“I don’t care what they call it, Cian,” Meg swore. “I want it. I’m a
pot-a-day coffee drinker who’s been without it for weeks now. You
will get me that coffee. Do you understand?”
“It’s become my new quest, wife,” Cian said solemnly. He never
argued with a woman when she got that look in her eyes.
Meg backed off and smiled. “Excellent. We can trade the cookies
for the coffee.”
She placed a cloth over the full basket and smoothed down her
new skirts. Some of the women of the village had held a small sewing
party to make the queen a little wardrobe. Meg had been effusive in
her praise of the three dresses, two pairs of pants, two shirts, and
some nice undergarments. She had made the women promise to teach
her what they knew. Her gracious acceptance of their rather plain
Bound
185
garments had endeared her to the women of the village. It was the
kind of thing that Beck would have turned down, fearing he was
taking advantage of his subjects.
What Beck didn’t—wouldn’t—understand was that peopl
e needed
to be needed. Those women had enjoyed giving their queen a gift she
appreciated. Beck held himself apart. While the people loved him for
his loyal defense of their lives and property, they rarely spoke to him
beyond saying hello. They rarely asked his counsel or wondered about
his health. Meg was going to change some of that.
If she survived meeting the goblins.
“Are you ready?”
“No.” He didn’t particularly want to go meet the goblins without
Beck at his back.
“Good,” she replied as though he had cheerfully said yes.