As she made her way to the kitchens to oversee the preparations for the next meal, she finally admitted to herself that she had been lonely since the day he had ridden away from her. Anger and hurt over the way he had not taken even a moment of his time to exchange some private words before leaving had dimmed that sense of loss for a long time.
It would be all too easy to reach out for Harcourt to ease that loneliness. Annys suspected her people would think nothing of it. There were many small reasons not to do so but the one that truly held her back was the fear of being hurt. The way he had left her without a word after the many times they had been together, the many sweet words he had whispered to her as they had made love, had cut her to the bone. Even knowing he had had no right to claim her, that she could not be with him openly, had not eased her pain. Annys did not think she could survive it a second time.
Shaking such thoughts from her head, she went to work. Hard work had assisted her in keeping Sir Harcourt Murray out of her thoughts before, when he had walked away from her without looking back. It should be able to do so again even though he was now back within reach.
Chapter Four
Annys sat back on her heels and idly tried to rub away the aching twinge in her lower back. Taking advantage of a rare beautiful summer day, she and Joan were carefully tending to the kitchen garden. She had forgotten just how much hard work that was. There was not one part of her that did not ache or feel very dirty.
“It grows verra warm,” said Joan as she moved to sit next to Annys and wiped the sweat from her face with her apron. “I think I am sweating enough to water the plants. Time to leave the work for the younger lassies.”
“I prefer to think of myself as one of those younger lassies,” murmured Annys.
Joan laughed. “Aye, but at times it serves us weel to be older.”
Annys smiled. “True and there are days when I can feel verra old indeed.”
A young girl brought them each a tankard of cool cider and Annys thanked her. Since they were at the far edge of the garden, she and Joan moved back a few feet until they were beneath the shade of an old oak tree. It took only moments in the shade, sipping the cool cider, for Annys to begin to feel refreshed. She was just not certain she was refreshed enough to return to working in the garden.
“Ye are the lady of the keep. Ye dinnae need to do this work if ye dinnae wish to,” Joan said.
“There are times, Joan, when I think ye can see every thought inside my head.”
“Nay, I but saw that ye were looking at the garden in the same way I was and I kenned what I was thinking. Decided ye must be feeling the same.”
“I should nay feel so guilty for wanting to quit it. I have worked here for most of the morning.”
“Aye, ye ne’er hesitate to get your hands dirty. We all ken it and ye should ne’er feel e’en a pinch of guilt for leaving some of the heavier work to others from time to time. Mayhap ye should wash the dirt and sweat off and go see what your handsome champion is doing. He has been working verra hard these last two days.”
One glance at the sly smile on Joan’s face was enough to tell Annys what game her maid played. “Ye will nay play the matchmaker, Joan.”
“Och, I wasnae doing that.”
Annys did not believe that but asked, “So what were ye doing then?”
“Weel, ye are a woman alone . . .”
“A new widow.”
“The laird, God bless his kind soul, has been gone from us for a long time.”
“Not that long.”
“Long enough.” Joan scowled at Annys but then quickly smiled again. “They are all strong, bonnie lads.”
“Ah, I see. Ye wish me to try them all, aye?” Annys laughed at the look of shock on Joan’s face.
“Wretched lass. I saw the way that Sir Harcourt looked at you, lass.” Joan lowered her voice to a near whisper. “Remember, I ken who sired our lad and I ken how our laird was ne’er a true husband to you. All I am saying here is that ye might consider finding yourself a wee bit of warmth for once in your life.”
“David loved me and he treated me verra weel.” Annys hated to hear the hint of defensiveness in her voice.
Joan patted her hand, which Annys suddenly realized was clenched into a tight fist. “I ken it,” she said. “The mon loved you. Like a sister. It wouldnae hurt you to be treated like the woman ye are for once, however.”
“And give everyone a chance to begin questioning who truly fathered Benet?”