what?”
“From . . . Simply from . . . You need to talk to her about this, Chani. It’s not truly my place, but I can promise you she’s not ashamed. She just wants you to be protected. Not every man is going to be as trustworthy as Tristan and me and Mordecai. Especially some of the spoiled gentry who think they’re untouchable. And indeed, in many ways, they are. They’re . . . ” He hesitated and then said, “Just ask your mother. I’m sure as pretty as she is that she learned as young as you.”
She looked up at him and for once wasn’t sure what to say. Finally, she said, “You’re talking in riddles, Pey. I haven’t a notion of what you’re saying.”
“Good then. I wish that you never need know what I’m trying to say. ‘Tis a shame you will have to learn. It’s not fair, but then life seldom is. Even at thirteen I’m sure you know that by now.”
They reached her cottage and stepped up on the porch. Her mother met them at the door and took one look at Chantaya’s face still smeared with some of the blood and she quickly glanced back and forth between the two of them as she said, “Great heavens! What has she been up to this time, Peyton? Chantaya, are you well?”
Chantaya nodded as Peyton turned back and said, “She’ll tell you, I imagine, Mrs. Kincraig. It’s always something with her, but then you already know that. Good evening.”
SSSS
Chantaya glanced at Peyton’s retreating back and sighed as she went into the cottage door. She went across to the water basin and dipped a cloth in to begin washing her face as her mother asked, “Chantaya?”
“Yes?”
“What ever is the matter with Peyton? He looked sad as he left here? Are you two fighting?”
“No.” Chantaya shook her head.
Isabella hesitated and glanced back at the door and asked, “What then? Surely, he didn’t hit you.”
“No! Of course not. Peyton would never hit me.” Chantaya turned aside to the looking glass and finished washing, then stared at herself for several moments before turning back to her mother and asking with great seriousness, “Mama, is it truly completely inappropriate for me to sword fight?”
Isabella looked at her for a second in surprise and then her forehead creased as she tried to understand and then, inexplicably, she laughed. “Is that what this is about? Is that what happened to your nose?”
Looking sheepish, Chantaya nodded. “Yes. And Peyton has decreed I am no longer to sword fight because I am now a grown up girl.” She rolled her eyes. “Blast him! I almost feel like I have to obey him because he’s infinitely wise and adores me and is always right. Blast, blast, blast him!”
Isabella laughed again as she put her hand over her mouth and struggled to contain a veritable fountain of laughter. Chantaya frowned and then smiled hesitantly with her as she said, “Blast you too, Mama. You’re not supposed to agree with him. I’m only thirteen. He’s such an old frump. If he wasn’t so blasted handsome and usually right, I’d want to trounce him.”
Still laughing, Isabella said, “He is always right. Remember? And you’re almost fourteen and look seventeen.”
“That’s exactly what Peyton said. Blast him.”
“Stop cursing. He truly said that? What did he say?”
Chantaya picked up a hair brush, pulled the remnants of her braid out and began to brush out her hair. “He said that now that I’m uhm mmm grown up, I need to act more ladylike or the boys are going to think I’m wild and will expect something. He never would say exactly what. And then he said I look seventeen and had to behave respectably and he said . . . ” She paused and then turned toward Isabella and asked, “Mother? Why do you insist I wear my hooded cloak into the
“From . . . Simply from . . . You need to talk to her about this, Chani. It’s not truly my place, but I can promise you she’s not ashamed. She just wants you to be protected. Not every man is going to be as trustworthy as Tristan and me and Mordecai. Especially some of the spoiled gentry who think they’re untouchable. And indeed, in many ways, they are. They’re . . . ” He hesitated and then said, “Just ask your mother. I’m sure as pretty as she is that she learned as young as you.”
She looked up at him and for once wasn’t sure what to say. Finally, she said, “You’re talking in riddles, Pey. I haven’t a notion of what you’re saying.”
“Good then. I wish that you never need know what I’m trying to say. ‘Tis a shame you will have to learn. It’s not fair, but then life seldom is. Even at thirteen I’m sure you know that by now.”
They reached her cottage and stepped up on the porch. Her mother met them at the door and took one look at Chantaya’s face still smeared with some of the blood and she quickly glanced back and forth between the two of them as she said, “Great heavens! What has she been up to this time, Peyton? Chantaya, are you well?”
Chantaya nodded as Peyton turned back and said, “She’ll tell you, I imagine, Mrs. Kincraig. It’s always something with her, but then you already know that. Good evening.”
SSSS
Chantaya glanced at Peyton’s retreating back and sighed as she went into the cottage door. She went across to the water basin and dipped a cloth in to begin washing her face as her mother asked, “Chantaya?”
“Yes?”
“What ever is the matter with Peyton? He looked sad as he left here? Are you two fighting?”
“No.” Chantaya shook her head.
Isabella hesitated and glanced back at the door and asked, “What then? Surely, he didn’t hit you.”
“No! Of course not. Peyton would never hit me.” Chantaya turned aside to the looking glass and finished washing, then stared at herself for several moments before turning back to her mother and asking with great seriousness, “Mama, is it truly completely inappropriate for me to sword fight?”
Isabella looked at her for a second in surprise and then her forehead creased as she tried to understand and then, inexplicably, she laughed. “Is that what this is about? Is that what happened to your nose?”
Looking sheepish, Chantaya nodded. “Yes. And Peyton has decreed I am no longer to sword fight because I am now a grown up girl.” She rolled her eyes. “Blast him! I almost feel like I have to obey him because he’s infinitely wise and adores me and is always right. Blast, blast, blast him!”
Isabella laughed again as she put her hand over her mouth and struggled to contain a veritable fountain of laughter. Chantaya frowned and then smiled hesitantly with her as she said, “Blast you too, Mama. You’re not supposed to agree with him. I’m only thirteen. He’s such an old frump. If he wasn’t so blasted handsome and usually right, I’d want to trounce him.”
Still laughing, Isabella said, “He is always right. Remember? And you’re almost fourteen and look seventeen.”
“That’s exactly what Peyton said. Blast him.”
“Stop cursing. He truly said that? What did he say?”
Chantaya picked up a hair brush, pulled the remnants of her braid out and began to brush out her hair. “He said that now that I’m uhm mmm grown up, I need to act more ladylike or the boys are going to think I’m wild and will expect something. He never would say exactly what. And then he said I look seventeen and had to behave respectably and he said . . . ” She paused and then turned toward Isabella and asked, “Mother? Why do you insist I wear my hooded cloak into the
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