“But Morven—”
It was no use. She ran from me, scurrying to clean the cobwebs from the rafters, and even my fae vision struggled to find her there.
Nine
And so, while living inEamon Grieve’s household, I did follow in Mairi Grieve’s footsteps, just what he had told me not to do.
The next time I took my bread to the common oven, I measured out a bit of crushed pennyroyal into a square of parchment, folded it carefully, and tucked it into my bodice. Once I had given it to her, Glenna Baker would need to brew it up and take it. She would endure soreness, cramping, and bleeding, which she should see me for if it became too much, that I might treat her with yarrow leaf or other remedies. Under no circumstances could she allow others to ingest it, for pennyroyal can expel the contents of the belly, cause cramping, confusion, or even death.
Bearing this knowledge inside me was like wearing mortality against my skin.
I did not want anyone in the Baker household, not even sour Rufus himself, to suffer and die. Knowing the pain Glenna herself might be in for was bad enough, though of course she would also know pain if she bore the child. It is a woman’s lot to bear, or so the priest had said. Mairi and I had strong opinions about that.
But when I brought my dough to the common oven, Glenna was not there. A young lad around ten or so helped me, who had her same soft brown eyes and auburn curls. He must be her younger brother Rory, whom Mairi Grieve had safely delivered. If onlyhismother had survived as well.
“May I help ye, mistress?” the lad said, eyes eager, and his skinny chest puffed out with pride.
I passed my bread dough to him, keeping the pennyroyal tucked inside my kirtle. For discretion’s sake, I had determined I would give the crushed herbs and directions how to prepare it only to Glenna herself. Others could not know of her hidden shame.
I kept my tone light as I asked the boy. “Is your sister not helping today?”
“I am old enough to,” the lad protested. “Father says ’tis time I learn the family business. It’s not Glenna who will take over for him when he is dead.” Then he lowered his head and made a sign of the cross before his chest.
I recoiled, nauseated by his gesture, and put up my hands. “Easy, lad. I meant ye no disrespect. I am sure you will be a fine baker in your own time.” He might already have his father’s temperament, judging from that small display.
But the boy grinned sheepishly, an auburn curl dangling in front of his eye. “Oh. You were only asking after your friend.”
“Yes.” The word came out slowly, and I tasted it like an unfamiliar fruit. It did not choke me.
It must not be a lie.
After all this time, Glenna Baker could be my friend. I had not had one before, unless Morven counted.
I was not always certain Morven counted.
The boy furrowed his brow. “Glenna has taken poorly—every morning this week. Sometimes she comes out to help later in the day, but my father is still furious. We need her help most in the early hours, to get the baking started and when most of the custom comes.” From the slight protuberance of his lower lip, I could tell he was bearing the brunt of it, that Glenna could not work.
“I see.” This was not good. The lad spoke with great innocence, but Rufus Baker had fathered two bairns. Like as not, he recognized the illness taking Glenna in the morning hours only, or at least had his suspicions. We did not want him to have his suspicions, not if this plan was to work.
“Perhaps I might pay her a visit,” I suggested. “To see how she is getting on?”
“Oh no, mistress. We wouldna want ye catching it, too.” The lad swept an arm across his forehead. “Even I am a bit peaked and all. Mayhap I have it as well.”
Not possible, I thought, but could not let on what I knew. “I certainly hope not,” I told him. “Perhaps I will see her next week, then.” And I bid him adieu.
But the next week when I went to the oven, Glenna was not there either. I again made polite conversation with her brother, but he seemed oddly subdued. I did hope he hadn’t taken ill after all. I suspected there was another cause for his reticence. Hanging back, with his heavy brows lowered over his hook of a nose, Rufus Baker scanned the assembled crowd with disapproval, particularly me. His glare was so strong it might have peeled my human skin off. I became flustered and forgot to ask after Glenna, nearly leaving my bread behind. When the lad caught my arm and gave it to me, I spun around so fast I ran into Thomas Shepherd.
He caught me by the shoulders, laughing brightly. “Good morrow to you, Lady Wood Nymph. For are you not a vision in green yet again.”
Good morrow, Shepherd King,were the words pressing against my lips, but I did not say them. Though I felt steadied by his strong hands, I itched to depart. “Good morrow, Master Shepherd.”
“Here now, what’s this? I thought us better friends than that.” His hand came under my chin, raising it so my eyes met his own. “Is something amiss?”
I wished it wasn’t. I wished I dared to linger with this handsome man who addressed me with genuine concern. Whose eyes were like a stormy sky but whose manner was ever sunny, whose words brought heat to my cheeks, and whose touch stirred the lusty fae inside me, passion rushing like a river through my veins. But the packet of pennyroyal pressed against my bosom, recalling me to my purpose.
“I have not seen Glenna Baker in a fortnight,” I said quietly. “I knew she was feeling poorly, but now—”
“Now Rufus Baker watches like a farmer minding the henhouse—when the fox has already got inside.” Thomas took my elbow and pulled me aside. “He willna let her out of the house, and snaps at any man who might even once have looked her way.”
