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“Are you unwell, Jane?”
Jane flinched in panic, before her gaze fell with relief on Sabrina. “Don’t ever sneak up on me like that. You nearly scared me to death.”
“I didn’t sneak. I was already here.”
She answered with a wan smile. “Were you?” Dipped her shoulder in a limp shrug. “I suppose I didn’t notice.”
Slouching into a chair before the dressing table, she tore off her kerchief. Even her beautiful red hair was dull and lifeless. Pulling the combs free with shaky fingers, she tangled one. Wrenched it loose with a muttered, “Blast.” Tears sliding down her cheeks. Shoulders quivering with dry sobs.
Sabrina threw herself from her bed. “What on earth? Here, let me, before you scalp yourself.” Took over from Jane, who merely sat like a life-size doll, allowing Sabrina to remove pins and combs. Brush the heavy fall of Jane’s hair, the rhythmic strokes easing her shoulders down from around her ears. Soothing her enough that she closed her eyes. Exhaled on a slow, deep breath.
Was this melancholia a result of the ambush in the woods? How had Sabrina not seen it before? Had she been so wrapped up in her own problems she hadn’t noticed her best friend’s suffering? Hadn’t thought about how the violent attack might have affected her?
Sabrina frowned at her own self-centered fixation. What kind of a friend was she?
Jane attempted a smile. “I’m a mess.”
“Certainly not. A good brushing, a few pins, and you’ll be fine.”
Their eyes met, Jane’s red-rimmed and puffy. “Nice try, but you know exactly what I’m talking about. Every time I close my eyes I see that greasy, horrible face and feel that man’s breath on my neck. I go all nauseous and trembly, and I can’t sleep. Sister Ainnir gave me a sleeping draught, but it tastes so awful, I don’t like to take it.”
Sabrina smirked. “Sister Ainnir believes anything that doesn’t make you gag on its way down must not be effective. A simple infusion of pennyroyal mixed with honey would do more for you than any of her torture potions.”
Jane relaxed back in her chair. Already more color to her cheeks, but lingering guilt kept Sabrina babbling. “I wouldn’t have let them hurt you.”
Her declaration met by a skeptical raising of brows. “And how did you plan on stopping them? You were hardly in a better position.”
“Daigh then,” Sabrina announced proprietarily. “He wouldn’t have let those men harm us. He didn’t. He fought. And could have died. All for us.” She still didn’t quite believe Sister Ainnir’s accusations. There had to be an explanation for his departure. Though none she’d come up with so far made any sense.
Jane’s mouth twisted in a dry smile. “He really did turn you inside out, didn’t he?”
She gave a noncommittal shrug. Pulled a heavy section of hair up and back.
Jane dropped her gaze. Began toying with the pins on the table. “Did you kiss him?”
“Jane!”
A glimmer of a wicked spark. “Did you like it?”
Sabrina jammed a comb in place.
“Ow!” Jane jerked upright. Shot Sabrina a dirty look. “Fine, if you don’t want to answer, you don’t have to. But don’t stab me for asking.”
She loosened the skein of hair. Adjusted the offending comb. “Sorry.”
A companionable silence fell over the room. Afternoon light slanted long and golden over the bare wood floor. Up the whitewashed walls. Over three sets of plain white coverlets.
Sabrina caught herself comparing the simple unadorned chamber to her sumptuous, peacock-bright bedchamber at Belfoyle. She’d not seen it since . . . well since that last horrendous autumn. Hadn’t been home to walk the park or scramble down the cliff path to the narrow stretch of beach. Hadn’t stolen fruit from the orangery or curled up in her favorite chair by the drawing room fire.
Would it look the same seen through adult eyes? Would the rooms seem smaller? The grandeur seem less grand? Would she feel like she were coming home, or would it be a stranger who strode the corridors as if seeing it all for the first time? Would the ghosts of her past rise up to walk with her? And what sort of ghosts would they be?
Father with his hot and cold moods?
The patient but distracted hand of Mother upon her shoulder?
Or would it be Brendan who visited her in the tangled corridors and quiet rooms? Explaining away his abandonment and the horrible accusations. Reasoning past her suspicions. Telling her it would be all right. That it wasn’t the way it sounded. That the Amhas-draoi had it wrong.
He was innocent.
