Sarah looked up from grinding something in a small stone mortar. “Matthew sent word they’re caught at a treefall on the castle road. Normally he and Cadan make up the beds but they won’t be home before we’re asleep, if at all, tonight. Best to make yours now, so you can tumble straight in after dinner.”

How did one ‘make up’ a bed? Eleanor dumped her basket on the table by the door and stood, staring at the other basket, linens smugly folded, daring her to do something with them. A grey fog was covering her mind, she couldn’t think, she could barely see.

She had to keep going, Martha was not going to get the satisfaction of hearing about her cry. “Have you already made your bed?”

Sarah nodded. “Aye, there’s only your bedding left in there, and I’ll sort the other basket once I’m done here.”

“There’s more still drying in the bath house, Maggie says Martha won’t burn them.”

Sarah’s brow pinched as she stopped and looked at Eleanor, who looked away, picking up the basket of bedding and carrying it through to the bedroom. She would not stumble, she had to make the bed.

The door bumped gently shut behind her as she dropped the basket and stared at the bed. It was laughing at her too, blankets clumsily folded at its foot, bare pillows at its head. Pillows, she could do the pillows. It was enough to start, and somehow, step by fumbling step, she managed to get the bed made. Not well, not neatly, but it was good enough to sleep in, at least for her and if Cadan didn’t like it, well he could do the job himself.

She returned the basket to its home in the main room and was gifted a bundle of clothes to put away in exchange. Back she went and dumped the whole lot into the chest. He could tidy that too if he didn’t like it.

Could she sit now? She could sit on the bed for a moment, surely. It was nice and soft, the wool of the blankets nearly gentle enough to soothe the raw misery of her hands. The next thing she knew, Sarah was shaking her awake. “Come along, lass, you need to eat.”

Eleanor started to cry, thin, tired sobs that refused to be held down any longer. Why was she so weak? She’d barely done what Sarah would see as a normal day. She was never going to survive.

Warm arms went around her, as Sarah gathered her close and murmured soothing nothings, like Mrs Dorin used to when Eleanor was a child. “There now, lass, you’ll be alright, it’s new, it’s hard, but you’re doing so well. Come and eat and then you can tumble into bed and have a quieter day tomorrow.”

The sobs slowed to hiccups and Eleanor sniffled. “Thank you, Sarah.”

She shuffled to her place at the large table and sat, hands curled into themselves on her lap. A bowl of stew, a mug of tea, and some bread appeared in front of her, and she forced herself to grip the spoon she was handed. Eating was slow, every movement hurt now she’d stopped long enough to remind her body what rest was like.

Back in the bedroom, she forced herself to get properly undressed, and realised what a horrible mess she’d made of Sarah’s apron. Yet another thing to wash, which probably should have been washed that afternoon. She laid it over the chest, along with her dress and stockings. She’d deal with all of it in the morning.

Finally, bed, snuggled in under the covers she searched for sleep that didn’t want to be found. She hurt too much, there was too much to think about, worry over; the tears started again. She wanted to go home, not to the horrible place in market square, but Home. To the house on the docks, to Mrs Dorin’s kitchen, to the kelpies winking at her as they slipped into the wicked currents of the river. Lost in memories, she followed the kelpies and slipped into the currents of sleep.

Later, as she drowned in the grips of a nightmare, a large, solid body slipped under the blankets beside her, and a low, lilting voice soothed her into dreams.

She woke, still tired, when Cadan left the bed to turn on the lamp. Could she pull the covers over her head and not come out today? But then Martha would hear about it. Eleanor sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Oh but she hurt. There’d been no one to put the salve on her back last night, and she’d clean forgotten about it. It was her hands though, they were the worst, cramped into themselves and refusing to straighten. She took a deep breath, stretched out her fingers and bit down the whimper that came with the motion.

Cadan came to sit beside her went to take her hand but stopped when she winced away. “I’m sorry, Nora, I should have stayed yesterday. I’ll stay today though we’ll take some time out and go into the forest. I can show you the dryad’s pool and the little bit of swamp your will-o’-the-wisp friends like and where the wild strawberries hide.”

Eleanor shook her head. “I have to collect the washing from yesterday and work out what to do about Sarah’s apron, and Maggie’s expecting to see me this afternoon to do weaving things.”

She was looking at her hands, coaxing the fingers into movement, but heard the hurt in Cadan’s reply. “You’d rather work than spend the day with me?”

“They’re expecting me to fail, to give up and not show up to do the things I’m meant to do. I refuse to give them the satisfaction.”

Cadan moved to crouch at her feet, so he could see her face, he was frowning. “Who?”

Eleanor bit her lip and looked away. Cadan followed. “Who, Nora?”

The tears started again. “I do not need you to fight my battles for me. I’ll take care of it myself.”

She dodged around him and began pulling her dress on. She got it settled in place, then went to lace up the front. The narrow cord of the lacing bit into her fingers and the pained whimper escaped this time. Cadan appeared next to her again, this time taking her hands in his, cradling them so he could inspect the palms. “What have you done to yourself? You can’t work like this.”

She swallowed, hard, and glared up at him. “I am not going to give them an excuse to sneer.”

Her husband shook his head, then applied himself to her fastening her dress, pulling and tightening the cord until she was securely, but comfortably laced all the way up. She wanted to laugh through her tears at the fierce concentration on his face, she wanted to hug him for being so sweet, she wanted to kiss the lower lip he had gripped in his teeth as he learned the knack of the lacing.

She felt her face flame clear to her ears, where had that last one come from? She couldn’t kiss him. She barely knew him. Her unexpected stranger of a husband.

He fussed her over to the bed again and helped her on with her stockings and shoes, before scrambling into his own clothes – could her face get any hotter? – and urging her into the main room.

She baulked. “I need my clothes for the bath house.”

He said. “I’ll get them, if you tell me who’s upset you.”

She snapped. “Fine. I’ll get them, in fact I’ll use the things I left there to dry overnight. I can take care of myself.”

What had she left there? Not much of hers, she’d only had a day’s worth of clothing to wash; it had mostly been men’s items she’d spilled into the mud.

She wrestled up the lid of the chest, daring her weaker self to make a sound, and dug through to the bottom. A fresh, crumpled smock, stockings, her dress, a shawl and her comb. She’d talk to Sarah about aprons over breakfast.

Cadan left the room as she was bundling them together, his shoulders hunched, head down. Wonderful, now she had to deal with him in a sulk on top of everything else.

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