But children have a keen way of things. Sidra made herself lower her hands from her brow and eat her kail.
It seemed as if Torin would not be joining them for dinner.
Sidra rose and scraped everything off his plate, feeding it to the dog. Why did she even cook for him? Why couldn’t he send her a note with a raven if he was so intent on remaining at the castle?
When she decided to put Maisie to bed early, the child’s whining intensified. The lass wanted one of the cats to sleep with her, which Torin allowed only on certain days. Sidra decided to let two cats in. Then Maisie wanted a story, but none of the ones in Sidra’s lore book. Only a new one would do. Sidra’s eyes were so tired she could hardly see the words on a page, let alone create a story spontaneously. But she scrounged up a legend about Lady Whin of the Wildflowers, adding that she grew the finest kail yard and diligently ate her greens every night.
“I want a different story,” Maisie said.
“Tomorrow, if you are a good lass,” Sidra said, blowing out the candles. “I will tell you another story. Now. Go to bed, Maisie.”
Sidra shut the bedroom door and leaned on it, staring at the table. All the food and dirty plates were still set out. She contemplated leaving everything where it was. Perhaps Torin would clean it up whenever he decided to come home?
Sidra snorted. Knowing better, she carried a few dishes to the wash barrel. One of the teacups broke when she began to scrub it. She stopped, surprised when she realized she had cut her finger. She watched as her blood left a small trail in the water.
Sidra was still staring absently into the wash barrel when Torin finally arrived.
He removed his boots and hung his plaid. His face was haggard, his eyes bloodshot when he looked at Sidra. And then his gaze dropped to the table, which was still a mess.
Sidra’s heart softened toward him as she sensed how weary he was.
But then he briskly said, “Where’s my dinner?”
It took everything within her not to slam and break all the dishes in the wash barrel.
“I fed it to the dog.” She returned to her scrubbing, the cut in her finger throbbing with her pulse.
“Of course you did,” Torin muttered, and Sidra, again, thought she might lose her mind. But she held her tongue, her temper simmering just beneath the flush of her skin. She watched as Torin heaved a sigh and sat down in Maisie’s chair. He began to eat his daughter’s cold dinner until he noticed the half-chewed kail sitting on the table beside the fork. “Never mind this. I should have remained at the castle.”
Sidra whirled, intentionally breaking a plate against the cupboard this time. Torin had always known her to be a gentle spirit, and whatever he saw in her eyes gave him a moment’s pause as pottery shards cascaded to the floor.
“If I knew when you were coming home, I could have dinner ready for you,” she said.
“If I knew when I was coming home, then I would tell you.” He rose from the table, rattling the dishes. “But most of the time I don’t, Sidra. It would make my life much simpler if we moved into the castle.”
She froze, knowing this had been coming. The sudden panic that tightened her ribs made her feel like a bird trapped in an iron cage. She thought about all the castle stairs she would have to walk up and down. Her foot responded with a twinge of pain.
“It would simplify your life, but not mine, Torin.”
“In what way, Sidra?”
“Because this is where I work,” she spoke through her teeth. “All of my herbs grow in this kail yard. I need to be near them to find the blight’s remedy.”
“Grow them in the castle kail yard!” he said with a toss of his hand.
“If it’s easier for you to live in the castle,” she began, “then live there. You have before. Maisie and I will be fine here.”
It was a low blow.
She saw it in Torin’s expression as if she had struck him.
The distance swelled between them. It felt like the floor had cracked at their feet.
Her anger began to cool, replaced by misery as she watched Torin stride to the door. His face was guarded, blanched. He appeared to feel nothing at all as he donned his boots, gathered his plaid.
Stop him. Don’t let him go.
But Sidra was frozen, pride and fear holding her captive. She watched Torin walk out, slamming the door in his wake. The shutters clattered, and the fire guttered in the hearth. She listened to his footsteps fade as he walked deeper into the night.
She heard Yirr let out a few barks in the yard, sharp notes of warning. Or perhaps he was pleading with Torin to return.