Duainfey by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee Read Free Book Online Page A

would have become a conflagration, but Becca had learned how to manage her temper, since the accident. She knew that this was not patience, but no one else seemed to.
    Not even Sonet.
    "Eh, well; I'm a snarly old woman—pay it no mind." Sonet cocked an eyebrow. "My advice is, if you're going to be repairing the conservatory, you'll do best to have yourself an orangery, and plant in chard, beans, tomatoes. The house will welcome fresh fruits and vegetables in winter."
    "You're right, of course," Becca murmured, and finished her tea.
    "Nay, now. I can tell when you're agreeing only to sweeten me up!" Sonet shook her head with a wry smile. "Take the counsel of your plants and do as seems best to you. I'm proud to say that you were my student, and you'll make those in the Corlands a grand and giving lady, which is something they've sore lacked."
    Becca felt her stomach clench, and took a deep, calming breath. "I will do my best in the Corlands," she said softly, and took another breath before slipping off the stool.
    "I did promise Mother I'd try to be back before Father came down," she said, apologetically.
    Sonet waved the apology away with a large rough hand as she came to her feet and moved over to the door. She pulled Becca's cloak from the hook and draped it 'round her shoulders.
    "Thank you," Becca said again, twisting the brooch closed before stretching high on her toes to kiss the weathered, fragrant cheek.
    "Take good care, Sonet."
    "And you as well, child. And you, as well."
     

Chapter Four
    Becca walked quickly along the track, shoulders hunched as if against a chill breeze. It was a pleasant, tree-lined way, normally one of her favorite walks, but Becca had no thought for trees, or for the gilderlarks trilling from the side of the path; she barely noted the moist scent of new leaf, or the faint sweetness of the springtime's first honeycups.
    No, Becca was thinking of the Corlands, and what she might . . . really . . . hope to find there.
    She had read the almanacs; she knew that in the Corlands winter came early and stayed late; that high summer, which often lingered lazily into what was rightly fall here in the Midlands, might in the Corlands be a matter of a week or two.
    She had known all that, had expected that she would need to discover new plants to replace those that pined for the sun after an absence of a day or two, and those others that were too fragile to transport. Yet to hear Sonet's calm assertion that the oldest friends in her medicine box—feverease! fremoni! aleth!—could not withstand the climate to which she was bound—that gave pause.
    Pause, indeed.
    She had no illusions regarding her own frailty; she knew herself to be strong beyond what was strictly ladylike. But a land so inhospitable that weedy aleth, which set down roots in gravel and flourished, sun or shade, could not survive it—what toll might such a land take upon her?
    Biting her lip, she walked even more quickly, as if she might outpace these disturbing thoughts. Plainly, she needed to question Sir Jennet more closely regarding his land and the conditions she could expect to discover there. Perhaps, indeed, she should write to him—though that would be shockingly forward. Becca sighed. She would ask Mother, she promised herself, and if writing was found to be out of the question, then she would surely have ample time to talk with him at Caro's dance, in just eleven days' time. No, she corrected herself, that must be ten now, unless Caro's crowing at the calendar yestereve was mistaken.
    So deep was she inside these dismaying thoughts that she did not for some time hear the approach of the horse. It was the bells at last pierced her abstraction—bells with a tone so high and sweet that they must set anyone's teeth on edge. Accompanying the bells were the sound of hoof beats at canter, and a deal of what might be irritable blowing.
    Becca took a step off the side of the path as chestnut filly, white star a-blaze upon her