Putting away the tiles was Owen’s least favorite part, and Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer was only too eager to assist. In moments, the tiles were back in the box and he had started on another design.
“Part of your hair is white,” she said suddenly, her fingers tickling his mussy hair. “Why is that? Is it paint?”
He looked at her in annoyance and shook his head.
“You came that way?” she pressed, staring at the little tufts of hair. “That’s wonderful. It’s like that part of your head is an old man already. You must be really smart then. I love the kitchen. It smells so good in here. Fresh bread out of the oven is divine.” She leaned back a bit, sighing contentedly.
“My papa is dead,” she said after a while. She reached out and took a tile and examined it with her fingers. “I’m not really sure what it means, but he’s not coming back. Mama can’t stop crying. I loved Papa. He was so kind to me. He gave me ponies and dresses. And these boots! It’s not your fault he died, Owen. I’m not angry at your papa.”
Owen looked at her, feeling nervous. “My brother . . . died,” he said softly.
She nodded matter-of-factly. “He was killed for treason. But that’s not your fault either. My grandpapa felt sorry for you. He said you were taken from your family. You were all alone and too shy to talk.” She reached out and touched his knee. “We’re going to be friends. I like you very much. You are adorable!”
Owen wasn’t sure how he felt yet, but his ears were burning again.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Ankarette’s Stratagem
Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer’s first breakfast with the king went surprisingly well, much to Owen’s chagrin. He had wondered how she would take his taunts and temper. She was absolutely fearless. That was the only word to properly describe her. She loved the idea of picking from all the dishes and gobbled up a hearty breakfast while still managing to talk between mouthfuls. She was eager to meet the king and suggested, rather boldly, that he needed to put a large fountain in the great hall, one with glass walls, and fill it with giant fish so that they could watch them swim while they ate.
Owen was not certain how the king would react to her demands. King Severn looked at her with half annoyance, half amusement and offered her a view of the royal fish pond to placate her. She agreed enthusiastically and rushed over to Owen to share the good news.
In truth, Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer seemed as comfortable in the great hall as if she had lived there her entire life. She wore a new dress. Each day she had a new one. This one was black and silver. Owen stared at her with budding respect, but it frustrated him that he did not share her courage. Why must strangers always leave him so tongue-tied and ashamed? He had always been that way and did not know why.
“And what do you think, Master Owen?” the king suddenly said at his ear. “Do you want the hall full of fish?”
Owen’s muscles locked up and he felt a coldness shoot through him at being caught off guard. A pit of fear opened up inside him, swallowing everything before it. He could not even stammer a reply. He was powerless to say anything.
The king snorted and then walked away, unsheathing and jamming his dagger as he went.
Owen felt his knees start to buckle and the urge to cry was almost overpowering. Feeling humiliated, he cast his eyes down. Someone approached and he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up and saw Duke Horwath looking at him sympathetically. He did not say anything, but his touch was comforting. Then he walked after the king and began speaking to him in a low voice. Owen could not hear their discussion, but he could have sworn he heard the duke say “Tatton Hall” before they were both out of earshot.
Later in the afternoon, Owen was building with his tiles, constructing a tower that was taller than those he usually made. It had tumbled a few times, annoying him, but he continued to work on it. Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer lay on her stomach, playing with several pieces of tile and talking about something to which Owen did not pay much mind as he concentrated on the tower. The kitchen bustled pleasantly, and he could smell the delightful fragrance of a pie cooking in the ovens, making his mouth water. Liona made the best crusts he had ever tasted, and he had been tempted more than once to eat the ring of crispy dough without touching the middle part.
“Well?” the Mortimer girl asked again, and Owen glanced over at where she lay looking up at him. He had started calling her the Mortimer girl in his mind because her name was so long.
He was a little annoyed that she now expected a partner in the conversation. She had been doing so well at it by herself. “What?” he asked.
“When we get married, do you want to live in the North or in the West?”