‘Saw the prince riding out this morning,’ Grim said. ‘Lady Flidais too.’

‘Why would I be interested in that?’

He fell silent.

‘I’ve heard nothing but Prince Oran this and Lady Flidais that ever since the betrothal. I’m sick of the two of them and their household.’

Grim picked up the kettle; poured water onto the beans.

‘Sorry,’ I made myself say. ‘It’s the young girls who carry on about it, and their mothers aren’t much better.’

‘Harmless enough,’ said Grim, stirring. ‘Dumplings?’

‘Mm-hm.’ I sniffed. ‘Grim, what have you been doing this morning?’

‘This and that. Helping a fellow with some pigs. Why?’

‘You stink. Leave the cooking, I’ll do it. You find some clean clothes and wash the ones you’ve got on. You can do those other things too; I’m sick of them lying in the corner. Bring in some more water and I’ll heat it up. You’re not going to get that smell out in cold.’

It came to me, as he headed out to the well, that I was sounding like a nagging wife, which wasn’t good. Still, there was only so much pig smell a person could tolerate at close quarters. I salved my conscience by picking up the small mountain of dirty clothing and taking it outside for him. It was mostly shirts and hose; autumn weather being what it was, our heavier garments were lucky to get a sponge and a brush around the hems to take the worst of the mud off.

That was odd; there was my red kerchief, the one Grim had bought me at a fair, crumpled and filthy at the bottom of the heap. I couldn’t recall wearing it for a long while. What in the name of the gods was that all over it? It looked as if someone had used it to clean the floor. Never mind; it wasn’t as if I’d ever liked the thing much.

The house went quiet, with only a bit of splashing from out there as Grim scrubbed and rinsed and wrung, and a bit of stirring inside as I made herb dumplings and thought about Emer and her disappearing friend, the miller’s daughter. I wasn’t sure why the story was bothering me, since there was an obvious conclusion to be reached, the one everyone but Emer seemed to believe. Perhaps it was that Emer was a good girl, a clever girl, and that she’d sounded so sure. Ah well, when the travelling folk came it would be sorted out one way or another.

18 Grim

18

~GRIM~

I’m hanging up the wash when Blackthorn comes out. I expect her to say the food’s ready, but she just stands there. She’s got her red kerchief in her hands. Which is funny, because I’ve just put her red kerchief on the line after scrubbing all the flour out of it.