Although I knew Father’s admonition to keep silent had been to protect me, I couldn’t help my resentment that he’d done nothing after hearing my suspicions. Surely, he couldn’t be agreeable with someone killing his wife? Perhaps that was the reason behind his determination to leave so quickly. If he had stayed and brought to light that someone had used magic on the king’s own land, what would have happened? I swallowed hard. Father’s death. Perhaps ours, too.
I should follow his example and put what happened behind me. Yet words lingered in my mind, haunting me with their insistence. Who? Why? Would I never know the answers?
Kellen walked into the room and caught me looking at Mother’s jewelry box.
“Perhaps we should move the jewelry box to our room instead of the attic,” she said.
“No, I don’t think I can wear any of her treasures just yet. And seeing the box would only bring pain right now.”
She nodded and didn’t question me when I carried it out of the room.
The attic, already full of so many castoffs, was now crowded with the addition of Mother’s furniture. There was still room to walk between pieces and find a safe place for the box in a back corner, though.
By midday, Mother’s room was cleared, and Anne and Maeve had returned. We ate a companionable lunch in the kitchen then moved to the sitting room while Hugh moved the last pieces of furniture into the attic.
“Anne was quite informative today,” Maeve said.
“Informative?” I asked.
“Yes. About who might be visiting and with whom I needed to have the most care.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” I said.
“The gossips,” Maeve said bluntly. “Those who will come to give condolences but are really only here to gain information to share with their friends over tea.”
“That would be every woman who passes over our threshold tomorrow,” Kellen said.
“Not the men?” Maeve asked.
“Father had many business contacts. The men who call will likely only be here as a show of respect and will not linger long.”
“I see,” Maeve said. She glanced at me, but I couldn’t contradict Kellen’s assessment.
“Well, that does make me question how much effort and funds to put into refreshments.”
“Unfortunately, no matter how much we dislike those who attend, we cannot slight our responsibilities,” Kellen said. “To do so would reflect poorly on our love for our mother.”
“You are quite right,” Maeve said. “Then, there is only one other matter to discuss. Do you want to be present? If so, both of you will need to acquire the appropriate attire.”
I looked down at my hands, dreading what she meant. The black gowns of mourning. Everywhere we went, people would know our grief. We wouldn’t be able to escape it. Not even for a moment.
“I would prefer to mourn in solitude,” Kellen said, saving me from trying to come up with a diplomatic answer.
“I agree,” I said.
“Very well. I will welcome and speak to every guest on your behalves. Is there anything you wish me to say to them?”
“‘Go away’ has a nice ring to it,” I said.
Maeve chuckled. “If only it were that easy.”
“Thank them for coming to share our grief and offering their support in our time of need,” Kellen said.
My sister always seemed to have the right words to say. But, I knew what she was thinking on the inside as her thoughts often echoed my own.
The pig tugged me along, content to root about the forest for whatever he smelled. Thanks to his nose, I had two dark mushrooms in my pocket. Judith would know what to do with them.
“Come, Mr. Pig,” I said. “It’s time for us to return home.”
He stopped his rooting and looked up at me. I disliked the way it sometimes seemed as if he was thinking. Pigs didn’t think. They couldn’t. If I ever let myself believe they did, I’d never be able to eat bacon again.
A thud echoed through the barren trees, quickly followed by another. Frowning, I started toward the noise, glad for a reason not to return home. While spring was still struggling to make its presence known with gusty, cool winds, here in the shelter of the estate’s forest, the breeze was mild and the temperature almost pleasant. Walking amongst the trees was much preferable to being shut in the house for another day.
The pig, however, didn’t seem to be of the same mind. Before I took more than a few steps, he balked, tugging the rope from my hand.
“Go then. I’m sure some hunter would enjoy spotting you alone in the woods.”
He let out a loud squeal, and I quickly shushed him.
“We don’t know who is ahead. You’re not the only one who might be accosted by wayward hunters.” I picked up the rope. “Your silence might earn you an extra handful of grain when we return.”
When he remained silent, I started forward again, weaving my way through the trees to find the source of the continuous sound. When we reached the tall oak that marked the boundary of our small estate, I hesitated. I knew very well what lay ahead and who I might find. Well, not who exactly.
My curiosity getting the better of me, I continued north. It didn’t take long before I spotted a man through the trees.
Like when Hugh labored with the earth, this man wore no shirt while laboring to cut wood. Unlike Hugh, this man’s back wasn’t pale. It was golden and rippled in a captivating fashion with each swing of his ax.
“Stay here,” I said absently to the pig, needing to move closer.
I crept forward on silent feet, watching the man work. Steam rose off of his torso, and his skin glistened in the early morning light. Though I wasn’t close enough to see any detail in his features, my pulse sped with appreciation of what I could see. He had a handsome form to be sure.
If this was an example of the king’s men, I hoped the king was prepared to stay at the Royal Retreat a good long while.
The man stopped suddenly and grabbed his shirt from a nearby log, wiping the sweat from his face. I waited in anticipation for him to turn, but he did not. Instead, he threw his shirt aside and reached for a water skin. When he tipped his head back to drink, the sunlight caught on his brown hair, turning it bronze.
My fingers twitched against the bark of the tree that hid me. What would he do if I stepped out and introduced myself? Probably think me wanton. Better to wait for him to be fully clothed.
Smiling to myself, I carefully backed away and almost tripped on the pig. Only nimble reflexes saved me from a fall and an awkward explanation. Scowling at the pig, I picked up his rope and quietly made my way back to the estate border.
My thoughts lingered on the man and his muscled torso. The moment that he swung and sun dappled his back, highlighting every ridge, repeated over and over in my mind. My cheeks warmed. Never before had I been so affected by a man. I knew a pretty face could hide an unsuitable character. But it wasn’t his face that had your heart racing, I thought, my wistful smile returning.
The pig grunted and bumped into me.
“What?” I didn’t like the way he was knowingly looking at me. “Who I look at is none of your concern. Now, do you want your grain or not?”
I gave the rope a tug, and he meekly followed me back to the house where I fed him a small portion of grain in his pen.