Easier said than done. But then I recalled how the girl who had held my post previously left because she had just given birth to her first child. I supposed I could use the same excuse, except that would mean….
It would mean you could not avoid sharing your husband’s bed any longer, I thought. So you will have to decide what is more fearsome to you — spending the rest of this autumn and all of the winter working in Lord Sorthannic’s kitchen, or giving yourself to the man who married you.
Some might say that was an easy enough choice. After all, I had felt myself so very close the other night. But what if Corin rebuffed me again? I was not sure I could bear further rejection, even though I must have also tried his patience.
And then I realized I could not coldly lie with him, just to escape my duties. I did not want it to be that way between us. I had come to care for him — indeed, as I pretended to be preoccupied with finishing the rest of the food on my plate, but instead watched him through my eyelashes, I realized how much I cared, how I wanted him to kiss me and make me his.
“Corin,” I began, then stopped, for I was not quite sure how I could continue. Every combination of words I put together in my mind sounded dreadful, no matter how much I tried to shift them around into something that made sense.
He looked up from his own plate, expression quizzical. “What is it, Marenna?”
“I — ” I pulled in a breath, then said quickly, “I no longer wish to sleep in the second bedroom.”
His dark eyes flared with surprise, but then he shook his head. When he spoke, his tone was flat. “You are tired. You don’t know what you are asking.”
“I do know!” I flung at him, both angry at my husband for his intransigence and embarrassed at myself for being so bold. “Lynnis explained it all to me, so I do know very well. I’m — I’m not afraid any longer. It is foolish for us to be married and yet live as chastely as a brother and sister. Or,” I added, as that familiar shuttered look took over his features, the one I hated so much, “is it that you don’t find me as tempting as you once thought you did? Perhaps it was one thing to have moonlight and wine and dancing to enhance my charms, but when you see me now as a maidservant, my hands already turning rough with work, my clothing plain and drab and stained, you begin to have second thoughts.”
“That is not it at all,” he said. His tone was even enough, but a shadow of anguish remained in his eyes. “I can’t — I cannot explain everything to you right now. But please believe me when I tell you that there is a reason why I choose to wait.”
“For how long?” I asked. Tears began to burn in my eyes. I ignored them, however, and went on without waiting for his answer. “A few days ago, I would have said you could not wait to make me yours. And now you are telling me to be patient, that there is a reason to delay even further?”
“Yes, that is precisely what I am telling you.” He rubbed at his chin, at the dark stubble that had begun to show there. In my former life, I would have said that stubble was a sign of his lowly origins, of his not caring enough to groom himself properly, but now I thought it only enhanced his darkly handsome looks. “Marenna, I do nothing without a reason. This may seem strange and incomprehensible to you now, but very soon, you will understand.”
“If you say so.” Because both our plates had been scraped clean, I got up from my seat and stacked them on top of one another, then stalked off to the kitchen. I hoped that Corin would follow me, but as I set the plates down on the counter and placed the kettle over the fire to heat the water so I might wash them, I realized I was still quite alone, that he had left me to my own devices.
More than ever, I wanted to weep, but I choked the tears back and continued with my task, determined to leave a clean kitchen behind. I could not allow myself the luxury of ignoring the dirty dishes until the following morning, for I would have to be up early and at work in the castle.
So there was a reason for all this? I could only hope my husband would reveal it to me soon, before the rift between us had widened so much that there was no longer any chance of repairing it.
CHAPTER 12
I wish I could say that matters improved between us after that squabble, but unfortunately, they did not. My days were spent working in the duke’s kitchen, while Corin was occupied in the cellars, and we did not have much of a chance to repair our relations. Oh, we were polite to one another, but we might as well have been strangers, all of the rapport that had begun to grow between us now gone as if it had never been. It was as if my husband had erected an invisible barrier between us, one he wished to keep in place for reasons known only to him.
If the gods were kind, I would have at least had the opportunity to share my troubles with Lynnis and ask for her guidance, but it seemed those same gods who delighted in making my own existence a miserable one had chosen to smile down upon her, for she was now confined to her bed with the nausea of early pregnancy. Hal passed on the good news to Corin, who at least had the courtesy to tell me. As happy as I was for Lynnis, I could not help but experience a flash of disappointment. Who else could I turn to, when things had gone so wrong between my husband and myself? I had not made friends with any of the other women in the settlement, for none of them were close to my age, and all of them were preoccupied with their children and their households. And soon Lynnis would be just as preoccupied.
Whereas I….
These gloomy thoughts crowded my mind as I walked home from my third day working in the kitchens of Lord Sorthannic’s castle. I supposed I should be happy that I had survived another shift under Brynna’s watchful eye, but at the moment, I could not help but feel sorry for myself.
The weather was certainly not cooperating, either, for midway through my walk a cold, thin rain began to fall. At least I was not completely unprepared, for the day had been chilly enough when I set out in the morning that I had wrapped a woolen shawl around my shoulders. However, the shawl did nothing to protect my feet in their worn slippers. I was still far from home when I felt the wet begin to seep through, soaking my already icy toes.
It will be all right, I told myself as I tried to ignore the uncomfortable squelching while I walked. When you get home, you will stir up the kitchen fire and set your shoes by the hearth to dry. Why, after you change out these stockings for some fresh ones, you will not even be able to tell that you got soaked coming home.
That all sounded very brave in my mind. However, with each pace my heart seemed to sink a little lower, and at some point tears began to trail down my cheeks, mixing with the stinging rain. Not that there was anyone around to see; the weather appeared to have driven everyone indoors, and I saw none of the usual activities of children playing in the square, or women taking down their laundry after letting it dry on the line all day. No, any laundry must have been whisked inside at the first sight of rain, and was probably now doing its best to dry next to everyone’s kitchen hearths.
Head bowed, I hurried inside, then took off my damp shawl and draped it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. No sign of Corin, but his absence did not surprise me too much, as he tended to come home at least an hour after I did, if not more.
I had carefully stoked the kitchen fire before I left that morning, but it seemed my efforts had been in vain, for the hearth was as cold and grey as the day outside. After wiping my cheeks, I went to get the box of matches and some fresh wood. Thank goodness we had a decent supply in the basket in the corner, for it really would have been too much to go back outside in the rain and wrestle with wet logs, not to mention sending all manner of smoke into the kitchen…even if I had somehow managed to start a fire at all.
But since the logs I used were dry, the fire leapt up soon enough, sending its welcome warmth into the kitchen. With a sigh of relief, I bent down and removed my slippers, then turned them over to inspect their soles. As I had feared, both of the shoes sported new holes, down near the toes on the right slipper and on the heel of the left slipper. The pieces of leather Lynnis had given me to he
lp line them were also starting to wear through. Perhaps I could try patching them, but I did not think such clumsy repairs would last for very long — if I even could find a needle sturdy enough to pierce the battered kid.
My eyes stung again, and I blinked. Standing here and weeping would do me no good, not when I needed to get supper started. Luckily, Hal had brought over a pair of rabbits the evening before, bounty from a particularly successful hunt. I had tried to protest that we could not accept such a gift, but he had only smiled and said he could not allow me to return the game meat he had given us.
So I had rabbits to roast over the fire — Hal had taken pity on me, and presented them to me already skinned and ready to be cooked — and new potatoes, and field greens to make a salad. It would be a fine meal, although I feared even such a repast would not be enough to make Corin soften toward me.
More than once my maid Sendra had told me that men did not like a forward woman. To be fair, at the time I had not been entirely clear as to what she had meant by the word “forward,” but now I could see what she had intended with her advice. For when I had spoken the truth of my heart, had not tried to hide my feelings from Corin, he had turned away from me. It seemed he had wanted me to be coy, and shy, and allow him to do the pursuing. I was neither coy nor shy, but I thought I would make the attempt, if by doing so I might soften his heart.
For as much as I wanted to tell myself I did not care, that I should not care what a lowly farm worker might think of me, I knew that was a lie. My heart had opened to Corin in a way I had not thought possible. As cool as he had been these past few days, I knew his behavior did not reflect his true self. No, he was warm and caring, and had done a great deal for me. If I were a user of magic, I would have fashioned a spell to send myself back in time and fix whatever had gone amiss between us that night, so we would not now be estranged.
Alas, I had no such powers, and not many useful skills, either. I was learning — albeit more slowly than I would have liked — but being talented enough not to burn one’s toast in the morning was not quite the sort of ability required to heal the rift that had opened between my husband and myself.
Once I had set a pot of water to boil over the fire, so I might start the potatoes after the water had heated enough, I went into my bedroom and got out a fresh pair of stockings, and removed the damp ones I currently wore. They, too, had begun to develop holes, and upon seeing that damage, I could not help but let out an exasperated sigh. Yes, darning stockings did lie within my range of skills, but finding the time to perform such repairs was an entirely different proposition. And I knew I did not have the proper needle and thread for such a task, since I had left them at Lynnis’ cottage several days earlier, when I had been showing her how to repair her husband’s socks. I would have to ask to get them back from her, and hope that I was not disturbing her too much by going over to her cottage and making such a request.
I had just finished tying off the garters for my clean pair of stockings when I heard a knock at the door. Puzzled, I left my room and went to answer it, wondering who would be making a call at such an hour, and in such weather. Certainly Corin would not knock, and it seemed that Lynnis had been confined to her bed for the foreseeable future. But perhaps one of the other women in the settlement had need of a cup of flour or some other necessary ingredient, having miscalculated what she had on hand to follow a recipe.
When I opened the door, however, my heart seemed to freeze in my chest. For there was the last person I had expected to see — my father, draped in an elegant black cloak, a jaunty be-feathered felt hat protecting his head from the rain, although the crimson feather in that hat was now beginning to droop from the damp.
At first I could only stare at him, sure that my mind must have manufactured this apparition. How else could he be here? But then his dark eyes fastened on mine, and he tilted his head and said, “Will you not let me in, daughter?”
“Oh — oh, yes, of course,” I replied, then held the door open a little wider so he might come inside. “Let me take your cloak and hat.”
“Thank you.” He removed the garments in question and held them out to me, and I hurried over to hang them from the rack in one corner. The whole time, his gaze was moving about the room, no doubt taking in the plain furnishings, the bare walls.
I had prided myself on keeping the cottage clean and neat, but now I could only see my current home through his eyes, noting the smudge of damp on one wall, the scuffs and scrapes on the table and chairs. A far cry from the sumptuous carved furniture of my former home, the tapestries on the walls, the rich rugs of Keshiaari weave that covered the floors. Indeed, I could not help but be struck by the splendor of my father’s garments, the embroidered wool of his doublet, the fine linen of the shirt he wore underneath, the glint of the ruby in the heavy gold ring he wore. After so much time spent among people who dressed simply out of necessity, the ostentation of my father’s clothing was almost jarring.
His gaze traveled to the stockinged feet peeping out from under my plain brown skirt, and he frowned.
“My shoes were damp after the walk home,” I explained. “They are drying by the fire. But please, sit down, Father.” I gestured toward one of the chairs at the table, the only seat I could offer him.
“‘Walk home’?” he repeated, his frown deepening. “Why would you be any place but here, especially in this weather?”
“Oh, I — ” It seemed too dreadful to try to explain to him that I had been working in the castle’s kitchen, and so I said quickly, “I went to check on my neighbor, who is with child. But Father — what are you doing here?”
He hesitated and would not look directly at me. At last he let out a heavy breath, shaking his head. “My treatment of you has been weighing on me, Marenna. At last I realized I could bear it no more, and knew I must come here to beg your forgiveness…and ask you to come home with me.”
For a moment, I could not quite comprehend what he had just told me. Home? But was this not my home? “I…I am not sure I understand,” I said.
“What I did to you, my dear — it was wrong. Wrong, and terrible. In the heat of the moment, I could only think of teaching you a lesson. But as the days wore on, and I thought more of what I had done, I knew that I must try to come to you and make it right.” My father glanced around the room as though looking for someone, even when it should have been clear enough that we were alone in the cottage. It certainly was not large enough to conceal other occupants. “Where is your husband?”
“Still working at the castle,” I replied. “His duties often keep him there somewhat late. Indeed, he is quite knowledgeable about wine and has already been given the post of under-overseer. I think that Master Brinsell has come to quite rely on him.”
“Master Brinsell?”
“He is the overseer of the fields and also the master of the cellar. They produce some very fine wines here on the estate.” Although I tried my best to sound neutral, I could not quite prevent a note of pride from creeping into my voice. I wanted my father to know that Corin was not a common laborer, but a man possessed of valuable knowledge, someone who was looked upon as a welcome addition to Lord Sorthannic’s household.
My father made an offhand wave, as if impatient with my explanation. “Yes, I know of the wines of Marric’s Rest — we have enjoyed them on more than one occasion at our own table. And I suppose it is good to know that Master Blackstone has more to offer than just a handsome face and a pleasant manner. However, you deserve much more than merely being the wife of an estate’s under-overseer. You deserve someone splendid, a husband who can give you the sort of life you were born to.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him that perhaps he should have kept such considerations in mind before he sent me off to be the wife of a stranger, but somehow I managed to keep silent. After all, his expression now was one of utter contrition. He had come here to make things right, and I knew I must give him some credit for that.
And truly, I kne
w he could — if I allowed him to. Although annulments were very uncommon things in Sirlende, they did happen from time to time, and tended to be the subject of scandalized, whispered conversations at balls and supper parties. When I had overheard some of those conversations, the finer points had eluded me, for back then I did not yet possess intimate knowledge of what a proper marriage was supposed to be. Now, though, I understood that I would be granted an annulment, if my father and I went to Iselfex to plead my case. I was not Corin’s wife in any true sense of the word. Also, my father’s influence and wealth would be squarely on my side. If I wished, I could be a free woman within a very short period of time.
Contemplating such a possibility, however, only stirred a strange reluctance within me. I realized I did not wish to be free, that my feelings for Corin were not such that I could easily ignore them. In a perfect world, I would wish to have him and the luxurious life I had previously enjoyed, but if forced to make a choice, I knew I would rather remain with him in this humble cottage than go back to a life of ease that excluded him. Our current coolness was a temporary thing, no more. Once we had cleared up whatever might have caused that misunderstanding, we could truly be together. I was sure of it.
My father was watching me closely, his greying dark brows pulled together. No doubt he was attempting to puzzle out why I would remain silent for so long. After all, the daughter who had left his estate only a little more than a week earlier would have jumped at the chance to abandon this life of poverty, to return to her world of balls and coaches and fine gowns, and breakfast in bed brought to her by one of the chambermaids.
The thought of those lovely breakfast trays, with tea and cinnamon buns and eggs and bacon, did make me a bit wistful. But I realized then that I would rather have Corin in my bed than any number of breakfast trays. It was quite the bold thought, especially with my father sitting only a few feet away from me. I could not deny the truth of my heart, though. In that moment, I knew I would much rather be the wife of Corin Blackstone, under-overseer, than the spoiled daughter of Silverhold Hall.
The Song of the Thrush Page 16