The shaggy, black and tan oversized pup sat in the middle of the hallway, looking entirely too pleased with himself as a trio of young women fawned all over him. One rubbed his ears, one scratched under his chin, and a third crouched in front of him, feeding him treats from a basket hooked over her arm.
“Otto?” Relieved but confused and leery to the nth degree, Calia eased closer.
The women were dressed as if they had just stepped off the set of some historical reenactment or movie. All three wore long skirts of gray wool and colorful bustiers that laced up the front and kept their off-white blouses with full sleeves in place. Oversized white handkerchiefs or squares of linen were tied around their shoulders and tucked into their necklines—for modesty, perhaps?
Calia glanced down at her worn cotton pajamas she’d pulled on during the night to be more comfortable. Styled after a traditional men’s button-up set, they had been washed so many times; they were not only almost transparent but also nearly a size too small and a bit clingy. Well, it couldn’t be helped. She looked how she looked, and she wasn’t about to sacrifice anything else that felt familiar.
She snapped her fingers at the dog. “Otto, come. You are not supposed to run off, and you know it.”
The gangly German Shepherd mix wagged his tail and defiantly remained with his admirers.
“I told ye he would be all right,” Mathison said from behind her.
She hadn’t heard him approach. The three women had stopped petting Otto, dropped to their knees, and bowed their heads. What in the world were they doing?
Mathison stepped around in front of Calia and nodded at the trio. “They can take yer wee mongrel out to the bailey, if ye will allow it. Once he’s had his fill of the outside, they will see him fed and returned to ye.”
“He is not a mongrel.” How dare he belittle Otto. “He is my friend.”
Mathison scrubbed his hand across his eyes and nodded again. “Aye, forgive me. I know yer Otto is verra important to ye. The servants know this as well and will protect him with their lives.”
“He speaks the truth. Otto will be safe.” Her inner voice, her usually trustworthy intuition, sounded louder than before, but she wasn’t buying its advice this time.
“I can protect him myself,” she said to both Mathison and her intuition. She wasn’t about to let her dog, her only friend in all the world, out of her sight again. “Which way to this bailey of yours? I’ll take him outside.”
Mathison tilted his head as if he wasn’t quite certain he’d heard her right. “Ye canna go to the bailey, lass. Ye are nay dressed.”
“I’m decent enough. Which way, or do I have to find it myself?” She jabbed her thumb at her dog. “And might I also add that the longer we wait, the more likely it is that he’ll hike his leg before we get there. When this dog has to go, he has to go.” She still needed to pee, too, but no way was she returning to her room without Otto.
“It is still raining. Do ye wish to fall ill?”
“Germs cause illness. Not rain.” She marched forward and snapped her fingers at Otto. “Come, boy. Let’s go outside.”
“I will not have this!” Mathison bellowed with a low growl.
Without looking back, she dismissed him with a flip of her hand and kept walking until she realized Otto wasn’t at her side. She looked back for the dog and discovered him standing next to Mathison, slowly wagging his tail.
“Et tu, Otto?”
He woofed in response.
“The maids will see after him,” Mathison repeated, his tone strained. Apparently, he was unaccustomed to orders that weren’t obeyed. He cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders, visibly resetting his attitude. “Please, Calia. Let them take him out for his exercise. We have much to discuss.”
“That’s an understatement.” She went to Otto and buried her fingers in his ruff, locking eyes with him. “I need you to be safe,” she said. “You have no idea how much I need you to stay safe.”
The pup whined, licked her cheek, then looked around her at the trio of maids and wiggled in excitement to return to them.
“Traitor.” She released him with a heavy sigh, then turned and glared at the three young women. “If anything happens to him, I promise you will regret it.”
In unison, they curtsied low. The tallest one, with a sprinkling of silvery freckles across her nose and cheeks, stepped forward. “We will not fail ye, mistress. Not ever.”
The aching knot in Calia’s chest tightened as she watched them lead her only friend in the world away. She wanted to cry. Mainly because she was so damn angry, but also because she felt absolutely helpless, a feeling she hated with all her being.
“Come, lass,” Mathison said with a gentleness that irritated her even more. “Mynlis will have brought yer tea to yer room by now.” He offered his arm as if intending to escort her there as though she were royalty.
She ignored his offer, striding past him in the direction of her room, only slowing enough to recover her robe and slippers. Once inside the bit of space that felt like the only sanctuary left to her, she tossed her things onto the bed and went to the door to her private bathroom. She pulled it open only to find a solid stone wall instead of the cluttered little cubbyhole housing her toilet, sink, and corner shower.
“What did you do with my bathroom?” She stared at the wall, willing it to disappear and return her private space she’d intended to renovate once she’d fully settled and saved a little money.
