Page 10 of Picking Up the Gauntlet

“Emma, it’s fine.” Raven put her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “I’d like to spend time with my cousin during her visit, so you are not needed.”

“I’m not?” The handmaid looked terrified, thinking she was being let go.

“What my daft cousin means is that she doesna need help dressin’ since I am here.” Lark explained, putting the gown down on the bed. “However, she missed the mornin’ meal, so she will need ye to go to the kitchen and prepare her somethin’ to eat.”

“Nay, I’m fine. I’m not hungry,” said Raven, getting a stern look from Lark in return. “I mean... yes, that is what I need. Now hurry along, Emma,” she said, escorting the girl to the door. Lark followed. “We’ll meet you in the kitchen shortly.”

“If you’re sure, my lady.” The handmaid still seemed as if she didn’t want to go.

Raven realized the girl wouldn’t be in any hurry to leave until Raven put her mind at ease. “I’ll be sure to speak to my father. Don’t worry. I promise you won’t be in any trouble and neither will you lose your job when you have the baby. You can help in the kitchen until my cousin goes back to Scotland.”

“Thank you, Lady Raven.” Emma curtsied, smiling from ear to ear before turning and running out the door. Raven slowly closed the door behind her.

“Now, see?” asked Lark with a knowing smile. “That wasna hard, to put the lass’s mind at ease and make her stop worryin’, was it?”

“Plus, it got rid of her so we can talk in private.” Raven giggled, grabbing Lark’s hand and running and plopping down on the bed, pulling Lark along with her. “Tell me everything that’s been happening in Scotland. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.”

“I’ve missed ye, Raven. Things have happened. Bad things,” she said, her smile fading.

“Bad? Oh, nay. What? Tell me.” She held Lark’s hand in both of hers. “Florie isn’t ill, is she?” asked Raven, speaking of Lark’s four-year-old daughter. “Where is she? Did she travel here with you?”

“Nay, Florie is in Scotland with my parents and she is fine. It’s... it’s Gregoire, I’m talking about.”

“Oh, your husband. I see. Oh my. Did he die fighting in France?”

Lark had become pregnant with the Frenchman’s baby when the French aligned with the Scottish for a spell, when she was only sixteen. She had discovered she was pregnant only after the man returned to France. They’d had correspondence, but he never came back. In respect to her cousin, Raven referred to the man as Lark’s husband, even though she wasn’t married and the child was a bastard.

“Nay, Gregoire didna die but I wish he had,” spat Lark, tears filling her eyes.

“Lark? What is it?” asked Raven, feeling her heart go out to her cousin. Something awful must have happened to upset the girl like this. Lark had always been so cool and calm until now.

“He’s... he’s married, Raven,” she said, sniffing and wiping a tear from her eye.

“He married someone else when he knew you had birthed his child? How awful.”

“Nay,” protested Lark. “Ye dinna understand.” She did her best to hold back the tears. “He was always married, and never intended to return for me or his daughter. He used me, Raven. I hate the man and never want to see him again.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Raven held the girl in a hug as Lark wept softly on her shoulder. “So, is that the reason you’re here? You didn’t want Florie to see you so upset?”

Lark pulled back and looked up to Raven with watery green eyes. Tears dripped down her cheeks. Such a kindhearted girl who wouldn’t raise a finger to hurt anyone should never be treated so badly. She didn’t deserve this awful twist life had handed her. Raven reached out and wiped a tear from Lark’s cheek.

“Aye, that’s part of it,” said Lark. “I also heard of yer upcomin’ weddin’ and decided I had to be here for ye.”

“It seems everyone knew about this but me,” Raven answered with a sigh. “Well, even if I’m not really getting married, at least the time away from your clan will do you good.” Raven got up and walked over to a trunk, pulling out an oversized tunic and a pair of trews. “This will do. I’ll get dressed and we’ll make our way to the kitchen to see if the cook has prepared any pie this morning. That should make us both feel better.”

“Nay.” Lark jumped off the bed. “Ye canna wear that, Raven! Those are the clothes of a boy.”

Raven chuckled. “They most certainly are. They are some of Rook’s old clothes. I saved them because it’s easier for me to practice with my weapons if I’m wearing a tunic and trews and not encumbered by a long gown and tippets tangling around me with every swipe of my blade.”

“Yer father is goin’ to kill ye,” gasped Lark.

Lark was usually an obedient girl, never doing a thing wrong. That is, except for her brief encounter with the lusty Frenchman. That one act of passion ruined Lark’s reputation forever. Even if she wanted to be married now, no man would ever want her. She had spoiled herself and tied herself down with a bastard child.

“I don’t care what my father thinks. I don’t want these noblemen to want me. I have to scare them off somehow.” Raven continued to dress, attaching her weapon belt that held her sword and dagger.

“Nay, Cousin. Dinna do it. Ye should be thankful of what ye have. I only wish I could catch the eye of a nobleman.”

“I don’t want those curs looking at me at all.” Raven pulled on a pair of boots and stomped over to the mirror, dragging a brush through her long hair.