and he ignored it yet again! He has gone and made a ruin of it, not to mention how much he has set back my work!”
Quilla had thought she’d seen Gabriel angry, but no harsh words could compare to the fury on his face as he paced back and forth. If Gabriel had been a storm, he’d have had lightning sparking from his every step and thunder booming with his words.
Saradin sneered. “Your work. Oh, yes. Your precious work.”
“My work that provides you with those pretty dresses you wear, and the food you eat.”
His voice dipped low. Dangerous. Shouting would have been less ominous, but Saradin either did not notice or did not care.
Dane peeked around from behind his mother, though she tried to push him back. His bravery touched Quilla’s heart, for facing his father’s wrath had to be daunting.
“I wanted to see the animals,” he said. “I’m sorry, Papa. I wanted to see the animals you keep in cages.”
“And you needed to stop and mess with the soot bucket on the way?” Gabriel fixed his gaze on the little boy’s. “I found ash strewn all over my floor. Black handprints on my walls and on my chair. I found ink spilled on my desk, Dane! My notes have been ruined!”
Dane’s lower lip quivered. “I’m sorry, Papa.”
“My workshop is not a playground.”
Quilla watched Gabriel interacting with his son, and something else became clear to her. He meant to forgive the boy.
Saradin ruined it in the next moment. “You leave him alone, Gabriel. He’s a lad!”
Gabriel looked at her. “He has done wrong and needs to be punished.”
“No! You will not! I will not allow it!”
Dane seemed better able to accept his fate than his mother, for the lad stepped forward, only to be yanked back by her hand.
“Mama—”
“No.” Saradin tossed her head and fixed Gabriel with a glare of contempt. “He won’t touch you.”
The woman played a game. A power game. For what prize?
“Dane, come here.”
Saradin kept her grip on him, tight. Quilla felt someone brush against her, and she turned to find Florentine watching also from the shadow of the arch. The chatelaine shook her head.
“Such drama.”
“The boy made a mess in his father’s workspace, so I gather.”
“And the mother will not hear of him being taken to task for it.” Florentine shook her head again.
“You have seen this played before?”
“Oh, and aye.” Florentine shrugged. “Watch her.”
“He will be punished, Saradin. Do not defy me on this.”
“You won’t touch him!”
“And here it comes,” murmured Florentine.
Saradin put a hand over her heart and staggered, eyes fluttering. The performance smacked of exaggeration to Quilla, but Dane reacted as any small boy would at the sight of his mother seemingly in pain. He cried out and ran to put an arm around her waist.
“Now they ring for Allora Walles.”
“I need Allora,” gasped Mistress Delessan, sinking onto the bench along the wall.
Whatever else one might say about Allora, Quilla thought, she knew her mistress, for she appeared almost before the words had left Saradin’s lips. The maid put her arm around Saradin’s other side.
Gabriel watched the scene without expression, and Quilla watched Gabriel. Guilt made him indulgent, she had seen that already. Now she saw something else. Love made him tolerant. Guilt and love, all tied together so he likely knew not the difference between them any longer.
And she understood him a bit better.
He turned on his heel and went up the stairs, leaving his weeping son and prevaricating wife behind. Quilla followed, reaching his rooms mere seconds after he did. The sound of crashing and cursing reached her before she got through the door.
She found him standing in the middle of the room, fists clenched, staring at the destruction one small boy had made and which had been made just a bit worse by his father.
“ ’Tis not so terrible,” Quilla said as she came up behind him. “Nothing a bucket and mop can’t
Quilla had thought she’d seen Gabriel angry, but no harsh words could compare to the fury on his face as he paced back and forth. If Gabriel had been a storm, he’d have had lightning sparking from his every step and thunder booming with his words.
Saradin sneered. “Your work. Oh, yes. Your precious work.”
“My work that provides you with those pretty dresses you wear, and the food you eat.”
His voice dipped low. Dangerous. Shouting would have been less ominous, but Saradin either did not notice or did not care.
Dane peeked around from behind his mother, though she tried to push him back. His bravery touched Quilla’s heart, for facing his father’s wrath had to be daunting.
“I wanted to see the animals,” he said. “I’m sorry, Papa. I wanted to see the animals you keep in cages.”
“And you needed to stop and mess with the soot bucket on the way?” Gabriel fixed his gaze on the little boy’s. “I found ash strewn all over my floor. Black handprints on my walls and on my chair. I found ink spilled on my desk, Dane! My notes have been ruined!”
Dane’s lower lip quivered. “I’m sorry, Papa.”
“My workshop is not a playground.”
Quilla watched Gabriel interacting with his son, and something else became clear to her. He meant to forgive the boy.
Saradin ruined it in the next moment. “You leave him alone, Gabriel. He’s a lad!”
Gabriel looked at her. “He has done wrong and needs to be punished.”
“No! You will not! I will not allow it!”
Dane seemed better able to accept his fate than his mother, for the lad stepped forward, only to be yanked back by her hand.
“Mama—”
“No.” Saradin tossed her head and fixed Gabriel with a glare of contempt. “He won’t touch you.”
The woman played a game. A power game. For what prize?
“Dane, come here.”
Saradin kept her grip on him, tight. Quilla felt someone brush against her, and she turned to find Florentine watching also from the shadow of the arch. The chatelaine shook her head.
“Such drama.”
“The boy made a mess in his father’s workspace, so I gather.”
“And the mother will not hear of him being taken to task for it.” Florentine shook her head again.
“You have seen this played before?”
“Oh, and aye.” Florentine shrugged. “Watch her.”
“He will be punished, Saradin. Do not defy me on this.”
“You won’t touch him!”
“And here it comes,” murmured Florentine.
Saradin put a hand over her heart and staggered, eyes fluttering. The performance smacked of exaggeration to Quilla, but Dane reacted as any small boy would at the sight of his mother seemingly in pain. He cried out and ran to put an arm around her waist.
“Now they ring for Allora Walles.”
“I need Allora,” gasped Mistress Delessan, sinking onto the bench along the wall.
Whatever else one might say about Allora, Quilla thought, she knew her mistress, for she appeared almost before the words had left Saradin’s lips. The maid put her arm around Saradin’s other side.
Gabriel watched the scene without expression, and Quilla watched Gabriel. Guilt made him indulgent, she had seen that already. Now she saw something else. Love made him tolerant. Guilt and love, all tied together so he likely knew not the difference between them any longer.
And she understood him a bit better.
He turned on his heel and went up the stairs, leaving his weeping son and prevaricating wife behind. Quilla followed, reaching his rooms mere seconds after he did. The sound of crashing and cursing reached her before she got through the door.
She found him standing in the middle of the room, fists clenched, staring at the destruction one small boy had made and which had been made just a bit worse by his father.
“ ’Tis not so terrible,” Quilla said as she came up behind him. “Nothing a bucket and mop can’t
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