A Time of Exile - Katharine Kerr [133]
“Nal, Nal,” Myna whined. “What are you doing?”
“Beating a little slut,” Nalyn sputtered out. “Lida, let go of her! I won’t have my wife feeling sorry for a slut like this. Her and her cursed silver dagger! Ye gods, I’m never going to be able to make her a decent match now.”
Lidyan started to cry, her hands slack on Glaenara’s arm. Still terrified, Glaenara turned to her mother to find Myna staring in paralyzed disbelief, her thin lips trembling, her patient eyes full of tears. Glaenara tried to speak, but she choked on pure shame.
“Glae,” Myna whispered, “tell me it’s not true.”
Glaenara wanted to lie, but she was shaking too badly to speak. Myna reached out her hand, then drew it back, staring at her all the while with aching eyes.
“Glae,” Lidyan wailed, “how could you?”
But Lidyan was watching her husband; Myna turned toward him, too, a final slap sharper than any hand. They were both going to let him pass the final judgment on her.
“It’s true enough,” Glaenara spat out. “Go on! Call me what you want. I won’t be here to listen!”
Glaenara barreled through gate, raced as fast as she could down the road, kept running even when she heard them call her back. She hardly knew what she was doing; she only wanted to run and run and never see any of them again. Her mother was siding with Nalyn. At the thought tears came to choke her and leave her gasping, forcing her to fling herself down into the tall grass to weep. By the time she’d wept herself dry the sun was setting. She got up, expecting to see Nalyn coming after her to beat her some more, but the twilight road was empty, the house far behind. She wiped her dirty face on her sleeve and began running again, heading for town and Braedda, who would maybe forgive her—perhaps, she thought, the only person in the world who would.
At last, just as the stars were pricking the velvet sky, Glaenara reached the village. As she stood behind the inn and wondered if Samwna would even let her inside, once she knew the truth, the tears rose up again, hot and choking. She had no place in life anymore, nowhere to go, nothing to call her own; she was a shamed woman and a slut and naught more. She was still weeping when Braedda’s enormous cousin, Cenedd the blacksmith’s son, came strolling through the innyard.
“Glae, by the gods!” Cenedd said. “And what’s all this?”
“Nalyn turned me out, and I deserved it. All because of Maer.”
When Cenedd caught her by the shoulders, Glaenara flinched back, expecting that he would beat her, too.
“Bastards, both of them,” Cenedd said matter-of-factly. “Now don’t cry like that.” He turned his head and yelled. “Braedda, get out here!”
When Braedda and Samwna hurried out, Glaenara blurted the truth between sobs, simply because there was no use in lying. Braedda began to cry, too, but Samwna took charge—again, as matter-of-factly as Cenedd.
“Now, now, it’s not the end of the world. Oh, Glae, you’ve been such a dolt, but truly, I was afraid this was going to happen. Here, you’re not with child, are you?”
“I don’t know. It’s not been long enough to tell.”
“Well, then, we’ll know when we know and not a minute later. You come inside where it’s warm, and we’ll all have some nice hot ale.”
As the two women led her into the kitchen, Glae looked back to see Cenedd standing and talking urgently with Ewsn and Selyn, the weaver’s son. She and Braedda sat huddled together on a bench in the corner of the kitchen while Samwna bustled around, pouring ale into a tall metal flagon and settling it into the coals on the hearth.
“Mam?” Braedda said. “Can Glae sleep here tonight?”
“Of course. There’s no use in trying to talk sense to Nalyn