“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—”
“Then deal with it when it comes to pass.” Mistress Hanna’s tone became stern, and her smile disappeared for the first time since they had found her. “Ye waste today, lass. Fritter away yer life with worries about what might happen. Dinna miss out on life’s joys and possibilities by drowning in thewhat if’sof tomorrow.”
“I should call Evander. He needs to come inside and warm himself.” Mistress Hanna could preach at him and leave her in peace. She rushed to the door and shot outside without a thought of grabbing a fur to add to the warmth of her cloak. “Evander!”
No answer came other than the wind moaning through the trees.
She pulled her hood closer and squinted into the stinging snow and sleet. It had grown almost impossible to see in the night. Her chest tightened as she looked all around and saw nothing but cold, bleak darkness. Fear sank its claws into her heart and twisted. Could he be lost? Strayed too far and couldn’t find his way back? All because he dreaded being trapped inside with her?
“Evander!” she shouted again, drawing out his name for as long as her wind allowed.
With one hand sliding along the side of the cottage, she worked her way around its perimeter, straining to see into the night and shouting his name over and over. A gulping sob escaped her when she touched the door and realized she had made it full circuit without finding him. She fell to her knees in the snow. “Evander, please—please find yer way back to me. Dinna be lost.”
“I am here, lass.”
The deep ring of his voice made her cry out and unleashed her tears. Relief flooded her with more emotions than she could bear.
Evander dropped the armload of wood and grabbed her up to his chest, shushing and rocking as though she were a wailing bairn. “There now, Mejjy m’love. Dinna cry. What’s wrong, dear one? What is wrong?” He cupped her face in his cold hand and bent to peer into her eyes. “Did the old woman die?”
“Nay,” she sobbed. “I couldna find ye. I feared ye lost forever.” After another keening wail she couldn’t control, she pleaded, “Please, come inside with me. Please. Come inside now.”
“Aye, m’love. Dinna fash yerself. I shall come inside. Calm yerself.” Still holding her close, he ushered her in and closed the door behind them.
“Is she hurt? I heard her cries.” Mistress Hanna set the cat on the floor and rose from her chair. “Here,” she said, pointing at it. “Get her here closer to the fire and have her sit.”
