She sighed, ferociously sousing the sheets in the harsh soap. Her hands were sore, and ached, but the sheets were clean – at least she would not be taken in that man’s dirty bed!
She hung the sheets on a rack near the fire to dry, took the bread from the oven, and hunted in the rickety shelves of the kitchen; she found dried beans and herbs, and put them in the empty kettle to make soup. Rory, stamping in snow-covered from outside, saw her doing this and beamed, flinging down a sack of mushrooms on the table.
“Here; for the soup, girl. For our wedding supper,” he said, and stooped to enfold her in an awkward embrace, landing a damp kiss on the back of her neck. She gritted her teeth and did not draw away, and he took her quiet endurance for consent, pulled her round and mashed another kiss against her mouth.
“Tomorrow you will not be so shy, heh, my fine lady – well, Granny, has she taken care of you properly? If she hasn’t, I’ll teach her.” He flung off his own rough cloak and took up hers, slinging it around his shoulders with strutting pride.
“I’ll have this; you’ll have no need to further out of doors than the outhouse, not till the spring-thaw, and then you’ll not need it,” he said, and went out again. Romilly swallowed her rage at seeing her brother’s well-made, fur-lined cape over his shoulders. Well, if she found a chance to escape, then, she must snatch up Rory’s cape; coarse as it was, it was warm enough to shelter her. The few coins in the purse tied at her waist, those she must have too, few as they were, for when she reached Nevarsin. Pitifully small the hoard was- The MacAran was generous with his daughters and his wife, buying them whatever they wished, but he felt they could have small need for ready money, and gave them only a few small silver bits now and again to spend at a fair. But to Rory, she knew, they would seem more; so she found a moment to conceal herself from Dame Mhari’s eyes behind the clothes-press and transfer the little hoard of coins from the pocket tied at her waist, into a folded cloth hidden between her breasts; surely, soon or late, he would take the pocket from her, and she left one or two small pieces in it to satisfy his greed – maybe he would seek no further.
As dark closed down from the short gloomy day, she sat with them at the crude table to eat the soup she had made and the bread she had baked. Rory grumbled – the bread was not very good – was this all the skill she had at cooking? But Dame Mhari said peaceably that the girl was young, she would learn, and the bread, however heavy, was at least a good change from nut-porridge! When bedtime came he said sharply, looking away from her, that tonight she might sleep in the box-bed with Dame Mhar’, and that he would wait four days, no more, for her return to health.
Now she knew the limits of her time. But if she had had any idea that she might escape while they slept, it vanished when Dame Mhari said, “Let you sleep on the inside of the bed, my girl; do you think I don’t know you would run away if you could? You don’t know when you are well off; but when you are Rory’s wife you will not wish to run away.”
Oh, won’t I? Romilly thought, gritting her teeth, and lay down fully resolved to try for an escape as soon as the old woman slept. But she was weary from a day of heavy and unaccustomed work, and fell asleep the moment she laid her head on the pillow; and when she woke in the night, whenever she stirred, she saw by firelight the old woman’s eyes, wide awake and beady as a hawk’s, watching her.
Three days passed in much the same way. She cooked coarse meals, washed the old woman’s sheets and gowns, found a little time to wash her own clothes, including the torn-up petticoat she had put to use . . . fortunately she was not too closely observed at the wash-kettle, so she had a chance to dry the cloths and fold them and hide them under her tunic.