Late January
A year and a half since Angelica left. Five months since Zac left.
The smell was nothing like Zac had ever smelled before. His stomach churned and quenched and yet still gave him a slight rumble reminding him that something could not be worse than nothing. He grimaced, arguing with his insides. It smelled worse than yesterday and everything tastes as good-or as bad- as it smells. This made him feel like retching. He felt the bile coming up his throat not that he had eaten anything since the day before last.
"Go oiz, ya rat! Thas pigs can't feed 'em selves." The farmer mockingly yelled. As Zac staggered under the weight the man chortled. With his bucket of slop sloshing with every step, Zac couldn't help but ponder how he got here. When he had left Averie he had a grand vision and when he arrived in Holcombe weeks later he had led a grand life. He had a mansion overseeing a plantation. He had a choice of every young maiden in the land and welcomed many to his home. He was the life of every party, drinking until the night grew long, gambling each coin to earn ten more. But then it began to shatter. He lost a bet a few months in and to compensate sold much. A lovely girl he couldn't turn away had left her husband in the dust and Zac had to calm him with riches before everything fell. He was reckless when drunk and discovered the next morning that he had stupidly given his home away. And that was before the famine hit, devastating and destroying all but the farmers who gimmicked even widows out of money, loads of it, for a small chunk of bread or a couple of vegetables.
Zac poured the slop in the trough and found himself digging in with the swine. The first handful was awful but as he ate more the less he minded. Satisfied with the meager, stomach-churning supper, Zac lay on the snow-dusted earth. He couldn't afford a coat or a cot, much less any shelter for the night. With February around the corner, Zac prayed fervently for an early spring.
His thoughts lead him down rabbit trails as he cuddled to a pig for warmth. Even his father's servants were better off than he was. They slept in warm homes with a fire roaring and blankets upon them. For dinner, they had a feast and had gone to bed with stomachs full. They did honest, good work and made more coin in a day than he could gather in a fortnight. The clothes upon their backs were clean and new, unlike the grime-covered tunic he wore. They drank clean water when they pleased while he got godforsaken grit. Indeed Zac was jealous. He was jealous of his father's servants. He was still jealous of his brother.
Zac's skin crawled green when he reminisced about Brooks. That man had everything: money beyond your imagination, a title, respect, a castle, a girl who worshiped the ground he walked on. Yet Zac had nothing. It was not fair. Maybe his father hated him. Perhaps Zac was an unwelcome reminder of what the duke had lost.
Or maybe...no, that could never be it. Zac shook his head. Idiotic ideas seemed to only sprout when he was tired. His father would never hire him as a servant. There was absolutely no way Zac could go back to being Zacary, the second son. His father hated him too much. But would he be accepted as a servant? Zac looked around. A chance at a 'yes' was better than a pigpen.
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Mia was looking up fearfully at the lean-to made into the roots of a fallen tree when the wailing started. She crawled up as fast as she could and staggered into the shelter. She winced at the pain in her ankle, cursing out-loud her stupidity for tripping over vines and spraining it. Ducking in, she bent down next to Prosper who was writhing enough to crack the makeshift cot. Picking up the toddler she shushed and rocked her, ignoring the pulsing pain in her ankle.
"Hush, baby. Momma's here."
"My tummy is ouchy," Prosper cries.
Mia exhales. This couldn't go on much longer. With winter still cold, her ankle was frozen enough that the swelling had gone down but Mia couldn't hunt or steal id she couldn't sprint, much less run. She was at the point that a walk to Leeland was too much. If her ankle didn't heal soon they would both starve before the end of the week.
Bracing herself against the tree roots, Mia struggled to a stand. She bit back a yelp as her ankle protested. Wobbling on one foot she halfheartedly hopped to the fire. She set Prosper down with a boiled stick seconds before collapsing. With a stick to teeth on, Prosper soon quieted albeit Mia's thoughts roared to life.
Richard's gang of thieves had to be closer than Leeland. If she was willing to take the risk, she could try to contact them. Some noise would send them over to investigate. But what if they weren't friendly enough to help her? Upon recognition, they could very well cart her off to the duke. Or they could not have a bother and take advantage of her. Or they could take Prosper...
Stupid idea! Mia chastised herself. She would simply have to wrap her foot and pray they didn't die before she was well enough to hunt.
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The past: Angelica Roslin
Angelica didn't have many fears but yelling frightened her. So when she heard shouts downstairs she wrote a note to her sister and fled. She didn't know where she was going until she stepped with labored breathes and knocked at the door of a Brother. When a woman with a tired smile and suds-covered hands opened the door, Angelica hesitated. Brothers weren't married, she knew enough to know that fact.
"Is this...is this where Brother Ryley lives?" She tried to peer around the woman. Was she a housekeeper, sister, surely couldn't be his mother...
"Yes, it is," the woman assured her. She waved a hand to the interior as she cautiously eyes Prosper. "Won't you come in?"
Angelica glanced around and stepped in. Once the woman shut the door, Prosper found it a good time to cry.
"Oh, the poor dear," the woman cooed. "Let us see if we can't find something for her to eat."
Angelica followed her silently into the kitchen where dishes stood in mounds and a tub of soap and water sat near the fireplace. "Sorry for the mess. Ryley will be in soon."
Absentmindedly Angelica nodded and rocked the wailing baby. A headache was blooming by the time the woman came with milk and offered to hold the baby. Gratefully she handed Prosper over. While the baby was getting soothed, a man in monk's robes startled them all with a chuckle. Sweeping into the room he planted a kiss on the baby's cheek. "For a second there I thought yours had come early, Rita." He looked carefully at Angelica, scrutinizing her before passing the question, "Is she yours, my dear?"
Angelica held out her arms and Rita slipped the baby inside.
"She is beautiful," Ryley prompted.
"She is not really mine. Her mother is, is-" Angelica gulped and Ryley lay a hand on her back.
"I understand," he whispered. "Her father?"
Hysterically Angelica cried out, "Don't make me give her to him!"
Ryley nods. "Seems like a delicate matter. Best to get introductions done first. Rita, this is Miss. Angelica Roslin. Angelica, my wife, Rita."
Angelica frowned. "But a monk can't-"
"A virgin should not have a child and yet look where you and Mary are."
She snapped her mouth shut.
"Who is your father, wee one?" Ryley tickled the baby as Rita got back to her dishes. Angelica quietly sat down. Ryley looked sternly into her eyes.
"Miss Roslin, I hereby do promise you that I will not make you hand that baby over to its father, ever."
With wary eyes and a gulp, Angelica answers, "Her name is Prosper Martin."
"Stars and Saints!" Rita gasps as she drops the cup she was washing. "Ryley, Martin, Martin was just announced..."
Ryley nods. "Angelica, Sir Martin of Averie died in the war."
Angelica wrinkles her nose. "What war?"
"The war our neighbors just surprised us with yesterday," Rita declares solemnly.