TELLING YOUR STORY
Rubina sat looking into the fire. Camden had left, gone into the woods for some reason he hadn't explained. That meant she was left alone here with his cousin.
I hate this place. I hate everyone. I hate myself.
Alone in the upstairs parlor, Joanna sat beside the fire. She had requested linen and tapestry cotton and begun an embroidery to distract herself from her feelings. She tried not to give way to the dark vein of anger that throbbed and pulsed inside her.
She was confined here and she needed to escape. If she didn't soon she was afraid of what might happen. What she was going to do, if Joanna walked past one more time on her way to her chamber, the floor creaking under her as she traversed the hallway.
I feel like I will do someone an injury if I stay here. Or myself. Whichever happens first.
It was a terrifying thought. All the fear she'd felt, all the humiliation, had coalesced into an incandescent anger inside her. It was made worse by Joanna's gentle, friendly curiosity.
She would be scandalized if she knew aught about me.
As it was, Rubina was sure the older woman was watching her, judging her, waiting to pounce on some weakness. She shuddered
I need to get out of here.
Even Camden had gone strange.
He seemed so remote, so uncaring. Yes, he talked to her, but his voice was devoid of feeling. In many ways, she preferred his gentle indifference to the cousin's curious look, but why had he changed overnight?
“He hates me now.”
It was the only explanation. Maybe not hate, not exactly. Cold indifference certainly. Distaste, certainly. Dislike? Perhaps.
She set aside the embroidery and stood. Looked out of the window onto the cobbled street below. It was two floors below, almost deserted now though it was mid-morning. A solitary carter rolled down the street, the hollow clop of the horse's hoof beats the only sound in the still air.
A picture flashed into Rubina's mind of her mother. How she must be worried. She pushed it aside angrily. She, too, would be shocked by what had happened. She would also think of Rubina as tainted, if she knew. Poor Rubina! How will she marry a duke now?
She paced back to the door, grabbed her cloak where it hung on a peg beside it. Headed briskly downstairs. She was going to run away and find the abbey. Father Murdoch would help her. He was the best friend she had.
She ran straight into a woman she had barely noticed in the house before.
“Whist! Oh! Sorry, milady.”
Rubina stared at her in surprise, noting the untreated linen of her gown, her matronly cap over her hair. She was a servant here, the housekeeper most likely. Angry, hurt and shocked by the collision, Rubina sat down on the steps abruptly and began to cry.
“I...just go away. Leave me alone. Please?”
The older woman stayed where she was.
Rubina glared at her. “What's the matter with you?” she hissed. “Are you here to gloat over the fallen woman too? Is that it?”
She felt her face flush with embarrassment the instant it had come out of her mouth. It was true, though. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed.
When she looked up, the older woman was still there. She was looking at her with a softness in her eyes that was three parts tenderness and one part wry humor.
“Aye, cry, lass. Shout at me if you like. I was like that, too.”
Rubina stared at her. “You think you understand me?” Anger was in her voice, but curiosity, too. How dare this woman think she could understand! Yet, could she?
The woman grinned. “I'm a fallen woman too lass. If you want to say that.”
“Really?” Rubina frowned. The candor with which the woman said it surprised her. Would she ever be brave and unashamed enough to simply say it, just like that?
“Aye,” the housekeeper said. She stayed where she was, but leaned against the wall, making herself more comfortable. “My name is Roma, by the way. Though you can call me Mrs. McGuinness, if you find it easier.”
Rubina studied her more closely. Though she had appeared old on first glance, with her solid, muscled arms and grayed hair, she was probably no more than sixteen years older. She said nothing and the woman continued.
“At first, I wanted to kill myself. Then I wanted to kill everyone else.” She grinned.
Rubina laughed. She felt very much the same way.
“You did? What did you do?”
“I did feel that way,” the woman laughed. “And, well...I waited for it to pass. I had a roof over my head, people who didn't seem dangerous. That led me back to myself. With time. Give yourself time, lass. You have nothing to hide. Nothing to feel ashamed of.”
Rubina let out a long, shuddering breath. It felt as if something in her heart had melted. All that rage and pain seemed, suddenly, a little less. “I...” she paused. “I don't want to tell anyone. I don't want anyone to know. Yet...yet I want to. I want people to know what happened.”
The woman's eyes were tranquil. No judgment, no sorrow. She blinked, the way a hawk does when waking. Like a hawk's, her eyes were hazel.
“You can tell me,” the woman said. “I can't say anything about it, since I know.”
Rubina swallowed hard. She looked around. Instinctively, the woman inclined her head to the stairs.
“I need to get off my feet.”
Rubina stood and they went back to the parlor.
With the crackling fire a counterpoint to her words, Rubina told the older woman everything that had happened. When she had finished, her face was wet with tears. She felt cleaner, somehow. As if the broken glass that was her story had been taken out of her, piece by small piece. The pain was less.
When she had finished, the woman nodded. “It's a terrible tale, lass,” she said. Her own voice wobbled a bit. She reached for a handkerchief and sniffed. “There are wicked people in the world, lass. Wicked.” She blew her nose. Sniffed.
Rubina giggled. Something about that pragmatic sniff dismissed those men into the realm where they unequivocally belonged. “I think so too,” she said.
They sat for a long while, the only sound between them the crackle of the flames in the grate. Rubina looked into the fire and let the peace of that settle on her soul. She realized that she had scarce been taking care of herself these last few days. She'd eaten sparingly, slept little, washed once.
“What time is it?” she asked the housekeeper. The woman shrugged.
“About midday, I reckon,” she said. “Sun's still high.”
Rubina glanced out of the window and nodded. It occurred to her that the housekeeper had been sitting here with her, talking, when she probably had duties to perform. She seemed more like a member of the household than an employee, and she was curious to hear her own story.
“You have worked for Mrs. MacCovern a long time?”
The woman sighed. “Nigh on twenty years. Worked for her mother first – Lady Tamsyn, may the Lord rest her gentle soul. Started working for her when I was a wee lass. Younger than you. When...when it happened. The lady took me in. Worked for her until she passed away. Then worked for her daughter. It's a good life. Glad my man could settle here in Currie with me. A good life, we have here.”
“Your husband?” Rubina frowned. At this moment, she felt a strange indifference to the idea of a husband. Even if a man would take me, knowing what happened to me, I do not wish to belong to a man.
“Aye. Tom. I met him when I went to the fort to work for Lady Tamsyn. He's a carter. Does a fine job here in the village. Been living here ten year or more now.”
“Oh.”
Rubina had so many questions for the older woman. She had a good life, clearly. She also exuded tranquility. She was an indication that all didn't have to be pain and anger now – she could have a good life, a happy life.
“I...” she paused. There was a step in the hallway.
“Rubina?”
She glanced at the housekeeper, nervously, about to spring to her feet. The older woman grinned, conspiratorial.
“We're in here, Mistress Joanna.” She heaved herself to her feet.
“Oh.” Joanna appeared at the door, smiling at them both. “Well. Luncheon's ready whenever you want it,” she said to Rubina. “I asked cook to lay it out in the downstairs parlor.”
“Oh.” Rubina nodded. “Thank you.” She smiled and was surprised by the genuine warmth on the older woman's face. She hadn't noticed before that she really seemed to care about her. It had seemed insincere before.
“I'll go and help cook,” the housekeeper said, her eyes twinkling at Cousin Joanna. “Don't tell me I've been neglectful in my duties.”
Mrs. MacCovern grinned. “Whist, you.”
Rubina smiled as the two women chuckled together. There seemed a genuine appreciation between them that went far beyond the bond of mistress and servant. They were clearly friends. She shook her head. This had been a remarkable morning.
She went to her bedchamber, washed her face in the clay basin on the washstand and then headed downstairs to the parlor. The scent of oat bannocks hit her stomach and made it knot painfully. She ran a hand over her hair and headed into the room.
“Hello?” she called softly.
Joanna was sitting at the table alone, her plate half-empty, a little frown on her face where she looked at a scroll. Rubina sat down, glad her focus was elsewhere.
“Rubina. There you are. I've an embroidery pattern here – a little picture. What think you of it?” Joanna asked peaceably. “I plan to make a tapestry for the wall there. I want flowers on it – something to remind me of the garden in springtime.”
Rubina reached out and took the pattern, squinting at it.
“I like it,” she said contemplatively. “I think I would make more of the foxgloves in the front. That would balance the design a little. And match the color of the lilac bush in the back.”
“Mm.” Joanna nodded.
Rubina felt a deep sense of peace settle on her. As Joanna lifted a piece of chalk and began to make adjustments to the drawing, she reached for a bannock and ate hungrily.
“Now...how about that? I increased the flowers and drew in an extra tree. What say you?”
Rubina took the paper and held it close to her eyes. “Mm. I like it.”
She had no idea how long they sat there, changing the picture, and then looking over the colors in Joanna's work-bag together, but when the floor creaked and she turned round, she was surprised to see Camden standing in the doorway behind them.
He grinned. “My lady! Cousin Joanna. Had a good day?” His eyes passed to Rubina, and she saw a sadness cross them. Her hands clenched into fists, feeling guarded. Why was he sorry for her?
Joanna nodded. “Whist, and we have. You're almost in time for dinner, I see.”
Rubina hadn't noticed the time passing, but when she looked out of the window she was surprised to see that the sky had cooled beyond the horn panes and it was now three of the clock, at least. Perhaps later. She looked at Camden. Even though she felt so much more at peace with herself, she couldn't quite forget what happened when she saw that haunted look in Camden's eyes.
“You had a pleasant day?” Joanna asked.
He nodded. “Aye, I did. Rode through the woods awhile, headed up toward Queensferry. I wanted to get a new dagger at the market.”
“Oh. And did you?” she asked.
“No,” he said. He chuckled sheepishly. “I got distracted and by the time I'd finished looking about the stalls, the best maker of swords was already packing away. I looked at another stall, but they had nothing as fine.”
Joanna chuckled, a happy laugh that flowed easily from her throat. “You are silly,” she scolded. “Did you make any purchases at all?”
He blushed. “I, er...N...no, cousin:”
Joanna started laughing. “Poor Camden. Well, you can go and wash,” she added briskly. “Your hair looks like you were caught in a strong wind. And then you can come and tell me if you think Mr. McIver has cheated me on the repairs to my oak table.”
Camden smiled at her, a wry grin. “Yes, cousin.”
Rubina caught his eye, hoping to see that easy closeness reflected in his gaze at her. When his eyes met hers, they cooled, an almost conscious withdrawing. She felt her soul crimp.
“Well, then,” Joanna said, standing and arranging things in her work basket. “I'll take this lot upstairs and then go and find Mrs. McGuinness. She can tell me what we have in the larder for dinner tonight.”
Rubina stood back to let her pass. That left her and Camden alone together. She looked up into his eyes.
“Camden, I...”
So many things to say. I'm sorry. I'm pleased to see you. I'm confused.
Rubina swallowed and felt her eyes well with tears. She cleared her throat, but the tears wouldn't stop.
Camden reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Rubina, I'm sorry,” he said.
Rubina stared up at him. Her belly tensed and she felt cold inside. “Why?” she said.
He frowned. “I...I don't know, Rubina.” He looked sad and confused. “I just don't know.”
Rubina drew in a breath. Where to begin? How to tell him how she felt alright now, except for his strange, distant diffidence? She shrugged.
“I'll see you at dinner,” she said. She stood and walked past him.
Upstairs, in her bedchamber, she closed the door and sat down on the bed. She looked out of the window at the sunlight where it went cool green on the horizon, the day lengthening and warming into a tranquil evening, just marred by cloud. She wished Camden could forget, but the more she saw him the more it seemed he couldn't.
I should leave here. In four days my parents will leave court.
She swallowed hard. It was, she thought, tempting to simply leave. To take a horse and ride back to the castle alone. However, it was dangerous. She would have to ride with Camden.
A slow, diffident, silent Camden who thinks I'm tainted.
She reached for a kerchief and sat on the bed, wanting to cry. She caught sight of herself in the mirror on the dressing table across the room. An oval-faced, regal woman looked back at her, her fiery red hair the perfect counterpoint to her dark eyes.
I'm not so monstrous after all, she thought with some amazement. I'm still a lovely young woman. Camden should mind his ways. Perhaps she would move along. Marry a duke after all. Someone else. Someone who didn't know her story. Perhaps that would be better for her.