Heard it on the Wind
Dec 8, 2018 14:38:19 GMT -5
Post by Runa on Dec 8, 2018 14:38:19 GMT -5
“Thank you.”
Paega.
Runa’s heart fell further, her stomach twisting as another sob wracked through her chest. Ceolmund’s hand, heavy and warm, set upon her shoulder for a moment, though it did nothing to help Runa’s mood begin to quell or quiet. Once more a whore; called such in front of her new daughter, in front of her parents—by her own blood! And the accusations slung over the table had stung as needles. What would Paega think? Her parents? How was she to stand up, a mother and wife, a daughter, when she felt broken?
“My wife... is not a whore… I cannot stand the word. Beorhtric means to drive a wedge between us, as he has done for years. Our child is long wanted, by both of us. No consequence. She is a fit mother. Nothing like Elin, and I will be be a...I am a glad father.”
“Papa Coleymond, what’s a howe?” Paega asked innocently. It must have been something bad, to make her Runa cry, to make the room for a moment frightening.
Amalric bounced the child, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. “Don’t worry your pretty head,” he rumbled, forcing his voice pleasant for the sake of the little girl. His own heart was beating furiously, and the cool air on the walk to the inn would do him well.
“It’s a person who’s made mistakes, little sparrow. Nothing else. But it’s not a word that’s nice to say,” Hildred offered, already moving to usher her family toward the door. “And it’s something your Mama Runa certainly is not,” she offered, looking to Ceolmund pointedly. She understood; she knew. Disappointment seeped and weighed in on her heart at the thought of her own son, her Beorhtric, thinking he had the right to meddle the way he did.
She reached, touching Ceolmund’s arm with a gentle hand, brow furrowing. “Ric and I are thrilled, sweetheart. You’ll be great parents, we know.” Beorhtric would see too, she was certain. More could be said—much more—yet now was not the time.
“It was a long day. We all should rest.”
“Well that sounds like a good idea. Come on, little sparrow—off we go to eat, hm?” Hildred remarked as blithe as she could make her tone, and with one last look toward her daughter, ducked out the door, Amalric soon following with their precious sparrow in tow.
The door shut, and Runa could no longer sit still. “He called me a whore,” she breathed, the sound almost a whimper. She could not look to Ceolmund, who tended the hearth; all she could do was sweep forward, and it was not until she was stooping to grasp the basket into hand that she realized what it was her body had set out to do. “H-h-he…!” She could not get beyond the word. He—Bear, the one that should have loved and believed her. Her brother.
Another sob broke free, and she turned, scooping up the thrown rolls to place once more into the basket. One. Two. She could hardly see them for the tears streaming down her hot, red cheeks. Her hands found the next roll, and with a small whine she lifted it to her lips, taking a bite. “The whole city will think it now! Athelstan’s bad enough, and Elin!” Crumbs rained from her lips, and she turned, finally looking to her husband. “But Bear, too! I thought…I thought he’d be happy! I thought he’d—” She sniffed and coughed, the tremor of her lungs and shoulders interfering with her words.
How long had Bear wanted her to marry? How long had he thought her job as a wife more important than that as a healer? But it had come to this: hateful words and hateful eyes. The healer felt her stomach tighten, and she took another bite of the roll. “I’m sorry, Ceol. I shouldn’t have asked you to let me invite him. I—I-I thought…” She had thought it would not be like this.
Paega.
Runa’s heart fell further, her stomach twisting as another sob wracked through her chest. Ceolmund’s hand, heavy and warm, set upon her shoulder for a moment, though it did nothing to help Runa’s mood begin to quell or quiet. Once more a whore; called such in front of her new daughter, in front of her parents—by her own blood! And the accusations slung over the table had stung as needles. What would Paega think? Her parents? How was she to stand up, a mother and wife, a daughter, when she felt broken?
“My wife... is not a whore… I cannot stand the word. Beorhtric means to drive a wedge between us, as he has done for years. Our child is long wanted, by both of us. No consequence. She is a fit mother. Nothing like Elin, and I will be be a...I am a glad father.”
“Papa Coleymond, what’s a howe?” Paega asked innocently. It must have been something bad, to make her Runa cry, to make the room for a moment frightening.
Amalric bounced the child, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. “Don’t worry your pretty head,” he rumbled, forcing his voice pleasant for the sake of the little girl. His own heart was beating furiously, and the cool air on the walk to the inn would do him well.
“It’s a person who’s made mistakes, little sparrow. Nothing else. But it’s not a word that’s nice to say,” Hildred offered, already moving to usher her family toward the door. “And it’s something your Mama Runa certainly is not,” she offered, looking to Ceolmund pointedly. She understood; she knew. Disappointment seeped and weighed in on her heart at the thought of her own son, her Beorhtric, thinking he had the right to meddle the way he did.
She reached, touching Ceolmund’s arm with a gentle hand, brow furrowing. “Ric and I are thrilled, sweetheart. You’ll be great parents, we know.” Beorhtric would see too, she was certain. More could be said—much more—yet now was not the time.
“It was a long day. We all should rest.”
“Well that sounds like a good idea. Come on, little sparrow—off we go to eat, hm?” Hildred remarked as blithe as she could make her tone, and with one last look toward her daughter, ducked out the door, Amalric soon following with their precious sparrow in tow.
The door shut, and Runa could no longer sit still. “He called me a whore,” she breathed, the sound almost a whimper. She could not look to Ceolmund, who tended the hearth; all she could do was sweep forward, and it was not until she was stooping to grasp the basket into hand that she realized what it was her body had set out to do. “H-h-he…!” She could not get beyond the word. He—Bear, the one that should have loved and believed her. Her brother.
Another sob broke free, and she turned, scooping up the thrown rolls to place once more into the basket. One. Two. She could hardly see them for the tears streaming down her hot, red cheeks. Her hands found the next roll, and with a small whine she lifted it to her lips, taking a bite. “The whole city will think it now! Athelstan’s bad enough, and Elin!” Crumbs rained from her lips, and she turned, finally looking to her husband. “But Bear, too! I thought…I thought he’d be happy! I thought he’d—” She sniffed and coughed, the tremor of her lungs and shoulders interfering with her words.
How long had Bear wanted her to marry? How long had he thought her job as a wife more important than that as a healer? But it had come to this: hateful words and hateful eyes. The healer felt her stomach tighten, and she took another bite of the roll. “I’m sorry, Ceol. I shouldn’t have asked you to let me invite him. I—I-I thought…” She had thought it would not be like this.