he wished she wouldn’t say in public, but liked too much to stop her.
It made her knees shake.
Mistress Bell dipped her head. “I’ll tell them.”
“Good,” Edith said. “And if you hear more talk, you’ll bring it here clean, not wrapped in salt and shame.”