Sisters Three (Completed)

10. Morna (2/2)

After breakfast they released into the sitting room where the aunts and their dogs sat in the two chairs by the large window and the Glenfarrow men arranged themselves by the fireplace. Brenna had artfully draped herself across the window bench, staring out into the vineyard like a damsel in a fairy tale. Robert Glenfarrow kept glancing her way, his expression unreadable. Morna kept to the corner, viciously embroidering so that she needn't speak.

Aunt Nora kept up a steady conversation about harmless aspects of the war in Anjeluund. Mostly about the rations and the difficulties in trade with the Ravours' latest conquest of one of the main rivers. Her aunts may have been insatiable busy-bodies, but they always made a point to know the details of their guests' worlds. The Glenfarrows' lives revolved around the war, and so her aunts would make sure to know just what to ask about in conversation. It was a talent, and Morna begrudgingly respected them for it.

Brenna stayed out of the talk, perhaps hoping Afton might notice and come to speak with her. No one seemed to notice her once the aunts started talking, though, and Morna could see the irritation rolling off her sister as she shifted on the window bench. Morna debated approaching her and saving her from her self-imposed solitude, but she knew her sister would be angry that Morna might have discouraged Afton from approaching. So Morna kept her ground, staring at her length of silk and green thread until her eyes blurred. A whole forest of ivy vines swirled around the edges, far too many than should have been. But it kept her looking busy, and that was a blessing.

It was while she was forming a new vine when she felt the presence of someone arrive at her elbow. Out of the corner of her eye she could see trousers and boots, which meant it was one of the Glenfarrows. Morna plowed away at her needlework while she tried to decide whether or not to acknowledge him. She spent so long picking over if it would just bring on unwanted attention that the time elapsed since his arrival to the present time grew to such a length that her decision was made for her. She couldn't speak now or else it would look odd, so she pretended that she hadn't seen him at all and continued on. He stood for a few more moments in silence, and then spoke.

"I think I need you as a tutor on needlework." Ah, Afton. Thank heavens. Morna let out a sigh of relief and finally raised her eyes. He had rested one hand on the back of her chair and was examining her work.

"What does a young man like you want with needlework?" she asked, fighting the urge to hide her work from his scrutiny.

"Men have a great need for needle and thread, especially if they are without mother, sister, or wife," he responded. Morna knew Brenna would be listening in and reveling at his mention of his bachelorhood.

Afton continued, "There's clothes and equipment that need to be mended, not to mention the items we have to make ourselves. I put these sleeves on this shirt after I ripped to old ones while hunting last fall." He offered his arm to her for her inspection of his sleeves.

It actually was pretty bad workmanship. The stitches were uneven, lopsided, and comically large. The other sleeve, even from a distance, was noticeably longer. Morna stifled a laugh.

"At the risk of sounding prideful, I agree that you could use my help. I think an entire kitten could fit between those stitches."

"I haven't the time for dainty stitches," he said with good humor. "There's drills and riding lessons and meetings that never end. So I save time where I can."

"You'll end up wasting more time with work like this," she said. "It'll come undone at the first signs of stress."

"Well, do you mind if I watch the master at work?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Brenna wouldn't like it, but Morna could see the same look on his face that she wore herself. He didn't want to talk to anyone as much as she didn't. So, she set aside her worries about the lecture she'd get that night from Brenna, and she nodded to give her consent to Afton.

After fetching another chair and setting it up by her side, Afton watched as she started up her embroidery once again. The others in the room carried on the conversations without noticing the two in the corner, and they were mercifully allowed to keep quiet and just sit. After a while, Morna grew used to Afton's eyes on her work and she picked her speed back up. Surprisingly, it felt almost natural to have him by her side, asking a few questions about how she kept her lines so straight. It was only after a few minutes that he began fidgeting restlessly, and glancing at her when he thought she wouldn't see. She wondered what the matter was, if she perhaps still smelled like lake water. Then he spoke, and she realized with a jolt what was on his mind.

"I didn't get to ask you in person this morning, but I really do hope you're feeling better after yesterday afternoon."

Morna chewed on the inside of her cheek before answering. "I'm the picture of health," she said. And then, to try and distract him, she added, "Thank you for going in after me. I'm not sure just anyone would have done the same, so my gratitude is yours."

Afton didn't take the bait. "Can I ask what you were doing out there? It didn't look as if you were trying to swim. It looked as if... well, as if you'd walked in. Was there a reason?"

The blood drained from Morna's entire face and her hands stilled in her lap. Her heart pounded against her chest so hard that her blouse moved in rhythm. She hunched to hide the signs of her discomfort and called up a calm voice from some inner pool of strength.

"I'd dropped something of mine," she said.

Silence grew.

She glanced at Afton to see him staring back at her.

"You're not going to tell me the real reason?" he asked.

She didn't want to tell him. He was some stranger, not even from Ittal, and he thought he had some right to her secrets?

And yet she felt a pall over her, not letting him know the truth. Terror chilled her veins at the thought of him knowing about her shame, yet even if he didn't suspect the truth he no doubt thought her at least intent on killing herself. And that felt almost as bad as him knowing of the water.

Her throat tightened and she crumpled the embroidery in her hands. The needle pierced into her skin, drawing blood and staining the vines crimson.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, and stood up abruptly. The others in the room looked at her curious outburst, the conversation stopping. Afton rose, his face covered in confusion. He reached for her arm, his own apology on his lips, but she broke away before he could act.

She only paused when she reached the doorway, hiding her dripping palm in her skirts. "Please excuse me, but I'm feeling a little faint. I think I will retire for the day. Lord Robert, Robbin. Afton." She nodded to each in turn and then made her escape to the hall.

She had only a few seconds before one of her aunts stormed out and tried to make her stay, so she kicked into a run and was hallway up the stairs before she heard her name yelled from the direction of the sitting room.

Pretending she was out of earshot, she ran the rest of the way to the safety of her room.