Lily sat perfectly still on the small wooden stool in her bedroom as Martha’s nimble fingers worked through her hair, weaving it into an intricate braid. The room was a far cry from the dark, damp shack she’d once called home not so long ago.
“You’re awfully quiet today,” Martha commented, her weathered hands moving with practiced precision. “More so than usual, I mean. Something on your mind, child?”
Lily shrugged, her eyes fixed on a small crack in the floorboard. Her thoughts kept drifting back to the infirmary, to Zayn’s touch, his warm kisses down her neck.
“Hmm.” Martha’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “I heard something interesting from one of the kitchen maids this morning.”
Lily glanced up, raising an eyebrow in question.
