The Queen's Poisoner
Page 75
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Evie stared up at him, her jaw quivering with subdued laughter.
It only made Ratcliffe angrier. “You think . . . you think this is amusing, Lady Mortimer? Amusing? I come to hunt down this missing brat, only to discover you both destroying His Majesty’s pillows? I ask you, I ask you!”
But she was giggling uncontrollably now, pointing at Ratcliffe’s snowy head. Owen felt a twinge of fear, but there was nothing he could do, he couldn’t stop laughing either. It only made matters worse that some of the soldiers were trying to smother their smirks and failing.
“Out! Out!” Ratcliffe shouted. “You little scamp, back to your room. I’ll report this to Berwick and make you both pick up every, single, f-f-f—” His scolding was interrupted when a feather went into his mouth, just at that very word, and started to choke him.
One of the soldiers guffawed, and then they were all laughing. Ratcliffe’s color went red as a tomato as he roughly grabbed Owen’s shoulder and propelled him out of the room, kicking up another plume of feathers. Owen looked back at Evie. She was smiling mischievously, and when their eyes met, she gave him a wink. He winked back at her.
Goose down swirled in the room, and Owen felt a pulse of warmth. Ankarette was hidden beneath the bed, safe. Twice in one day.
She truly was a clever woman.
The next morning, Owen was arranging tiles in the kitchen before breakfast when Evie arrived, later than usual. She wore a dark green gown with a wide, braided girdle paired with her favorite boots, of course. Owen knew she had arrived by the sound of her walking, but also because of what Liona said.
“Ah, here’s the other guilty one. Bless me, but both of you children were up to wickedness last night. There are evil feathers floating in the air all the way to the throne room, you two. The king will not be pleased. Look at you, lass, you have one stuck in your hair still!”
“I did it on purpose,” she replied without even a hint of remorse. “Owen has a white patch in his hair and now I do as well.”
He looked up swiftly and nearly knocked over the tower he was carefully building in his surprise.
Liona laughed and shook her head as she continued slaving at the ovens. Evie grabbed two round muffins from the table and wandered over to where Owen was kneeling, her eyes gleaming with the shared secret. When she reached the bench, she set down the muffins and crossed over to him.
Owen turned back to his tower, trying to finish it so he could topple it. He noticed the white feather in her hair, just over her left ear. She had done a little braid on that side and stuck the piece of goose down through the upper part of it.
“We were almost caught,” Owen whispered conspiratorially.
“I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so hard,” she answered with a grin. “I’ll never forget Ratcliffe’s face. That crown of feathers stuck to his balding head! I still want to laugh when I think on it!” She held her stomach a moment, her smile infectious.
Owen added another part of the tower. This was one of the tallest ones he had built, and it was starting to sway, which was a bad sign.
“What did Ratcliffe say after he dragged you out? Did he hurt you?”
Owen shrugged. “Not really. I think he expected . . . her . . . to be with us.” He placed the next tile delicately and it stayed up.
“When she pulled that dagger,” Evie whispered, “I was afraid for just a moment. But what a brilliant idea! I don’t mind cleaning up all the feathers. It was worth it.” Her hand snaked over to touch his. “Thank you for telling me,” she whispered. “You are my dearest friend.”
He gave her a sideways smile and then prepared to place the final pieces, moving very slowly and with painstaking gentleness as he put them on. He was at it for quite a while when she drew closer behind him and offered him one of the muffins.
Then she picked up the other one and nibbled on the edge. “Pumpkin . . . my favorite! I love pumpkin muffins and pumpkin soup and pumpkin tarts. Have you had oyster stew before? Oysters are rare, but we have them in the North. Mussels, too. We usually harvest them in the fall. Our cook would make pumpkin muffins and we’d eat oyster soup in trencher bowls to go with them.” She smiled dreamily as she took another bite from her muffin. “Are you ready to knock it down?”
“You can,” Owen said, backing away from the tower. He set up the final trail of tiles that led to it.
“A kind gentleman!” she praised. After taking another bite of muffin, she set it down on the bench and knelt in front of the tiles, gazing at the structure with admiration. “Do you know where she lives?”
It only made Ratcliffe angrier. “You think . . . you think this is amusing, Lady Mortimer? Amusing? I come to hunt down this missing brat, only to discover you both destroying His Majesty’s pillows? I ask you, I ask you!”
But she was giggling uncontrollably now, pointing at Ratcliffe’s snowy head. Owen felt a twinge of fear, but there was nothing he could do, he couldn’t stop laughing either. It only made matters worse that some of the soldiers were trying to smother their smirks and failing.
“Out! Out!” Ratcliffe shouted. “You little scamp, back to your room. I’ll report this to Berwick and make you both pick up every, single, f-f-f—” His scolding was interrupted when a feather went into his mouth, just at that very word, and started to choke him.
One of the soldiers guffawed, and then they were all laughing. Ratcliffe’s color went red as a tomato as he roughly grabbed Owen’s shoulder and propelled him out of the room, kicking up another plume of feathers. Owen looked back at Evie. She was smiling mischievously, and when their eyes met, she gave him a wink. He winked back at her.
Goose down swirled in the room, and Owen felt a pulse of warmth. Ankarette was hidden beneath the bed, safe. Twice in one day.
She truly was a clever woman.
The next morning, Owen was arranging tiles in the kitchen before breakfast when Evie arrived, later than usual. She wore a dark green gown with a wide, braided girdle paired with her favorite boots, of course. Owen knew she had arrived by the sound of her walking, but also because of what Liona said.
“Ah, here’s the other guilty one. Bless me, but both of you children were up to wickedness last night. There are evil feathers floating in the air all the way to the throne room, you two. The king will not be pleased. Look at you, lass, you have one stuck in your hair still!”
“I did it on purpose,” she replied without even a hint of remorse. “Owen has a white patch in his hair and now I do as well.”
He looked up swiftly and nearly knocked over the tower he was carefully building in his surprise.
Liona laughed and shook her head as she continued slaving at the ovens. Evie grabbed two round muffins from the table and wandered over to where Owen was kneeling, her eyes gleaming with the shared secret. When she reached the bench, she set down the muffins and crossed over to him.
Owen turned back to his tower, trying to finish it so he could topple it. He noticed the white feather in her hair, just over her left ear. She had done a little braid on that side and stuck the piece of goose down through the upper part of it.
“We were almost caught,” Owen whispered conspiratorially.
“I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so hard,” she answered with a grin. “I’ll never forget Ratcliffe’s face. That crown of feathers stuck to his balding head! I still want to laugh when I think on it!” She held her stomach a moment, her smile infectious.
Owen added another part of the tower. This was one of the tallest ones he had built, and it was starting to sway, which was a bad sign.
“What did Ratcliffe say after he dragged you out? Did he hurt you?”
Owen shrugged. “Not really. I think he expected . . . her . . . to be with us.” He placed the next tile delicately and it stayed up.
“When she pulled that dagger,” Evie whispered, “I was afraid for just a moment. But what a brilliant idea! I don’t mind cleaning up all the feathers. It was worth it.” Her hand snaked over to touch his. “Thank you for telling me,” she whispered. “You are my dearest friend.”
He gave her a sideways smile and then prepared to place the final pieces, moving very slowly and with painstaking gentleness as he put them on. He was at it for quite a while when she drew closer behind him and offered him one of the muffins.
Then she picked up the other one and nibbled on the edge. “Pumpkin . . . my favorite! I love pumpkin muffins and pumpkin soup and pumpkin tarts. Have you had oyster stew before? Oysters are rare, but we have them in the North. Mussels, too. We usually harvest them in the fall. Our cook would make pumpkin muffins and we’d eat oyster soup in trencher bowls to go with them.” She smiled dreamily as she took another bite from her muffin. “Are you ready to knock it down?”
“You can,” Owen said, backing away from the tower. He set up the final trail of tiles that led to it.
“A kind gentleman!” she praised. After taking another bite of muffin, she set it down on the bench and knelt in front of the tiles, gazing at the structure with admiration. “Do you know where she lives?”
