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Bronwyn's heart sank as the tavern door creaked open behind her and she heard a familiar tread on the floorboards. She had forgotten what day it was.
One glance at the sunlit doorway confirmed her fear. She began to pack her satchel quickly. By the time Waldreg looked up from his butcher's block and called a greeting to the new arrival, Bronwyn was already striding out.
A hand on her wrist stopped her just as she was reaching for the back door.
The Elvish soldier relaxed his grip while Bronwyn turned to face him with one eyebrow raised, hoping that he couldn't read the panic in her eyes. He looked the same as always in his gray cape and carved chest piece, with a bow over one shoulder and quiver on his back. But his piercing eyes had never stared at Bronwyn so intently.
The Elf strolled away abruptly, heading for the table Bronwyn had just left. He stooped, picked something off the floor, then returned to her with his hand outstretched.
"This fell from your bag," he said. His voice was calm, smooth as silk and a perfect match for his stoic expression. Bronwyn hated how it made her heart flutter.
She took a vial from the Elf and stuffed it in her satchel's pocket with a nod.
"Well spotted, soldier," Waldreg rasped. He was leaning over the counter, squinting at the place across the room where the vial had fallen. "Would have been a shame if someone stepped on that."
"It would have," the Elf agreed. His gaze never left Bronwyn. "That's arnica, yes? Did you gather them in the northern hills?"
Bronwyn had tucked the vial away without noticing what it held. She pulled it from her satchel and found the unlabeled glass was packed with fine yellow powder.
"You have a good eye," she said with a nervous chuckle. "It helps with muscle aches and stiff joints."
"So do starflowers. They grow under the ash trees in the woods north of here. Have you seen them?"
Out of the corner of her eye, Bronwyn could see Waldreg gawking at her and the Elf. In all his visits to Tirharad, the handsome soldier with his close-cropped hair and pointed ears had only ever asked his routine questions and politely answered ones from the villagers—mainly about the weather, or the other hamlets he stopped at on his patrol route.
"Those woods are no place for a woman to go alone," said Bronwyn. "And besides, arnica does just as well, most of the time. Good day."
She felt foolish, making a little bow before she hurried outside, but it didn't feel right to simply turn her back on the Elf. Even if he was only a foot soldier, a watchman, he had such an elegant way of carrying himself that Bronwyn could imagine him as a king from the stories of her childhood.
Except that he never could be. He was an Elf, and there was no place for them in the stories Men told, even fairytales.
Bronwyn scolded herself for falling into her girlish daydreams again. This was why she couldn't bear to be around the soldier. It was growing harder and harder to keep her mind on work when he visited the village each fortnight, and Bronwyn knew what would happen if the others caught her mooning over him.
She couldn't risk it.
It was still early in the day. No one was milling about under the stout oak behind the tavern, yet. Bronwyn took off her satchel and laid it down on the rim of the stone well. She leaned against the stones, shut her eyes and tilted her head back, listening to the wind gently rustle the leaves overhead.
"Are you alright?"
Bronwyn jumped and spun around, surprised to hear the Elf's voice just beside her. He was dragging the well's pail through the water, gazing down at his reflection. "Lately, you get skittish each time I visit Tirharad," he said.
"Skittish?" Bronwyn scoffed.
The Elf 's hand froze in place as he glanced up at her. His face was neutral, but the look in his gray eyes told Bronwyn that she couldn't fool him for a moment. She sighed and sat down on the rim of the well.
"Is that so noteworthy?" she asked in a haughty tone. "Plenty of folk get even worse than skittish around Elves."
"You blush," he said matter-of-factly. He was drawing the pail again. Bronwyn knew it was an act for her benefit. If anyone passed by, it would look like as if he was ignoring her. "And when I laid my hand on your wrist I could feel your pulse racing."
Bronwyn folded her arms and turned her back on him, gazing into the cloudy sky. A mix of emotions swirled inside of her, putting both an angry blush and a delighted smile on her face at once. She was embarrassed to discover how easily the Elf could read her desire, pleased by his attention, anxious to think that someone else might have noticed her pining, and relieved that the secret which had troubled her for months was at last out in the open.
"Are you always so observant?" she asked without looking back at him.
"Not always. Sometimes I miss a rung on the watchtower ladder, or put my boot on the wrong foot. But there are some things I could never take my eyes off, even if I wanted to."
Bronwyn bit her lip and swiveled to face the Elf. She couldn't bear another second without seeing his face, but didn't want to grin at him like a lovestruck fool, either. He was resting the pail on the lip of the well and took a drink by scooping the water in his cupped palm. He tilted the pail toward Bronwyn with a meaningful glance and she peered inside.
A handful of lilac-colored starflowers were floating in the water. Bronwyn picked them out, marveling as she turned them over in her hands. Her wide eyes darted from the delicate flowers to the Elf's stony face.
"Did you pick these for me?"
The corners of his lips turned up in the slightest of smiles. "I have brought them for you each time I visited Tirharad for the past year."
Bronwyn tucked the flowers in her satchel's pocket, shaking her head and laughing. "You know, I still don't—"
Her knee bumped the satchel, tipping it into the well. Bronwyn's hand snatched for the strap instinctively and she felt her stomach lurch as the momentum carried her toward the water. She was clawing at the air in a panic when the Elf's hand slipped around her waist.
Although he held her full weight above the water with just one arm, the Elf's face showed no strain as he eased Bronwyn upright. She hopped to the ground with a relieved exhale before realizing her free hand was still clutching his brawny arm. She let go, smiling sheepishly.
"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—"
"Arondir," the Elf said. He picked up his bow and shouldered it. "My name is Arondir, and I am sorry to have waited so long for our introduction."
"Arondir," she repeated, looking him up and down with a grin. "It suits you. My name is Bronwyn. I wish we could speak longer, but the other villagers… there would be no end to the talk if they caught us sharing sweet nothings."
His brow furrowed. "What does 'sweet nothings' mean?"
Bronwyn felt her cheeks flush again. "It's just something we say. When men are courting women and they spend all day talking without saying much of anything…"
"Sweet nothings." Arondir nodded. "I think I understand, now. When I next return I'll bring you flowers and, if you would like—"
A peal of laughter drifted over the walls of the small courtyard. Bronwyn recognized Theo's voice and snickered, seeing how Arondir's face fell at the interruption. She slung her satchel across her shoulders, subtly touching Arondir's hand at the same time.
"I would," she said softly. "Very much."
Arondir nodded then returned inside the tavern without another word. A moment later Theo came running into the courtyard, skidding to a stop as he noticed Bronwyn. "Oh, thought you'd be inside," he said between panting breaths.
"What has you in such a state?" Bronwyn asked while he doubled over, catching his breath. "I've been expecting you all morning."
"Sorry," he said. Bronwyn wasn't convinced, but Theo rushed on through his explanation. "A horse trader came to town with his boy. We were playing draughts. I guess I made a new friend!"
"What a coincidence," said Bronwyn. She put her arm around Theo's shoulders and led him into the tavern. "I think that I did, too."