Snippet #1
Grace
The rain slowed and then stopped as we trekked
over the first rise beyond the village.
“Wait until I tell Amity.” Beauty jostled my
shoulder as she gripped my hand with both of hers.
I pulled the sack with our purchases out from between us, praying that
she hadn’t squished the
bread. We hurried along the muddy path, sidestepping the deepest puddles and
avoiding the soaked knee-high grasses as best we could.
“Lord Brackenhurst is a giant.” Beauty hissed the
word in my ear like a child, marveling with equal parts wonder and horror. “He stands at least
four hands taller than Father.”
“He is tall,” I admitted, hoping that would be the
end of it. I didn’t want to dwell on
our difficult conversation with our new lord and master. Our new home, the
tenant-holding my mother grew up on, lay beyond the next hill and about an hour’s walk from the village. Our middle sisters would
have dinner prepared and the table set by the time we arrived home. If we
hurried, there might still be enough to blunt the sharp emptiness of my
stomach.
“Is he taller than any man you have met?” Beauty
shoved at my shoulder so hard that I stumbled to the side of the path in my
effort to keep my balance and avoid a particularly deep puddle. The bread and
the apothecary’s small pouch of herbs for grandmother bounced against my hip.
“Aye. Please don’t jostle me so.”
“And his hands!” She sucked in a great breath in
awe. “The one we saw was
the size of my head!”
“You have a small head.”
“No smaller than yours.” She dragged at my arm so
that my joints ached. “Come and admit it, Grace. He was a sight to
behold.”
I wasn’t willing to admit
anything. I just wanted to go home, back to Braulyn and the great port of
Mayfair. I longed to breathe the tangy scent of the sea air and feel the sand
beneath my toes. Not even the impressive, hulking sight of our new master could
overcome that longing.
“My, was he ugly! Those scars! I have never beheld
such a mangled visage—”
“Cease!” I yanked my hand free of Beauty’s viselike grip. “Leave the poor wretch alone.” I took three steps further
along the rutted path before I realized Beauty no longer walked with me.
Stopping in the center of the path, I turned back to find her crouched
in the grass with her arms about her knees.
“Oh, do stop pouting.” I crossed my own arms. We
had more important things to discuss, like whether or not we mentioned the
contract to our father. The strangely intense bailiff and the far-too-watchful
eye of his master had made the terms clear enough. Still, part of me rebelled
at signing away half a decade of my life. Not that it changed reality. Father
would happily bargain Beauty’s and my freedom
for such a prize as a regular income for which he didn’t have to work. He would see it as a chance to turn his fortunes
around.
Beauty lifted a prettily damp face to stick her bottom lip out at me. “I only spoke the
truth.”
“Hurtful truth,” I pointed out. “A person’s character isn’t based on their exterior. Neither of us knows
the measure of Duke Brackenhurst’s character. He is
to be our new master, and we need to show respect.”
“I would prefer a handsome husband.”
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