Page 5 of Love’s Charity

“And?” the old woman prompted.

Marianna shrugged the encouragement away, bracing herself for the scorn that always followed. How perhaps she was overreacting and needed to give him the chance to explain things more fully. What more was there to explain? She had seen the child with her own eyes. “He says the babe isna his, but all ye have to do is look at the bairn’s red hair, and ye see it.” She sniffed and wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. “And Ellen said he was the father. Named him in front of us all.”

“And a beacon of truth, this Ellen is?”

“Nay—she is a conniving whore who uses men to get what she wants, then casts them aside.”

Mistress Hanna shifted with a heavy sigh. “If Ellen is as deceitful as ye say, then why do ye believe her when she says yer Evander fathered her child?”

“The bairn’s red hair!” she reminded as she threw another handful of carrots into the pot and picked up a parsnip. “And he used to bed her. All the time. Everyone beds Ellen. ’Tis how the woman survives.”

“And Evander is the only ruddy-haired lad in the clan?”

She pushed herself to her feet, picked up the bowl of meat, and carried it to the door without answering. The old crone offered the same argument Evander had used. “I must rinse this out and soak it again or ’twill be so salty, we canna eat it.” She yanked open the door, then paused and looked back. “He made me look the fool in front of the whole clan. He’s always nice to her. Talks to her every chance he gets and does all sorts of chores around her cottage.” She twitched with anger, tense as a newly strung bow. “Among the other things he does for her, I’m sure. Everyone knows that child is his and was fathered wellafterhe and I announced our plans to marry.” A wistful hiccup escaped her before she could gasp it back. “And I nearly had the embroidery on my chemise for our wedding night finished. We wouldha been married nigh on a month now if not for his betrayal.” She stomped her foot. “He made a fool of me. Everyone in the keep laughs at me now.”

“Close the door and come back to the fire, child. The meat will be fine.” Mistress Hanna beckoned with a wave and a kindly nod.

“It will be salty.” She hugged the bowl against her middle, determined to escape.

“I like salt,” the old one said with a lopsided grin. She motioned for Marianna to return. “Come.”

Heart so heavy her feet dragged with every step, Marianna returned to the fire. What did it matter if the meat was salty? Nothing mattered anymore. She fished it out of the bowl, tore it into pieces, and added it to the bubbling pot hanging over the fire. “I’ll add a handful of barley to the carrots and parsnips to soak up the salt. ’Twill make it thicker, too.”

“Good idea.” Mistress Hanna relaxed back in her chair. She stared at the fire with the hint of a smile curving her thin lips.

Marianna welcomed the silence, cursing herself for spilling her heart.

“What do ye think Gabriel thinks about ye, lass?” The crone didn’t look away from the fire and spoke as if in a daze. “What do ye think he thinks of me?”

Not looking up from the pot she stirred, Marianna shrugged. “He’s probably afraid of me and loves ye.” What a strange thing to ask, and who really cared anyway? Gabriel was a cat.

“But we canna know for certain, aye? Only Gabriel knows what he thinks and why he does what he does.”

“Shall I add an onion?” Marianna asked, attempting to steer the conversation back to something sane.

“Aye.” Mistress Hanna shifted in her chair. The rickety thing creaked and groaned as if her slight weight bore down on it like a boulder. “What about yer kin at the keep? Are ye certain they think ye a fool? Have ye actually heard them laughing?”

“I dinna have any kin.” An inkling of what the old woman was hinting at grated on her nerves. “I came toRuadhin search of a living after Da got killed and Mama died. There wasna any labor to be found in the village. But Lady Catriona took me in as a seamstress at the keep.”

“What about the friends ye’ve made since arriving at the keep?” Mistress Hanna peered at her with a knowing tilt of her head.

“Ye know I dinna have any friends.”

“And how can ye tell I know that?”

“By the way ye’re sitting there looking at me. I always know what people think by the way they act. That’s why I’m always cast aside. I dinna make friends easy. Most times not at all.” She leaned over the pot and wafted the rising steam toward her nose. “We shall have a fine soup soon. I shall tidy yer place now and make ye a fine thick pallet of furs while it cooks.” They had talked enough. Too much, in fact. Not another word needed to be said.

“It hurts when we are not included,” Mistress Hanna said as though Marianna hadn’t spoken. “It hurts when others are noticed and liked, and we are not.”

Marianna rose, determined to ignore the old woman. The matron could rattle on all she wanted, but that didn’t mean she had to be answered. She took her knife and cut open the roll of furs she had brought inside along with the food.

“And then when we think the one we have finally allowed close to our hearts has betrayed us…” The dame tipped her head again and shrugged. “Well, then that pain hurts us more than we can bear.” She shook her head. “And it blinds us to all else. To the truth, even.” She drew in a deep breath and blew it out. “Such pain becomes a festering poison, ye ken?”

“It is what it is,” Marianna huffed, unable to ignore the determined crone any longer. She removed the ratty blanket from the corner behind Mistress Hanna’s chair and replaced it with a triple layer of furs intended for the poor MacGougans. Maybe if Mistress Hanna rested her head after she ate, she would go to sleep and be quiet.

“Release the hate, lass, and move forward,” the elder advised. “The only thing ye can control in this world are yer own thoughts, words, and actions. No one else’s. Find the joy in every moment and refuse to give in to the darkness’s hold. Ignore everything that tries to cause ye pain. The past canna be changed, but the future is yers to seek out and cherish. Choose joy.”

“But what if—”

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