Spindle and Dagger - J. Anderson Coats Page 0,46
spot-scrubbed so it’s bluer than ever, and someone hung it on the garment rod so nothing chewed it up during the night.
“You’ll be all right, sweeting?” Owain is struggling into his tunic. “I’m off to find Einion and Rhys, for I cannot bear to spend — rot it to hell.”
Niall stands outside the door that opens to the courtyard, trying not to look in too purposefully or intently. I gather he’s been waiting on Owain, that there’s a new water mill nearby he’s keen to show off. It’s half a day’s ride just to get there, and there’s a lovely monastery on the way where they keep annals. Niall chatters brightly and draws curlicue shapes in the air, mimicking illumination, and Owain bares that warband smile this lad doesn’t know to fear.
“I’ll be fine,” I tell him. “Off you go. We mustn’t be rude.”
Owain muffles a groan but kisses me farewell. Niall looks away, pinkening, so Owain takes his sweet time and paws me up and down for good measure. When they finally do clatter out, I shoulder my rucksack, put on my new shoes, admire the stitching and the color and the dyework, then head to the maidens’ quarters, where Nest has been given a bed.
No one answers my knock, so I let myself in. There are two rows of pallets with an aisle between them, and all are neatly made up and empty but for one near the door where Nest lies still and silent beneath a pile of blankets.
I hurry to her side. “Saints, are you all right?”
“Just tired.” Nest doesn’t turn to look at me, only pulls the covers more tightly around her neck.
Tired. My mother said that all the time when she was expecting Miv. “Ah . . . can I bring you something?”
“No. Thank you. I just want to rest. I’m sure it’s merely the journey catching up with me. I’ll be fine on the morrow.”
“Very well.” I wait, though. A moment, then another, in case she wants to say more. In case she wants to change her mind, because if she doesn’t, I’ll be without the one person who can help me be here.
But Nest stays still, eerily so, and at length I leave and shut the door firmly behind me. Outside, I lean against the wall of the maidens’ quarters and press both hands over my eyes. I do not often trouble Saint Elen with prayers. Asking for more than I’ve been given is as bad as putting words in her mouth. Mostly what I do is thank her. This prayer’s not for me, though. This one she is sure to look on kindly.
Please keep Nest from harm. All harm. Especially this harm.
I rock wearily away from the wall. Aoife and Gormlaith will be expecting me to pass the day with them. Nest being at my elbow would help, but they are waiting for the wife of Owain ap Cadwgan, not her. I smooth my skirts and make my way across the yard.
Aoife and Gormlaith are spinning when I edge close to the hearth. There’s already a space on the bench for me. They look genuinely sorry when I tell them with gestures that Nest isn’t feeling well, but they smile when I sit down with my rucksack. While we work, they teach me to say things in Irish. They giggle when I get words wrong, but not in a cruel way, and they squeal and clap when I say things properly, so I enjoy the learning as much as the knowing.
The cat saunters around my feet all morning, but by late afternoon, he perches imperiously on my lap with paws and tail tucked under so he looks like a loaf of fur. I start working on Margred’s toy dog instead of spinning so I don’t disturb his careful pose. If you bother this cat in any way, he sinks hidden claws into your leg, but he won’t jump down till he’s good and ready.
IT’S SUNNY AFTER A SE’ENNIGHT OF DOWNPOUR. There’s no way I can spend another day indoors. Aoife and Gormlaith agree. They’ve already got baskets packed, and they point to the gate and the green countryside beyond. I wave them ahead, shouldering my rucksack. If ever there was a day sure to coax Nest from her stuffy little corner of the maidens’ quarters, it would be this one.
The door to the maidens’ quarters is open, and as I near, a graybeard in rich robes the color of good claret