every leaf of plantain and drop of cordial as if
she and not Ariella had been the one who'd gathered and produced the remedies
kept in the still- room. I could
understand her attitude if she'd been the one working all winter distilling
essences and blending tinctures— but surely if I made these things, I should be
allowed to decide to use them!
Ariella sighed again, this time deeply, as
she slipped through the tangle of bushes and briars as easily as a bit of mist,
rarely catching so much as a thread of her skirt on a thorn. But after all, she
had plenty of practice to learn to move so surely here. That was one thing that
Magda could never say, that she was clumsy.
Bringing Magda here to take charge over her
had been her father's idea, and a poor one Ariella thought it was. She guessed
that it had been in response to that minstrel's distasteful interest not long
after she'd turned twelve when her shape had taken on strange new curves and
she'd outgrown the bodices of her gowns almost overnight. He'd only tried to
kiss her hand, for heaven's sake! Oh, and he'd made moon-calf eyes at her, and
sung love-songs at her, but that was hardly anything to fret over. I haven't needed a nursemaid since
I was four, and I don't need one now, Ariella thought
rebelliously, passing crab- wise between two close-growing trees and coming out
on a deer-trail. As if I
couldn't take care of myself with a cheeky mountebank! Aye, or anyone else, for that matter! She knew she'd only to whistle
anywhere on the Manor grounds, and no matter where they were , her father's pack of mastiffs would come running to her side, ready to defend
her against all threats. Why, not even an armored knight would take his chances
against six full-grown mastiffs, much less a silly singer! And for all that she
was slender and willow-slim, she was strong, and not the kind of swooning simpleton
who wouldn't be willing to pick up a poker or a dagger and defend herself, if
it came to that.
Her father's supposed reason for calling
his aged cousin Magda out of her retirement in a convent to chaperone his
daughter was that he wanted her to learn "manners" and be more
"ladylike." Why he should wish such a thing, Ariella had no idea, for
she knew as certainly as she knew the sun would rise each day that her Papa had
no intention of giving her up in marriage to anyone, no matter how highborn—and
she was in full agreement with his plans. Why, how could she ever leave this
place, when there was so much that needed tending, her Papa not the least? She
had long since learned all there was to know about the proper management of
Swan Manor, although since the hiring of the new major domo, there was
precious little management she needed to deal with.
If
only she could persuade him to send silly Magda away again, she would be
perfectly content in every way. I
have the Abbey library, I have Papa, and I have the forest. What more could
anyone need? Oh, she'd heard enough ballads and tales from
minstrels and bards to know how a young maiden was supposed to spend her
days—dreaming of a romance, sighing after love, waiting for a husband. She
didn't have the words to express how much of a waste of time that seemed to
her.
She
realized that she was all bound up in her annoyance and growing angry, and she
stopped dead in her tracks, then, right in the middle of the game-trail. I have to stop this, she scolded herself. I'm going
to frighten them off.
She closed her eyes and cleared her mind,
concentrating on the moment and nothing more.
First, the scent of the forest, green and
cool, with hints of resin and a waft of old, dead
leaves. Then the feel of the trail beneath her feet, soft
with leaf-litter. Last, the sounds all around her, the songs of larks
and starlings, the chirp of sparrows, the calling of crows and rooks, the trill
of wrens, the chattering of squirrels—the rustle of leaves in the breeze—the
creak of branches and the snapping of twigs.
When she felt calm and at peace,
she and not Ariella had been the one who'd gathered and produced the remedies
kept in the still- room. I could
understand her attitude if she'd been the one working all winter distilling
essences and blending tinctures— but surely if I made these things, I should be
allowed to decide to use them!
Ariella sighed again, this time deeply, as
she slipped through the tangle of bushes and briars as easily as a bit of mist,
rarely catching so much as a thread of her skirt on a thorn. But after all, she
had plenty of practice to learn to move so surely here. That was one thing that
Magda could never say, that she was clumsy.
Bringing Magda here to take charge over her
had been her father's idea, and a poor one Ariella thought it was. She guessed
that it had been in response to that minstrel's distasteful interest not long
after she'd turned twelve when her shape had taken on strange new curves and
she'd outgrown the bodices of her gowns almost overnight. He'd only tried to
kiss her hand, for heaven's sake! Oh, and he'd made moon-calf eyes at her, and
sung love-songs at her, but that was hardly anything to fret over. I haven't needed a nursemaid since
I was four, and I don't need one now, Ariella thought
rebelliously, passing crab- wise between two close-growing trees and coming out
on a deer-trail. As if I
couldn't take care of myself with a cheeky mountebank! Aye, or anyone else, for that matter! She knew she'd only to whistle
anywhere on the Manor grounds, and no matter where they were , her father's pack of mastiffs would come running to her side, ready to defend
her against all threats. Why, not even an armored knight would take his chances
against six full-grown mastiffs, much less a silly singer! And for all that she
was slender and willow-slim, she was strong, and not the kind of swooning simpleton
who wouldn't be willing to pick up a poker or a dagger and defend herself, if
it came to that.
Her father's supposed reason for calling
his aged cousin Magda out of her retirement in a convent to chaperone his
daughter was that he wanted her to learn "manners" and be more
"ladylike." Why he should wish such a thing, Ariella had no idea, for
she knew as certainly as she knew the sun would rise each day that her Papa had
no intention of giving her up in marriage to anyone, no matter how highborn—and
she was in full agreement with his plans. Why, how could she ever leave this
place, when there was so much that needed tending, her Papa not the least? She
had long since learned all there was to know about the proper management of
Swan Manor, although since the hiring of the new major domo, there was
precious little management she needed to deal with.
If
only she could persuade him to send silly Magda away again, she would be
perfectly content in every way. I
have the Abbey library, I have Papa, and I have the forest. What more could
anyone need? Oh, she'd heard enough ballads and tales from
minstrels and bards to know how a young maiden was supposed to spend her
days—dreaming of a romance, sighing after love, waiting for a husband. She
didn't have the words to express how much of a waste of time that seemed to
her.
She
realized that she was all bound up in her annoyance and growing angry, and she
stopped dead in her tracks, then, right in the middle of the game-trail. I have to stop this, she scolded herself. I'm going
to frighten them off.
She closed her eyes and cleared her mind,
concentrating on the moment and nothing more.
First, the scent of the forest, green and
cool, with hints of resin and a waft of old, dead
leaves. Then the feel of the trail beneath her feet, soft
with leaf-litter. Last, the sounds all around her, the songs of larks
and starlings, the chirp of sparrows, the calling of crows and rooks, the trill
of wrens, the chattering of squirrels—the rustle of leaves in the breeze—the
creak of branches and the snapping of twigs.
When she felt calm and at peace,
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