by C. A. Szarek
It stung. More than stung, no matter how many times she called herself a fool for it.
Elissa shook her head and shook herself.
She had a free day.
Her final suitor wasn’t arriving until the morrow, and Lady Cera had asked her to spend the morning in the duchess solar with her and the other ladies. She was excited to have female companionship—and perhaps even some time away from Sir Alasdair. Maybe she could even breathe a little.
She’d told him she’d go herself, and he’d agreed, explaining he had a private lesson to teach swordplay to whom he called the lads—Sir Lucan, and squires to two of the knights of the personal guard. Elissa thought their names were Brodic and Alaric. She’d seen the lads with the young knighted mage. Lord Tristan, the healer and Lord Jorrin’s Second, had teased that the three lads were rarely apart.
Sir Alasdair hadn’t told her when he’d collect her, if at all.
Elissa had tried not to let that hurt, but it did. She rounded the corner of the wide corridor, chiding herself for dwelling on things that didn’t matter.
A whining noise had her glance up.
Startled, she locked eyes with an ice blue set that was becoming familiar. But the silver wolfling only regarded her for a second. He scratched at a door; his muzzle, as well as his pale chest, was covered in something dark and thick. Caked onto his coat, like mud.
Mischief was begging entry into Elissa’s destination. The duchess solar.
“Where are you, you scoundrel?” Someone—female—yelled.
Elissa jumped when the Headwoman appeared at the end of the hallway, brandishing a wooden spoon like it was a knight’s broadsword.
The wolf whimpered, spared Elissa one more look, and dashed away in the opposite direction of Morag, running by Elissa close enough to touch.
Whatever he was covered in had to be food. The scent teased her nose, and it smelled delicious.
“Oh you! Come back here, Mischief!” The headwoman muttered a few phrases that made Elissa blush, then seemed to notice her for the first time. “Ah, my lady, good day.” Morag bowed, looking a bit awkward with the spoon still firmly in her grip.
“Hello, Headwoman.” Elissa opened her mouth to ask what’d happened, when the door swung open.
“What did he do now?” Lady Cera stood half in the room, half in the corridor. Her question was steady, but her expression was chagrined, and her cheeks were pink.
Two dark heads popped out of the door behind the duchess. Lady Aimil’s dark eyes went wide with one look at the headwoman, and Mistress Avril retreated back in the solar without a word.
“My lady, I’m at my wits end!” Morag’s words were as rushed as her bow to Lady Cera. “That beast spilled a whole kettle of stew I had simmering in the kitchen.”
“You ran all the way here from the kitchens?” Mistress Ansley wanted to know. She slid into the corridor between Lady Aimil and the duchess, a redheaded baby on her hip.
Morag frowned. She looked at the duchess. “My lady, the beast has got to go. I put up with rest of the pack; they are quite well behaved in comparison, but Mischief—” She threw her hands up in exasperation and sputtered, as if her anger had seared her tongue away.
Lady Cera cast her eyes to the ceiling and a toddler, also a redhead, snuck out of the solar. His hair was curly in the back, and his ears were tapered. He had to be the duchess’ son. Little Lord Fallon grinned, oblivious of the adult tension, and pointed to Elissa. “Lady,” he said.
Five sets of eyes regarded Elissa.
“Elissa! Good morning, we’ve been waiting for you!” Lady Cera was over-bright.
She smiled, not minding in the least that she was a distraction the duchess seemed to need.
Lady Cera hugged her, and swept her son into her arms. She looked back at the woman in charge of all her staff. “Morag, I’m sorry he was troublesome this morning. I promise I’ll find him a bondmate soon. And I’ll call Trik. I don’t know why they aren’t together.”
Morag frowned and brandished her spoon to the corridor in general. “I’m sure his sire is as tired of his antics as I am. Begging your pardon, my lady, but you’ve been looking for months for someone to saddle the wretch with.”
The duchess sighed. “He’s not a wretch. He needs guidance. A bondmate will get him—and keep him—in line.”
The headwoman scoffed. “It has been almost six months, my lady.”
“I know, Morag. I’m sorry about your stew.”
“You’d be sorrier if you went hungry.”
Elissa gasped. She’d never heard someone address a duchess like that.
Lady Cera rolled her eyes. “Don’t be overdramatic, Morag.”
Someone muffled a giggle. Surprise washed over Elissa. Perhaps they had an informal relationship. She’d liked the somewhat stiff headwoman when they’d met, and she’d never spoken to Elissa with anything but respect.
“Elissa, join us. Morag, I’m sure the kitchen staff requires your supervision.” The duchess’ gray eyes narrowed.
The Headwoman huffed, but bowed at her dismissal and stomped away, as no fine lady ever should—or would.
Mistress Ansley started laughing first. Then Lady Aimil. Lady Cera mock-glared, but couldn’t swallow a smile when little Lord Fallon giggled.
Elissa found herself laughing as well, the little lad’s giggle was infectious, though he probably had no idea what he was laughing about.
“What a morning,” Lady Cera breathed.
“Thank you for the invitation this morning, my lady.” Elissa curtseyed.
“Cera. As I have told you before.” The duchess shook her finger at Elissa, and they all laughed again when little Lord Fallon imitated his mother.
“Are you going to stand in the doorway all morning, or come inside?” Mistress Avril called, a cheeky grin on her pretty face.
The duchess put her son to his feet, and he dashed over to a rug by the large hearth, where Mistress Avril sat with two little girls. The smaller of the two was in the lass’s arms, and had to be Mistress Ansley’s daughter, twin to the baby she was holding.
The other was closer to Lord Fallon’s age. She was walking and babbling, and held out a toy to the little lord when he joined her.
“Elissa, have you met everyone?” Lady Cera asked, as if reading her mind.
“The ladies, aye.”
“This is Brogan,” Mistress Ansley said, grinning and bouncing the redheaded laddie on her hip. “Avril is holding Brynn. My twins. They’re nine months old.”
“My daughter is Aislinn.” Lady Aimil smiled. “She’s one turn and two months.”
“And last but not least, my son is Fallon. He’s one and a half.”
“As if anyone could mistake the pointed ears,” Lady Aimil teased.
“They’re all beautiful.” Elissa meant it. The children were adorable. “So close in age; it’ll be great for them to grow up together.”
The ladies nodded and beamed.
“Cera’s got them all but married off to each other, of course.” Mistress Ansley flashed a grin when the duchess mock-glared.
Mistress Avril and Lady Aimil giggled at the same time.
“Sit, sit, relax! There’s no need for us to stand around all morning.” Lady Cera led by example, smoothing her simple blue gown and taking a seat on the plush sofa closest to the hearth.
Elissa took a seat across from her in padded chair. The room was open and welcoming, light streaming in from all the windows. It was warm too, both from sun and the huge fire in the hearth. Overstuffed chairs of various styles were arranged loosely, set up for comfort and conversation around the hearth. There was a pale colored wood oversized desk and matching carved chair in one corner by the window, too. As well as a door in the far corner she assumed was a privy.
“What are you going to do about Mischief?” Mistress Ansley asked.
The duchess groaned. “Don’t remind me.”
“You have Morag at her wits’ end. She might up and quit on you.”<
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“No she wouldn’t. Then she wouldn’t have anyone to boss around.” Lady Cera waggled her eyebrows and Mistress Ansley shook her head.
Lady Aimil smirked and looked at Elissa. “There’s cheese, fruit, and bread on the tray, if you’re hungry.”
“No, thank you, I broke my fast in my room this morning.”
“It’s nice to have a private meal once in a while, away from the formality of the great hall, isn’t it?” Lady Aimil smiled.
Elissa forced a nod, not wanting to think how her first meal could’ve been better if shared with Sir Alasdair. Her belly flipped.
“How is married life, Avril?” Lady Cera asked.
“It’s wonderful. I’ve a good man. I hope to be with child soon,” Mistress Avril said, though she blushed and looked down at the cooing baby girl in her arms.
“That you do. Your children will grow up with ours, too.” Then Lady Cera’s gray gaze zoned in on Elissa. “Speaking of marriage, how’s the hunt for a husband going?”
“Way to be subtle, Cera.” Mistress Ansley’s unusual teal eyes danced. She gently removed her long red plait from her son’s chubby hands and tossed it over her shoulder.
Elissa cleared her throat. “As well as can be expected, I suppose. I’ve liked them all so far.”
Lady Aimil leaned on the edge of her seat. “What about my cousin?”
“I like Lord Lakyn very much.”
“He bored you to death with talk of horses, didn’t he?” The lady grimaced. “I told him not to do that!”
Elissa winced and then nodded. Everyone laughed.
“Please don’t hold it against him, he’s a good man, I promise,” Lady Aimil pleaded.
“I won’t. But I don’t think I’ll make a decision until I’ve met the last suitor.”
“Lord Cam. I can’t wait to see him again, it’s been too long.” Lady Cera grinned, then her expression sobered. “Jorrin told me you’ve declined my cousin’s suit, though?”
Heat licked her cheeks and Elissa nodded. “Aye, my lady.” Her heart thumped. Was the duchess going to demand an explanation?
“Cera.”
“Cera,” Elissa repeated.
“Don’t worry about Avery. I didn’t think you’d pick him. My cousin’s too young for marriage, and too shy. I doubt he’s even kissed a girl. Unless—”
“Cera!” Mistress Ansley exclaimed at the same time Elissa affirmed Lord Avery hadn’t kissed her.
“What?” The duchess shrugged, wearing a lopsided grin.
“A lady does not kiss and tell,” Lady Aimil said.
Elissa giggled. So did Mistress Avril, from her place on the rug with the children.
Then four sets of eyes silently regarded her.
“Any kisses you want to confess?” Lady Cera winked.
“You are not proper at all, my lady.” Lady Aimil grinned at the duchess.
Lady Cera shrugged as if her friend had stated the obvious, and she was unrepentant.
Elissa’s heart skipped. Nay, she couldn’t tell them about kissing Sir Alasdair, and she had nothing to gossip about regarding the other two suitors.
“How could she kiss anyone? With Alas there the whole time?” Mistress Ansley said; Elissa wanted to hug her.
The duchess frowned in her friend’s direction. “True.” She looked back at Elissa. “Well, if the time comes when you do want to kiss one of your suitors, just tell Alasdair to go away.”
“Aye, like that’d work.” Laughter wrapped Mistress Ansley’s words. “He’s supposed to keep them from accosting her.”
“Accosting?” Lady Aimil giggled. “They are all decent young men, I don’t think she’s in danger of that.”
Elissa watched the ladies in more wonder than the night of the wedding feast. These ladies were like sisters. She wanted to be close to them like that.
“The only one that might accost her would be Alas, no?” The duchess’ tease had Elissa freezing in her seat as the other ladies laughed again—even Mistress Avril.
“Nay.” She cleared her throat when Lady Cera’s keen gaze landed on her. “Sir Alasdair has been nothing but kind to me.”
Silence fell and she wanted to squirm. They all watched her.
“I’d expect him to be,” the duchess finally spoke.
Elissa forced a nod and plastered on a smile, praying her face wasn’t red. He’s not one of my suitors played in a loop in her head. “I like him very much.” Something in the back of her mind teased it was more than that, but she didn’t dare think it—let alone say it.
“Oh, we do, as well,” Mistress Ansley said. “We only tease because he’s got quite the reputation with the lasses.”
“Ah.” Elissa hadn’t heard that, but how could she? She’d only been in Greenwald a sevenday. Her gut burned. Did he often kiss lasses he barely knew? Maybe that was why he’d reacted as he had. To him, she wasn’t anything special at all.
“Elissa, are you all right?” Lady Aimil asked.
“Oh, aye. I’m fine.” She straightened her shoulders.
“You look a bit pale,” Lady Cera said. The duchess popped up and poured mead into a goblet. “Are you cold? Here, this’ll warm your belly a bit.”
“I’m fine…”
“Don’t argue with her, you won’t win,” Mistress Ansley put in.
The duchess’ eyes glinted with satisfaction when Elissa accepted the glass and sipped. Lady Cera returned to her seat on the fluffy sofa.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “It’s good.”
“Suitors aside, how’s your stay been?” Lady Aimil asked. She tucked a strand of her raven hair behind her ear and smiled. It was kind and genuine and eased Elissa’s internal tension. The lady’s gown was dark red, and elaborately embroidered on the bodice. She was the most feminine of the four friends, as well as the most petite. The two redheads were much taller, at probably nine or ten inches past five feet. Even Mistress Avril was several inches taller than Lady Aimil.
“Wonderful. I very much like Greenwald.”
“Oh, good, I’m glad,” Lady Cera said.
A wuffing sound and series of scratches at the door had Mistress Ansley on her feet. “I’ll let them in, will you hold him?” She handed her son to Elissa without waiting for an answer.
Elissa scrambled to right the baby boy, and was rewarded with a three-toothed grin by the laddie. She smiled back. He cooed and stuck his small fist in his mouth, starting to gnaw. Drool slid down his little chin.
“All he does is drool. Here.” The duchess tossed her a scrap of linen and made a face. “Teething will do that. Not the most fun stage of development.”
“At least he’s not squalling,” Mistress Ansley called, her hand on the door handle.
“He’s fine,” Elissa assured them, and whispered to the tiny lad as she wiped his mouth.
Brogan grinned, then giggled.
“Oh, you’re a natural.”
She tried to smile at the duchess, but for some reason her chest was tight.
Did she want this? Children?
Aye. Problem was, she only imagined having children with one man.
Stop being ridiculous. One kiss doesn’t mean forever…it didn’t mean anything…to him.
Mischief rushed into the solar, rescuing her from forbidden thoughts—thank the Blessed Spirit.
The huge white wolf, Trikser, was close behind—nipping at his heels was more accurate. Two more wolves, one pure black and the other a mixture of red, brown and gray weren’t far behind, either.
“Oh, geesh.” Lady Cera covered her face.
“What’s wrong?” Elissa asked, sitting the baby up against her chest.
“Trik’s thoughts are dark. Mischief was up to no good.”
“The stew is gone from his coat,” Lady Aimil said.
The huge black wolf rushed to Elissa, who froze in the chair, a tremor shimmying down her spine. The beast’s yellow eyes were huge as she surveyed them, only a few feet from Elissa’s gown.
“Ali, ea
sy,” Mistress Ansley said. “It’s all right, Elissa. She’s protective of the twins. She’ll sniff you and move on. I’ve told her there’s no danger.”
A growl filled the room.
All eyes shot to Mischief. His hackles were raised, his body stiff.
“Mischief?” Lady Cera said.
Ali and the wolfling locked eyes. The huge black she-wolf’s hackles rose before Elissa’s eyes, and she returned Mischief’s growl.
“Don’t move, Elissa.”
She wasn’t planning on it, so the duchess didn’t have to worry. Her heart thundered. Elissa clutched the baby close, though Brogan was cooing, waving his tiny arm as if to reach for his mother’s bondmate.
Trikser wuffed and Ali backed away from the chair, her wide shoulders loosening as she moved gracefully for a beast her size.
Elissa concentrated and exhaled. Her eyes tracked the she-wolf as she greeted Brynn. Ali wagged her tail for the baby, and lay next to Mistress Avril.
Mistress Avril stroked her hand down the wolf’s back. Ali swished her tail again, as if she hadn’t been a fierce beast just moments ago.
“What was that about?” Lady Aimil asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve never heard him growl before, let alone have his hackles raised. At Ali nevertheless.” Lady Cera blew out a breath as if she’d been holding it.
“I’ve—” Elissa faltered when all eyes settled on her. “Run into him in the corridors a few times.”
“Mischief?” Lady Cera asked.
The young wolf darted to her side as if beckoned.
“Aye. He’s never approached me, but I’m not scared of him.”
“Well, you don’t have to fear any of them,” Mistress Ansley said.
“Interesting.” Lady Cera tapped her cheek with a long, slender finger. She failed to expand on what was interesting, and as the children laughed and played, the semi-scare faded.
Elissa relaxed into the chair and back into the easy conversation with the ladies, enjoying herself as she continued to hold little Brogan. She even took a turn at holding Lord Fallon when he wanted up on her lap.