Summers at Castle Auburn (27 page)

“It means nothing,” I said airily. “That's how all the servants address nobility at the castle.”

“But you're not—” she said, and then abruptly shut her mouth.

“I'm not going to waste any more time talking in the road,” I said, heading for the door. “I'm hungry. I'm going to make myself something to eat.”

 

T
HE NEXT FEW
weeks were fairly miserable, as I tried to resume the rhythms of village life and figure out exactly how far Milette had outdistanced me in our studies. I think both she and my grandmother were surprised at how determined I was to make up for lost time, for I stayed up late many nights, reading through the crumbling texts and stirring up concoctions over the small fire in my room. Only I knew why I was so doggedly intent upon learning everything I needed to know to become a wise woman and a healer; I had no intention of becoming a prize for the furtherance of the regent's goals.

Still, I missed my sister and my friends, and Milette's constant self-satisfied presence did not contribute to my contentment here in what I considered my real home. My grandmother seemed happy enough to have me back—as happy as she ever was—and I certainly did not feel unwelcome. But my place seemed less certain than ever. I was beginning to think I did not belong anywhere.

As summer reddened into autumn, everyone in that cottage grew more accustomed to my presence and life became more pleasurable again. I joined my grandmother and Milette at the harvest festival held every fall in the village, and we had a wonderful time. There were costumes, contests, concerts, dances, hay rides, prayer breakfasts, moonlight feasts—an ongoing cornucopia of events.

Several of the young men I only vaguely recalled as farmer's sons showed up at these gatherings dressed in their finest lawn shirts and leather breeches, looking freshly washed, clean shaven and handsomer than I remembered. I wore my red silk dress to one of the starlit dances and made, if I may say so, a very definite impression. It heartened me greatly to know that I did not require the whispered
promise of a royal dowry to be the reigning belle of an impromptu ball.

Milette had her own circle of admirers at this event and—though I did not begrudge her a single one of them—I had to wonder if she had not resorted to magic to enhance her charms just a trifle. For she was by no means an extraordinary girl, just moderately attractive and not exceptionally bright. Then again, neither were her swains.

Then again, neither were mine, but they were puppy-dog friendly and boyishly happy, and I did not have to wonder if every word they uttered masked a torturous thought. I relaxed into their banter as I relaxed into their embraces when we undertook the energetic country dances, and I enjoyed myself more than I ever had at Castle Auburn.

I could live here the rest of my life. Here, or somewhere very like it. I would not let myself be coerced into accepting any groom of Lord Matthew's choosing.

 

E
LISANDRA WROTE FAITHFULLY
to tell me of events transpiring at court. Dirkson and Megan were at the castle for a visit, but it was Kent whom Megan seemed interested in this time. Hennessey of Mellidon came to Auburn for a week, and asked after me more than once. Bryan spent a month in Faelyn and came back looking thin and wicked.

I think from having sampled too many of the pleasures of Faelyn Market, which he does not get much opportunity to indulge in under Matthew's watchful eye,
Elisandra wrote in her perfectly even hand.
Kent's comment was that the next time Bryan went traveling, he should go along as escort, and Matthew seems agreeable to that. Although he plans to travel to Ouvrelet House for the winter holidays, and there seems to be no reason to guard him there, so Kent is coming with me instead.

Elisandra was to spend the solstice holidays at Halsing Manor, as she did every year. I was always invited, but I had always refused in the past, because I thought my grandmother would resent this defection even more bitterly than my summer absence. This year, I
had an additional reason for not going: to avoid Hennessey of Mellidon, who had also been invited to share the holidays with my uncle. Not a chance I would join him there.

Our own winter solstice passed quietly enough, although, since this was my grandmother's favorite holiday, we spent a great deal of time baking and lighting candles and reciting blessings on the slumbering spirits of the world. On the night of the solstice itself, we did not sleep at all, but stayed awake with fires at the four corners of the house to drive away the darkness of winter. Then we ate a huge breakfast when the sun came up, wished each other luck and good fortune in the following year, and slept the whole day away.

The next news I got from Castle Auburn came from Angela.

Not until recently had we become correspondents—the year before I had gotten my first intermittent letters from her full of gossip and idle speculation. She was a terrible writer but a wonderful source of information, and I wrote her back often just to encourage her. I had less to tell, of course, but at least I could put words together in an entertaining fashion.

This letter began simply enough in her usual, rambling style. The solstice holidays had been dull; there was no one at the castle to talk to, for even Doreen was gone. She was looking forward to Elisandra's return, and Bryan's, of course, though there was very sad news out of Ouvrelet House, where Bryan had spent the solstice.

For that's where Matthew had sent that awful girl—Tiatza, you remember her? Apparently she tried to see Bryan while he was there, but, of course, he didn't want to—I mean, we all know he shouldn't have done what he did, but, of course, he wouldn't want to see her
now
after all that happened and even though she's a silly girl, you'd think she'd understand that. And she must have gotten very upset when he wouldn't talk to her because the day before he left she took that little baby and the two of them jumped off the top of the manor house and
died
. It was the middle of the night and no one found them till the next day, and so they were all broken and horrible and then it had snowed, too, right on top of them. I thought it was just the saddest story. They say Bryan won't talk about it at all.

Did I tell you about the new dress I'm having made? All in green and
blue because, of course, those are the Faelyn colors, not that I have any real hopes in that direction, but Lester will be here in a couple of months. . . .

The letter went on for another two pages, but my mind had stopped processing the words. Image after image flashed through my mind, complete with appropriate sounds: Tiatza screaming and writhing upon her birthing bed; Bryan twirling me around and around on the dance floor; Kent telling me, “Bastard girls are not likely, when they are twenty years old, to try to win support for a bid for the throne. . . . Bastard boys are much more troublesome.”

It was barely possible that that wretched girl had chosen to fling herself off the roof of Ouvrelet House, her luckless child in her arms. But I could think of other scenarios, more horrifying, more violent—more practical, if you were an ambitious man whose future was looking a bit questionable anyway.

I put the letter down without finishing it, and went out into the weak winter sunlight to absorb what warmth I could.

 

A
WEEK LATER
, Hennessey of Mellidon showed up at my grandmother's house.

The three of us were in the kitchen, preparing a poultice for a sick child, when we heard the knock. I was counting out a complicated series of measurements, so Milette went to answer the door. She returned three minutes later, looking dazed and uncertain.

“Someone's here to see you,” she told me.

My grandmother looked over at me sharply. “Some of your fine castle friends?” she asked. “Be sure and invite them to dinner.”

I finished counting the seventh teaspoon of tiselbane and pointed to my place on the recipe page. “These are the ingredients I've already added,” I told Milette. “I'll be back in a few minutes.”

Then I went to the door and saw Hennessey there, and felt my whole body grow tense with dread.

“Lady Coriel,” he said, bowing with his usual, imperfect style. Milette had left the door wide open and he stood awkwardly inside it, one foot on the stair outside, one foot on the threshold. He was dressed in travel woolens and was no fashion plate at the best of
times, but in this plain place he looked gorgeous enough to be dazzling. I smoothed down the folds of my brown dress and was glad it had been clean when I put it on that morning.

“Lord Hennessey,” was my witty response.

He straightened and looked swiftly around the room. “I did not think—I understood that you lived with your grandmother, but I did not realize—Forgive me for staring.”

I almost felt sorry for him, but I have to admit my heart was beginning a tentative jig. He was not as proud as, say, Bryan, or even as well connected as Kent, but he knew what honor was due his family, and none of it could be found in this cottage. Perhaps he would not offer for me after all.

“Yes, we lead a simple life here,” I said easily, as if I did not realize how shocked he was. I did not want to embarrass him further by showing outrage or mortification myself. “Have you traveled far? Could I invite you in for refreshment? My grandmother and her apprentice are busy in the kitchen or I would introduce them to you.”

“No, I—well, yes, if refreshment is available,” he said, seeming to gather his courage in one determined clutch. “Do you have—cider, perhaps, or ale?”

I smiled. “The best cider in the eight provinces,” I said. “Do come inside.”

As I closed the door, I glanced out to see a cortege of perhaps ten men clustered on the road leading to the cottage. Good, he had an escort; he would not want to keep them waiting long.

“Have a seat,” I said, gesturing to a rather dilapidated chair. “I'll be back in a moment.”

I hurried to the kitchen and there, under Milette's astonished eyes, poured out two goblets of cider for my guest and myself. My grandmother watched with a cynical smile.

“Not what he's used to in Auburn, I take it,” she said.

“Far better, in fact,” I said, and returned to the parlor.

Hennessey had seated himself gingerly on the old ladderback chair; I handed him a glass and took my own place in the rocker. “Have you traveled far?” I asked again.

“Thirty miles today. More than a hundred since I left Auburn,” he said, sipping at the cider. His expression changed to admiration. “This is excellent!” He took a bigger swallow.

“Made here in the village. It's famous all over Cotteswold. I can send a bottle with you, if you like.”

“Or perhaps I'll stop in the village and buy some for myself.”

“A good idea. Stop at Darbwin's tavern. The building is white and red—you'll see it as soon as you ride in.”

“I'll certainly do that.”

“So, you were in Auburn for the holidays?” I asked. “What brings you this far south?”

As soon as I asked the question, I knew it was a mistake, for he took the opportunity to answer baldly, “You do.”

Into the strained silence that followed I said faintly, “That's flattering.”

He set down his empty glass and leaned forward, but I was not quite close enough for him to take my hand. “Lady Coriel, I have never so greatly enjoyed any woman's company as I have yours. I have missed you since I returned to Mellidon—I have thought about you often. I hoped you would be at your uncle Jaxon's for the holidays, but you were not. And I had to see you.”

“Lord Hennessey—” I said gently.

He would not be interrupted. “I know you are young. I know I am not romantic. But I'm a good man with good property, and my brother will be viceroy in a few years' time. That makes me a good match for any woman—and I wish you would be that woman. I would like to ask your uncle Jaxon to let you be my bride.”

I have to say, I had never liked the man so well as when he offered this unpolished, rather businesslike proposal that managed to be completely uninsulting. I would not have thought he would have been able to pull off such a thing. But even that feat made me no more eager to marry him.

“Lord Hennessey,” I said even more gently. “I'm honored. And I know that my uncle and the regent would both be pleased to see me make such a match. But I am not anxious to marry anybody right now. I am not overfond of court life—either in Auburn or in
Mellidon, where I assume things are much the same. I believe you are a good man, I truly do. But I don't think you're the man for me.”

He sat back in his chair, looking more disconsolate than angry, and I liked him even more. “Mellidon has far less pomp than Auburn, if that means anything to you,” he said. “We go whole seasons without seeing a soul outside the immediate family.”

“That does sound attractive,” I said with only the faintest trace of irony.

“You could do what you wanted. Spend months with your sister, months with your—your grandmother here. I wouldn't interfere much with your life.”