TWENTY-EIGHT

 

Julia awoke in her own bed, with a chill in the air that berated her for not sending warning, so that a fire might be lit to chase away the chill before she arrived. She sighed.

She should not have kissed him. She should not have enjoyed it so. And, most of all, she should not have run away. No, a sensible woman would have slapped him for taking such liberties.

Never mind that she had liked those liberties very much.

She shouldn't have...

Oh, no, she most certainly should not have fallen in love with the miller, for her father would never allow them to marry.

Unless...well, his family had certainly not been poor. He might be the youngest son, but he had the ear of the Queen. Perhaps...

She dressed and headed down to the kitchen, to see if there was any breakfast. There was no one but Amma, pulling a tray of steaming apple cakes out of the oven. Not quite as fragrant as the ones last night, for there was no cinnamon left, nor oil, but there were apples and honey and flour, and it would be enough.

"Trust you to bring a whole barrel of apples, but not enough flour to last the week," Amma said tartly.

Julia couldn't help but laugh. After lifting the barrel onto Epona's back, she was lucky to have managed to lift anything else at all. "We can ask the miller. He will sell us more."

"Which miller?" Amma asked.

"The one whose mill lies beside the river, across the bridge to Elst," Julia said. The one who kissed like an angel, who she very much wished to taste again.

"The miller there died some years ago, soon after you arrived," Amma said.

"There is a new one now, who recently took the place over," Julia said.

"You mean young Master Romein, the youngest son of Count Montague of Gelderland? He would sooner sell us to the devil than trade with us for flour."

Julia's heart turned to ice. "The son of who?"

"Montague. The son of your great enemy, the Count of Gelderland."

No. He could not be. The Count of Gelderland was...she couldn't have been...in the richest house in Valkhof, which could only belong to the Count...

Oh God.

She had fallen in love with the Count's son.

Her first and only love, sprung from the loins of the man her father hated most. If she had but known...yet now she knew, it was too late. Fate must truly be laughing at her, for falling in love with a loathed enemy.