12Lena sat at the far end of the kitchen table, apart from Jace and his mor, who were standing at the arced entry speaking in hushed tones. She kept her gaze pinned to the steaming bowl of stew she’d been offered, trying her best to be discreet as she strained to hear their conversation.
“Lord knows we need extra hands around his place,” muttered Mrs. Wyatt. “Will she expect to be paid? You know we can’t afford to spare a dime.”
Jace sucked in a breath and let out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t think she’s after our money. Or lack thereof. If lodging and meals aren’t enough for her . . .” He trailed off.
“High season’s just started. The Gyldne Havrue is due to dock this afternoon. We’ll be booked solid soon—no extra rooms to let. Or food to waste, for that matter.”
“It won’t be a waste.
