“If you won’t dance with me, give me a kiss,” he said.
She could kiss him. No one would ever know, and Ned wouldn’t remember. Susannah could pretend he was someone else, someone with a bigger nose and eyes the color of rime.
“C’mon, Miriam. Kiss me.”
Thank God. Thank God Ned had reminded her he had a wife. Not that she’d truly forgotten, but she’d wickedly wanted to pretend, and she’d promised herself she’d never do such a thing again.
Miriam was, at this moment, almost certainly up to her neck in revelers at The Swan, filling tankards as fast as possible and wondering where her good-for-nothing husband had gotten to.
“Sweet girl.” Ned nuzzled just below Susannah’s ear.
“Stop.” She hunched up her shoulder and pushed his face away from her neck. “Get out of the lane.” She led Ned away from the cottage. “Now, lie down here.”
She meant to lower him to the ground, but he pulled away and threw himself down in the boneless, careless way thatcame with drink. He’d have both a sore head and a sore backside in the morning. Good. He deserved it.
Maybe shewascruel.
He reached for her. “You come down here, too, sweetness.”
“No, I’m going to go get Beramo and the cart and take you home.”
His lower lip stuck out, and he turned petulant. “You used to like a frolic, Susu. What happened to you?”
You, she wanted to say.You happened to me.
But that wasn’t fair. She couldn’t go around blaming her life on Ned Greenway, a boy-man who had never promised her anything, never pretended to be anything more than a charming, good-looking layabout. That would be like blaming Mother for falling ill and dying. Or Father for being Father.
“Stay there,” she said sternly and went to hitch the horse to the cart.
Ned had fallen asleep by the time she brought the cart around to the lane. She had to prod at him with the toe of her boot, and he groaned as she pulled him to his feet and pushed him into the cart, but he didn’t try to fondle her again. And he didn’t vomit in the back of the cart as she drove to Much Wemby, feeling doubly lucky because she didn’t pass a single person on the way. Everyone was on the green, and Susannah was careful to avoid the main part of the village after the cart crossed the bridge. But now she could hear the music, and her toes tapped out the steps of a country dance.
But her luck came to an end round the back of The Swan. The kitchen door was propped open, and light was pouring out. By this time of night, the kitchen would usually be dark and the ovens cooling, but dancing on the green encouraged both a thirst for ale and an appetite for The Swan’s pies, and the fête was a chance to do good business, and Miriam would never pass up good business.
Should she turn the cart around and take Ned through the front? Or go through the kitchen and risk the ire of The Swan’s cook?
The cook was Celia, Ned and Miriam’s daughter, and Celia didn’t like Susannah. Understandably. It was too bad Susannah couldn’t go to Celia and explain the truth—that Celia’s father was just a silly fool who imagined some kind of fondness for Susannah, but there was nothing to worry about because Susannah would never knowingly be part of hurting Miriam.
But Susannah couldn’t say that. She was tickle-headed, but she knew saying that wouldn’t help anyone. And if she started down the road of truthfulness, she might go on and tell Celia how much she wanted Celia to like her, Susannah, because Celia might have been Susannah’s daughter if things had been different.
No, no, no, never, never, never, don’t, don’t, don’t.She must not allow herself even to think such a thing. Susannah could never have produced a daughter as pretty or as prudent as Celia. Celia was Ned and Miriam’s daughter, through and through.
But going round the front with Ned was out of the question. It would embarrass Miriam in front of the whole village. Susannah would just have to brave Celia or hope against hope that Miriam was cooking and Celia was serving in the pub. She crept to the kitchen door and peered around the jamb.
Oh, fum-foe-fee. A flushed Celia was rolling out pastry with masterful strokes and?—
“Arp!”
The sound came out of Susannah before she could stop it. The huge man in his shirtsleeves and an apron, his arms deep in a tub of soapy water, was her brother.
Dando and Celia had both looked up at Susannah’s yelp. Celia frowned. Dando nodded and said, “Susannah.”
What was going on? Well, she couldn’t puzzle this out quickly, not at the moment, and they’d both seen her now.
Susannah stepped into the warmth of the kitchen. “Your father. I mean, that is, he’s a little pot-shotten. I have him in the back of the cart.”
Dando took his arms out of the tub of suds and wiped his hands dry with a cloth. Celia snorted but didn’t say anything.
“Should I go tell your mother?” Susannah’s eyes went back and forth between Celia and Dando.
