"A dry shirt to cover me. Something to eat if you have it."
"Done," he agreed too quickly. "Now stand."
His impatience worried me.
"Not yet. I want to see the shirt you have to offer me."
He roared this time.
"Do you think me a fool? When I leave to fetch it, you will rise from the water and dress."
"Had I thought of that, I probably would have," I admitted. I'd been too worried to think that far, but as soon as he would have left the room, I was sure I would have done just that. Given his anger, I was glad he didn't leave and give me the chance.
"I will remain in this water until you return as long as it doesn't take so long that the fire dies."
Silence greeted me again. I waited a few moments and asked, "Are you there?"
No answer. Despite my promise, I considered rising from the water and dressing.
The sudden appearance of a shirt tossed over the jagged edge of the table startled me. The white material of the fine shirt seemed out of place against the wood. I quickly reached for it, but it disappeared over the edge again.
"Stand up. Now." His angry growl sounded nearby.
I really had no choice. I could sit in the water until I rotted or his anger got the better of him and he pulled me from the water regardless of his promise of refuge, or I could stand on my own and hope for the shirt.
"I'll stand," I said quietly, gripping the sides of the tub. "And when you feel you've shamed me enough, feel free to reward me with a shirt."
I stood facing the table, hoping it would offer me a bit of modesty since it came to my waist. And it did until he flung it to the side. The dying fire and the long shadow I cast hid him again, and I hoped the lack of light hid me as well. I wanted to close my eyes but dared not. Instead, I looked down and stepped over the edge of the tub.
"Shame," he whispered. "There is no shame in this. Only desperation." He sounded slightly sad.
I didn't have time to reflect on it because the shirt sailed out of the darkness and landed on my head, blinding me. The door opened and closed before I could pull it from my face. Quickly putting my arms through the sleeves, I threaded the buttons through their holes before turning to add more wood to the fire. As I guessed, I stood in the kitchen, alone once again.
My dress lay in a heap on the floor. I thought of putting it back on, but then wondered what I'd do. Unless my father had returned, there was as little safety for me outside the estate as there was inside. Sighing, I tossed my dress into the bath water. After rinsing it as best I could, I wrung it out and hung it over the edge of the table, which I again pushed close to the fire.
It took me a while to empty the tub with the bucket, but eventually I had all the water outside, and I turned the tub upside down and used it as a chair. The long shirt fell to the tops of my knees when I stood. When I sat, it rode a bit higher in back, but protected me enough that I didn't have to sit bare bottomed.
My eyes grew heavy as I waited for the dress to dry, and the stack of wood beside the hearth grew smaller. My stomach growled, and I recalled my request for food. Standing, I searched for something on the kitchen shelves and found a surprising bounty of hard cheese and dried fruit. I took a small portion of each and sat back by the fire.
After about an hour passed, the door flew open again. My heart pounded within its boney cage, and I moved to turn around, but his words stopped me.
"Do not turn. Stay as you are." He sounded angry. Beyond angry, actually. His growl was so severe it was hard to understand him.
I stayed still, staring at the flames while I strained to hear him move. Suddenly he spoke from right behind me as he gently touched my hair, his tone conflicting with his touch.
"Your payment went to waste."
Unsure what he meant, I remained quiet. He touched a tender spot near the crown of my head, and I flinched.
"Hurt again, girl?"
"Benella," I murmured, very uncomfortable with him standing so close behind me.
"Not a pretty name," he said with less of a growl.
"It's after my father and mother," I said slowly as his touch feathered over my head as if trying to find where I was hurt. "My mother had hoped after two daughters, the third would be a boy and planned to name him after my father, Benard. When I arrived, she'd been so upset that my father had suggested I still carry part of his name and hers as well, Nadelle. Benella is better than Nadard."
The beast gave a surprised grunt, and he parted my hair. I knew what he intended and leaned forward out of his way.
"I cannot accept any more from you without knowing the price."
He snorted.
"I give this freely." He tugged me back and touched his tongue to my head for a second time. I wondered what he'd do if he got a strand of hair in his mouth, but then supposed licking my head wasn't so different from licking his own furry hide.
It soothed the bare patches so much that I began to doze and leaned back against him. His warmth cradled me, and I fell asleep.
* * * *
At some point during the night, strangely muffled sounds of cawing roused me from a deep sleep. Curled on my side, I snuggled deeper into the pile of furs lying under me. From the darkness, something growled softly and silenced the bird as a large, warm hand soothed my hair. I sank back into my slumber.
In the morning, I stretched with a yawn and groaned. The cold cobble floor made me ache, and I sat up with a shiver and a frown. Hadn't there been a pile of furs last night? Studying the kitchen, lit now by the sun that shone through several windows set high on the walls, I saw only my dress, boots, and underthings. No furs.
Recalling the hand on my head, my mouth popped open. The beast. I sprang to my feet and looked around, the shirt brushing my legs. Everything clicked back into place, and I hurried to dress as I worried what Father might be thinking.
I hesitated to take the shirt as I couldn't remember how I'd asked for it. Unsure if it really belonged to me now or not, I folded it neatly and set it on the broken table with a look of regret.
* * * *
When I walked into the cottage looking disheveled, Bryn only spared me a censuring glance; and I knew I'd arrived in an untidy state too often in recent days. She washed dishes in a small tub on a plank counter near the stove. The table was empty and only the lingering hint of cooked food perfumed the air.
"Go borrow one of Father's shirts. You'll need to wash your dress before you can wear it anywhere. Father wants us looking presentable tonight. We're to dine with the Kinlyn family." Her flat tone told me what she thought of the idea, so I didn't ask any questions about why we were going. At least I would get to eat.
Father's bedroom door stood open, the trunk for his clothes at the foot of his bed clearly visible. Feeling intrusive, I knelt before the trunk and tipped the lid back. I hadn't ever looked in Father's trunk, as I never did the laundry. Bryn washed everything, folded it, and tucked it neatly away.
Inside the trunk, two distinct piles of clothes defined my father's sad wardrobe. On the right, his two neatly folded white shirts and spare pair of trousers waited for their next use. The left pile doubled what the right had to offer with the addition of two neckcloths, worn and frayed, lying on top. Everything in the left pile had been patched or mended in some way. Loose threads dangled from frayed sleeve cuffs and patches adorned knees.
Carefully moving aside the neckcloths, I took the top shirt from the mended pile and shook it out. It would service for wearing on my treks in the woods and for around the cottage. I placed the neckcloths neatly back into the trunk and closed the lid.
In my room, I glanced once at Blye's trunk of cloth and pushed back my resentment. I knew she mended his clothes and did a good job of it too, but she could easily make Father a new shirt. Was it fair to resent her when I'd ignored my own opportunity to help Father? After all, I'd slept in a very fine shirt Father could have used. Granted, it would have been a bit large, but Blye could make a shirt smaller. She'd proven that already.
Dressed in my familiar trousers and a borrowed, threadbare shirt, I bunched up my dress and took it outside where Bryn usually did the washing in good weather. Then, I began the long process of hauling water and soaping, scrubbing, twisting, and rinsing the dress. The process had to be repeated several times until the cloth began to look blue again. Giving it a final wring, I tossed it over a line Bryn had tied outside and wiped my hands on my pants.