He frowned.Maybe there was a reason no one went in.“Isn’t it…sacred?”
“Maybe to my father.But my mother lives in heaven, not on earth.They’re just things.”
He nodded.His ancestors took their things with them and lived in Valhalla, which sounded like a lot more fun than heaven.
She slipped the key into the lock.It opened easily enough.Then she pushed open the door.He winced, half expecting a loud screech to issue forth.But the hinges seemed to be well oiled.He wondered if maybe the room was visited more often than she thought.
This was the first time Carenza had seen the inside of the storage room.It contained everything that had belonged to her mother, crammed into a room half the size of a bedchamber.To her surprise, there was very little dust.The furnishings appeared as fresh as the day the door had been sealed.A pair of oak chests were draped with ornate tapestries and piled high with gowns of silk and velvet.A floor sconce with half-burned candles leaned against the wall.A wooden tub was filled to the brim with linens.A woolen arisaid partially covered a carved wood table which was topped by books and vials, combs and scissors, straw dolls and several pieces of her mother’s jewelry.
Then she gasped as her eye caught on something of hers.Her childhood bed.Apparently, even that had triggered painful memories for her father.The day after her mother died, her father had ordered a new bed made for Carenza.The one she still slept in today.
She wondered…
She neared the bed and studied the coverlet.It was embroidered with wee animals.Hedgepigs.Hounds.Mice.Kittens.Sparrows.Piglets.She’d forgotten all about it.
“This bed was mine,” she breathed.
Picking up the bottom corner of the coverlet to examine the stitching, he chuckled.“Of course ’twas.”
But for Carenza, the presence of the bed represented more than just fond memories.She reached down and carefully peeled the coverlet back from the top.The linens were clean.And there were no fleas.
For weeks now, she’d prayed for patience.She’d waited for the monastery crime to be solved.For Hew’s residence at Kildunan to be over.
It wasn’t that she didn’t love their inventive rendezvous.Like sparrows spreading seeds, they’d consecrated every corner of Dunlop with their love.
But the investigation could take years.It might never be solved.And Carenza was afraid if they waited too long, Hew would begin to think of her as his concubine rather than his bride.
It wasn’t that he didn’t love her.He adored her.But in the end, because he had to do as the king willed, he might be forced to marry another out of duty, believing he could keep Carenza as his secret mistress.
That would not do.She might not belong to an important border clan.But she was the daughter of Dunlop.She had a reputation to consider.
She decided perhaps she needed to hasten things along between them.And finding this bed among her mother’s things…
This must be a sign from her mother.A message.Her blessing on their union.Carenza was sure of it.And now she knew exactly what she must do.
This was unexplored territory for her.And despite the closeness and affection between them, she felt anxious.Her heart beat more rapidly than it should.And her breath was shallow and shaky.
What if he refused her?What if she did something wrong?What if he was disappointed?What if she wasn’t enough?
In the end, she decided it was a risk she had to take.She couldn’t go on living in this purgatory of indecision, not knowing whether her future was secured.
In spite of her nervously pounding heart, she chose to keep things light and playful as always.
“This will be so much more comfortable than the holly bushes.”She plopped down on the pallet.
“Or the buttery shelves,” he said, sitting gingerly beside her, less trusting of the bed frame.
“Or the stable wall.”
“Or the trunk of a tree.”
“Or the doocot.”
“The doocot?”He frowned.“We’ve ne’er trysted in the doocot.”
“Nay?”she asked.“Och, that must have been myotherlover.”
“Wicked lass.”
