She could have slapped me, the words had the same effect. “Ballocks!” I cried, the bread and cheese all but forgotten. Alice gasped and Karta’s knife clattered to the floor as I bolted from the kitchen. Taking the stairs two at a time, I dashed into my room and retrieved the key from its hiding place deep inside a drawer. Across the hall my hand shook so badly that it took several tries to unfasten the lock. Pushing open the door, I saw him at once, seated in a chair by the hearth reading a book.
“Henry...” I started, ready with an apology for forgetting him, but the look on his face stopped me cold.
Closing the book, he placed it on the side table and stood up. “Good day, Selah,” he said, his voice surprisingly calm. “Do you intend to keep me locked up for the duration of my contract?”
I shook my head, having already resolved to never lock his door again after today. “No...of course not.”
Narrowing his eyes, he took a step toward me. “Have you had a pleasant day?”
Very pleasant indeed, until about five minutes ago, I thought, but didn’t dare admit outright.
“As for myself,” he continued, “I’ve spent a good deal of time wondering why you would feel so inclined to lock me in my room. Were you more concerned for your knickknacks or your virtue if I were not appropriately restrained?”
“That’s not...I didn’t mean...” I stammered, unable to complete the sentence as he drew nearer.
He placed one hand on the wall near my head and leaned so close I could see the pulse jump in his throat. My own heart beat erratically as I dragged my attention upward to meet his eyes, and found two emerald daggers staring back at me. Tremors ran pell-mell through my legs, and I pressed my back against the wall to keep from falling.
A small, sardonic smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Rest assured, madam,” he said, in a soft, mocking voice. “You will find they are both safe, for neither are to my liking.”
A rush of hot blood stained my cheeks, and my mouth opened and closed wordlessly at the cruelty of his words. Pinned against the wall, I thought of pushing him away, or screaming in outrage when he suddenly dropped his arm and brushed by me. He left the room without a backward glance, and thumped down the stairs. At the sound of the front door slamming shut, my legs gave out and I slowly sank to the floor.
*
Henry didn’t return for evening meal, leaving me to eat alone in the large dining room. My appetite was minimal at best, and I stared moodily at the beef and onion pie on the plate in front of me. After forcing down a few bites, I gave up any pretense of eating and went upstairs to bed. Tucked in under the covers, I had plenty of time to worry whether he would return to Brighmor or had deserted me altogether. Not that I could blame him entirely, being locked in his room all day like a prisoner, guilty of no other crime than taking a long walk.
It was well past midnight when I heard him come in and go to his room. Though I was tempted to cross the hall and apologize, I decided to give him the rest of the night to cool off. Tomorrow he would forgive me, and then everything would be fine again.
When morning came around, I went down for breakfast only to learn that Henry had already gone out with Ben to survey the property and wasn’t expected back until late afternoon. Disappointed, I went to my apothecary to prepare the plants I had collected yesterday. While my hands were busy tying up bundles of sumac, raspberry leaves and mallow to be dried, my mind worked and re-worked the words for when he returned. I wanted to get it just right, and even rehearsed the apology out loud as I cut up the catnip, putting it in a pot with sugar and water to boil into syrup. My speech sounded so good I had completely forgiven myself by the time the St. John’s wort had been crushed and placed in a jar with alcohol to soak for the next two weeks.
The hours slipped by entirely unnoticed, until Mary poked her head into the room. “There’s a visitor waiting in the drawing room for ye, ma’am,” she said.
I wiped the last of the St. John’s wort from my hands and untied the apron covering my gown. “Thank you, Mary. I’ll be right there.”
It was only a matter of time before my neighbors started calling to offer both their congratulations and condolences for the recent events. Though I was tempted to claim a headache, marriages and funerals rarely occurred so close together, and it was my duty as Mistress of Brighmor to accept their regards. With a heavy sigh I walked through the house to meet my guest.
Mary had left the door open, and I peeked into the drawing room ahead of entering. Over by the windows a man stood with his hands clasped behind his back, looking out, and I stopped dead in my tracks. Since our last argument I had known another confrontation was inevitable, but I hadn’t imagined it like this. Not without Henry at my side.
Nathan must have heard my footsteps or the whisk of my skirts, for he turned around before I could retreat. “Selah Kilbrid,” he said, putting the windows at his back and walking toward me.