First Light (17 page)

An ally I felt eager to be with again.

Two days after our conversation in the orchard, Cristian walked into the kitchen well before the sun was up. The squeaking, rusted hinges on the door woke me, and I was again embarrassed to be caught napping, my head on my arms as I curled up beside the fire. I’d only made bread this morning and had a little time while it baked, so I’d indulged in a few extra moments of sleep.

My rotten luck. Why does he always have to find me at my worst?

“You were
serious
.” Christian said, staring down at me.

“About what?” I struggled to get up, my tired muscles not being all that cooperative.

“You really sleep here?”

“Yes.
Sleep
being somewhat of a subjective word.” I rubbed my arms as the draft from the half-open door reached me. Cristian rushed to close it. I noticed, with satisfaction, that his friend didn’t appear to be with him.

“At least it’s warm by the fire,” I said.

“But haven’t you at least a cot or something?”

I shook my head. “Nor a pillow or a blanket. All the extras are in use for the wedding company.”

This really seemed to bother him, and he turned away from me. For a minute I feared he might leave.

“Have you seen the apples I gathered?” I asked. “A full six bushels. They were too heavy for me to carry, so I left them in the orchard.”

“Henrie and I will add to that number today,” Cristian said. “I wanted to help yesterday, but—”

“No worries,” I assured him, peeking in the oven to check the bread’s progress. “Mason tells me how busy you all are out at the stables.”

“Mason?”

“The milk boy.” I turned to face Cristian, again thinking it odd that no one seemed to know one another by name around here. “Or should I say the milk boy for now, court jester in the future. He’s the animated one— likes to tell tales.”

Cristian nodded. “Ah… skinny little fellow.”

“That’s him.” Taking up a towel, I removed the first pan from the oven. “I hope the royal families won’t mind plain bread this morning. I was all out of ideas for sweets.”

“How about another berry cobbler?” Cristian suggested.

I raised an eyebrow at him. “How did you know about that?”

Guilt flashed across his face. “I…”

Sounding an awful lot like Maggie, I clucked my tongue at him. “Stealing some of the royals’ food, are we?”

He hung his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “Listen, Adrielle. It’s not what you’re thinking. I need to explain, but I’m not—”

“I know.” I glanced up at him so he could see that I’d been teasing. I softened my tone. “I know you’re not a thief. And with the waste that goes on around here, honestly, I’m grateful someone is eating the leftovers.”

A banging started at the door. “That will be the milk. Mason’s early today. Help him, will you?” I asked Cristian, as I turned to the oven to retrieve the second loaf of bread.

Behind me I heard the door swing open and the thud of the pails as they were placed on the table. But by the time I’d turned around with the bread, both Cristian and Mason were nowhere to be found, and once more I was left alone with my work.

I tamped my disappointment and hoped it was only the urgency of his own tasks that had taken Cristian away so suddenly— and not anything I’d said.

That evening, Cristian, Henrie, and I picked apples well past dark. Somehow they’d managed to find a wagon already, and it stood parked at the south slope of the orchard, filling quickly as the three of us worked as fast as possible.

Henrie wasn’t much for conversation, and I didn’t object when he placed himself a distance from us. Cristian, however, followed me from tree to tree, reaching up to the higher spots I couldn’t, handing the fruit down so I could place it carefully in the baskets. We worked well together and emptied twice as many trees as Henrie.

“Think you’ll be able to spare any of these for a tart tomorrow?” he asked, halfway through the evening.

“Depends on if I get any visitors— or help.” I tilted my head back, looking up at him. “Neither you nor Mason stayed around this morning.”

“We’ve got responsibilities, too,” Cristian reminded me. “Why are you the only one working in the kitchen so early anyway? Aren’t there more girls who might help?”

“I don’t really mind doing the baking myself. I do enjoy company, though— someone to talk to.”

Cristian started to respond when Henrie came upon us, clearing his throat loudly. “Speaking of responsibilities, isn’t it time we headed back?”

Cristian jumped from the tree, landing a few feet in front of me. “Right you are,” he said, dusting his hands on his breeches— breeches that looked too fine for harvesting. A glance at Henrie, and I realized he, too, was dressed much better than the first time we’d met. Feeling self-conscious, I looked down at my worn dress.

“Where are you two off to at this hour?” I asked, wondering what sort of duties they might have at this time of night.

“We’ve a conference to attend in the castle,” Henrie said.

“O— oh,” I said, more curious than ever.

Cristian tugged at the top of his shirt, looking uncomfortable.

“There are a lot of
wedding
preparations yet to be made,” Henrie added.

“Well then, have a good time.” I turned my back to them and pulled the last few apples from a low branch. I was beyond curious now, but not about to let them know that. It was obvious Henrie wanted to say more and equally obvious Cristian wished he’d said less. Liking Cristian more, I decided not to pry. Though I was beginning to understand that their position here was quite higher than mine.

Their footsteps grew fainter until I could no longer hear them at all. Placing the apples in the basket, I sighed
.

How fortunate for Cristian, that he can get inside the castle. If I could, I might find Merry Anne or even Cecilia—

I stood upright as the obvious struck me. Cristian had been readily willing to help me with the orchards; it seemed likely he’d be willing to make inquiries for me inside the castle.

Or perhaps even get me inside.

… that her feet may be swift

And carry her to safety.

The following afternoon I waited outside the stables with Cristian and Henrie. I’d seen them earlier, exercising the horses belonging to the visiting royals, and I feared they might be too tired to join me after all. I hoped a little wager might goad them into it.

“Race you to the orchard,” I called when they’d come into view and were close enough to hear me.

“I don’t race girls,” Henrie said grumpily. He patted his hair, tucked in his shirt, and brushed the dust from his sleeves. I couldn’t help but think how ill-suited he was to be helping with the animals.

Cristian paused as if considering my offer. “Something tells me I
shouldn’t
race a girl, but— all right, I accept your challenge. Henrie, you call it.”

Henrie rolled his eyes in an exasperated sort of way but asked, “Where to?”

“The wagon,” Cristian said. “We’ll stop there so we don’t have to run uphill at the end.”

I was more than used to running up and down the hills near my home but decided not to push my luck. “We haven’t determined what the winner gets.”

“What do you want, Cristian?” Henrie asked.

I contained my scowl at his assumption and listened while Cristian spoke. “Well— the loser should have to do something really awful, some task the winner abhors.”

“Mopping the kitchen floor,” I said. It was my most dreaded task now, and Maggie required I do it each and every morning after the baking was done.

“Mucking out a stall,” Cristian shot back. “Belonging to the largest animal.”

“Agreed.” I held my hand out, and he shook it. A little thrill that had nothing to do with the race shot through me.

Henrie used the toe of his boot to draw a line in the dirt. “Wait here until I wave at you from the wagon. Then you can count down and start together.”

“You don’t want a head start?” Cristian asked, looking at me.

“Hardly.” I placed my foot behind the line and stood ready. Cristian joined me as Henrie walked away. From the corner of my eye I looked him over, trying to judge how good a runner he’d be. It
was
possible I’d end up mucking out a stall, but I knew the race would at least be close. Until Mother had insisted I stop racing, I’d always been able to outrun my brothers.

Henrie reached the wagon and waved to us.

“From three,” Cristian said. Together we chanted, “Three, two, one— go!” I let him start a second ahead of me, to make certain he hadn’t plans for me to run by myself. Then on his heels, I took off.

I caught him soon, and we ran side by side, the cool autumn air rushing past my face, sending my hair streaming out behind. Cristian glanced over, saw me gaining, and edged ahead. I ran harder, my feet became lighter, though my worn shoes offered little support. I hoped this race wouldn’t be the end of them and too late realized I ought to have run barefoot to preserve what sole was left.

I caught, then passed Cristian. He caught up with me.

I could tell he was really trying, and not just letting me win. I felt joyful and free, and I laughed out loud.

We ran neck and neck across the field toward the wagon. Henrie wore a look of consternation as he watched us approach. With a final burst of speed, I flung myself across the finish line— at the same exact second as Cristian.

He stopped, bending over and breathing heavily. I resisted the urge to show off by continuing up the hill.
There’s something to be said for being a farm girl,
I thought with immense satisfaction.

“You tied,” Henrie said, sounding utterly disgusted.

“Not tied,” Cristian said. “She beat me. I had a head start.”

I’d forgotten about that. “Looks like it’ll be the mop for you tomorrow morning,” I said brightly.

“You wouldn’t,” Henrie started but was interrupted by the appearance of a short, stout woman clapping her hands.

“Well done, well done.” She pranced over to us. “Ah, Adrielle.” She stopped in front of me, a look of delight on her face. “You
can
run, can’t you dear?”