Page 10 of A Land So Wide
Her smile turned to a grin.
Ellis Beaufort’s voice was Greer’s favorite sound in all the world. It was a warm, rich baritone that felt like that magic hour between Bellows, when the falling sun painted the world in shades of gold.
A Beaufort through and through, with hazel eyes and a shock of chestnut hair that burned as blazing as autumn leaves, Ellis had a loud, easy laugh and was always smiling, but never quite as widely as when he spotted Greer.
She approached the bakery, tipping her chin to stare up at him.
“Get out of that mess.” Ellis reached down and hoisted her to the raised wooden promenade that ran the length of the town’s storefronts. It kept the customers out of the worst of the snowbanks inwinter and from the thick sluice of mud that plagued Mistaken during every other season.
“Afternoon,” he greeted, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head. He smelledwarm,of rising dough and yeast and the oven’s flames.
“It’s a good one now.” She tightened her grip on his hand, wishing she could grab him by the collar and pull his mouth to hers.
It had been days since she’d last seen him. They’d been caught in an endless town meeting, stuck and separated by the wide aisle running down Steward House. Greer had watched him watch her from the corner of her eye, and after the meeting was over, they’d sneaked into the shadows behind an outbuilding to steal as many kisses as they could before Ellis’s younger brothers began to shout for him.
He grinned widely, dimples winking. “How was the hunting?”
Greer hesitated, remembering the way Louise had snarled before leaving the forest. “Fine. Louise shot three rabbits. Didn’t lose a single arrow.”
One eyebrow, as thick as a freshly drawn line on one of Greer’s maps, rose. “Her aim is improving. Stew tomorrow,” he said, clearly pleased, then tilted his head. “What aren’t you telling me?”
She blinked, feigning innocence.
“I know your face better than my own, Greer Mackenzie,” Ellis said. “And right now you look as though you’re about to burst into tears. What’s wrong?”
Greer was certain her forced smiled looked as pained as it felt. “It’s nothing. It’s fine.”
His gaze was unwavering.
She sighed. “Only…” She stepped past him, avoiding the weight of his stare. “Louise didn’t…She didn’t want to leave any tokens behind.”
He made a sound of understanding. “And you did.”
“Obviously.” She tucked a curl of hair behind her ear, uncomfortable.
Ellis rubbed at his jaw, unsurprised. He’d stopped shaving as the cooler weather had set in, and the auburn stubble had grown into a thick beard. “And Louise said something hasty and stupid.”
Greer paused. She didn’t like putting Ellis in the middle of their messes. It wasn’t his responsibility to work through them, and it seemed unfair to make him choose a side. Reluctantly, she nodded.
“The pantryhasbeen stretched a bit thin lately,” Ellis confided, dropping his voice even though the promenade was empty. “The boys are worse than a plague of locusts. Growing pains,” he added.
Rhys and Riley, the Beaufort twins, had turned twelve over the summer, entering that awkward phase of childhood when limbs stretched too long and out of proportion. To Greer they looked like nothing so much as a pair of downy goslings, tripping over their own feet as they struggled to understand the strange shapes their bodies now formed.
Guilt pooled in Greer’s belly, making her feel off-kilter and uneasy. Some of what Louise had said was true. The mill brought in fistfuls of money each summer. Greer had never gone without, had never been hungry or worn clothes patched or too small. An only child, she’d never even scrapped with siblings for her portion of dinner. It was a far cry from the Beauforts’ household.
“And…” Ellis trailed off, his eyes glancing to the sheets of water rolling off the promenade’s tin roof. “She’s been in a mood since the Stewards told her their ruling.”
“About letting her sit out this Hunt?” Greer frowned. They’d been together all day, yet Louise hadn’t mentioned it once. “I didn’t even know she’d presented her case. She hasn’t said anything. Neither has Father.”
With Ellis and Louise’s father’s death, grief had settled over Mary Beaufort like a thick, sticky cobweb, impossible to break free of. Her mind had always been prone to flights of whimsy, but now it wandered further away, drawn to confusion and paranoia. Strange tics riddled her gestures, and she’d often fall short in a conversation, sometimes mid-sentence—there one moment, then gone the next.
When it became clear that Mary could no longer run the Beaufort household, Louise had left school and taken the reins, to look after her younger siblings, tend to the cabin and livestock, and watch the accounts with a sharp eye. She’d turned twenty-two during the last snowmelt and, though this should be her year to run in the Hunt, Louise had confided that she planned to ask the Stewards to let her stay home, reasoning that her family needed her more than Mistaken needed another bride.
“What did the Stewards say?”
Ellis looked uneasy. “I feel like she should be the one to tell you.”
Greer recalled the look on Louise’s face before she stalked back to Mistaken. “I don’t think she wants to tell me much of anything right now.” She let out a humorless laugh. “Or, whatever she might, I’m not sure I want to hear.”
