61. Thatcher

The next morning, we were all but Mischa at our regular table in the hall when she joined us, surprisingly in fresh clothes.

She sat down next to me across from Helena and Maureen, without any greeting and began to butter toast.

“Well.

We are in suspense,”

said Helena, checking that Catrin, River and Quinn were engaged in their own conversation.

“We missed you in the baths this morning.”

Mischa looked up from her toast and across the hall to where Perch was ushering recruits away from their breakfasts and towards the training yard.

“I’ll tell you this, my dears.

That man is big all over.

All over.”

Helena and I began to laugh and Maureen stared at Mischa.

“Oh, come now, you’re about to reach your majority,”

Mischa snapped at her and pushed the toast into her mouth.

She turned to Helena and me and smirked.

Crumbs flying from her lips, she said, “I mean that is a stallion that was made for riding.

I pray I never tame him.”

Helena snorted into her tea.

“My face hurts from laughing,” I whined.

“I am not a little girl anymore, you know,”

Maureen said.

“I am about to reach my majority and I know what goes where.”

“Wait? How did you all know?”

asked Mischa, ignoring Maureen.

“We heard you tell him you wanted his prick in the alley,”

said Maureen, scowling.

“Oh,”

said Mischa, cowed.

“Who all heard?”

She glanced down our table.

“Just the three of us,”

Maureen begrudgingly assured her.

“Well,”

said Helena.

“I told Thatcher.”

We looked at her.

“You did?” I asked.

A pinkness stole over her delicate face and Helena said, “He asked what was so amusing and I told him.

He thought it was terribly amusing too.”

“Why are you blushing?”

asked her daughter, her tone more curious than accusing.

Helena looked at Maureen.

“Are you truly ready for plain speech?”

Maureen nodded.

Helena folded her hands behind her tin cup.

“Well, he approached me at our table, as I was alone because my friends had abandoned me and my daughter was dancing with a young man.”

She glanced at each one of us, like a mother hen corralling her chicks.

“He asked me if I wanted him to walk me back to the keep and I said yes.

Then he asked what had caused such unbridled mirth in our Edie—”

“He did not use the term ‘unbridled mirth,’ Helena,”

interjected Mischa.

“Please let her finish.”

I elbowed Mischa.

Helena continued.

“I told him what you said to his fellow soldier, my Mischa.”

Mischa had the grace to look away.

“And after we both laughed, he then asked me, and in my opinion, it was in a rather saucy tone ‘when was the last time a man had the honor of your bed and what does it take to be honored a second time?’ and I, well, I pretended to be a little more offended than I really was and asked him what he meant and he was quite courteous this time and he said ‘I should like to know how to please my bride.’”

There was a beat of silence as we digested this.

Maureen’s face was scarlet.

Mischa and I looked at each other.

There was a glow to Helena neither of us had seen.

Mischa regained her speech before I did.

“And what did you say?”

Helena looked up from her tea, the corners of her mouth creeping upward.

“I said ‘you seem like a man who knows what he is about.’”

“Oh, well said, Helena, well said,”

said Mischa.

“I’m impressed.”

“I have never seen you…”

I fumbled for words.

“I have never seen you affected by a man.

I have never known you to even have much interest in a man.”

“Me either,”

said Maureen.

“I’ve never known anyone worthy of being your father,”

Helena answered softly.

Our mood changed from cheeky to contemplative.

I could not take my eyes from Helena’s tranquil face.

Maureen, not exactly opposed to her future stepfather, but surprised, balanced her chin in her hands, watching her mother.

Mischa shoved more toast in her mouth and kept slowly shaking her head while she chewed.