Don’t be a fool. It meant nothing. It can’t.

“Barl, look at me.”

Reluctantly, she straightened and let the half-filled hessian sack drop to the ground. “If I don’t finish these boxes, Master Rumm will have my hide.”

“Look at me.”

Oh, he did love to bark orders, didn’t he? As though he was the lord of her. As though she were still bound. She shifted far enough to see him from the corner of her eye, and no further.

“Barl, my circumstances are not… simple,” he said, all amusement fled. “There is a woman I’ve been courting.”

“Maris Garrick. I know.”

“Of course you do,” he muttered. Then he sighed. “But you should also know that whatever my privy domestic arrangements might be in the future, they’ll have no bearing on my—our—magework. Nothing and no-one will interfere with that.”

Our magework.

She felt her heart thud with relief, and turned. “Not even a wife?”

“No-one.”

Foolish or not, she believed him. And what Maris Garrick would make of that, she didn’t want to think.

“Good.”

“And you’re not to concern yourself with Rumm, either,” he added. “Henceforth you are released from your menial duties. There is a guest chamber on the second floor. Consider it your own.”

No more sleeping in that pokey little cupboard? Justice be praised. “What about the Council?”

“What about them? As far as those fools are concerned, out of sight is out of mind. Trust me, I’ll not be missed. And what they don’t know won’t hurt them… or us. When the time is right, we’ll reveal our work to them. Until then, though, to be prudent, we keep circumspect. Which means you can’t contact your brother. I’m sorry.”

Remmie. She felt a twist beneath her ribs. He’d be fretting for her, but Morgan was right.

“No, I understand. Only…”

“What?” he prompted. “Barl, our magework must be secret. That doesn’t mean there should be secrets between us.”

It would be easier to remain aloof if he didn’t say things like that. “It’s Maris Garrick. I can’t imagine she’ll be pleased to find me here. How can you be sure she won’t complain to the Council? As your wife, she—”

“Maris Garrick and I aren’t even formally handfasted yet,” he said, impatient. “And until I can trust the excitement won’t harm Lord Danfey, we won’t be. Nor will we be married until Ranmer can swear my father is strong enough to stand witness. That could be weeks. Do not concern yourself with Maris Garrick. She doesn’t matter.”

Didn’t matter? And he was marrying her?

Morgan frowned. “I don’t mean to sound unkind. What I mean is that Maris will not prove an impediment. She perfectly understands the importance of my work.”