Fain caught her. “You’re warm. You overdid it today, I think.”
“Nonsense. All I did was make soap.”
“Still,” he turned her around gently, “back in bed with you.”
“I won’t.” She was stubborn. “You clearly wish to have your own bed back, and I have no desire to be where I am unwanted. I shall find Master Connelly and ask him to help me find new chambers.” She tried to take another step towards the door, but stumbled. Quick as a flash Fain scoop her up in his arms and headed back to the bed. “Put me down, I am not staying here!”
“I don’t think you have much of a choice, lass, but I’ll make you a deal.” He very gently set her back against the pillows. “If you can make it to the door on your own, I’ll help you find Connelly.”
She tossed her head. “Don’t be ridiculous. I just moved too quickly, before. Of course I can make it to the door.”
“Prove it.”
She glared daggers at him, but he just smiled.
“Why are you so stubborn? You want to sleep in your bed.” Carefully she swung her feet onto the floor.
“Why are you so stubborn? I believe you made it clear earlier that you want to sleep in my bed, as well.” When she gave him a black look he smirked at her.
“That was before you rejected me, told me I was a prisoner, and forced me to make soap. I don’t like you at all, anymore.” She cautiously pushed her way to her feet, and then paused a moment, balancing.
“Of course you don’t; that’s why you curled up like a wee kitten in my bed at the first opportunity.”
“I already told you, I didn’t have anywhere else to go. And I’m not a kitten.” She took a step and reached for the back of the chair to support herself. “If anything, I’m a leopard.”
“ I’ve never seen a leopard so weak she couldn’t walk across the floor. And take your hand off that chair. That’s cheating.”
“You said I had to do it on my own. You didn’t say I had to brawn my way through it. Using one’s brains to formulate strategy is a valid way to accomplish something.” She stubbornly took another step holding on to the chair.
He laughed. “Fine, have it your way. You’re about to run out of chair, though. How do you plan to cross the last five feet?”
“My superior mind is working on a strategy.”
“Your superior mind is about to pass out. Give up, and let me put you back in bed.”
She glared at him. “I said I would do it, and I will.”
Fain said nothing, just crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. She wasn’t really in any danger, just weak and tired, and he could wait until she was ready to admit she couldn’t make it. For a moment they both just stood there, then she sighed.
“I guess there’s no help for it.”
Fain stepped forward, ready to put her back in bed. He told himself he wouldn’t be smug. Well, not too smug, anyway. She was so tired she was sinking to the floor on her knees. It wouldn’t do to give her too much of a teasing...
Then she started crawling.
For a moment he just watched in disbelief, then his tongue started working again. “What are you doing?”
“Getting to the door on my own.” It was hard to sound smug crawling on her one good hand and her knees, but, somehow, she managed it.
“I said you had to walk!”
“You said no such thing, Fain MacTíre.”
“You’re cheating!”
“And you,” she said breathlessly, reaching her hand out to touch the door, “are a sore loser.” She placed her palm flat against the wooden surface, and then let her whole body sink to the floor, obviously completely spent. “Now, I believe you are going to help me find Master Connelly.”
He growled low in his chest, but picked her up for the second time that evening. “I suppose I am, Belle. Though it would have been easier if you’d just let me put you back to bed.”
“Easier, perhaps, Master MacTíre, but infinitely less satisfying, I assure you.”
The trip down the stairs, cradled against Fain’s chest, was much nicer than her climb up them had been. She barely resisted before giving in to the urge to rest her cheek against his shoulder, and maybe she was imagining it, but she thought she felt him gather her in closer when she did.
“I could get used to this.”
“Don’t plan on it, Belle, I have other uses for my time.” He almost sounded offended. How rude.
“Don’t be so hasty. I have my own personal staff. ‘Bearer of the Most Distinguished Miss Wellesley’ has rather a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? And I could design you a uniform with reins attached, and braid your hair with purple ribbons.” She ran her fingers through a few strands of his hair.
“Purple ribbons?”
“To match my horse, of course,” she answered absently, distracted in her exhaustion. His hair was rough, and it caught against the chapped skin on her fingertips as she played with it.
“Stop that.”
His harsh words brought her back to herself, and her hand froze. Her rib cage was pressed to his chest, and she could feel his heart thudding in a quickened rhythm. He was angry, and despite her fatigue, she felt her temper rising in response.
“I’m not trying to seduce you, you colossal oaf. There’s no need for you to be so rude.”
“There’s no need for you to say anything at all. I’m keeping my end of our bargain; the least you could do is ride in silence.”
“Of all the—” Vivienne had had enough. “Put me down, MacTíre, put me down this instant.” She struggled, but he held her firmly.
“Stop behaving like a child. You can hardly walk.”
“And you can hardly open your mouth without being an ill-mannered beast. I will crawl to find Connelly before I let you carry me another step. Put me DOWN!”
“Gladly,” he snapped back, depositing her on her feet. His long legs had carried them to the door of the still room, which he threw open with one arm while bundling her in with the other. Connelly looked up from his work at a giant mortar and pestle, surprise evident on his face.
“If the lassie was ill, ye could’a summoned me, MacTíre.”
“I would have been happy to do so, Connelly, but Miss Wellesley insisted on coming to see you herself.” He looked pointedly at Vivienne.
“Indeed I did.” She smiled with poisonous sweetness at the glowering mountain man. “And I’m not ill, Connelly, I’m just tired. Master MacTíre ever so graciously offered me his assistance in finding you.” She hadn’t thought it possible, but at her sarcasm, his look grew even darker. “It seems I am in need of new sleeping quarters, and I thought you might be willing to help me find some.”
“Dinna want ta put up with MacTíre’s snoring any longer, eh, lassie?”
“On the contrary, Connelly,” Fain practically drawled, “it’s the lass disturbing me. I need some peace.”
Vivi bit her tongue on the vitriolic tirade she wished to unleash, and instead concentrated on seeming totally unconcerned with Fain’s jab. Connelly cocked his head in thought.
“There’s a fair number o’ rooms that might suit, MacTíre, but they’d all need a cleanin’ afore the lass could sleep there.”
“I’m not afraid of dirt, Connelly.”
“No, lassie, but the bed needs a few douses of boiling water, if ye dinna wish yer pretty skin covered in wee bitty bites.”
“I see.” She thought a moment. “Perhaps I could sleep here, then? There’s no bed, but I could use the pallet Fain’s been sleeping o—”
“Absolutely not,” the current occupant of the pallet broke in.
“Really! I understand you wanting your room back, but I can see no earthly reason for you to be possessive of the pallet. Can’t you be reasonable about anything?”
“It’s not the pallet, Miss Wellesley, you can have that. It’s the location. You can’t be alone in the still room.”
“Why ever not?”
Fain looked her straight in the eye, accusation al
l over his face.
“Because I know what Connelly keeps in that wooden cabinet, and I don’t want you to have access to it.”
Vivienne stared at him open mouthed. She’d known he thought she was a liar, and possibly a charlatan, but she hadn’t realized...
“You think I would hurt you? Would... would poison one of you?” When he just looked at her, grimly, she spoke again. “Why?”
Fain didn’t answer her, but Connelly did. “Some men grow up mistrutin’, lass, dinna take it so hard.”
Fain finally spoke, but it was to Connelly, not her. “I don’t recall asking you to share personal information about me.”
“I dinna recall makin’ ye the keeper o’ my mouth, laddie, so dinna think ta rule it.” Connelly’s voice was mild, but there was no doubt in Vivienne’s mind that he meant what he said. “I’ll not spill yer secrets, such as they are, but I’ll tell the lass any open truth I care ta, an’ that yer a mistrustin’ fool is hardly a secret.”
Vivienne expected Fain to explode, but he sighed instead. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Excuse me.” Vivienne was shocked to hear her own voice come out sounding so brittle. “Master Connelly, would you allow me to spend the evening in front of your fire? That is, assuming you are not afraid I’ll attack you in your sleep.”
“Aye.” The little man spoke to her but raised one eyebrow at MacTíre. “Ye can stay with me, lassie.”
“Good.” Vivienne felt the hurt welling up in her chest, but she wouldn’t cry. “Then if you will excuse me, I feel the need to rest.” She started to take Connelly’s arm, but Fain moved to stop her.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Belle, I’ll carry you. You can barely—”
“Don’t touch me,” she hissed, backing away from him. “I can walk and I shall. I have no need of your assistance, Master MacTíre.”
He jerked his hand away and drew his brows into a wrathful glower. “And if you fall?”
“Then I will crawl.”
Connelly held his arm out, and Vivienne took it, leaving MacTíre scowling after them.
Chapter Eleven
Vivienne was having a horrible time. Connelly really did snore—a tremendous, rattling, wheezing sound that kept her constantly awake—and after a night of far too little sleep, she was woken bright and early by a loud pounding. The pounding, as it happened, was being caused by an enormous meaty fist, belonging to a veritable giant of a man, connecting vigorously with Connelly’s door. Vivienne felt her eyes grow wide at the sight of the young colossus who’d woken them, but Connelly merely scowled.
“Marlplot! Blast yer fool’s eyes, what’s the meanin’ of all the racket?”
“Sorry, Connelly.” The young giant hung his head and blushed. “I came to get Mistress Belle, and I didn’t want to just walk in.”
“Of course ye shouldna just waltz in, laddie, but that dinna mean ye should wake us at such an infernal hour, either. Why’re ye fetchin’ the lass so early?”
“Well, MacTíre—”
Vivienne threw back the covers on her pallet. “MacTíre! What does that ill-bred mountain troll want now? ! “
“Nothing, Mistress.” Marlplot let his eyes hang at a point just to the left of Vivienne’s face, as though he were reluctant to look at her. “Last night he told me that, in the morning, I should come find you and help you clean your room.”
“Hmph. And I suppose the lout didn’t think to tell you to wait until a decent hour of the morning, did he?” Vivienne put softness into her testy words. Despite his huge size, the boy was obviously both very shy and not all that bright. It wasn’t his fault he’d followed MacTíre’s orders rather too well.
Connelly cast her an approving look, and then turned back to Marlplot. “Is that it, lad?” When he got a nod in response, he went on. “Then I forgive ye, but next time wait til the sun is up, will ye?”
“Well, all right. But the sun isn’t coming up today, Connelly. Look outside.”
Both Vivienne and Connelly squinted through the window cracks, and saw that Marlplot was right. Giant grey clouds hugged the mountain tops that surrounded the valley, and chill winds blew the bare tree branches in a wild dance. It was clear that another storm was coming.
“I best be off, then, ta snatch the last winter berries afore the storm shuts me in. Lass, I leave ye ta the gentle care o’ Marlplot. He’s a good lad, so be nice.” Connelly flashed her a broad grin and was out the door before she could say goodbye. When she was alone with her cleaning assistant, she looked up at him. Way, way up.
“What’s your given name, Marlplot?”
“John, Mistress.”
“Well, John, show me to my room, and let’s start cleaning. The sooner I have a spot of my own, the better.”
Cleaning the room was a hard, filthy task. For all that she was still mad at him, Vivienne was grateful that MacTíre had thought to send John along to help her. He brought bucket after bucket of water up to the room, while she slowly fetched a few logs of wood from the inner bailey. Once they had a respectable fire going, John found a copper kettle in the kitchen and started heating water. The giant steaming kettle was so heavy that Vivienne couldn’t lift it with one hand. Instead she let John lift it, pouring the boiling water over the thick cotton mattress that they had stuffed into an old, wooden hip bath. She used a wooden laundry paddle to move the mattress around in the boiling water as best she could, trying to make sure that every surface was thoroughly cleaned. Then they drained the tub and did it all over again, only this time Vivienne cast some dried lavender petals she’d gotten from Connelly into the steaming water.
While the mattress soaked they swept and scrubbed the walls and floors. Generations of spiders were dislodged from the ceiling and unceremoniously tossed out the window to make their way in the wide world. Even with the fire blazing away the room was cold, so once it had been cleaned and aired, Vivienne made a trip to the laundry room and poked around in the rag bag until she found enough scraps to plug the cracks in her window shutters. John was immensely helpful in her weatherproofing. He could reach the top of the window without a stepstool, and he happily plugged the cracks that she couldn’t reach.
While they worked, Vivi asked questions.
“How did you come to serve with Master MacTíre, John?”
“He helped me out, Mistress. Seemed the right thing to do.”
“Helped you how?”
“Oh, I shouldn’t say, Miss Belle. Sean Kelly says Master MacTíre gets real embarrassed when we talk about how he’s helped us.”
“So he’s modest?”
“I dunno what modest means, Mistress, but he sure does help a lot of people.” Vivienne smiled at John’s sincerity. It was a relief to know Fain was a good man, even if she didn’t know the particulars. “ I mean, without him, most all of us fellas would be in jail. “
“What?” Relief fled, replaced by worry. “Why?”
Marlplot clapped his hands to his mouth in alarm. “I forgot. I forgot. I promised I wouldn’t forget. Don’t tell anyone, okay?” The young giant was so unhappy Vivi felt compelled to agree, but she brooded as John went back to work.
In jail for what?
Once everything was as clean as Vivienne knew how to make it, John went and asked the Shapherd brothers to help him wring out the mattress and spread it to dry. The three men lugged the heavy tub out to the courtyard and drained it, then spent almost half an hour cheerfully abusing each other and the mattress as they attempted to squeeze the water out. The thick, padded cotton was still sodden when they hauled it back up and laid it out on the rope frame. Marlplot gazed at it mournfully.
“Well, Mistress,” he said, “the room’s clean, but you won’t be sleeping here tonight. That mattress will take days to dry.”
Sadly, he was right. Vivienne spent both that night and the next with Connelly, trying to sleep through the racket. In between, she spent her hours in the kitchen, helping little Billy Notter scrub down the great tables and acting as a one-handed s
cullery maid for the Shapherds.
“Thanks for the help, Mistress Belle.”
“I fear I’m not much assistance, Billy. I don’t really know what I’m doing.”
“Naw, but you’re awful jolly, and I don’t mind wiping your tables over again.”
It wouldn’t have been so bad, but she was practically dropping from exhaustion, and she got the impression that her unskilled attempts at cleaning, made worse by only having one useful arm, were amusing to the two capable Shapherd brothers.
“I suppose you two strapping men have never been injured, or had to learn a new task?”
“On the contrary.” Matt told her. “We were both hurt when we first stumbled through the doors of this keep. I could hardly keep my feet under me.”
“More importantly,” Marcus broke in, “he could hardly keep his feet under me. I couldn’t walk at all by that point. I was still cracking jokes, though.”
“You’d have to be dead to stop cracking jokes.” Matt rolled his eyes at his brother.
“Still might not stop me.”
“How were you hurt?” Vivienne was intrigued.
“Oh, just a minor skirmish over some sheep.”
“Were you... Were you stealing them?”
“Oh, no. We were trying to keep them.”
“A minor skirmish with sheep stealers left you wounded to the point where you couldn’t walk?”
“I’ve a very delicate constitution.”
“Ah, Belle?” Matt broke into his brother’s teasing. “You’ll need to have another try at cleaning these plates. There’s still gravy on them.”
She ground her teeth as she went to wash the plates for the third time. She hated being incompetent. Her lack of aptitude helped as she met the keep’s other inhabitants, though. Most of them passed through the kitchen each day, and they allowed themselves to be introduced to Vivi with varying degrees of reservation.
Nate Tucker was one of the worst. He was all smiles and greetings with Marcus Shapherd, but his face became cold and closed when he looked at her.
As the Last Petal Falls Page 8