She would languish in here for as long as she could get away with.
Mirrie pulled the covers over her head and sighed, willing sleep to come and reclaim her so she did not have to replay the events of last night in her head.
I slapped Tristan.
And David all but asked for my hand.
She could not help but groan out loud at the mess of it all. How had such tangles formed around her, so quickly? As a child, she had once become caught in vine weed whilst swimming in the lake. One moment all had been well, the next, she felt her ankle ensnared in something rope-like that she could not escape, no matter how she twisted and tugged.
’Twas Tristan who saved her, diving down beneath the surface with a sharp stone to cut her free.
She shook away the memory. It would certainly not be Tristan who saved her from this particular tangle. He was the root cause of most of it.
A knock sounded on her bedchamber door and Mirrie held herself still and quiet, hoping that whoever it was would simply walk away. She closed her eyes as the door swung open and tentative footsteps approached the bed.
“Miss Mirrie?”
Was she to be denied any peace at all?
“Yes,” she croaked.
“I have a message for you, miss.”
Mirrie opened her eyes to find Molly standing by her bed. “Who is it from?” she mumbled.
If it is from Tristan, I want naught to do with it.
“I dunno, miss, ’twas waiting for you in the hall. I thought I would bring it up, together with something to break your fast.” She gestured to the night stand behind her, which bore a tray of foodstuffs and a pitcher of ale.
“My insistence on not having a maid assigned to me has caused your own workload to increase.” Mirrie shook her head regretfully, then winced at the pain.
“Never mind that, miss. Will you read the message now?”
“I’ll take it.” She held out her hand for the parchment, but the rest of her stayed resolutely under the covers.
“Let me just open the shutters,” the maid said, comfortably.
“Nay, please do not.” Mirrie saw Molly’s surprise and added, “I have a headache.”
Molly tutted. “A headache which will only worsen if you try to read in such poor light.”
Mirrie could not argue with that. She pushed herself up onto the pillows and shaded her eyes as brightness streamed into the chamber. Molly stood almost exactly where Mirrie had been when she refused to tell Tristan she had faith in himas a man.
She swallowed down a rising swell of grief. “Thank you, Molly.”
The experienced maid took the hint. “I’ll leave you now then, miss.”
Mirrie unfolded the parchment and recognised Jonah’s hand with a burst of emotion she told herself was relief.
Dearest Mirrie,
Is this all my fault? I fear it may be. Come and talk to me. Please. I’ll be waiting in the old bakehouse.
J
Mirrie sighed with exasperation and crumpled the parchment in her hand. The last thing she needed to be tasked with was assuaging Jonah’s conscience.
She swung her legs down to the floor, averting her gaze from hairpins scattered on the dresser; mementos of the ill-fated ball. The last time she’d dressed in this chamber, she had needed the assistance of two maids to make her as elegant and feminine as possible.
