“That’s what I mean, dear. You haven’t commented on what you were told.”
“Lottie, I heard that I was to tell Lord Declan that he needed to double all his orders for witchwood, buy a year’s supply of crab and cobbleback, bring his lady here for a week-long stay and rent out the whole inn, and tell Lady Stacia she should shop for all her dresses here in town, and also finds ways to employ all the children on the island for life.”
“Yes, so?” Bett asked.
“So… what?”
“When are ya going to get it done, girl?” Bett demanded, her voice starting to rise.
“Oh… you were all serious?” Nira asked, taking a bite of crab and looking around the table. “Yes, it appears you were. Well then, let me consider how best I might go about this. I could write his lordship and say, see here you daft man, get about this business and be quick about it. No, that wouldn’t work… not even a little. Stacia says he’s very muley, hates to be told what to do. Usually stops talking to people who annoy him.” Heads nodded as the women acknowledged the general muley-ness of men.
“Or I could write Stacia and suggest these very ideas and have her tell him to get about it. But then I’m telling her how to run her man and most ladies don’t take well to that, from what I’ve seen here on the island, so no, that won’t work either.”
“Well now, it works quite often,” Lottie said.
“I don’t know, Lottie. I’ve seen you tell most of these fine ladies right here where, when, and how their men should be handled, yet I’ve not seen a one of them take your advice and you’re a woman of wisdom while I’m just still considered a girl.”
Lottie frowned at Nira, then looked hurriedly around the table. “I’ve always thought your advice was wonderful,” Haute said, getting a nod from the innkeeper but shaking her head when Lottie looked away.
“She’s got a point, ladies,” Maggie said. “As fine and intelligent a young lady as our Nira is, she’s a might young to be handing out advice to a married woman, especially a lady like Lady Stacia. In fact, she should be receiving advice on husbands, as the time is fast approaching for her to be betrothed.”
“Excellent idea,” Fod Waxwillow declaired. “Nira, you should come over tomorrow to lunch and I’ll start your lessons. My husband and son, Milken, will be around, and you can see how it’s done. You remember Milken, right? My, how that boy has put on muscle. As they have to cut and load all those logs for his lordship, he hardly wears a shirt at all these days.”
“Oh, but Fod, you’ve forgotten that your menfolk are due on our property tomorrow, helping Tom and my Lawson,” Haute said. “But you’re sure right about all those muscles.”
Actually, Nira’s mind had no difficulty imagining the two best-looking boys on the island hefting logs without shirts.
“Nira, Nattle asked if I’d pass on his regards to you,” Maggie said. “He didn’t have time the other night.”
“Well how could he, dear, what with his having his hands full of, I mean with young Keply like that,” Fod said.
That kicked off a general verbal melee that Nira found amazing. She ate the rest of her cake while listening and watching wide-eyed as the infighting went hard. Two of Lottie’s servers changed out the plates with substantial bowls of soup, this one a vegetable and hawk-chicken broth soup served with hot, crusty bread.
Nira managed five spoonfuls before Lottie leaned in. “You haven’t seen my Max in months. He’s becoming quite the young man himself.”
Max was built just like his mother and father, and Nira, who knew she was considered fair to look at, if a bit skinny, also knew no girl would ever be able to compete with food for Max’s attention.
“How can he not?” Nira said, getting a nod from the innkeeper.
“Kya mentioned how impressed he was with your storytelling, Nira,” Bett said from the other side.
“Thank you, Bett,” Nira said, knowing it was likely true because Kya loved stories. He was a very nice boy and had often asked Nira to read him stories, as his own mastery of the written word was lacking.
The rest of the table had quieted to listen and now some faces looked a little salty.
“How do we know what was real and what was part of Nira’s famous imagination in that story she told?” Weese Slogan asked. She’d been looking like she’d smelled dragon dung all lunch.
“Well, a good story always has a bit of embellishment,” Lottie said, giving Weese a hard stare.
“Well, that was a great story,” Weese said sarcastic-like. Nira had been working herself through the hurt of her friends’ new partnership for the last few days. She realized she was more hurt by Keply than Nattle. And Mrs. Slogan had been like a surrogate mother to her for all those years of childhood, right up until they’d left for Idiria. This felt like a hot knife to the heart.
“What do you mean Mrs. Slogan?” Nira asked, putting down her spoon.
“Nira, you’ve always been… you know… flighty.”
“Well now, ma’am, I don’t know exactly what you’re talking about. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you tell me I was flighty.”
“Nira, everybody on Lileire knows you always have your nose in a book or spend your days off loitering about the island. It’s not really your fault, nor your poor father’s, but he should have taken a harder hand with you, made you work a bit more.”
She felt flooded with red; it was all she could see. Nira kicked her chair back and stood up, almost knocking it over. “You… you… mean, petty bitch!” That last was a word she’d heard Lady Stacia say often.
The whole table gasped, but she was too far gone to think about it. “I work twice as hard
