Chapter 9
Nine
And so, while living in Eamon Grieve’s household, I did follow in Mairi Grieve’s footsteps, just what he had told me not to do.
The next time I took my bread to the common oven, I measured out a bit of crushed pennyroyal into a square of parchment, folded it carefully, and tucked it into my bodice.
Once I had given it to her, Glenna Baker would need to brew it up and take it.
She would endure soreness, cramping, and bleeding, which she should see me for if it became too much, that I might treat her with yarrow leaf or other remedies.
Under no circumstances could she allow others to ingest it, for pennyroyal can expel the contents of the belly, cause cramping, confusion, or even death.
Bearing this knowledge inside me was like wearing mortality against my skin.
I did not want anyone in the Baker household, not even sour Rufus himself, to suffer and die.
Knowing the pain Glenna herself might be in for was bad enough, though of course she would also know pain if she bore the child.
It is a woman’s lot to bear, or so the priest had said.
Mairi and I had strong opinions about that.
But when I brought my dough to the common oven, Glenna was not there. A young lad around ten or so helped me, who had her same soft brown eyes and auburn curls. He must be her younger brother Rory, whom Mairi Grieve had safely delivered. If only his mother had survived as well.
“May I help ye, mistress?” the lad said, eyes eager, and his skinny chest puffed out with pride.
I passed my bread dough to him, keeping the pennyroyal tucked inside my kirtle. For discretion’s sake, I had determined I would give the crushed herbs and directions how to prepare it only to Glenna herself. Others could not know of her hidden shame.
I kept my tone light as I asked the boy. “Is your sister not helping today?”
“I am old enough to,” the lad protested. “Father says ’tis time I learn the family business. It’s not Glenna who will take over for him when he is dead.” Then he lowered his head and made a sign of the cross before his chest.
I recoiled, nauseated by his gesture, and put up my hands. “Easy, lad. I meant ye no disrespect. I am sure you will be a fine baker in your own time.” He might already have his father’s temperament, judging from that small display.
But the boy grinned sheepishly, an auburn curl dangling in front of his eye. “Oh. You were only asking after your friend.”
“Yes.” The word came out slowly, and I tasted it like an unfamiliar fruit. It did not choke me.
It must not be a lie.
After all this time, Glenna Baker could be my friend. I had not had one before, unless Morven counted.
I was not always certain Morven counted.
The boy furrowed his brow. “Glenna has taken poorly—every morning this week. Sometimes she comes out to help later in the day, but my father is still furious. We need her help most in the early hours, to get the baking started and when most of the custom comes.” From the slight protuberance of his lower lip, I could tell he was bearing the brunt of it, that Glenna could not work.
“I see.” This was not good. The lad spoke with great innocence, but Rufus Baker had fathered two bairns. Like as not, he recognized the illness taking Glenna in the morning hours only, or at least had his suspicions. We did not want him to have his suspicions, not if this plan was to work.
“Perhaps I might pay her a visit,” I suggested. “To see how she is getting on?”
“Oh no, mistress. We wouldna want ye catching it, too.” The lad swept an arm across his forehead. “Even I am a bit peaked and all. Mayhap I have it as well.”
Not possible, I thought, but could not let on what I knew. “I certainly hope not,” I told him. “Perhaps I will see her next week, then.” And I bid him adieu.
But the next week when I went to the oven, Glenna was not there either.
I again made polite conversation with her brother, but he seemed oddly subdued.
I did hope he hadn’t taken ill after all.
I suspected there was another cause for his reticence.
Hanging back, with his heavy brows lowered over his hook of a nose, Rufus Baker scanned the assembled crowd with disapproval, particularly me.
His glare was so strong it might have peeled my human skin off.
I became flustered and forgot to ask after Glenna, nearly leaving my bread behind.
When the lad caught my arm and gave it to me, I spun around so fast I ran into Thomas Shepherd.
He caught me by the shoulders, laughing brightly. “Good morrow to you, Lady Wood Nymph. For are you not a vision in green yet again.”
Good morrow, Shepherd King, were the words pressing against my lips, but I did not say them. Though I felt steadied by his strong hands, I itched to depart. “Good morrow, Master Shepherd.”
“Here now, what’s this? I thought us better friends than that.” His hand came under my chin, raising it so my eyes met his own. “Is something amiss?”
I wished it wasn’t. I wished I dared to linger with this handsome man who addressed me with genuine concern.
Whose eyes were like a stormy sky but whose manner was ever sunny, whose words brought heat to my cheeks, and whose touch stirred the lusty fae inside me, passion rushing like a river through my veins.
But the packet of pennyroyal pressed against my bosom, recalling me to my purpose.
“I have not seen Glenna Baker in a fortnight,” I said quietly. “I knew she was feeling poorly, but now—”
“Now Rufus Baker watches like a farmer minding the henhouse—when the fox has already got inside.” Thomas took my elbow and pulled me aside. “He willna let her out of the house, and snaps at any man who might even once have looked her way.”
I gazed up at him. And did you ever look her way? This was unworthy of me; I should not give way to petty jealousy. My concern was only for my friend.
Thomas’s brow dipped into a frown. “It is a hard thing to be a girl in her position—an unwed lass, feeling poorly, as she does—with her father so cruel. I would not wish it on anyone.” His sympathy lay in his own bastardy, I felt; his mother had been in Glenna’s position once.
Thomas was ever the cuckoo’s child like me.
He was right; it would not be meet to say too much, or to guess. Human rules, human shame, human secrets, all acted in concert to deny Glenna the kindness she might need. A pox upon all those things!
A hint of mischief alit in Thomas’s eyes, and he offered me an arm. “See you safely home?”
A smile curved around my lips. “There’s nothing safe about you seeing me home.” I took his arm anyway, and we did not break apart until we were close enough Eamon might see.
One more attempt did I make to see Glenna Baker and offer her my herbs.
Her absence was overlong, even her young brother had seemed stifled when I encountered him, and Rufus always watched over like a gargoyle on a steeple tower.
Whether it was my fae senses or womanly intuition, a voice within me shouted that summat was indeed amiss, and I must see to Glenna’s welfare before it was too late.
If Glenna bore this child without a husband, Rufus would cast her from his house, she would be shunned by her good Christian neighbors, and mayhap go begging on the street. She would become like Peggy Cottar, cast adrift, the subject of gossip and scorn.
So, I must away to the oven again, basket slung over my arm, pennyroyal in my bodice.
Spring was now in full bloom, the wildflowers fragrant enough to overcome the scent of the herb.
My skin prickled as if the weather were much cooler, my hair rising to stand on end.
With every step came the sensation of something stirring beneath me, the air moving with more than the breeze.
Beltane coming, Beltane coming, all my senses sang out.
The faery in me cried out in joy, delighting in this rebirth, the coming of summer, the Veil growing thin.
I could take no joy in it.
I was wracked with worry for the girl. My .
. . friend. If things had been different, if they had moved faster with the handsome shepherd, I might have found myself in her position.
I did not know whether my changeling form had the fertility of my fae nature or my human blood.
Would I have gotten pregnant easily or not for many years?
For this was the fae trade-off: long life in exchange for rare and precious births.
And thus, Faery had been devastated to lose its queen and her heir in childbirth, or so Morven told me.
No one could prevent it, even though they had sought out the most gifted midwife they could.
Could that midwife have been Mairi Grieve?
I could scarce credit it—that she served thus, and mother and child had both died. I must ask Glenna Baker what she had heard and where.
Yet Glenna was not at the oven.
Nor was her brother. ’Twas strange indeed, for the line was long, and this close to Beltane Rufus Baker surely could have used more helping hands.
I stepped into the line behind two beldames, who rolled their eyes and tightened their grips on their baskets, easing away from me.
“Good morrow, ladies,” I said, and received not a word in response, though they gawked at my birthmark.
So be it. I knew one of them had Mairi Grieve set her ankle, and the other had been treated for ague. But they had short memories, it seemed, and now I was naught but Eamon’s forgotten daughter. Why should they pay me any mind?
“Hmph,” said one of the aged dames, balancing her basket on her hip. “Seems hardly right we should have to wait so long to bake our bread, for all Rufus Baker canna keep his bairns in line.”
My ears pricked up, and I took a step closer.
“I would be home making my Beltane bannocks,” said her friend, “if Glenna Baker were out here helping her father, and not hiding her condition away.”
My breath caught. Sweet Mab, word has gotten out. I tapped one of the women on the shoulder. “Beg pardon, but what has become of Glenna Baker?”
The beldame looked me up and down. “Mind your manners, gel, and don’t go spreading gossip.” She turned back to her friend. “Is she for a convent then, or out on her rear?”
“I heard there was a suitor, mayhap. She is not showing yet, and Rufus Baker hopes to marry her off before she is. Though it will have to be someone with his head in a bucket, if he’s not heard the kind of lass he’s getting.” They bowed their heads together, snickering cruelly.
I did want to punch them, very much.
Oh, Glenna. For all her beauty, she was unwed and pregnant with another man’s child. Who would want to marry such a woman, and what might she have to endure from one who did?
Faery is easier, I thought, drawing again from Morven’s tales. Lovers pair when they want to, part when they don’t. Marriage is an alliance only, and fidelity is not expected within. But Glenna, poor Glenna, must deal with the cruel judgment and strict “morals” of the human world.
And like that, I was at the front of the line, with none to help me save Rufus Baker himself.
“Good morrow, Master Baker.” I avoided his gaze.
Never had Rufus been a handsome man, but only now did I notice his looming posture, and the stony gaze of his beady eyes. “Were ye gossiping about my Glenna?” he demanded.
“No, I . . .” I swallowed uncomfortably. “Where is she?”
“That is not for you to know.” His eyes burned like dark coals, and he grabbed at the front of my kirtle. “Always judging, you are. Always finding us lacking.”
I flinched away, crying out in alarm. “I do not—I cannot understand.” Where was the shepherd now I needed him?
“Glenna is a good girl,” Rufus seethed. “Do you not claim otherwise.”
“I would not.” I breathed deep to calm myself, held my hands out. Energy passed through them, radiating out from my core to pacify Rufus as well. “I have never known Glenna to do another harm.”
Rufus straightened, placed my bread dough onto his paddle. “No,” he agreed, face relaxing as he returned to his work. “As I said, she is a good girl. Make certain your father knows as well.”
I moved aside to let him help the next patron. My father? Why should he care what Eamon Grieve thought? Unless they were competing to see whose spinster daughter had the greater virtue. Pregnant or not, I did think Glenna would win that one. At least she had been to chapel once in her life.
I meant to suss it out of Eamon, truly I did, and to spread the news of Glenna’s fine virtue.
Only when my bread was baked, and I scurried my way back to the cruck house, eager to leave the menacing baker, I found our trestle table covered with crushed pennyroyal, and a furious Eamon looming behind.