Page 54 of Anice’s Bargain

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Anice had seen to her duties within the keep upon arrival. James had suggested she rest first, but she knew laying down would not assuage the melancholy shrouding her; it would simply give it the space and solitude to smother her.

Once she started, she did not stop, working nonstop for the first sennight of their arrival, seeing to the servants and getting the household in order.

Much of her time was spent going about the halls of the large, dark castle with Piquette at her side. The massive dog drew many wary looks, but Piquette did not seem to notice as he loped faithfully in her shadow. He paused only to sniff about from time to time and once ate something wet that she’d promptly dug free from his clenched mouth.

The cook was a burly man named Dicken who rolled out dough with the same thick-handed heaviness he used to hack apart a leg of venison. She knew because she’d seen him do both tasks in the span of time she met with him. It was with great relief, however, that she noticed he washed his hands in between. His declaration that he would be making meat pasties for supper Wednesday, however, immediately caught at her heart and yanked it back to Werrick.

Nan always made the best meat pasties, thick with hearty gravy and meat so tender, it fell apart with the same ease as did the flaking, salty crust.

She’d hurriedly excused herself after that, followed by Piquette, who had required several callings to abandon the warm room full of wonderful smells. Next, she met with the chatelaine, an aging woman named Sarah, who spoke with a slow drawl. A painfully slow drawl. Each word was carefully rolled out in such a manner, Anice found herself biting her tongue to keep from finishing the woman’s sentences.

It was a direct contrast to Werrick Castle’s chatelaine, Rohesia, who ran the household with clipped efficiency. She had an authoritative stare that could make a cat leap to attention and her wiry body possessed strength only a warrior could rival.

After confirming the proper days for laundry and dusting and hearth sweeping, Anice went to inspect the garden. Being early spring, it should be primed with rich black soil, awaiting seeds. Possibly beginning to sprout soon if the seeds had already been planted, as the ones at Werrick had.

She pushed through the solid wooden door, noting the need for grease on the squealing hinges, and stopped short. A tangle of stems and various foliage showed bits of withered leaves where beans had once grown. Or possibly basil. Or mayhap peppers. It was impossible to tell for certain when not one plant was discernible from the next.

It would take at least a week to clear out the sprawling garden, let alone prepare it properly for planting. And if this was what the castle gardens looked like, what condition were the fields in?

Heat swept through her, prickling her brow and tingling at her eyes. A familiar tension knotted in her throat. She would not cry. Not here. Not now.

She twisted the little ruby ring on her finger, her nail grazing the one beside it, the one James had given her. He had been similarly busy, and she had seen little of him. He came to bed long after she’d gone to sleep, rising before she roused.

She clenched her fists, as though she could similarly allay the storm of emotion threatening her control. A pathetic little whimper escaped her. Piquette edged closer and nudged her hand with his cold nose.

It wasn’t the state of disrepair of the grounds that so affected her, but the emptiness of Caldrick Castle, when Werrick had been so full, of order, of people, of love.

She had not known the pain of missing her home would be so great.

She did not want to be at Caldrick Castle with its unfamiliar people and its choked garden. Her soul ached to be home, around the warm company of her sisters, in a world of organized perfection. She knew her life there, she fit perfectly. Here she was dislodged, like a broken pin set to tough fabric.

Piquette nudged her hard with his massive head, seeking confirmation that she was well.

“Not now,” she choked out.

The liquid brown eyes gazing up at her remained locked in place, drinking in her sorrow and returning solace in its place, the way only a faithful companion could do. It was his need to offer such comfort that broke the dam.

In spite of her resolute control, tears ran down her cheeks and the sobs choked from her throat.

The door behind her sounded. Anice quickly put her back to it and scrubbed her hand over her cheeks.

“Lady Anice.” The deep voice carried with it the familiarity of home and family. “Are ye well, my lady? Has someone hurt ye?”

“I’m well,” she croaked.

“Forgive me, my lady, but it does not appear ye are.” Drake appeared in front of her, but she did not look up at him. “Will ye tell me what’s happened?”

She shook her head. “It’s foolish, really. It’s only that I…I just…things here are…it isn’t…”

“It isna the same as Werrick Castle?” He surmised gently. “And ye miss yer family.” He spoke with such understanding. And of course he did understand; after all, he’d been forced to leave home at an early age to provide an income for his mother and sisters.

Anice nodded miserably. “Will it always feel this way?”

“It will get better.” His hands were folded across his chest. But the ache in her soul wanted the comfort of an embrace.

The very idea choked a sob from her throat again. “Forgive me, I—”