I glanced over my shoulder, hoping Mam was somewhere nearby, but she was in the hallway, carrying the first of the trays up to the breakfast room. Luciana had cornered me alone. “I was kind enough to have some new ones made for you. Here.” She dropped the wooden shoes onto the floor in front of me with a loud crack. One turned onto its side, a light, sand-colored patch against the dark stone floor. “Put them on.”
The shoes were poorly made, and far too large for my small feet. The grain was rough on the soles, with several splinters sticking out, and I knew they would be high enough to make me trip and twist my ankles. They were completely impractical for walking in, let alone working, but I had no choice. Swearing I would find some way to get even with Luciana, I kicked off my old shoes and stepped gingerly into the new pair. I felt a piece of wood slice into the sole of my foot and tried not to look uncomfortable. Signs of weakness only encouraged her.
“You know,” she said, reaching out to stroke my cheek, “good girls are supposed to say thank you for a gift.”
Her touch made my skin burn, and I jerked my face away. “Thank you,” I said, trying to kill her with my eyes.
She checked in on me throughout the day. When she was not there, Jamison was always lurking nearby to make sure that I kept the shoes on. The birds that had picked lentils out of the fireplace for me could not help me bear this punishment. My poor feet were swollen, blistered, and bleeding by the time I retired for the evening. Mam, Sarah, and Cate stayed up late to pick the splinters from my feet and bandage them properly.
“Heavens,” Cate said as she tugged out a particularly long sliver of wood, “this is about the size of a spear. How did Luciana get these, anyway?” She had become much more talkative lately and I was pleased with her progress. Standing up to Jamison had strengthened her spirit more than I had hoped.
“She probably had someone in the stables cobble them together.” Sarah was digging in Mam's healing basket for fresh bandages while Mam heated water over the stove. “There's plenty of unsanded wood in there.”
Even Rucifee, who was eating a late midnight snack, decided to be sympathetic, and he padded over to butt his head against my hand. I smiled and scratched under his chin. “Your feet are swollen to the size of bread plates.” His long ginger tail lashed as he looked at them. “You know, I'm sure I could arrange to leave a dead present on Luciana's bed if you wanted me to.”
I bit my lip to stop myself from laughing. Fortunately, Cate chose that moment to remove another splinter and she assumed that I was whimpering with pain. “I'm sorry, but these have to come out. That's the last one on this foot.” She gave my wrist a friendly squeeze and lifted my other foot into her hand.
“Thank you.”
Cate smiled. “You're welcome.” She stood up to help Mam carry over the metal basin of water. When she was out of earshot, I looked down at Rucifee, who was still lying next to my knee. “How is Lady Kingsclere?” I asked him. I had not gone to visit my stepmother, afraid that Luciana would catch me, but I worried about her. Rucifee spent most of his time in her rooms. He was very attached to her, as sick as she was.
“Not well. She drifts in and out of memories, mostly, calling for Alastair or one of her daughters. Some days are better than others.”
“Here, soak your feet in this,” Sarah interrupted as she and Cate set the basin in front of my three legged stool.
Cautiously, I submerged my toes in the water, hissing as the heat crawled over my open cuts. “Did you have to make it so hot?”
“It has already been cooling for a quarter of an hour. Heat first, then ice for the swelling,” Mam clucked, reaching for the lye soap that she kept next to the sink. I shuddered, knowing it would sting dreadfully against the bottoms of my feet. Luciana did not bother with the shoes the next day, knowing that my feet would be wrapped, but as soon as the bandages came off, she made me wear them again, repeating the process every time my feet began to heal.
***
One morning, about two weeks later, I woke with my heart crashing against my ribs. My skin was flooded with heat, and my dreams had been filled with Belladonna. Her voice, her touch, her lips. Cate slept beside me, dead to the world. I hoped that her dreams were less torturous than mine. The small room we shared felt warm and cramped, and so I decided to go outside and visit my mother's tree. Quietly, I moved through the still hallways and out into the fields.
The grass was wet and cold beneath my bare feet, which had started to scar from Luciana's wooden shoes. For now, at least, they did not hurt. The sky was still dark and the sun had not broken the blue line of the horizon. It was strangely quiet without the shouts of the workers and the chatter of summer birds and insects. I felt like the only person in existence.
As I sat by my mother's tree, my mind turned to Belladonna's diary and a problem that I had been working on for days. Belladonna had already written several marriage poems for me in her journal, although most of them had been scratched out. I wanted to think of one for her. Villagers rarely bothered with marriage poems, but they were required for any proper aristocratic engagement. Marriage poems were incredibly complex, filled with symbolism and allusions, and Belladonna's were far more sophisticated than anything I had read before.
She used swans often—lasting commitment—and coupled it with water, which I did not remember the meaning for. I suspected that grass had something to do with new life, but I was not sure. The number nine was also fashionable and dealt with the metaphysical. Since I did not understand half of what she had written, although her words were beautifully phrased, I had no idea how to write one of my own. I did not want to copy what she had written for me, I wanted to show her my own ideas. Maybe a poem would impress her. Of course, even if I did write a poem for Belladonna, I would probably be too afraid to show her.
A plump mourning dove settled in the tree's branches, shaking his wings free of dew and bobbing his head to look for predators. “Maybe I should ask him for a poem,” I whispered sarcastically. Of course, that was exactly what I needed—bad verse from a bird.
“Ask who for a poem?”
I looked up, startled to see Cate's silhouette approaching, backlit by the morning sun. I squinted my eyes and raised a hand to my face. “Oh, just the bird.”
“You think she could give you a poem?” Cate lowered herself to her knees and I turned to one side so I could see her face without staring directly into the sun.
“The bird is a he,” I corrected automatically.
Cate raised her eyebrows. “Really? How can you tell?”
“I…er...I mean...It just looks like a he, I guess.”
“Fine, the dove can be a he if you want him to be.”
I was grateful that birds did not grasp human language, unless I was the one speaking to them. The mourning dove seemed to have no idea we were talking about him. Only more intelligent animals, domestic cats like Jessith and horses like Brahms, could understand human conversations on deeper levels without help from an Ariada. Since Jessith was a spoiled cat with too much time on her hands, I wondered if she knew more than one human language. Belladonna probably spoke several.
“Ellie. Ellie, where did you go?”
I blinked. “Oh, sorry. I…”
“Ah, your mystery lover.” Cate gave me a small smile. My blush gave me away immediately. “Is she who you want that poem for?”
“She? Why would you think it's a she?” Cate had referred to my secret love as “she” once before, when she had thrown my hazelnut into the fireplace, but Sarah had assured me that Cate rarely remembered her strange visions, or the events leading up to them.
Cate shrugged and brushed aside her hair. “How do you know that the dove is a he?”
“Do you know what doves mean in a marriage poem? I've seen them in a few, but have no clue what they represent.”
“Something about innocence, maybe.”
“I thought it might represent death or the soul.”
“The death of innocence.” Cate could not
hide the shadow that crossed her face. She picked a blade of grass between her thumb and forefinger, ripping it into tiny pieces and letting them flutter back to the earth.
“Well, at least our dove is very much alive,” I said cheerfully. I felt foolish, but knew that the best way to keep Cate from brooding was to keep talking. “You aren't going to start bothering me, too, are you? Sarah does more than enough pestering by herself.”
“Sarah pesters everyone.” Somehow, that simple statement had both of us laughing ourselves to tears. Cate's head fell back, her laughter floating up into the blinding morning sky. The dove, deciding we were too noisy, opened his wings and left the tree. This moment was all the proof I needed that Cate was starting to rebuild. For the first time in a long time, she seemed happy. My stomach ached from laughing along with her.
CHAPTER 2
AS CAREFUL AS I tried to be when I stole my stepsister's diary, I knew that Belle would discover what I had been doing eventually. I imagined it often—the angry, hurt expression she would have as she came toward me with her high shoulders—but I had no idea what she would say.
One night, after the harvest started, I decided to read by the fireplace. Trugel rested at my feet and the fire kept the autumn chill to the corners of the room. As I reached to turn the page, the library doors crashed apart and I nearly dropped my book on poor Trugel's head. Both of us started, looking up. Belladonna stood there, motionless, a storm of dark curls tossed about her shoulders.
Her eyes were glassy, frosted marbles of blue, strangely empty. She reached forward helplessly, not seeing me, but the diary spread open on my lap. She took in a sharp breath and stepped back. Her lips parted, but she could not speak. Carefully, I stood and walked toward her, clutching the diary to my chest. Before I could form words to explain, Belladonna pulled it from my hands.
“Belle...” My voice broke as I reached for the diary, but she was a head taller than I was, and she lifted it out of reach. I followed her as she went to the fireplace, reaching up as she held it over the darting tongues of flame. “Please, don't burn it.”
Her face was white marble as she lowered the pages to the fire. “Give me one reason to keep something that could ruin me.”
“Because the thoughts in it are too beautiful to destroy.”
Belladonna pulled the diary back, surprised. Whatever answer she had been expecting, it was not the one I had given her. Light caught her hair, pulling half of her face back into warm brown shadows. An idea struck me, and none of the warning voices in my head could dislodge it. Trembling, I lowered myself to my knees, lifting my chin to look into her eyes. I took her hand in mine and she let me hold it. “Forgive me.” She said nothing. “Please, my love.”
“My love?” she asked me. Then, softly, to herself, “Love...” She was remembering, I knew, just how many entries she had written about loving me, how many nights she had spent thinking of us together.
“If you will have me.”
My lips shook as I pressed them to the center of her palm, asking my bold question in the proper way. She looked down at me, shocked by what I had done. I knew she could not truly marry me, but I would ask her just the same, the way our ancestors had done for centuries. I trusted this hand to protect me, guide me, comfort me, work alongside me, and love me.
She trembled above me, letting me kiss each of her fingertips, each knuckle. I had only meant to kiss her palm as I was supposed to, but now that I had tasted the skin of her hand, I could not stop. A burst of red heat covered my cheeks. She looked at me, amazed, gently pulling her hand away from my lips. At first, I was sure she was rejecting me, and I cursed myself for being so foolish. How could I have expected her to forgive me for reading her private thoughts? But then she took my hand in hers and pulled me back to my feet.
In one graceful, fluid motion, Belladonna hooked an arm around my waist and drew me to her, pressing her lips over mine. It was a burning kiss that rolled over my skin like warm water, dulling and heightening my senses at the same time. I cried out softly against her mouth, closing my eyes and losing myself in the smoothness of her lips. Belle's kiss was the perfect mix of soft and hard. There was a sense of power behind it that left me with no doubt that I belonged to her, but there was tenderness and consideration as well.
I broke away from her, panting lightly, my eyes unfocused. “You accept me?” I asked her, suddenly shy.
“Of course. I have loved and wanted you ever since I talked with you by your hazel tree...maybe since I first saw you at mother's wedding.” Her bright smile made my head spin with joy. “This is happening so fast...You were an untouchable dream for me until a few moments ago and now…”
“It hasn't happened fast,” I argued. “We waited for months and months, only we were both too frightened to admit it. I have been stealing your diary and dreaming about you for ages.”
She leaned in and kissed me again. Gently, her tongue teased my lips apart, the unhurried firmness of her request sending a shiver through my body. I parted my lips for her, and she wasted no time caressing the inside of my mouth. She took the time to explore me thoroughly, cupping one hand at the small of my back and pulling me tight against her warm, lean body as she moved her mouth against mine. Timidly, I captured the tip of her tongue between my lips and sucked, hoping to return to her some of the feelings that she was giving me. This soft, teasing acceptance seemed to drive her wild with desire, and she shoved me backwards against a chair.
“No, Belle...” I said, breaking our kiss and glancing over my shoulder at the closed double doors.
“Why not?” she asked hazily, trying to kiss me again. “Ellie, I'll wait as long as you want if you are afraid of this, but now that I know how you feel...”
“It's not that. Someone could come in.” I glanced guiltily at Trugel, who had covered her head with her paws and turned her face away.
Belle jerked away from me like a hand from a warm stovetop, jumping back several feet and stumbling over herself. “Curse me for an idiot.” She fixed her wrinkled skirts where my hands had been gripping them. “We have to be more careful.”
“Enough talking.” I fixed my dress and nearly ran toward the double doors. “Your room has a bolt?”
The heat in Belladonna's dark eyes pulsed to life again as she hurried after me. I showed her the fastest way through the servant's corridors, not worrying about the noise that our feet made.
We stumbled into Belladonna's room, the brushing of our bodies making my heart drum harder. She slammed the bolt across her bedroom door, and it fell into place with a heavy thud. I hardly noticed the large, canopied bed that she backed me toward as she stripped off her outer dress. I fell on the bed willingly, welcoming her weight on top of me. She kissed across the planes of my face, and I leaned against the headboard, hardly managing to whimper. Belladonna sank her teeth into my shoulder, holding me steady as I hissed and arched off of the bed. “Mine...” she cooed, kissing and licking the place she had marked.
I buried my face in her hair. “Yes. Yours...”
“I need to feel you, Ellie, please. Undress me.”
My fingers fumbled over the laces of her corset and she had to direct my trembling hands to the right places before I could loosen them. At last, the ties gave and her torso swelled with air. She tore the corset away and threw it aside, revealing high, firm breasts and the bare expanse of her back. I slid my fingertips over the slick flesh, exploring the red patches where the corset had rubbed against her. She looked much more stunning without it.
“Touch me.” Belladonna leaned into my arms. “My body is yours to explore.”
I gave her my sweetest smile. Even though Belle's earlier displays of ownership had been exciting, I was relieved to know that she belonged to me just as much as I belonged to her. However, I wanted to be reminded of the longing, possessive entries from her diary that had excited me.
It was easy to draw out the part of Belle that I wanted. “I…I don't know how,” I stammered, letting all of my emb
arrassment and inexperience show in my face. I saw her eyes widen and darken, and I knew I had her. My innocence attracted her.
“Would you like me to show you?” she breathed beside my ear as she tugged herself out of her underskirts. I nodded and Belladonna touched her hands to my flushed cheeks, cradling my face. She was completely naked against me as she started to lift my dress. “I was going to let you set the pace, since this is new to you. Oh, Ellie...I'm so honored that you chose me for this...”
“I read your diary,” I reminded her as her warm mouth slid over my neck. Reluctantly, I pulled myself out of Belladonna's embrace and stood in front of her on the cold stone floor. Gripping the hem of my dress with shaking hands, I pulled it up and over my head, letting it fall to the floor beside me. I stood before her while she watched from the bed, naked and trembling, my body and soul bared. Part of me realized that making love to Belle would always have this element of power in it, even after we had repeated it a thousand times.
I lowered my chin and held out my hands to her. “Take me. I could never give myself to anyone else.”
The last of the doubts weighing on Belladonna's conscience fell away, and I saw something dangerous rise in her. She pulled me to join her on the bed, biting my chin before she caught my mouth in a bruising kiss. Lips still joined, she pinned my wrists above my head as our bodies touched for the first time. Feeling her stretched on top of me, skin to skin, made my chest ache with sweetness.
“Hmm, what am I going to do with you, pet?” she asked as I panted against her neck. A warm hand crept up my stomach, gently cupping one of my naked breasts. I gasped, shaking, trying to push myself into her palm. My fingers found themselves woven into her hair as she kissed down my neck, tasting an offered shoulder. My eyes closed as she took the rigid peak of my breast into her hot mouth, both of us sighing as one with pleasure. I was too overwhelmed with new feelings to be afraid.
The Second Sister (The Amendyr Series) Page 9
