Page 20 of Heart of Snow
“Here’s your basket.” She stiffly held it out to me.
I moved close to take it and lowered my voice. “If you’ve decided to be done with lessons, fine, but I still demand my payment.”
Even in the dim light of dawn, I could see her cheeks flush, coloring her snowy skin a soft pink. “I’ve made no such determination.”
“Your behavior on Sunday made me think differently, since you sent no note or explanation for why you didn’t come. I sat by myself in the rain for an hour waiting for you.”
A flicker of pity flashed in her eyes, but she straightened her shoulders and answered in a detached voice. “You’ll be searching for violets and vervain with Bernhold over by the Wilde. Belinda, give him a torch.” The countess bent to collect another basket, effectively dismissing me.
I snatched the torch and stalked toward the river, glancing back as she greeted the next servant with a broad smile, all beauty and perfection. She was infuriating. More infuriating still was how often she’d visited my dreams in the last two weeks, her warm smiles and easy manner confusing my resolve to dislike her.
Reaching the shores of the Wilde, I hunched over the ground with my torch, knowing very well I’d find few violets or vervain beneath the shade of the river trees. Still, the countess wanted me to search here, and nobles always got what they wanted, didn’t they? Her insult from the other day still rang in my ears. Calling me a coward before marching off with her companion? Fie, but she was proud. The fact that she’d had no trouble leaving me to sit in the rain proved it. But at the memory of our argument, my conscience was pricked. I’d spoken strongly enough of her father’s guilt that her anger with me was justified—in her eyes, at least. It was no surprise her love made her blind to his faults; such loyalty was only natural, and it did her credit.
My eyes drifted to where she worked, her sleeves pushed back, her hair falling over her cheek as she bent to pluck herbs with muddy fingers.
Notsoproud, then. And her efforts at shooting showed a quiet strength of will I could appreciate.
I shook my head, turning back to my task. There was nothing about the countess I should be appreciating.
I kicked against a rock to knock the dew off my shoe, then spent another half hour hunched over the muddy ground. WhenI finally stood, stretching out my back, Bernhold was putting out his torch in the river.
“Task’s done here, boy.” He moved past me toward the bonfire, and I handed him my torch as he went by.
“I have some work left to do.” I wouldn’t let the countess’s ignorance keep the people from getting their herbs. Waiting till Bernhold was out of sight, I moved into the forest to find the little meadow. The grass there was speckled with purple and blue flowers, and I had a basketful of them by the time I heard a soft step on the ferns behind me.
“You spoke of payment.” I recognized Countess Margaretha’s smooth voice before I turned to see her, face smudged with dirt and a wreath of mugwort and vervain in her golden hair. “Have you decided what it is you wish of me?”
Of its own accord, my hand settled over my jerkin, over the letter tucked inside. The countess’s promise could finally bring understanding, but it would mean relying on her to keep her word. Trusting a noble at all was a grim prospect, considering they were an untrustworthy lot, but I was left without another choice. “I have.”
“And?”
I took a deep breath. “I want to learn the French language.”
She furrowed her brows. “Why?”
“Thewhyis my business. Will you honor your side of the bargain and teach me?”
She tugged a petal from the pile of sunny flowers in her basket, rolling it between her fingers. “I agree to teach you, but our hunting lessons are not terminated. I’ll continue to expect them every Sunday.”
“Can I expect you to actually be there?” I gave her a stern look, but she ducked her head, refusing to meet my eye.
“If you promise to keep a civil tongue regarding my father. I’ll not have him maligned by you or anyone.”
“Agreed,” I said.
She reached out a hesitant hand, and I knew I should take it to solidify our reconciliation, but I couldn’t. I could not touch her or take her hand in mine without fear of losing the fragile control I was struggling to keep over my confusing feelings for her. But I had no reasonable excuse to avoid it. Lifting my hand to meet hers, I stopped when I noticed the crimson stains on her fingers. “You have blood on your hands.”
Her eyes flashed up to my face, and she took a step back. “Why... why do you say that?” Her voice was breathless.
“See there.” I pointed at her hand, and she pulled it toward her, opening it wide for inspection, then laughing with a hint of relief.
“No, it’s not blood. It’s the St. John’s wort. The flowers leave a reddish stain when their petals are pressed.” She wiped her fingers on dewy moss, then dried them on her apron. “Shall we combine our herbs with the others?”
I nodded, and we walked together for a bit. The rising sun colored the sky in shades of orange and pink, prompting birds to trill their songs. It was gentle and pleasant. No wonder Midsummer’s morn was known for courting. Without conscious direction, I found my gaze drifting to the countess, studying the way the light accentuated the flowers in her hair. “That’s a fetching crown you wear.”
The moment the words were out, I wished them unsaid.
Her mouth formed a smallOof surprise, but then she fluttered her eyes, recovering. “Many thanks.” She chuckled while pulling the flowers off her head and running a hand over her hair. “The little girls made one for each of the maidens. It is Midsummer, after all. Time for courting.”
