Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [158]
I liked it; I liked all of it, even the hard work. It kept my mind from wandering and gave me no time to brood. For the first time in many years—mayhap since I was a child tending goats at the Sanctuary—I felt truly useful.
And there were no signs of the Maghuin Dhonn.
It wouldn't last, of course. I had no illusions on that score. But while it did, I meant to relish every moment of the respite. As hard as I worked, I kept a sharp eye on my bindings, mindful that none were loosened or frayed. The croonie-stone never left my neck.
There were two things I did that autumn that made me proud.
For the first, I asked around and learned that there was a crofter on the estate of Sionnachan, some leagues to the south, who was renowned for his honey. I sent a message to Golven of Sionnachan asking permission to consult with the fellow. Mayhap it was because I was wed to the Cruarch's niece, or mayhap it was because I sweetened the request with a gift—a fine sword-belt with a gilded buckle of D'Angeline workmanship—but Lord Golven sent the beekeeper himself in reply.
Milcis the beekeeper was a gentle soul, with a shock of white hair and bright black eyes. I liked him very much. When I told him why I wanted to keep bees at Clunderry, he beamed with approval.
"You're a good husband, my lord," he said. "Never mind the child! Trust me, when a woman's breeding, there's naught like good honey to sweeten her mood.”
Together, we paced the estate. Milcis showed me the best place to set up an apiary, betwixt the apple orchard and the woods. He taught the village thatcher how to construct bee-skeps out of straw, and consulted with the master of the orchard on the best way to capture swarming honeybees come spring.
"Can we not hope for an earlier harvest?" I asked anxiously. "The child's due in the spring.”
Milcis laughed. "Ah, no, my lord! Like breeding women, bees keep their own season. But never fear, it will make her milk run sweet, and she'll be grateful for it. When the babe begins to teeth and grow fretful, put a little on its gums and she'll bless you for a wonder." When I frowned, he regarded me warmly. "Your first, is it?" I nodded, and he placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. "I've a goodly bit of honeycomb laid by for the winter. Do you know, 'tis the one food that never spoils? Never fear, my lord. I'll see right by your lady wife.”
"My thanks," I said earnestly. "And I'll see right by you, my lord beekeeper.”
I tried to keep it a surprise, but Dorelei learned what I'd done from one of our reeve's reports. After Trevedic had left, she shook her head in amazement. "Bee-skeps, Imriel?”
I smiled at her. "I did promise.”
"You did." Dorelei sat on my lap. The swell of her belly was visible now, even beneath clothing; slight, but pronounced. She sank her hands into my hair, gathering it in her fists. "Why do you have to be so nice?”
"I'm trying not to be insufferably self-absorbed," I said. "Would you rather I didn't?”
"No." She kissed me, then released my hair and smoothed it. "You're doing a good job of it.”
"With your permission, there is one selfish thing I'd like to do." I tilted my head, regarding her. "I'd like to build a small shrine to Blessed Elua.”
"I suppose it's fitting," Dorelei said slowly. "Our child should know her full heritage.”
"Or his," I reminded her.
"Or his," she agreed.
That was my second deed. With Dorelei's blessing, I sent a messenger to the Temple of Blessed Elua and his Companions in Bryn Gorrydum town, bearing a letter with my request and a generous offer of compensation. A swift affirmative reply returned, with a promise of an effigy and a priest to perform the dedication to follow.
It would be a simple affair. Clunderry