A Captive of Wing and Feather A Retelling of Swan Lake - Melanie Cellier Page 0,28

one of those woodsmen. He came into town with several nasty wounds—says he barely got away with his life and is swearing up and down that he won’t return to the woods for anything.”

The first stirring of genuine fear for my own safety uncurled in my stomach. I shivered. Both Ash and Cora turned to look at me, and I managed to summon a smile for them. I didn’t suspect the housekeeper of making up the story, but it was possible she had exaggerated it. Possible also that the woodsman had been injured in some normal way—none knew better than us that felling trees wasn’t the safest way to earn a livelihood. Perhaps the two stories had become merged at some point.

Still, I couldn’t entirely shake the feeling of unease. How much help could a wedge of swans be against a pack of wolves or a bear? My enchanted lake might keep me safe at night, but I still had to walk there and back each day.

But no matter how much I disliked it, my only other option was to remain at the lake and never come to the town at all, and that was out of the question. So there was nothing to be done except to thank Ash again for his concern, try to avoid Cora and her newfound anxiety, and do my best to keep my thoughts away from the sort of wounds a wolf might inflict on a woodsman.

All of which was quite enough to keep my mind busy without the added layer of tense alert as I waited for Gabe. Every sound made me twitch and look to the door. It was going to be a long day.

Chapter 9

I fled the kitchen before lunch had even begun—offering to take the trolley full of food trays to the wing that housed the more elderly residents. I had too much stress of my own today to cope with Cora’s gaze lingering on me wherever I went, the slight crease between her eyes telling me that she was trying to decide if it was worth raising the issue of the forest with me.

She hadn’t tried to talk me into spending my nights at the haven for at least eighteen months, and it would be the worst of timing for her to start again now.

The large sitting room shared by the older haven residents had none of the buzz of the kitchen or the chaos of the opposite wing which held the schoolroom and the children. Some of the calm sank into me, taking the edge off my tension. As I handed out the meals, I smiled and greeted each person. Most of them were women, and most of them had knitting or crochet to lay down at my approach. They kept themselves busy supplying clothing and blankets for the children.

One lady, however, had no such gainful occupation in her hands. Instead she rested them on her hips as she stood over the largest and plushest armchair in the room. Her eyes were narrowed as she stared down at the chair’s occupant.

“Don’t you give me any of that nonsense, Gregor,” Vilma said. “No one has taken your favorite cushion.” She grinned triumphantly. “I saw you with my own eyes. You hid it behind that potted plant. Wanted something to complain about, no doubt. I daresay you’re planning to get Lady in here to fuss over you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Gregor, but his guilty eyes slid over to the plant in question where a corner of blue plush could indeed be seen.

“Ha! I know your tricks.” Vilma laughed suddenly. “And a good thing, too, because no doubt you’d forget you ever put it there and then it would be missing for a week.”

Gregor stared at her for a moment before letting out a rough bark of laughter.

“Ah, right you are, lass,” he said. “No doubt I would. Which is why I need you around to keep me straight.”

I left their food on the trolley and slipped over to retrieve the cushion in question. When I approached them, holding it out, both of their faces lit up.

“Ah, Lady!” Gregor leaned forward, inviting me to place the cushion behind his back.

When I did so, Vilma shook her head.

“You spoil him, Lady dear.” Her tone was affectionate rather than accusing, and I smiled back at her.

When I turned to get their trays, she took over from me, adjusting Gregor’s cushion with hands that were still gentle despite their age.