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noontime a moment before a crack of thunder shook the ground.
“Come on!” she shouted loud enough for him to hear, tugging his arm in the opposite direction of the keep.
He followed where she led, scarcely able to see in front of him except for those moments when bursts of lightning illuminated the trees. The air hummed with the force of the storm as their feet kicked up mud. If they didn’t find shelter soon, he would insist they return to the wise woman’s hut to wait out the storm. At least there they would be dry.
But moments later, a shadow rose from the high-flowing creek—the same waterway where they’d met earlier that day. Except here, downriver from where he’d first seen her, a hulking shadow rose at the water’s edge. A squat stone structure of some sort.
She darted toward the building—an abandoned mill, he thought. But he hauled her back, keeping her behind him and his hand on his sword. What if the killer hid here, in the mill? At very least, any manner of thieves could take shelter here.
He found the rotted wooden door and shoved it open. A startled bird flew out, but all remained quiet inside otherwise.
“I have never seen such rain!” Violet exclaimed, pushing the hood from her hair as she stepped in behind him. Water poured off them both, pooling to mud on the dirt floor.
He blinked as his eyes adjusted, and he turned in a full circle to take in the surroundings. Holes in the roof allowed water in on one end of the building, but the stone tower close that must have held a water wheel remained dry.
Violet hung her cape to dry on an iron ring in the wall that must have held torches at one time. She had obviously been here before.
“It will be dry upstairs.” She gestured toward the winding staircase at the base of the tower. “I keep some things up there for when I want to escape.”
Finn removed his cloak and hung it on another iron ring at the opposite side of the doorway.
“Escape?” He pulled Violet away from the staircase and tucked her behind him once again. Apparently, she was unaccustomed to being protected.
“From the keep.” She lowered her voice and he sensed an unease on her part. “My father can be unreasonable when his wound pains him.” Winding around the tower stairs, Finn reached another floor that must have been used to access the water wheel. Here, an arrow slit allowed in the occasional flash of lightning that showed him the lay of the chamber easily enough. They were alone. No one hid in the upper chamber. Yet the space was not a crumbling ruin. Far from it.
“You did this?” he asked, peering around from the top stair.
A broom of twigs rested in one corner, tied roughly with a strip that looked like tree vine. And it had been used recently, the plank floor swept clear of debris. A trunk rested in one corner, a rough wool blanket rolled and tied upon it. A bare pallet lay in the opposite corner. The ledge overlooking the water wheel mechanism contained a row of pots filled with plants of various sizes. Some trailed greenery to the floor of the chamber while others were little more than seedlings newly sprouted.
While he looked around, she opened the trunk and withdrew a taper and a piece of flint. A clean rag followed.
“Here.” She placed the worn scrap of linen in his hand. “You can dry off.”
He watched as she struck the flint expertly. With any other woman, he would have taken the task from her and lit the small cluster of twigs on a makeshift stone hearth that she’d assembled near the open ledge. But with Violet, he found it impossible to disrupt this display of skill. Did her father have any idea that his daughter maintained a rudimentary retreat? She must have been allowed to run wild.
“It’s a miracle you have not been molested by some passing thief out here.” He shook his head, confused by her at every turn. Was she the wanton he’d met earlier? The eager-to-please daughter who’d made an appearance at sup? Or the self-sufficient maid he’d