He crouched before her, and Damaris could not break contact with those eyes.
Those predatory eyes—that reminded her of a certain serpent that had once terrified her—were fixed upon her.
Like that wicked serpent, he stared at her in silence, as though searching her very soul, looking for something he was certain was there.
Then his hand moved. Though she was frightened, she refused to become the victim of whatever evil he intended.
Stealthily, her hand crept behind her until her fingers curled over something sturdy, heavy, and round.
Damaris tightened her grasp upon the rock behind her, ready to strike at the slightest opening granted her…
"The stone is of no use to you."
There was something in his voice—
"Sit still."
Though he sounded harsh and rude—
"I mean you no harm."
His voice reminded her of the calm lake.
It was quite laughable. His gaze unnerved her, yet his voice soothed as the lake did.
He touched her ankle, and she recoiled.
His eyes returned to her face, and he spoke only two words. "Sit still."
As commanding as ever he was.
Yet her grip upon the stone had loosened.
He took her foot in his hand, and her toes curled inward.
"I do not need your help," she claimed, now realizing that was what he was offering. "I do not want to rub my filthiness upon Your Highness's royal robe!"
He paused.
His gaze shifted to her face as she withdrew her foot from his hand, biting back a wince. He stared at her as though once again trying to unravel something.
"Having served as a royal gardener, you must believe everyone in this small village is filthy. But I tell you, we all work hard to earn our keep—which by the way, is more than I can say for you!"
At her words, she saw it fade from his face—that searching gaze vanished, and he took her foot in his hand again.
"Ouch—" she cried. "Leave me, I say! Do not consider yourself kind by doing this. You are the greatest hypocrite I know. Let go of me! I do not need your help—not when you consider me filthy and—"
"Woman—" he pressed down on her bruised ankle, and Damaris cried out.
"You—"
"—will it kill you to be silent?"
"And will it kill you to be polite to people!" she retorted.
When she ceased trying to retrieve her foot from his hold, he began to rub his thumb gently over her ankle.
"From the very first night we met, you have looked at me with those eyes as though I were all the sins of the earth personified!"
He continued to rub in slow circles, his gaze fixed upon her ankle.
"What wrong did I ever do to you?" Her question died in the silence of the night. Not a single response.
Yet she persisted.
"Every time I catch you staring at me, it is either with disgust or pure mockery." She clicked her tongue.
"I hate the way you look at me." At those words, his lashes lifted and his eyes settled on hers.
She turned her gaze away at once.
"How do I look at you?" he asked.
"Like… like… like I am nothing."
A soft sigh escaped his lips. "You are not nothing," he simply said, and returned his gaze to her ankle.
"Liar," she snapped. "I can tell you do not think well of me at all. Unlike every other person who loves me, you stare at me as though I were a stain in Wisteria"
"I do not. However, have you never considered that it is quite impossible to be loved by all?"
"It might be, but everyone in Wisteria does love me. For a good reason too. Ask anyone—you will know it to be true!"
He shrugged. "Pity. I am but a sojourner in Wisteria, and therefore not a Wisterian."
She nodded. "That is true, but you shall remain here until your garden flowers, and that will be months. Also, everyone in Wisteria seems to have accepted you—you are practically a Wisterian. Why then must you be amongst those who despise me? For what reasons, I know not. Would it kill you to think of me kindly?"
"Now I see what frustrates you," he said, still rubbing his thumb over her bruised ankle.
"What?"
"Just because I am not smitten by you like every other young bachelor I have come across, you are vexed. But what to do? I am not smitten at all, and I am no puppet to be forced into a role I do not wish to play."
"I do not need you to be! That is not what I mean to say!"
"Then what are you saying?" His gaze met her brown eyes. "What is it you desire of me, woman?"
Indeed, what did she want from him?
Why was she behaving like a child in the woods, in the middle of the night?
It was impossible to be loved by all; that was very true. Yet there was something about him that made her resent his actions toward her.
She disliked the way he looked at her, yet she hated it even more when he ignored her. So what, then, did she truly want?
"Acknowledge me…"
***
Dawn came to Wisteria the next day as peaceful as it always did, yet Damaris' head and heart were in turmoil.
For the life of her, she could not understand why she had said those things to him.
Had he cast a truth spell upon her?
One moment she had been ready to bash his head with a stone, and the next she was talking nonsense about acknowledgement.
"As if that rude mutt would ever listen to you, Damaris." She clicked her tongue.
With languid strides, she arose from bed, gave Milcah a lazy greeting, and went about her morning chores. When she was done, she set out for the day.
That morning, she chose the longer path around the woods.
She was in no hurry to reach the cottage. And she certainly had no desire to face his mocking gaze.
Hopefully, by the time she circled around, he would have stepped out.
She went about greeting people and lending a helping hand, even where she was not needed, all to buy her time.
When she was certain she had wasted enough time, she fetched water from a well and headed for the cottage, a basin balanced upon her head, ignoring the offers of some young men to assist her.
She reached the cottage and paused at the door.
The place seemed quiet. As she always did, she peered through the window to ensure the house was empty.
When she saw no sign of anyone, she breathed a sigh of relief.
With the basin still balanced upon her head, she moved on to the back of the cottage with a faint grin upon her face.
"Oh, Phineas!" she started at the sight of a bare-chested figure standing behind the cottage. It was fortunate she had kept a firm grip on the basin.
He was there.
Contrary to her prayers, he was right there. And now those eyes… they stared at—
"Good morning—" Her ears twitched and her eyes widened.
She saw a near-friendly smile rise to his face as he added, "—Damaris."
Every hair on her skin stood on end. Her grip loosened, and the basin went crashing to the ground.
Damaris…
His voice saying her name reechoed inside her head.
Damaris.
Her name—
Damaris…
—had never sounded so divine.