by Barb Hendee
Caine was nowhere in sight, but Tristan limped around near the cooking stove, setting a teakettle onto the top. I must have made some kind of sound with my steps because he looked over and smiled.
“You look like a little winter bird to me,” he said. “Come have tea, and then we’ll go out and find eggs and potatoes to cook for breakfast.”
Something about him reminded me of Raven. There was a kindness in his manner. And I was hungry now. All I’d eaten the day before was a bit of bread, apple, and cheese mid-morning.
Walking to join him in the kitchen, I asked, “Where is Caine?”
“Gone out for the day. He’s never idle. Some of the men are bringing in the last of the apples. He may be helping them. Some are repairing the roof of the barn. He may be with them. Some went hunting.” Tristan nodded. “He could be with them.”
I found this an odd response that Tristan had no idea where Caine might have gone. But what about me? I must do something here to earn my keep.
“What are my duties?”
“Duties?” he repeated. “To spend the day with me.”
He finished making the tea and poured two mugs, adding sugar and goat’s milk. Sipping it, I sighed.
“This is delicious.”
He smiled again, but took in my dress. “Do you have anything darker and warmer to wear? That won’t do for gathering eggs or digging in the garden.”
“I don’t. I have only one other day-dress clean, but it’s light blue and made from the same fabric.”
I found him easy to talk to and didn’t mind telling him anything he asked.
“Bring your tea,” he said. “Has Caine showed you much of the house?”
“No.”
Pointing to a small open doorway off the kitchen, he said, “That’s my work room. You’ll see that by and by.” But he led me down the hallway, past Caine’s bedroom. “This second room is mine, and this is our storage room.”
He opened a door and brought me into a room stacked with crates. There were bags of oats, cornmeal, lentils, and rice. But he went to a trunk in the back and opened it. “Come and look, Little Bird. You may find some things here. Caine’s mother was not as small as you, but these might fit.”
Kneeling beside him, I saw several folded wool gowns, one of deep red, one of tan, and another of midnight blue. All three laced up the front. Tristan lifted them out and handed them to me.
“Here is a pair of soft boots too,” he said. “I haven’t seen these in years. Caine was only fourteen when she died. ”
I sank down beside him. “Caine’s mother is dead?”
“Yes, long ago.”
“Was she your daughter?”
“No. She married my son.”
“And where is he?”
Tristan blinked and looked down into the trunk. “Dead too. Killed in a raid gone wrong.”
“Oh, I am sorry.”
“I have my grandsons.”
The blue gown felt soft in my hands. “Are you sure about the clothes? Caine won’t mind me wearing them?”
“No, no. He would be glad. He has a good heart.”
While I was not sure about this last statement, I was beginning to believe that Tristan had a good heart.
“Go and put one on,” Tristan urged.
After bringing the gowns to the room I shared with Caine, I donned the midnight blue dress and laced it up. It was too long, but otherwise fit me—warm and comfortable. The boots were a little too big, but would work. Tristan nodded when I reappeared into the large living area.
“Better,” he said, picking up an empty bowl. “Let’s go find breakfast.”
Uncertain what he meant, I followed him down the hall again and out a back door. Only then did I look up and feel an unwanted rush of fear. This was the first time I’d been outside in the settlement without Caine dragging me someplace, but now with time to think, time to look up, the endless sky pressed down.
Tristan frowned. “What is it?”
“Nothing.”
I kept my eyes down and tried to breathe. Just ahead, I saw a hen house and a kitchen garden. There were potatoes, onions, carrots, and herbs. A few tomatoes still hung from their vines. Tristan went to the hen house and opened the door. Eight chickens came out to greet us, clucking and pecking at the ground.
“I put them inside at night or the foxes get them,” he said. “I’ll feed them while you gather eggs.”
Although I was well practiced at cooking, I’d never once gone outside to collect the ingredients in this manner. Curious, I entered the hen house and saw a collection of nests. Most of the nests contained an egg, and I gathered them into the bowl. When I emerged, I purposefully kept my eyes down. Tristan was tossing grain onto the ground for the hens.
“How many eggs?” he asked.
“Seven.”
“One of the hens has stopped laying.”
After this, he fetched a trowel from the hen house, and we went to the garden. Handing me the trowel, he said, “Dig us some potatoes.”
I knew what the potato plants looked like, but I’d never dug for them myself. Still, I plowed the trowel into the rather hard dirt, looking for a potato.
“Deeper,” he said.
Continuing, I dug downward until I saw a reddish skin. To my surprise, I was enjoying myself and smiled. “I found one.” But then I made the mistake of looking up, and the open sky pressed down, and I curled inward.
“Little Bird,” Tristan said. “Tell me what is wrong.” His voice was different now, less gentle and more commanding.
“It’s the sky,” I whispered.
“The sky?”
“Until a few days ago, I’d never been outside like this in a strange place. I didn’t understand how big everything is.” I closed my eyes. “It’s all so big.”
Taking the trowel from my hand, he said, “Tell me. Tell me where you come from.”
Without looking up, I began to speak quietly. I told him of my life with my lady at the manor as her and Lord Jean’s ward. I told him how Royce had bought me. I told him of being lifted onto a horse and then led down the road away from my home.
He listened.
When I finished, he said. “You lived your whole life in a manor with a lady you attended, and then your lord, this Lord Jean, traded you to another nobleman for a piece of land, and that man took you away?”
I nodded.
“When did Caine and Raven take you from him?”
“The same day, near dusk.”
Without speaking, Tristan finished digging the potatoes. When he’d found three, we both stood and went back into to the house. Neither of us spoke much after that, but the silence was not uncomfortable. He’d asked me what he needed to know, and I’d told him.
We washed and sliced the potatoes. Then he fried the pieces with a bit of bacon fat. I scrambled four of the eggs. By the time we’d dished up, I was famished and ate most of a plateful.
“I like red potatoes,” I said.
“Me too.”
After breakfast he went into the side room off the kitchen and returned carrying a fishing pole and a bucket in the same hand. “Come, Little Bird.”
But I hesitated, realizing he wanted me to go outside again.
“It’s all right,” he said. “Just come.”
I followed him down the hall.
Once we were outside, he took my hand. “Just hold onto me and don’t look up. Soon, the sky won’t seem so big.”
We walked into the forest. His limp did not slow him down much, but my dress dragged the ground, and I had to hold it up at times. He led me to a wide, rushing stream, and there, the trees made a canopy, so I felt somewhat more at ease. We spent the entire day out there, fishing and speaking of small things—of the squirrels, rabbits, and birds that came near to us.
Trista
n caught three trout, and the last one was over a foot long.
“Well done!” I said, clapping.
He smiled.
Before leaving the stream, he filled the bucket with fresh water.
When we returned home and laid our trout on the counter, I thought on all the food I’d seen in the storage room.
“Could I make us dinner for tonight or do you normally go to the common house?”
“We stay home sometimes, and I need to do some things in my workroom. Can you cook in here by yourself?”
“Of course.”
Following him to the door of the workroom, I finally had a look inside. It was larger than I’d expected and quite a chaotic mess, filled with tables, arrows, pieces of leather, feathers, thread, and a variety of tools.
“I’m working on a sheath,” he said, pointing to the nearest table. There, I saw pieces of cut leather and thread. He entered the room and went to sit at the table.
Turning, I set about planning dinner. Dusk had not yet set in, and I had time. The first thing I did took courage. I went out back into the garden, by myself, and gathered three tomatoes and an onion. Then in the storeroom, I found rice.
The kitchen was well set up with a stout counter and sharp knives.
I diced the onion and tomatoes. Then I cooked a pot of rice. By this point, dusk was setting in, so I lit a few candle lanterns. After sautéing the onions, I mixed them and the fresh tomatoes with the rice. Going through the herb rack, I found dried basil and oregano, and I mixed these herbs into the rice dish. Once this was done, I covered the pot and turned to preparing the trout, cleaning and boning the fish. When the trout were ready, I fried them with a tablespoon of bacon fat in a cast iron pan, but once they were done, I thought fresh parsley would help bring out their flavor.
There were herbs out in the garden.
Again, I braved the outdoors, even in the fading light, and then I came through the back door into the house with handful of parsley. But up ahead, I heard voices. Quietly, I walked up the hallway just far enough to see out into the sitting room.
Caine stood near a wooden couch, looking down at his grandfather. “What do you mean it was the same day?”
“As I told you, she’d lived her whole life inside a manor as companion to a lady. One day, her lord traded her away to another nobleman in the morning, and you raided their traveling party that night. She didn’t even know the man who had bought her.” Tristan’s voice was firm. “She knows nothing of the world and is afraid of the sky. She could be easily broken. You had best tread carefully.”
Caine didn’t answer at first, but when he did, his voice was thick with discomfort. “I will.”
Pretending I’d not overheard, I walked from the hallway carrying the parsley. Caine watched me enter, his gaze dropping to the wool dress, which was so long it covered my feet.
I stopped. “Oh…I had nothing suitable. This was your mother’s. I hope you don’t mind.”
“No. I don’t mind.” He turned his head toward the kitchen area. “What is all this? Are we eating here?”
“Yes,” Tristan answered. “She cooked.”
Caine nodded, but he still appeared uncomfortable, almost awkward, and a thought struck me. He had little idea what to say to me. For some reason, he’d gone to desperate lengths to claim me as his wife and now seemed at a complete loss that there was a woman living in his house.
As I went to set the table, Tristan made more tea. I expected Caine to get a pitcher and go to the storeroom for ale or wine, but he didn’t. He sat down and accepted a cup of tea. Something about this pleased me, but I didn’t know why. In all my life, I’d never sat down to dinner where the men and women didn’t drink wine.
I dished everyone portions of the trout and rice dish and set the plates on the table.
“Thank you,” Tristan said.
As I sat, Caine took a bite of the rice. “This is good.”
It bothered me a little that his praise pleased me, and I tried to push the feeling down.
“I’d not have expected you to know how to cook,” he added, “or do much of anything, really.”
Offended, I asked, “And why is that?”
“Oh…I didn’t mean anything by…just the way you were dressed and traveling with nobles, and Grandfather told me you’d grown up in a manor.”
“I had many duties,” I informed him sharply, “and I can assure you I’m neither idle nor useless.” Only then did I hear the tone of my own voice. I’d never spoken to anyone like that. But somehow, I’d not been afraid to call Caine on his insult.
Tristan raised his fork as if amused. “Well. The little bird can speak up when she needs to. That’s a good sign.”
At a loss, Caine turned back to his dinner.
“What did you work on today?” Tristan asked him.
“The roof on the barn. I’d hoped we could mend it, but the whole thing needs replacing.”
The two men began discussing work to be done in the settlement, and I listened. I’d had a pleasant day with Tristan, but I’d not lost sight of the reason for my choice to remain here: to get a message to my lady. I needed to know how the settlement functioned—and who arrived and who left.
By the end of dinner, I’d learned nothing of use, so I filled a basin with water from the bucket in the kitchen and washed the dishes.
“What shall we do now?” I asked. “Play cards?”
Tristan perked. “You like to play cards?”
“I do. Most of the games I know are for two people, but there is one that any number of people can play called ‘Lose the Jack’. The object is to get rid of all your cards and make sure you aren’t stuck with a Jack in your hand.”
Caine appeared dubious, but Tristan found a deck immediately, and I explained the rules. It was a lively game, and in the initial round, Tristan went out first while Caine had two Jacks in his hand, thus dubbing him the loser.
With a wry smile, Caine told me, “Deal a new hand.”
We played until long after dark, and Tristan seemed disappointed when Caine announced it was time we all got some sleep.
“Good-night,” I told Tristan, and on impulse, I kissed his cheek. Then I was embarrassed, not knowing why I’d done such a thing.
“Good-night, Little Bird,” he said, going to his room.
Tonight, Caine came in with me, carrying a candle, and he simply turned his back while I got undressed and crawled into the bed. The couch hardly looked long enough for him.
“Perhaps I should sleep on the couch,” I suggested. “You’re too tall.”
But he was already pulling his shirt over his head, exposing his back and shoulders. Startled, I glanced away, never having seen a man in that state of undress.
“No. You keep the bed,” he answered. Then he blew out the candle. But as he got settled, he said through the darkness. “Thank you for tonight. I’ve not seen Grandfather laugh like that in a long time. We usually go to the common room so he can visit with others or play a few games of dice, but he misses a time when more of the family lived here, and we spent some evenings at home.”
“Who all lived here?”
“Everyone. Mother, Father, Logan, and Raven. When we were young, Father had us on the road some of the year, but Logan hated it so much that we started to spend more and more time here. Even after Mother died, and this became a house of men, we stayed home some nights. Then Logan married, and Brida wanted her own house—and who could blame her? And Raven is…he built his own house as soon as possible, and he’s traveling much of the time. He never lets anyone get too close.” Caine paused. “Then four years ago, Father was killed, and since then, it’s been just Grandfather and me. I fear I’m not good company for him.”
“What of Tristan’s wife?” I asked. “Your grandmother.”
“I never knew her. She died giving birth to my
father. Grandfather doesn’t talk about her, but he must have loved her. He never re-married.”
It felt strange to be lying here, speaking softly with Caine in a dark room. This was the first time he’d spoken to me so openly. I liked the sound of his voice.
“Get some sleep,” he said.
Chapter Sixteen
The following day was similar.
I woke up to find Caine gone. Tristan and I cared for the hens, gathered eggs, and made breakfast. Then he took me walking in the orchards, having me hold his hand and practice not looking up at the sky—at least not yet.
But I noticed he walked a little slower today, and his limp seemed more pronounced.
“Is your leg bothering you?”
“I’m old,” he answered. “My bones don’t work the way they used to. I was handsome once. You should have seen me when I was young.”
“You’re handsome still. You look a good deal like Raven.”
In the early afternoon, I sensed he might do better indoors today and suggested we go home. He worked on his sheath, and I hemmed the red wool dress, so that I might wear it without having it drag the ground.
In the later afternoon, Tristan killed one of hens—the one that had stopped laying. He plucked it and brought it to me. I boiled the meat off the bone and made a thick stew. Then I mixed cornmeal with water, eggs, and parsley, and I fried up some corncakes in bacon fat.
By the time Caine got home, dinner was ready.
He was especially fond of the corncakes and ate three of them. He thanked me for dinner and made no comments about being surprised that I wasn’t completely useless. After washing the dishes though, I thought Tristan still looked a little tired and wondered if I might suggest something besides cards for entertainment.
“Do you have any books with stories?” I asked. “I could read aloud.”
Tristan grew wistful. “I like stories, but we have only the law book here. I taught Caine to read, but his brothers had no interest. We have never been a people for books.”