Sabine fluffs out her huge skirts—sunshine yellow today, scoops her little dog onto her lap, and scratches him under his chin. “Tea would be lovely.”
I nod in agreement, and the girl rushes off.
A net has been stretched out, and the men stand on opposite sides. A roofed garden wall looms to the left, and both Kerrick and Beau hold a racket. The men smile when they see us, but they’re obviously too consumed with thoughts of besting the other to come over.
Sabine, sensing that the game is foreign to me, quietly explains the rules as we watch. They play with a palm-sized cork ball, which they knock back and forth with the rackets. Beau, despite Kerrick’s best efforts, seems to be winning.
“I want to try it,” I say to Sabine.
She laughs out loud. “It’s a man’s sport.”
I’d rather be here than inside, stitching more leaves, but the game loses some of its appeal when I realize I’m stuck on the sidelines.
The match, which started out as somewhat friendly, progressively becomes more competitive. In the heat of the late afternoon, the men roll up their sleeves. Sweat glistens from their brows and servants bring them water each time they pause.
Rolling a napkin in my lap, I say to Sabine, “They’re taking this rather seriously, aren’t—”
Before I can finish the words, Beau hits a stray ball back with force. Kerrick, expecting Beau to have missed, doesn’t move quickly enough, and the cork ball collides with his face. The prince drops his racket and stumbles back, holding a hand over the injury. Obviously in a great deal of pain, he lowers himself onto a nearby stone bench.
Sabine’s up in a flash, running toward the prince. Beau is already leaning over him, apologizing even though, in my opinion, it was more Kerrick’s fault for not being prepared.
Beau steps back as the princess pushes her way between them. She kneels in front of Kerrick and tuts over the wound, which is already beginning to swell.
“I’m fine,” Kerrick mutters, but he doesn’t push her away.
Several servants rush forward to assist the prince. Sabine bats them away, puts her arm around Kerrick’s back, and escorts the prince toward the castle’s entrance.
Beau offers one more apology and winces slightly as Kerrick grumbles that there’s no real harm done. The gaggle of servants follows the prince inside, and once they’re gone, the gardens are unusually quiet. Beau and I stare at the rose-covered arch they disappeared through. Then, unable to help myself, I begin to giggle. I clamp my hand over my mouth, embarrassed. A swift smile crosses Beau’s face, but he too quickly composes himself.
“Shouldn’t you be the one nursing his wounds?” Beau asks after several moments.
I think about his question, but I have no answer.
Kerrick’s eye is a nasty shade of purple and yellow, and I can hardly look at it. We’re dining at the king’s table, and I’m doing everything possible to avoid the strange two-pronged fork utensils the others are using. So far I’ve lingered over soup and bread.
Noticing my hesitance to eat anything substantial, the king leans forward from his spot at the head of the table. “Are you feeling well, Suzette? You haven’t caught ill, have you?”
I set my spoon aside and place my hands in my lap. “No, Your Majesty. I’m afraid I’m a little overtired.”
He frowns. “I was worried you’d spent too much time in the sun. Perhaps you should stay tomorrow, as well. An extra day of rest could do you good.”
Too much time in the sun? I was only outside during the men’s tennis match. The rest of the day was filled with Sabine’s favorite things: drawing (which I learned I’m horrible at), singing (which I’m adequate, though the sheet music was foreign to me), playing cards (which was entertaining at first but quickly became dull), and embroidery. Of course.
“I appreciate your kind offer,” I say. “But I must be going tomorrow.”
The king argues and cajoles, but I stand firm. Beau informed His Majesty that he received word that my men “caught” the bandits and rescued my maid, so there is no reason for him to detain me further.
If I stay here another day, I’ll go mad.
The thought is sobering. If I were to marry Kerrick, if everything goes as Puss has planned, and I stay, would this be my life?
And what of Beau’s offer? Could I stay on his estate after he leaves? Do as I please?
I glance down at my clasped hands. In my lap, I’ve scrunched a linen napkin in my fists. Now, I do my best to smooth the wrinkles from it.
The king retires after dinner. As soon as he’s away, Beau asks Sabine if she would care to walk in the gardens. I know he’s trying to give me a moment with Kerrick, but I feel a twinge of discomfort when I see the two of them, so handsome together, stride through the doors.
“You’re leaving tomorrow?” Kerrick asks once we’re alone. “Are you sure?”
“I think it’s best if we cut this visit short,” I say.
The prince nods, his mouth turned into a slight frown as if he’s sad to see me go. But his eyes are relieved.
“When will you return?” he asks. Then, sensing my hesitation, Kerrick leans forward. “You will return, won’t you, Etta?”
Again, I twist the napkin in my lap. I focus on it, avoiding Kerrick’s eyes. “I’m not sure this was wise.”
I stare at the wrinkled fabric, waiting for him to say something. He shifts in his seat, takes a sip from his chalice, rubs a hand over his face.
Finally, he says, “You’re right.”
A sliver of disappointment stabs my heart. I expected some argument from him at least.
Kerrick sets his hand over mine, making me go still. Sensing he’s waiting for me to meet his gaze, I slowly raise my eyes to his.
“Etta…” He looks more serious than I’ve ever seen him, so solemn. So kingly. “I care for you.”
But.
“It’s all right,” I whisper. “You don’t have to do this. We’ve already said our goodbyes.”
Kerrick grimaces and closes his eyes.
I stand. “I’m sorry.”
The prince lets me go, sits as still as a statue as I lay my hand briefly on his shoulder. The only sound is the echo of my heels clicking against the marble floor as I leave.
Before I slip through the doors, I take one last glance at Kerrick. His elbow rests on the table, and he leans his forehead against his fist. A short lock of golden hair falls across his temple, framing his face. Instead of anguished, he looks a little sad, a little confused.
Apparently, goodbyes become easier the more times you do them because I feel the same way.
I’m halfway down the hall when Kerrick calls for me. I turn back, startled. He jogs past the decorative suits of armor, past the art and dozens of vases filled with flowers.
“What will you do now? Will you go back to Eugene’s mill?” he asks when he reaches me.
“I…” I shrug. “Eventually…perhaps. But, for now, I’m going to travel with Beau to his family’s land.”
Kerrick’s eye—the one that isn’t blackened— twitches. “Oh.”
“It’s not like that,” I say in a rush, though as I hear the words, I wonder. Do I want it to be? Pushing the thought aside, I continue, “He needs my help.”
Actually, Beau needs my cat’s help. Not mine.
Kerrick crosses his arms, and his face is once again thoughtful. “With what?”
It’s not my secret to tell.
I shake my head and set my hand on his. “It’s a family matter.”
“And, yet, he’s included you.” The prince raises his brows.
Sighing, I stand on my toes and press my lips to his cheek. “Goodbye, Kerrick.”
This time, he lets me go.
Chapter 32
“So what exactly does an ogre look like?” I ask as we near the land that Puss declares belongs to Beau.
The cat isn’t pleased with us, but the small beast apparently has a noble streak because he’s honoring his promise.
Beau rides next to me, and a myriad of emotions cross his face. One moment he’s eager, the next anxious, and every once in a while, he looks as if he’d rather abandon the whole mission and turn toward the west, riding until he meets the sea.
“What does he look like to you?” I ask.
The cat’s whiskers twitch. “Grotesque, sallow skin bulging at his joints, beady eyes too small for his head, a cap of sparse bristly hair that looks as if he robbed it from a pig.”
“So you’ve seen him before?” I ask, curious now that we’re closer. The description makes me nervous, makes my stomach tie itself in knots.
“I have.”
We’ve ridden most of the day, and I’m growing saddle-weary. I shift, causing Puss to readjust himself again, which in turn causes him to look put out. I’m about to suggest the cat make use of his own four paws but we reach the top of the hill, and the words fade before they pass my lips. In the distance, a castle sits on the next rise. It’s large, numerous windows are made gold by the evening sun.
It’s an impressive structure, not as large as King Deloge’s, but massive all the same. Even from this distance, I can make out the black and yellow flags atop the turrets. They flutter in the breeze, lazy and unconcerned. Twinkling afternoon sunlight reflects off a moat that winds around the structure. The drawbridge is down, and a donkey-pulled cart slowly makes its way under the portcullis.
Puss rises and pads forward on the saddle. “There it is.”
I take in the rich fields, the vineyards, the dense expanse of forest that stretches to the rear of the estate. “Surely this is not Carabas land.”
No ogre lives here. Where are the thorned vines, covering the walls? Where are the dark and sinister gargoyles, the blackened trees, and the pale, gray-hued skies?
This land is fertile, kissed by the sun.
The cat nods to a farmer and his wife who toil not-so-far-away in a wheat field that’s overdo for harvesting. At first glance, I see nothing out of the ordinary. But when they look up, curious to see who passes, I notice their gaunt faces, their tired eyes. Everyone has the same look, the same hopeless, broken expression.
“What has happened to them, Puss?”
“Their master in an ogre,” the cat answers. “I think the question is rather self-explanatory.”
I suppose it is.
We reach the gates just as the sun sinks behind the trees to the west. The sky is still aglow, but there’s the promise of night in the air. Wood-smoke rises from the chimneys of thatched cottages, and a delicious aroma wafts from inside the castle’s gates.
My stomach growls, now used to eating regular meals, protesting our lack of lunch. As if having the same thought, Puss jumps to the ground and disappears into the brush. It’s an inconvenient time for him to go mousing.
Beau’s mouth is pressed in a firm line, but his eyes are wide with surprise. Obviously, his father’s land is greater than he had anticipated. He pulls his horse to a halt just in front of the drawbridge.
A guard steps forward. He wears a black and yellow tabard over his white, billowing shirt, the crest on his chest matching the one that hangs over the front gates. With a twinge of regret, I admire his functional cavalier hat, black and simple. I had grown rather fond of mine, and now it’s gone, left behind at the creek.
My neck is hot, red from being exposed to the sun all day. The ridiculous hat that I wear now, though it matches my gown exquisitely with its peacock plumage and swaths of silk, sits at an angle, shadowing my face but exposing my neck. My hair, curled with irons heated in the fire by a maid from His Majesty’s castle this morning, is set in tight ringlets, drawn up and clasped at the side of the nape of my neck, offering no protection whatsoever.
“State your business,” the guard says. He eyes Beau, and then his eyes wander over me. I sit a little straighter, hoping to look prim.
“I have come to call on the Marquis of Carabas,” Beau says, just as Puss had instructed. “I am a distant relation of his, and we have traveled many weeks.”
I wait for the slightest sign of recognition. I’m disappointed, however. The guard only furrows his brow, looking perplexed. “I am afraid, monsieur, you have found the wrong estate. Monsieur Mattis is the lord of these lands.”
Beau looks taken aback, and I have to say, he plays it very well. “Are you quite sure?”
The guard’s thick, dark eyebrows draw together further. “Yes, Monsieur. No one by the name of Carabas lives here.”
Beau and I exchange mock worried glances, and I let my shoulders droop. “Where will we stay the night? The sun has already set.”
I’m to play Beau’s younger sister, his charge to care for since the unfortunate and untimely deaths of our beloved parents. This part of Puss’s plan hits a little too close to home.
“Perhaps,” Beau says, leaning forward, “we could beg upon the goodwill of your master? We’ll stay a night and be on our way.”
The guard frowns, looking muddled. Like he’s forgotten something important, and it’s just out of reach. I pause, suddenly realizing that perhaps there’s something I’ve forgotten as well.
Why are we here if this is not Beau’s family’s estate? The man said it belonged to Monsieur Mattis…but Puss said…well, now I don’t quite remember what Puss said.
A cool breeze blows from the mountains, a cold, almost arctic wind that promises winter is only a few months away. The guard, noticing me involuntarily shiver, seems to make up his mind.
“Follow me.” He turns on his heel, and we ride across the drawbridge after him. When we leave the soft wood, the horses’ hoofbeats sound on the impressive cobblestone courtyard. Great swirls and designs have been worked into the stones with a dark granite that glints with mica. Roses climb the interior of the walls, and, despite the cooling nights, the flowers are lush and full, all blooming in dark crimson.
A short man, standing no taller than my shoulders, steps forward and claims my reins. His hair is brown, but his beard is tinged with white.
I try not to gape at him. At the same time, I try not to avert my gaze to the point that it’s noticeable.
But I’ve only seen the mountain dwarves in Rynvale, and only a few at that. They tend to stay near their quarries.
One quick glance shows me that he is not alone. There are many, possibly more dwarves than men. My eyes wander the courtyard, taking everything in. A young human boy and a girl chase each other near the wall, squealing and laughing with delight. A woman fills her basket with apples from a tree so heavy with the fruits, the branches almost dip to the ground. Not too far away, an entire pig is slowly roasting on a spit over a huge fire.
Again, my stomach cramps with hunger.
People loiter about, most attending their chores but some standing in groups, chatting. Beau’s estate was to hold something evil, though I can’t quite place what it was at the moment. Surely this is not that place.
Something buzzes next to my ear. Startled, I turn, expecting a bee out past daylight hours, but, instead, a whir of green dives into a tall tree next to me. I peer into the branches, and there, on a limb, sits a tiny, winged child. I gape at her, and, shyly, she flits to a closer branch, hiding behind it, peering at me with wide, curious eyes. She does this several times, moving closer with each illuminated step, until she’s close enough I could reach out and touch her if I so wished.
My attention is so consumed with the child fairy; I almost miss the entrance of our host.
He’s an unassuming man, taller than me but not by much. His once-brown hair is peppered with gray, and his face is round and merry. Though he’s not tall in stature, there is no doubt he is the master of this estate. His doublet is rich velvet, and his hunting boots are fi
ne. He wears a rapier, but, like Kerrick, it looks like an accessory more than a necessity.
Immediately, the man smiles at us, but there’s something about him…something I should remember. Still, I find myself returning his smile, grasping his offered hand, and swinging from my horse.
“My lady.” He bows low. “It is an honor. I am Ettiene Mattis, and you are very welcome here.”
Beau hands his horse to another dwarven stableman, but his eyes are on Lord Mattis. He looks conflicted, his expression a mirror to my own internal thoughts. He quickly hides the expression when the man turns to him, and they exchange their own greetings.
“Monsieur Mattis, I am Beauregard Marchand,” Beau says, leaving off the Carabas title, exactly as Puss instructed. “And I’m afraid we are rather lost. You see, I am a distant relative of the Carabas family, and we thought this was their land. Have you heard of them? Are we close?”
“Please, call me Ettiene,” the lord replies. “And as for the estate you are looking for, you have found it. I’m afraid the Carabas line dwindled long ago, and the land passed to me through my mother, a daughter of the last marquis.”
No, that’s not right, but Beau is nodding, obviously as confused as I am.
“So you see,” Ettiene continues, breaking into a wide smile. “We are cousins, and I insist you and your wife stay.”
Beau glances at me, his expression unreadable. “My sister and I would be very grateful.”
It’s the plan, just as Puss instructed, but I don’t like playing Beau’s sister. From the look on his face, it seems he might not care for it either. But it’s the cat’s plan, not ours.
But why did we need a plan? I don’t remember…
And where did Puss go? I glance around the courtyard, looking for the tawny beast, but he seems to have made himself scarce.
To myself, I shake my head, trying to clear the muddled feeling.
Beau motions me forward, and I follow Ettiene through the heavy double-doors. The wood is inlaid with thick iron scrollwork, beautiful and functional, should there be an attack.
The Marquise and Her Cat: A Puss in Boots Retelling Page 13