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Old 06-11-2006, 01:58 PM   #55
Shade of Carn Dûm
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‘I think it's a perfect idea,’ Primrose answered. ‘Saves Will some trouble. And . . . and it's a chance to bother him about the plan. It would spoil the fun to dream up our plots and then not have him go along with the game, wouldn't it?’

‘Well, well . . .’ thought Rowan, noting the slight nervous edge to the giggle which accompanied the words. As the middle child in her parents’ brood, she had gotten quite good at reading those subtle signs and assigning some sort of meaning to them. For the most part, at least with her own family, she could be quite accurate with her assessments.

Primrose, though a friend and fellow worker, might not be as easy to read, she cautioned herself. On the one hand, Prim could be outgoing and even boisterous at times. And she was what her Gran would call a flighty lass. But this sort of new . . . shyness, she called it for want of a better word was a new development. Rowan tapped the ball of her right foot softly on the floor; an unthinking habit of hers when she was puzzling something out.

An idea dawned; one which both surprised and delighted her. The ‘game’ with Will, as Primrose had called it, suddenly took on a new focus for Rowan. It was only a game to her; she and Will were friends, indeed, but nothing beyond that in the slightest. With fresh eyes she took stock of her friend, Prim . . . looking beyond the flour dusted apron and the cheeks reddened by the heat of the oven.

‘My, my, my . . .’ she murmured, then looked away guiltily. Rowan covered her actions with an exasperated sigh. ‘You know . . . I just recalled that once I’ve finished changing the linens and tidying up, I did promise Granny Bracken I would help her turn the first of the strawberries into jam. I can’t stand her up; she’s been out early this morning I’m sure to pick them.’

She looked pleadingly toward Primrose. ‘Can you make some time to . . . well, start the game and deliver Will a basket of food?’ Rowan looked over towards Cela, too. ‘That’ll be alright, won’t it? You can spare her for a little bit, can’t you?’
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