When the Maid Rules Rogues

Chapter 4 — Plain Steps Toward a Promise

I learned last night that he has a girl he likes. He told me in a steady voice and pointed to a portrait. I did not argue. I did not cry in front of him. When the lamp was out and the house was quiet, the words hurt like a small sharp stone in my shoe. In the morning, I chose what to do with that stone. I would not throw it at anyone. I would walk with it, and I would still do the work. If there was even a small chance to win his respect, I would take it.

His knee still swelled by dusk. The healer said the ridgeflower could help more than the common leaves we had. The ridgeflower grew in the strip of wild land past the south fence. That land belonged to the rogues. Most people here do not go there. I decided to go.

I made a simple plan. I would leave before dawn. I would carry a small knife, a cloth pouch, water, and string. I would not take a lantern. I would follow the old logging path to the shallow creek, keep low, and move when the wind moved. I told no one. It was better that way.

At first light the sky was gray and the air cold. I wore plain clothes and boots with quiet soles. I crossed the yard behind the sheds and slipped through the gap in the south fence where the wire sags. I kept to the shade and stepped where ground was bare to leave fewer tracks. I did not pretend I was brave. I was careful.

The border was easy to miss if you did not know what to look for. The trees leaned a different way. The birdsong changed. You could feel when you were past the line. I crouched and waited for my heartbeat to slow. Then I moved again, slow and steady.

The ridgeflower grows under low, saw‑tooth leaves. It hides. You do not find it by looking for bright color. You find it by the shape of the leaf and the smell that is a little bitter, like green tea left too long. I scanned the ground in short sections and checked the underside of each plant.

I found the first plant near a fallen log. I cut the stem near the base and wrapped the flower in damp cloth. I put it in the pouch and tied the pouch to my belt. I looked up and listened. The wind moved through the leaves. A branch cracked somewhere far to my left. I stayed still. After a long minute, I moved again.

I found two more plants near the creek. I was careful not to step in the mud. I worked fast and kept my hands steady. I was reaching for a fourth when I heard voices. They were close, and they were not ours.

I slid behind a thorn bush and lowered myself until I was flat. Two rogues passed on the path above me. One carried a spear. The other dragged his feet like he was tired of walking but too proud to say it. They spoke in short lines. I waited for them to pass. A fly landed on my cheek. I did not swat it.

The second rogue stopped. He turned his head and sniffed. My skin went tight. He took two steps down the slope and pushed the bush with the spear tip. The thorns scraped my sleeve. He frowned and peered into the green. His eyes slid past me once, then came back. I knew I was seen.

I did not try to talk. I ran.

I ran downhill first, then cut across the slope so they could not throw well. A spear hit the trunk of a tree to my right and snapped. I kept running. I slid on loose dirt and caught myself with one hand. The palm stung. I did not look at it. I kept the pouch tight against my hip with my other hand so the flowers would not spill.

They shouted behind me. I heard three sets of feet now, not two. I took the creek at a jump and landed hard on both feet. The rock was slick. I slipped, banged my shin, and fell to a knee. The pain flashed white and hot. I pushed up and moved again. I could not let them catch me in the open. I needed cover.

There was a line of scrub ahead. I dropped into it and crawled. Branches grabbed at my hair and clothes. The pouch snagged on a twig. I freed it and kept going. The scrub ended at a narrow game trail. I took it and let it lead me toward the fence. I could hear the rogues on the ridge above me, pushing through brush, fast but not quiet. They were yelling to each other. One knife whistled past my ear and stuck in the dirt. I did not pick it up. I did not stop.

The trail rose and then dipped. I knew this ground well enough to recognize the dip. The fence was close. I pushed harder and burst out of the trees into a strip of rough grass. The south fence stood ten steps away. A hole I had used before sagged near a post. I dropped to my belly, shoved the pouch through, and crawled after it. The wire scraped my back and caught my shirt. I tore free and rolled under. My elbows banged the stones. I scrambled to my feet and ran another twenty steps before I turned to look.

The rogues had reached the fence. They stared at me through the wire. One spat. None of them tried the hole. You do not cross a line like that without cause. They watched me until my breath slowed. Then they turned and went back into the trees.

I stood there, shaking a little, and let quiet come back into my chest. My shin bled through a rip in my pants. My forearms had fresh scratches. The pouch was still tied to my belt. I checked the cloth. The flowers were whole. I tied the pouch shut again and started the long walk home.

By the time I reached the back gate, the sun was high. The yard was busy. I kept my head down and went in through the service door. I washed my hands at the sink and bound my shin with clean gauze. I wiped the dirt from my face and arms and changed my shirt. I set the flowers in a cool bowl and covered them with damp cloth. Then I carried the bowl to the small room where I keep my things.

I wanted to tell him what I had done. I wanted to say we had a better chance now, and that his knee might stop burning at night. I knew better than to expect thanks, but I wanted him to know. I took a breath, lifted the bowl again, and went to find him.

I heard laughter before I reached the main hall. It was not the usual kind you hear in the kitchen. It was lighter, like a voice that was used to being answered. Ben stood near the stair with a note in his hand. He looked different—less tight, less tired. He saw me and straightened.

“Where is he?" I asked.

“In his office," Ben said, and then he added, as if he could not help himself, “He's in a good mood."

I nodded and walked past him. The door to the office was open. He stood by the window with his phone in his hand. The light on his face made him look younger. He turned when he heard me. For once he smiled without thinking about it first.

“She's back," he said. “Serena is back. She's at the townhouse for now, but she's coming home."

The words were simple. They hit like a hammer anyway. I put the bowl down on the table so I would not drop it. My fingers felt like they were someone else's. He did not see that. He was still looking past me, toward a door that was not in this room.

“I went out," I said, because I had come to say it, and my courage was a small, careful thing that would not last if I let it wait. “I got the ridgeflowers. There are enough for several batches."

“That's good," he said, still smiling. “Thank you." He stepped closer to the desk and picked up his jacket. “Ben will set up a time to see the healer. I need to go to the city now." He looked at me then, as if remembering I was a person in the room and not a line on a plan. “There is one more thing."

I waited. He set the jacket down and stood straighter. He chose his words like a man counting coins.

“I want you to keep our marriage secret," he said. “Completely. No one can know. Not now."

The smile was gone. His face was careful again. His knuckles were white where they touched the desk. The request was a command, but the command still cost him something to say. I could see that and still feel how it pressed on me.

“Because she is back," I said. “And because the pack watches. And because I am not the story you want told."

He did not answer at once. Then he said, “Because it is the safest way to keep the house steady." He glanced at my shin, then away. “Because there are too many eyes. Because people make knives out of rumors."

I looked at the bowl on the table. The cloth was still damp. The work I had done this morning was real. The risk was real. His joy was real too, though it was not for me. I let both things sit next to each other in my mind. It hurt. It was still the truth.

“All right," I said. My voice was even. “I will keep it quiet."

He seemed surprised that I agreed so quickly. “You will?"

“I told you before that I did not marry you for an audience," I said. “I will do the work. I will keep the house in order. I will keep the name quiet." I held his eyes so he would hear the rest. “But secrecy is not a license to treat me like I am less than a person. If anyone uses it to step on me, you will stop it. Not as my husband. As the Alpha."

He nodded once. It was the kind of nod a man gives when he signs a paper. “Understood."

“Good." I picked up the bowl again. “I will take these to the healer's room to dry."

He picked up his jacket. “Ben will send a car. I'll be out late." His voice was soft now, as if he did not want to break the air between us more than he already had. He added, almost as an afterthought, “Thank you for going out there."

“You're welcome," I said. It was the plainest answer I had.

He left the room with quick steps. I stood still until the sound of his shoes faded. Then I walked to the workroom and set the bowl down next to the clean glass jars. I laid each flower on the drying screen with slow hands. I labeled a jar with the date. I washed the dust from my palms and watched the lines of my hands as the dirt ran off. They were ordinary hands. They could still do useful things.

Ben knocked on the door frame. “Do you need help?" he asked.

“No," I said. “It's simple."

He looked at the screen and at my bandage and did not ask any questions. “I'll tell the driver to meet him at the front. You should rest."

“I will," I said, though I knew I would not rest soon.

When the jars were set and the cloths rinsed and hung, I went back to my small room. I sat on the bed and let the quiet wrap around me. I thought about the fence and the voices and the way my body had moved on its own when the spear hit the tree. I thought about the smile I had seen when he said her name. I thought about the promise I had just made and how it would feel to carry it. I made a choice again, the same choice as in the morning.

I would walk with the stone. I would not throw it. I would not stop doing the work.

I lay down, put my leg on a folded blanket, and stared at the ceiling. The house hummed softly, the way a house does when people are moving through it. Somewhere a door opened and closed. A car engine started and faded. The day ended. The promise did not. I kept it.