“Try to sleep,” Aunt Weaver said. She hesitated, then laid her hand on Telaine’s head. The unexpected kindness made the tears rise again.
She sat at the table, sightless, until she couldn’t hear Aunt Weaver moving around anymore. Then she picked up the spool and went upstairs. She tossed it into the store room, heard it knock something over that rattled, and went into her bedroom, closing the door as if it weighed as much as the oak tree it was hewn from.
She turned on the lamp, sat down on her bed and began unbuttoning her dress, but got only halfway before her hand fell to her lap. She looked at herself in the mirror. Astonishing how she still looked the same as she had only a few hours before. Astonishing how much the woman in the mirror had done and learned in that short time.
Telaine finished unbuttoning her dress and pulled it off, then hung it up on its nail. She needed to get rid of it. She’d never be able to forget any of this if it hung there mocking her all the time.
She got into her nightgown, turned off the lamp, and slid between the sheets. Aunt Weaver’s face appeared behind her eyelids. It wasn’t possible. She’d have to ask Uncle. He had to know, sending Telaine to her was far too big a coincidence if he didn’t, but surely it wasn’t possible. It would make Aunt Weaver a bigger hypocrite than her.
She opened her eyes and stared into the blackness. She couldn’t let Ben court her with this false identity between them. It wouldn’t matter that she only lied about her name and family, that everything else about her was genuine. It would still be a lie. But Lainie—Telaine could never bring herself to hurt him. So the Princess would have to.
A careless laugh, a mocking smile—“Oh, I was so drunk last night I can barely remember what we did!”—and the usual drill of studied ignorance of his presence, of refusing to meet his eyes. Oh, yes, the Princess was very good at what she did, which was keep any man at a distance no matter how it hurt him. Telaine rolled over and sobbed into her mattress. The Princess would do the breaking, but Telaine would have to watch Ben’s face as he realized the Lainie he cared for didn’t care for him. Her first love affair, and she had to kill it.
She drifted into a restless sleep, waking once to see the shape of the dress on the wall and sit up, heart racing, thinking it was Morgan in her room. She woke again before dawn to empty her bladder, then finally, as dawn made its way through her curtains, she slept for real.
She woke at nearly noon, head aching more from the restless night than from the beer, with a bad taste in her mouth (that was probably the beer) and a sense that everything was wrong with the world. When she came more fully awake, she remembered that was true.
She punched the mattress in anger at what she had to do, anger at the Baron for bringing her to this place, anger at herself for being so weak. Then she rolled out of bed and began, wearily, to dress in her everyday clothes. She avoided looking at the dress hanging like a green blot on the wall.
Removing the glowing strips of copper turned out to be an all-afternoon job. She unwound the string, laying it out in the yard, prying off each folded strip as she came to it, and some of them were fastened tightly. It was every bit as tedious as she’d imagined. Next time, I’ll do it differently, she thought, then remembered there wouldn’t be a next time and had to stop working for a minute while she controlled her bitter tears.
Then she wound the long, long string of wire and brass rings back on the spool, gritting her teeth at the memory that she’d had help with this the night before. He was working at the forge in blissful ignorance of what she was going to do to him. She swept the bits of copper into a cloth bag and wrapped it to the spool with the end of the string of lights.
It was after four o’clock when she finished. She was hungry, but going to the tavern meant passing the forge, and she wasn’t ready to face Ben yet. She went down to the kitchen and dug up some leftover pork pie, which she ate standing over the sink. If she’d been in a better mood, she’d have been amused at the image of the Princess eating with her hands out of a pie tin. Right now she didn’t want to think of the Princess at all.
She rinsed her mouth and hands and the empty pie tin, scrubbed it, and set it in the drying rack. She checked her watch. 4:35. When did people “walk out” together? What did it even mean? Were they going to parade down the main street for everyone to see? The pie threatened to reappear, and Telaine clenched her back teeth together hard to keep it down. She had to figure out a way to keep Ben from looking like a fool, going out proudly happy and coming back like a kicked puppy.
She went back up to her room and lay down on the bed. She would make a clean break and that would be that. He’d never know he should be thankful to her. Then she’d start pressing the Baron hard. If she could get him away from Morgan, she could manipulate him into taking her to the fort. Something about the new guns—they’d have the new guns, right? Suppose she said there was a flaw in some of the batches and she’d offer to check them over? It could be something she’d heard, some rumor floating around Ellismere. He’d probably believe that. Find out what Harroden was shipping, find out why, go down the mountain and never come back.
“Suppertime,” said Aunt Weaver from the doorway.
Telaine swung her legs over and sat up. “What does ‘walking out’ mean?” she asked.
“Means declaring you’re courtin’, in public,” Aunt Weaver said. “Bein’ seen together, and so forth. If that young man has gotten to that point so quickly…” She shook her head compassionately. “Best do it quickly. Give him plenty of time to get over it.”
Telaine pushed past her without a word. She ate in silence and then sat in silence, waiting in the sitting room on the uncomfortable chair. The rug curled up at one corner, revealing that its mat backing had been nibbled by mice. Aunt Weaver had tactfully retreated upstairs. It was so quiet she could hear her own heartbeat. That traitorous organ insisted on pumping blood through her body against all reason.
She heard a knock at the kitchen door. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and let a smile spread across her face. Let the Princess have her day. Telaine retreated deep inside. She didn’t want to watch this.
She opened the door for Ben. He looked good. He’d cleaned up and was wearing, not his nicest clothes, but surely his second best. He smiled at her, and she nearly lost her resolve. “Hey there,” she said.
He offered her his hand. “Could we walk by the lake?” she asked.
He looked puzzled, but nodded. “Something I’d like to show you there, anyway,” he said. She linked her fingers with his and pretended not to feel the electric tingle that ran through her hand.
They walked through the woods to the maypole and then beyond. Telaine hadn’t been down to the lake before, having been too busy for sightseeing. It was wide and reflected the blue of the evening sky, lined with rushes that at this season were the dry yellow of straw. A breeze blew them so they bowed as if in homage to that vast blue eye. Far at the other side, a pair of ducks left behind by the migration huddled their heads into their feathers against the breeze. On this side of the lake, the grass ended several feet from the lakeside, and ripples lapped at the rocky shore. Telaine stopped to admire the shadowed lake, the beauty of blue sky, green pines, and yellow rushes making her heart hurt more.
“Come over here,” Ben said, tugging gently at her hand. He led her to a giant oak rising some sixty feet in the air, a few dead leaves clinging to its branches, its trunk wider than she could put her arms around. On the side facing the lake she could see the oak was dead, or if not dead, probably should be, because something had carved an enormous gouge at its base. It was deep and tall enough for two people to sit close inside.
“Found it when I first came to Longbourne,” he said. He released her hand, squatted, and turned to sit. “That was a hard first year, not knowing anyone, so I’d come out here and watch the ducks, or the water. Nobody comes here but me. And you, now.” He reached out his hand. “Sit with me?”
Telaine turned her back on him and looked
out over the lake. Try “oh, it’s too dirty, can we go back now?” Or, the less ambiguous “I’m sorry but I’ve led you on.” Or you could punch him in the face. You’ve never done it before, so this would be a perfect time to learn. Throw what he’s shared with you back at him. He’d thank you if he knew the truth.
“Lainie?” he said. She turned to face him, opened her mouth, closed it again. He was puzzled again but not unhappy, not yet. She looked at him. This is a man I could love, she told herself. I can lie to him about my name, but there is no way I’m going to lie to him about something that truly matters.
She sat next to him, letting him put his arm around her shoulder and taking his hand in hers. “I think it’s a perfect place,” she said, and turned her face up to kiss him.
They were gone for about an hour, talking quietly and kissing now and then. Ben, the perfect gentleman, never tried to do more than kiss her, although Telaine, feeling wanton, would have let him get away with a little more. He returned her to the back door before sunset, kissed her again, and walked away around the corner. She liked watching him go. She liked watching him come back. She was at peace with herself and the world.
Aunt Weaver again waited for her at the kitchen table. She arched an inquiring eyebrow at her “niece.” Telaine had no idea if she’d seen that last kiss, or that they’d come back holding hands. She drew in a deep breath.
“I know I can’t tell him my name or what I really am,” she said. “Maybe that’s a lie. But it would be a worse lie to tell him I don’t feel what I feel. I can’t lie to him about the things that matter. And I want this, Aunt Weaver, I want to be selfish and have something for myself just once in my life, and he is what I want. So I’ll figure out the rest when the time comes. And I’m not sorry.” And if you are who I think you are, you’d better not say anything about my decision.
Aunt Weaver looked her up and down. She nodded. “Hold on to that, when it all comes crashing down,” was all she said, and Telaine was too surprised at not being criticized to ask what she meant until the woman was already up the stairs.
Emotionally overwhelmed by the events of the day, Telaine went up to her room and tidied up. Then, although it was early, she undressed, got into bed, and let herself be wrapped in memories of callused hands and wonderfully soft lips.
Chapter Sixteen
She smiled at Ben as she passed the forge the next morning and got a real smile in return. “Lainie,” he called to her when she’d almost walked past. She turned around. “You’re going to the manor,” he said. The direct, searching look was back.
“I’m going to be careful,” she assured him.
“Can’t help thinking you’re making a mistake, with Morgan there,” he said.
“I can take care of myself.”
He frowned. “Nothing you could do if he decided to carry you off somewhere.”
“I’m not going to let myself be alone with him to give him the chance.”
“Wish you’d let me do something about it.” He took her hand in his, rubbed his thumb across the back of it, and looked dismayed when he left a smear of coal dust. She laughed and gripped his hand tight when he would have removed it. “I ought’n’t touch you when I’m all over dirt,” he said. He sounded ashamed. It warmed her heart.
“You listen to me, Ben Garrett,” she said in mock sternness. “I would rather have your work-dirty hand in mine than the lily-white hands of any shopkeeper or…or anyone else whose work leaves them with lily-white hands.”
She dimpled at him, for the first time in her life using her nicest feature to reassure a man instead of captivate him. His eyes lit up, and without seeming to care that they were practically in the middle of the town square, he leaned across the rail and kissed her, lightly. “If it worries you, I carry a handkerchief,” she added, taking it out and wiping the smudge away.
“Don’t think you’ve made me forget about Morgan,” he warned, but he was smiling.
“I know. I really think, as long as I’m not alone with him, I’m safe.” She remembered the way Morgan had run his hand down her spine and suppressed a shudder. Ben gave her a resigned look, but the smile was still on his lips as she walked away.
She waved at Hope, playing in the yard next to the forge, and smiled sweetly at Eleanor, whose wide eyes and slack mouth told Telaine she’d witnessed Ben’s kiss. She bought a fresh roll from the bakery across from the Richardsons’ and stopped to see Maida about returning for dinner before setting off down the road. It was a beautiful day, and everything was right with the world.
After just over a mile she saw a horse and rider approaching her. Her heart sank. Morgan. And after she’d assured Ben she wasn’t going to be alone with him. Suddenly it wasn’t such a beautiful day anymore.
She kept walking, choosing to ignore him until he drew up his horse a few feet from her and forced her to stop. “Miss Bricker. And without me coming to fetch you,” he said, smiling his feline smile. “How very…eager…of you.”
Telaine dipped her head in a bow. “I shouldn’t have been so forward, but I heard something I thought the Baron ought know.”
“The Baron? Not someone else?” Morgan chuckled. “i’m crushed.”
“I’m sorry, Mister Morgan, but I told you I wish you wouldn’t take such liberties. I can’t think about such things right now.”
He slid off his horse and approached her, reaching out to tip her chin so she would meet his eyes. “Can’t, or won’t?” he mused. “Miss Bricker, I find you utterly fascinating. you don’t have anything to fear from me. I can wait you out.” The pointed smile widened, never touching his eyes, and he slid the backs of his fingers down her throat to caress her shoulder.
She looked at his hand, then back at his face with her widest, most innocent gaze. “I’m flattered you find me so interesting,” she said, projecting that same innocence with her voice.
He ran his eyes over her body while she pretended not to understand what his attention meant, then tossed her behind the saddle, mounted, and pulled his usual trick of kicking his horse into a gallop so she’d throw herself against his back to stay upright. Her gorge rose to think of him enjoying her body pressed against his.
It was all part of his game. He loved the chase, loved tracking down his prey and putting them at his mercy. He would wait for her to show awareness of what his attentions meant, then fear, then submission, which he would interpret as love. But she could only go on acting the naïf for so long before he realized it was a game. She had no idea how he would react at that point.
She did, however, have a good idea what he would do if he found out about Ben. Morgan already thought of her as his rightful prey, and if he thought Telaine’s affections were engaged elsewhere, he would eliminate his “rival” in a way that would punish Telaine for spurning him. She could never, ever suggest to Ben that Morgan’s attentions were becoming persistent. He would think he had to go after Morgan, and Morgan would kill him without thinking twice.
To her surprise, Morgan passed the turnoff for the manor and continued along the road to the fort, which was exactly where Telaine wanted to go. It amused her that her carefully planned ploy wasn’t necessary after all. Then she became worried. Why would the Baron need her there?
The fort was as dour and grim as the manor, as if everything the Baron touched turned to lead. The fortress outer wall was made of upright timbers, each a foot around and sharpened like spikes at the top, and extended in both directions for hundreds of feet. It was a lot of timber all in one place, and Telaine had to remind herself the trees had been sacrificed for the kingdom she loved. They served Tremontane just as she did, which was an unsettling thought. She hadn’t been called on to give up her life, thank heaven, and she wasn’t sure what she would do if she was.
A gate made of squared-off logs sat in what Telaine guessed was the center of the wall. It was open and flanked by two of those grubby soldiers Telaine had seen on her first night in town. Morgan passed through the gate without acknowledging t
hem. They looked up at her where she sat behind Morgan with a complete lack of interest, as if she were a bundle of cloth Morgan had for some reason decided to haul around with him. It was unsettling and comforting at the same time; she didn’t know how much leering she could endure without shouting at someone.
The space beyond the gate was long and narrow, almost an alley between the fort’s two walls. Though the fort stretched out for hundreds of feet in both directions, it was no more than seventy or eighty feet from the outer wall to the inner one.
Stone buildings, these made of much larger blocks than those used in Longbourne, stood against the outer and inner walls, some of them short with slate roofs, others tall and round with pointed tops. They looked like giant versions of the type of buildings a child might construct, down to the impractical cones perched atop the towers.
Directly ahead of the gate, flush against the high, crenellated inner wall, stood a stone keep only two stories tall. It looked even more like a child’s plaything, complete with soldiers striding casually along the top of the wall with their weapons swinging loosely by their sides. The inner wall also extended out of sight in both directions, curving as if holding the pass cradled in its grasp. Telaine guessed both walls ended where the mountains began. Thorsten Keep looked like it was meant to plug this gap in the Rockwild Range.
Morgan dismounted and held out his hands to catch her; she endured his hands on her waist and managed to look innocently grateful instead of disgusted. She could feel his attention on her as she turned away.
“It’s not what I expected,” she said honestly. Only a few of the soldiers seemed to be properly turned out, clean and careful of their weapons. She saw no women among them, which was unusual. Maybe women were better at getting out of postings as bad as this one. Everywhere she looked seemed dirty, depressing, or oppressive.
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