A Mare of the Night #2
She stares a moment, chest heaving.
“No. No. No,” Euphemia whimpers, a new fear sinking in as reality descends around her. “Not now. Not here.”
If the servants find her in such a state, if they find her bedding like this, what in heaven will they think of her? That she went traipsing through the moors in the dead of night like some woman possessed?
It would soil what little of a reputation she is determined to hold onto.
It simply will not do.
Deciding that no one shall ever learn of this, Euphemia uses the clean edge of her bedsheet to wipe the mud from her feet. She hops out of bed and begins quietly removing the bedding, wadding the sheets and blankets into a pile so she can take them into the washroom before anyone else can awaken—
When suddenly, a knock sounds at the door.
“Heaven help me,” Euphemia mutters and stands as stiff as a broom. “W-who is it?”
The door opens without warning, and Asvald steps inside, his mouth primed to speak. But at the sight of her disheveled bed linens wadded together in her arms, anything he’d been about to say gets swallowed instead.
“Everything alright, my lady?”
Euphemia musters a lie and a cheap grin quickly. “Monthly menses.”
Asvald clears his throat, averting his eyes as he reaches out. “Ah. Hand ‘em here and I’ll make sure your bedding is fresh again for you tonight.”
“No!” Euphemia’s grip tightens protectively around the linens.
Hearing the strain in her voice, she tries softening it.
“I mean, I know how to wash my own bedding, thank you.” But even that is the wrong thing to say and she knows it.
After all, now that she’s married to a lord, she’s not supposed to wash her own linens.
Euphemia tries again. “I noticed the house is a bit short-staffed. The least I can do is clean up after myself.”
This doesn’t seem to ingratiate her to him, but his suspicion doesn’t deepen either. If anything, he looks uncomfortable.
“Short-staffed as we are, I assure you we can handle laundry.”
“Please,” Euphemia says with genuine humility, head bowing in her final attempt at pleading for mercy. “It’s my first night here… I don’t want the staff to find me a burden.”
When Asvald’s eyes slide down, she assumes it’s to examine the heap of linens in her arms. Instead, his gaze keeps sinking until they land on her bare toes. Damn the people in this household and their all-too-keen gazes!
Euphemia scrunches her toes instinctively, trying to hide any remnants of the dirt that she might’ve missed.
If he does notice the poor state of her, he says nothing about it.
“If you insist, Lady Euphemia.” With practiced deference, Asvald tilts his head. “There’s a washroom behind the kitchen. And I’ll ask the staff to bring you rags for the week.”
Euphemia flashes him a grateful but mortified smile.
He clears his throat. “In the meantime, Lady Kelda has requested your company in the great hall for lunch.”
“Lunch? Surely, it can’t be—” But as her gaze sweeps toward the window, she finds the curtains still closed.
Asvald walks over and draws the curtains back, allowing a blinding force of sunlight into the room.
“It was a long journey,” he says kindly.
She supposes it was. Although, Euphemia still hadn’t expected to sleep through half the day because of it.
She’s never slept that long in her life.
Not even when she was unwell as a child.
It had always been the expectation to rise with dawn and to help around the tavern.
Being the second oldest, she’d always had a job to do.
Memories of her home and childhood make her chest twinge. For a moment, she wonders how her mother and sisters are faring without her. Who’s tending to the ales and preventing Ismene from locking herself in the garden. If the bride price will be enough to get them through the tough winter to come.
She can almost see their smiling faces, the relief they must all feel knowing foolish Euphemia isn’t around to ruin everything for them anymore.
When tears prick her eyes, Euphemia shakes them away. “I’ll join Lady Kelda in a moment.”
Asvald bows his head again. “I’ll let her know.”
As he heads for the door, worry whispers in Euphemia’s ear.
“Wait! Won’t you…be accompanying me?”
He halts, shoulders tensing as if he has to force himself to do so. “I have other tasks that require me.”
“But how am I to find my way? I’m not familiar with the manor.
” She had been in such a frenzied state following the wedding ceremony that she hadn’t paid much attention to any of her surroundings as she was guided to her bedchamber.
She is sure to become lost is if she dares venturing around on her own.
The tension in his shoulders eases. He crosses the room, swings her bed chamber door open, and points across the hall. “See the sconces on the walls?” He checks for her nod before continuing. “Follow the ones that are lit. They’ll lead you back to the great hall.”
Euphemia opens her mouth to insist she would rather have an escort, but Asvald disappears down the hall before she has the chance.
She eyes the sconces as her door slams shut.
Follow the light, he had said.
A simple instruction.
Euphemia sets the crumpled pile of linens on the foot of her bed—she’ll simply have to wash them later.
She makes her way toward a chest on the other side of the room, props it open, and hastily grabs the topmost garment.
A dark kirtle the color of mulled wine. She slips it on over her chemise and ties the cords at her sides.
As she approaches the door, apprehension constricts her throat.
Follow the light, she repeats.
Throwing the door open, Euphemia steps into the hallway, hopeful that this time the light won’t abandon her to the darkness.