I smiled at her typical reaction to the flowers I gave her almost daily in one form or another. The jar filled with pale-peach begonias graced a nearby windowsill. An arrangement of snowdrops sat in a pot at the base of the loom. And a display of gladioli decorated the fireplace mantel.
“You’re such a dear heart.” Aunt Elspeth patted my cheek, her eyes shining with love.
“No, you are the dear heart.” I bent and kissed the top of her head covered by a simple scarf. Although I tried, I couldn’t express to my caretakers just how much I loved and appreciated them for the many ways they nurtured me.
As Aunt Elspeth returned her attention to the loom, I carried my basket to the table, woefully low on berries. After my hours away, how would I explain picking so few? “I am heartily sorry to be gone so long.”
“Oh, you have naught to worry about.” Aunt Elspeth’s rounded cheeks were rosy and her smile was as ready as always. “You may as well get all the berries you can before they’re gone.”
With a sinking heart, I skimmed a hand across the scant layer hardly covering the bottom. My conscience nudged me to tell this sweet woman the truth about my encounter with the young woodcutter. But at the same time, there was something special about the meeting I wanted to privately cherish for a while longer.
Besides, if I told Aunt Elspeth or Aunt Idony I’d met a man in the woods, they probably wouldn’t allow me to go out by myself again. In fact, they might even require me to stay home.
“I became distracted today,” I said hesitantly, “and I neglected to pick as many berries as I should have.”
“You’ll get more on the morrow.”
“Yes. I shall try.”
“Will the promise of a blackberry pie help motivate you?”
“It surely will.”
Aunt Elspeth loved to bake more than anything else. When she wasn’t behind her loom, she dwelt at the hearth, creating delicious tarts, jams, breads, or other goodies. She made more than we needed. Even Chester, with his mammoth appetite, couldn’t eat it all.
“I may even bake blackberry tarts if you find enough.”
I doubted I’d find enough to make a pie, much less tarts—not if I revisited the same clearing and met Kresten again. For half the way home, I convinced myself I would return to dance. But for the other half, I decided I needed to be content with one meeting.
Even now, the battle waged within me. My heart pattered with the strange need to see him once more. But my head reminded me of what was most important—staying secluded for the final two months of my exile. After so many years of success at evading Queen Margery, I couldn’t fail now, not when I was so close to the end.
I’d never understood her desire to slay me and take Mercia’s throne. Why did she believe she had more claim to the queenship than I did? During history lessons, Aunt Idony had tried to explain the predicament, detailing how my grandfather, King Alfred the Peacemaker, had divided Bryttania upon his death between his twin daughters. My mother, Leandra, had inherited Mercia, and Margery was given Warwick to the south.
From what I could tell, Warwick, with its rich gemstone mine, had been the better inheritance compared to Mercia, which had iron mines and smelters. I’d become even more convinced of that when I’d learned of the wealth Queen Margery had extracted from the mine. Only within recent years had the reports become negative, indicating the mine pits were no longer as productive.
Leandra had also been tasked with guarding three keys to an ancient treasure fabled to be buried somewhere in Mercia. Margery, on the other hand, had inherited the white stone, believed to be the most important ingredient in the alchemy process.
In my view, Margery ought to have been satisfied. But Aunt Idony had explained that Margery believed she deserved everything according to the laws of primogeniture that governed Bryttania. Such laws stated that the oldest son became the next ruler upon the death of the king. If no sons were available, then the power would pass to the firstborn daughter. Since Margery had come into the world several minutes before Leandra, Margery claimed King Alfred shouldn’t have divided the country.
Aunt Idony explained that King Alfred was known for his wisdom and for being a peacemaker. As such, people had trusted and accepted his decision to split Bryttania, particularly those who knew Margery and feared her leadership. They believed the king hadn’t wanted the older twin to rule at all. But unable to prohibit her, he’d done the next best thing by claiming the twins had equal rights. In dividing the nation, he’d insured its survival. Or at least, he’d hoped Mercia could stand strong against Warwick . . .
My mother had ruled Mercia well. She’d earned a reputation as a fair and kind queen. Since her death, my father had served as regent, ruling just as fairly and kindly. Now Mercia’s future depended upon me.
My aunts had spent years training and preparing me in everything I needed to know to become the next queen. And while I was eager for the challenge, doubts oft crept in to taunt me about whether I would be worthy enough, whether I could be the queen the people needed, whether I’d have enough fortitude, purpose, and courage to lead. After all, how could a young woman who’d been raised in the woods away from everyone have what was necessary to guide a nation?
Though I might doubt myself and Margery might call into question my right to be queen, Father and Aunt Idony had assured me Mercia’s people would accept me as their ruler. And the only way Margery could take away my crown was by force, which according to Chester wasn’t likely, since she didn’t have a large enough army to attack.
Two months . . . I needed only to survive two more months of isolation and I would deliver Mercia from the threat of Margery’s rule—a threat that had been hanging over the country for almost two decades. I couldn’t put my future or Mercia’s well-being into jeopardy for any reason. Especially not because of a silly desire to dance again with a handsome woodcutter.
The silence in the cottage brought my thoughts back to the present. Aunt Elspeth’s hands and feet had grown idle, and a deep groove formed between her brows. “Something ails you, my sweeting.”
As before, I knew I ought to tell her about my encounter with Kresten. It had been so unusual, so unlike anything I’d ever experienced that I would do well to seek her counsel on the matter.
But I had merely to think of Kresten’s engaging smile, his beseeching eyes, and his tenderness in teaching me to dance, and I squelched the impulse to speak of him. I couldn’t lest she forbid me from seeing him.
“What is it?”
“I am wondering about men.” Even as I spoke the words, I could feel a flush stain my cheeks.
Aunt Elspeth’s mouth rounded into an ‘o,’ and she blinked several times as though she hoped she would wake up from a dream to find my question had disappeared.
’Twas indeed a bold question, and I ducked my head as my own embarrassment swelled.
“Well now.” Aunt Elspeth’s voice squeaked unnaturally high. “I don’t know much about that topic . . . I’m not exactly equipped to speak on the matter . . .”
“What matter is that?” Aunt Idony breezed into the cottage. Her wind-tossed, wiry gray hair frizzed out in all directions, and she brought with her the scents of soil, sunshine, and the dozens of herbs she grew in the garden behind the cottage.