Chapter 9 #3
Once she had finished talking, Siaspar got up without a word and walked over to the fireplace. Before Katherine had time to wonder what he was doing, he threw the piece of parchment into the flames.
Shock pinned her in place. “You—”
“Forgive me,” he said, though there was nothing apologetic in the stare he gave her.
“But I cannot believe that after receiving happy news from your family, and considering how you procured their salvation, you would want to respond with such a bland message.” He walked back to the table and took up his quill again.
“Now. What did you really want to tell them? If you feel too uncomfortable dictating to me, I will summon my clerk.”
Tears welled up in her eyes at his patience and thoughtfulness.
“No. I’m sorry… You’re right. Only, I do not want to waste your time.”
“If you force me to write uninspiring letters that end up in the fire, you certainly are wasting my time, so you had better start dictating the real one,” he said roundly.
“Not to mention that I have now selected a good piece of parchment, which I would hate to spoil. The one I used before had been scratched many times over and was almost transparent. I had a feeling it would end up in the fire.”
Faced with this whimsical, generous, smiling man, Katherine wondered how his wife could think him forbidding and sullen.
Then she reflected that, on the few occasions she had seen the two of them together, he had indeed seemed cold and unyielding.
But he was different with her, he indulged her when she was certain anyone else would have sent her back to the kitchen once the letter had been read—or more to the point, berated her for daring to shirk her work.
She owed it to him to at least try to do what she had been brought up here to do.
“I will do my best.”
“Good. Don’t look at me,” he suggested. “Go to the window, I think it will be easier. Look at the landscape and imagine what you would tell your family if they were here with you.”
This was a good idea. With her gaze on the sea in the distance and the cool spring breeze caressing her face, Katherine started to speak.
When she imagined her family huddled around the hearth to talk about her, her heart filled with both love and despair.
When would she see them again? Were they thinking of her?
What did little James look like? Was everyone well? Who was repairing Harry’s shirts?
After a while, she stopped and turned to Siaspar. How long had she been talking? Too long, probably.
“I’m sorry,” she said, mortified to have taken so much of his time. “I fear I got a bit carried away.”
“Don’t be sorry. I forced you to write another letter, so I only have myself to blame. At least this one will not end up in the flames.”
“No. Thank you.”
Siaspar gave Katherine a long, level stare.
He knew that from this day onward, he would never again think of her as a schemer.
She was just a good person who had been forced into an impossible situation.
There had been such warmth in her voice, such love when she had talked about these people she had been forced to leave, that he could not help but see her differently.
Never a man to be easily impressed, he had been moved.
Imagining the pleasure her letter would give her family when they received it had made the enterprise even more rewarding.
He got up and folded the parchment neatly.
“My man will have this delivered to your father if you instruct him where to find the cottage. Go see him at the barbican. He speaks some English, enough to understand your instructions.”
He handed her the letter, which she took with a shy smile.
“I don’t know how to thank you, my lord.”
“Then don’t,” Siaspar answered simply. “Consider this as compensation for what you had to go through since you joined Lady Malpas’ employ.”
He gritted his teeth, because one of her tormentors was none other than himself. Then he remembered something she had said.
“You mentioned that you had been hired to be a chamberer. Yet you work in the kitchen. How is that?
Had she been given the role of scullion as a punishment for her defiance?
“That was the understanding, as I am quite gifted with the needle. But then the day we arrived, I was ordered to report to the kitchen. I think Lady Malpas meant to keep me out of the way so that no one, least of all you, could ever see us together and remark on our resemblance.”
Of course. Why would the master of the castle ever set eyes on a little scullion covered in grease, except in passing?
“I gather that you would have preferred the position of chamberer?”
She looked at her hands, which bore the traces of her hard work and shrugged. “Yes. But I do not see that it will ever happen. Please do not concern yourself. As a scullion, I still earn money to help my family. That is all that matters.”
He looked at her steadily for a moment. It was not all that mattered to him. This woman had been wronged, by none other than his wife, and he was the master of Castell y Ddraig. As such, it was his responsibility to address the situation.
“If you will excuse me.”
With those words, he left the room.