I hoisted my basket higher on my hip, eying the village folk around us. None seemed to be paying attention, but that hardly mattered where Glenna Baker was concerned. She were a prattling giglet of a girl, and word of my encounter with Thomas would be out by nightfall, if I knew Glenna.
“He only caught my basket, as any gentleman would,” I told her. “I dropped it while trying to catch my skirts. ’Tis such a windy day.” Though of course now the air was completely still. I wondered again if some tricksy sylph had been making merry before.
Glenna took the dough from my basket, kneading it a few times before laying it out on the rough paddle, the peel, and sliding it into the masonry oven. “The wind, eh? That must be why your cheeks are red.”
And getting redder by the moment, I’d warrant. I avoided her gaze as I counted out my coin. I despised these mortal tells, how the words of humankind could hide multitudes, but their feeble flesh never hid the truth.
Glenna pulled me to one side, letting her younger brother take over the oven. There was something about her then, a wafting scent sweeter than the bread now baking, one I could not put a name to. “Niver fear,” she said, as if we were bosom friends and not reluctant acquaintances. “I’ll tell no one your secret.”
“My what?” My mind flew to Faery, and the flesh I wore beneath Bess’s skin.
Glenna nudged me with an elbow. “Your secret sweeting, silly.” She smirked, bright-eyed. “For I have me one and all.”
“Do you?” I was not surprised. Glenna had a different swain every week. She and I were of an age, old to remain unwed, but Glenna at least had her share of admirers. Her figure was neat, her skin clear and milky; she’d a riotous mane of auburn curls. ’Twas her father, Rufus Baker, who kept these admirers from turning proper suitors. He’d been pilloried twice already for selling underweight bread, and his tongue could be sharp as a rod on bare skin. No young man wanted such a father-in-law. Yet it had never stopped Glenna from having her fun.
Would that I could ever have such fun!My girlhood had been spent caring for my house, and my sick not-mother; I had not even a moment’s pleasure on the saints’ days or at local fairs. Then again, no young man had ever looked at me the way they did at Glenna, not until the shepherd came around.
I recalled the brush of his fingers at my throat, and a thrill spread throughout my entire body.
Glenna stared into the distance, dreamily twisting her apron in her hands. “Oh, and you should have seen him, Bess! The finest man I ever did see. Strong and hale like a knight from a story, with the face of an angel, but the Devil’s own mischief in his eyes.”
Many a youth looked upon Glenna Baker with the Devil’s mischief in his eyes. “Was he now?” I said dryly. “I suppose next you’ll be telling me he had all his teeth.”
“He did!” Glenna exclaimed. “Sharp and gleaming like little pearls. And he were dressed all in green, like unto an elf lord. So handsome he was, I even called him that.” She sighed full long. “If only I might see him ever again.”
Her words caught like a dry crust of bread in my throat.
A besotted lass will often brag of her suitor’s good looks, referring to him as an ancient god, elf lord, or shining knight out of a minstrel’s tale. ’Tis simple exaggeration, nothing more. But the gleam in Glenna’s eyes seemed feverish to me now, her words pouring out not from enthusiasm alone, but almost—dare I say it—from fear. “Never again will I see his like on earth.” Her hand dropped to her belly, then fell quickly away.
I misliked her words; the telltale hand at her belly, and the sweet aroma wafting from her, spring blossoms and ripening fruit. My tongue went dry, and I croaked out, “And his name?”
She made no response but a deep, yearning sigh.
No name.Of course, no name. We do not hand them out willy-nilly among the fae.
“You met this elf lord when and where?” My tongue had gone sharp, like a fishwife’s.
“’Twas Imbolc,” Glenna said distantly. “As chill as Satan’s bathhouse. And yet standing beside him, by the well at Carterhaugh, it felt to me like the heart of summer. And when he touched me, a rosy flame burned beneath my skin.”
Imbolc.
When the Veil lay open between Faery and the mortal realm, though I chose not to pass through. It did not mean no tricksy wights had come through from the other side.
One of them had seduced Glenna Baker. He was responsible for both her current distraction and for the scent of fecundity upon her.
Glenna Baker was with child.
“You carry the elf lord’s child,” I said to Glenna.
She pulled me further away from the crowd, where her brother and father might not overhear. “I only call him that.” She rolled her eyes and laughed too high. “I am sure he is naught but a wandering tinker, for all his elegant clothes.”
Neither elf lord nor wandering tinker would likely give the child his name.
“It matters not,” I said quietly. “You carry his child.”
Glenna lightly slapped my arm, as if I had made some outrageous jest.
Then she lowered her voice. “You cannot say that. There’s no way you could know. ’Tis only a fortnight since I should have...” She trailed off, unable to finish what she had been about to say.
