Page 10 of Laird of Flint
“Carenza,” one of the pig men said on a sigh.
“Everyone’s set their eyes on Carenza,” the other replied.
“A real beauty, that lass,” the first said.
Cainnech scoffed. “But her da’s ne’er goin’ to wed her to a Boyle. He’s got his sights set higher.”
They all drank to that.
Then Cainnech volunteered, “Truth to tell, I’d just as soon sell the cattle before Martinmas than deal with butcherin’ ’em.”
“Wouldn’t we all?” the pig butchers agreed, raising their cups in a second toast.
The mention of selling cattle made Hew remember he meant to procure food for the monastery. A coo on the hoof would make a wise purchase, providing milk, butter, and fresh cheese every day. He almost regretted spending so much coin on the gold ring.
The hour was growing late. The alewife led the two brothers to a back room. The merchant had dozed off. His apprentice was gulping down the second trencher of pottage he’d bought with the coin he’d pilfered. The pig and coo men were now discussing the weather. Hew didn’t think he’d get any more useful information today.
He had to find the village butcher shop before it closed. He’d made up his mind. He’d purchase a slab of ham with the coin he had left.
Chapter 3
Carenza peered into the square of polished steel that served as a mirror. She was dressed now from her bath, which she’d scented with lavender to disguise the smell of cattle. She combed each strand of dark hair into a tidy braid that hung to her waist. Pinched her cheeks. And practiced the wide-eyed gentle smile that pleased her father.
It was her duty, after all, to keep him happy.
Ten years ago, she had been devastated by the loss of her mother.
But her father had been utterly ruined. The death of his wife had left him deeply melancholy. Dangerously depressed. Inconsolable.
Carenza learned as a young lass she had to tread carefully around him. God forbid she should complain. Or weep. Or counter his commands.
She feared if she made him unhappy, he might leave her as well. And then she would be all alone in the world.
But as long as she kept him happy…
It wasn’t too difficult.
She only had to be the perfect daughter.
She smoothed her brows and checked her teeth. She adjusted the pearl pendant around her throat. Then she tugged her leine into place on her shoulders, adjusting the soft arisaid of muted gray tartan that brought out the smokiness in her eyes.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the reflection of a wee beast behind her. A brown rat. Standing on its hind legs in the middle of her chamber floor. Sniffing at the air.
She lowered the mirror and turned to face the animal.
“Ye’re early, Twinkle,” she told him. “I haven’t a crumb yet.”
The rat settled back down onto all fours.
“Come back in an hour,” she said. “I’ll be back from supper and bring ye a nice treat.”
Twinkle’s whiskers twitched. Then, as if he understood, he turned round and returned to the shadows of the garderobe.
That was another thing she had to hide from her father. He knew she had a fondness for animals. But he didn’t realize how all-encompassing her affections were. In the last ten years, under her father’s nose, she’d kept a menagerie of pets. At any given time, her chamber might be crawling with pups, kittens, ducklings, doves, coneys, mice, rats, toads, or lizards.
She’d gone through so many shrieking lady’s maids that she finally told her father she’d rather tend to herself.
In spring, she visited the lambs and kids, piglets and calves, stots and colts. She fed the birds in the forest and had a crow that liked to bring her treasures in return—bits of pottery and ribbon and coins. She studied the bees in their hives. Butterflies hatching from their chrysalises. Chicks emerging from their eggs. And tadpoles turning into frogs.
