Unthinkable (16 page)

_{Fenella looked up}
into the faces of her family. She drew
a shaky breath. She was suddenly aware of the cat on her
lap. His eyes were closed as if he was asleep, but she knew
he was not.

Padraig probably was sincere that first day,
said Ryland.
His tone was strangely thoughtful. He led a lonely life. It
makes sense to me, as I listen to your story. He wasn’t looking
to make mischief or cause pain. Not yet. He wanted a companion.

I am aware of that now, Fenella thought. Maybe I should
have pretended to love him. Maybe that would have saved
Robert and Bronagh, at least.

It was almost as if the cat read her mind.
I don’t know
what you should have done differently. He sounded surprised, even frustrated. How could you have known?

Fenella shrugged. She had been over this in her head a
hundred million times. Why did it feel raw again? Was it the
speaking aloud? Was it her family’s kind eyes? Was it that
a member of faerie royalty was listening to her, finally? Or
was it the bald fact that the threat of Padraig was renewed,
and she had been the one to renew it?

It came to Fenella with horror that she was telling the
story of her victimhood, but in truth, she was now the villain. She had destroyed her family’s home, and more was
ahead.

“You’re not going to stop there, are you?” asked Lucy.
“You have to go on and tell us how Padraig came to curse
our family.”

Soledad said thoughtfully, “I’m guessing that the curse
had something to do with Padraig discovering you were
pregnant by Robert. Were you with Robert that same
night, like you originally planned? When you sneaked
out?”

“Yes. I knew not to waste any time in getting pregnant.”
Fenella’s gaze skittered to Leo. After a moment, he nodded
back gravely, and she knew that he had understood her—
and also that he now fully understood why, before, she had
not wanted to hear the song about Lady Janet and Tam Lin.
She went on: “I had heard of clever girls who outwitted the
fey, using ordinary woman’s magic, and, well, love.”

“You did get pregnant on purpose, then?” Soledad leaned
in. Her gaze said that she, too, had made the connection.
Fenella nodded, glancing compulsively back at Leo.
“I could only hope, of course. But it was the right time in
my cycle. Robert wanted to be careful, but I told him no. I
didn’t tell him why. I knew he would give in. We were to be
married soon anyway.” The old memory floated to Fenella:
she and Robert, alone, within the four walls of the dwelling
Robert was nearly done building for them. There had as yet
been no roof, and so the stars had lit the night while she
rested in his arms.
They had had only three nights.
Leo’s gaze met Fenella’s. He said it aloud, plainly. “When
you got pregnant? Were you thinking of Janet in the Tam
Lin ballad, even then? You knew the ballad?”
Fenella nodded. “I did. I was reaching for whatever I
could think of, and I remembered Tam Lin. But you see,
Janet was the wrong example for me. For if I had not been
pregnant, Padraig could not have cursed anyone but me.”
Logical, said the cat, just as Soledad began shaking her
head.
“I didn’t think about the fact that I was bringing another
vulnerable being into the world. I felt strong,” Fenella went
on compulsively. “I thought I could succeed.”
“You were strong,” Soledad said.
“In all the wrong ways.” Fenella sank her fingers into the
cat’s fur.
“No,” said Soledad. “You are not judging yourself fairly.
Believe me, Fenella.”
Fenella compressed her lips. “I disagree.”
“Endurance is strength too,” Soledad insisted. “It’s another kind of ordinary woman’s magic. There were no good
choices. You survived. You’re moving forward with your
life. It’s all strength.”
Fenella looked into the cat’s unblinking eyes, and then at
Soledad. “No. Don’t argue with me about it.”
“All right,” said Soledad. “For now. But we’ll talk about
this again, all of us, because it’s important.”
Lucy nodded agreement, and Fenella saw her steal a
glance at Miranda.
Fenella said, “It’s a song. A story! It’s not a guide to real
life. That was my mistake. It wasn’t like I could grab hold of
Robert and not let go for an hour, while he turned into one
monster after another.” She tried to control the bitterness in
her voice. “If only it had been that simple.”
“Monsters?” asked Zach.
Leo explained: “In the song, Tam Lin was turned into one
monster after another, to test Janet’s love and resolve.”
“Easy for her,” Fenella said bitterly.
“Well, you’re right,” said Lucy, after a moment. “I never
thought about it before. But Janet had clear instructions.
Plus, she only had to be brave for an hour.”
Fenella said again, “It turned out to be the wrong story
for me. The wrong example. But it explains why I did what I
did. Why I became pregnant. I thought it would anchor me
to Robert and to human life. I thought it would give me my
own power.”
Miranda had remained quiet this entire time. She said,
“None of the rest of us had that choice. We were all forced
into pregnancy.”
Fenella would have met Miranda’s eyes, but Miranda was
watching her own knees.
“I realize that,” said Fenella gently.
She said this even though she knew it was not completely
true. Each of the Scarborough girls had had her own story,
and some of them, like Fenella—and like Minnie—had
been with lovers they chose. But there was no reason to say
anything that might make Miranda feel more alone. Fenella
looked away from Miranda, only to have her gaze caught by
Lucy. There was a moment of perfect understanding, filled
with shared sympathy for Miranda. Then Fenella ducked
her head. She could not afford to feel close to Lucy. Or to
Leo, who was looking on with gentle eyes.
Or to anyone.
She put a hand to her throat, and swallowed.
Lucy said, “Will you tell us the rest of the story, Fenella?”
You know what? said the cat suddenly. I thought I had no
knowledge of you before. But now I remember. You were in a
red dress, and Padraig had dressed to match, in red and black.
You were dancing with him at the ball. I was just a cub, but I
was there too, that very night.
Feeling Lucy’s gaze still on her, Fenella said, “Miranda?
Should I tell more?”
Miranda moved her head in the tiniest of nods.
“I’ll go on with my story, then,” said Fenella.

_{On a soft evening}
three days later, Fenella brought hay
to Dondo. The donkey adored his feed, so when he ceased
chewing and lifted his head, ears prickling, eyes going halfwild, she knew. She was ready, however.

Fenella kept a hand on the donkey, though whether it
was to calm the animal or herself, she did not inquire. She
turned. The lord was but half an arm’s length away from her.
She dropped a careful curtsy.

There was no preparing for the impact of his beauty, but
it was his clothing that made her eyes widen. His slashed
doublet was made of red silk and lushly embroidered black
satin, and trimmed with a wide collar and cuffs of finest
point lace. The slashes in the doublet showed his full,
voluminous chemise sleeves to advantage. He had a broad

brimmed hat to his head, tight breeches to his legs, and
high-heeled boots of gleaming leather to his feet. He wore a
ring on every finger, and more in his earlobes, and they all
gleamed red with jewels.

He took off his hat and swept her a bow.
He was like a male bird come courting in springtime,
Fenella thought, feathered out colorfully in hopes of luring
a mate, while she, the female, was considered desirable even
in her drab brown.
But she knew that being quiet and biddable would not
serve her.
“I suppose ruffs have gone out of fashion.” Fenella eyed
the collar, which lay flat over his shoulders.
“Long since, pretty girl.” Was that a glint of humor in his
eyes? “This type of collar makes it much easier to turn one’s
head. Do you like it?”
“I have no opinion.” It was a lie, and it sounded like
one too. The delicacy of the lace drew the eye. She wondered how Robert would look, dressed in such a way. She
really could not imagine. Then she wondered what Robert
would think, to see the faerie lord come courting her in
such finery, trying to impress her, and this made her feel
sick.
But he would not see, and if all went well, he would
never even know—or not know for many a long year, not
until they were very old together and their lives were near
done.
The important thing was that Robert was safe, two fields
away, finishing work on the roof of the dwelling that would
soon be their home.
Fenella would miss sleeping with the stars above their
heads.
“I mentioned that I wished to invite you to a party,” the
lord said. “It is a grand ball, tonight.”
“Good sir, thank you, but I mentioned that I did not wish
to go.”
He stared at her, his face impassive, for so long that
Fenella dared hope this would put an end to it. Then the air
between them was awash with mist. Fenella raised an arm
instinctively to protect herself, but an instant later the moisture was gone and she saw that he was holding a bundle of
red cloth in his arms.
“Your dress for the party,” the lord said. “The spiders were
weaving for three full days, since I first saw you. Your dress
has a reticella lace collar too. It matches mine, but is smaller
and more delicate.” He shook the fabric out and held the
dress before him.
Fenella was silent from sheer astonishment.
The dress had a silk high-waisted bodice in red, lavishly
embroidered, and tabbed skirts and full chemise sleeves.
Its sleeves were gathered into two puffs by a ribbon at the
elbow. The lace collar was soft and sheer, and woven so as
to depict pomegranates.
“There is a ribbon sash for your waist. I have not decided
yet about your jewels. Jewels should always be selected last.”
“No,” said Fenella.
“You would build a style beginning with the jewels?”
“No.” Her voice was strong again. “I shall not wear that
dress, and no, I shall not go with you. You cannot make me.
If I continue to refuse, you must take me at my word.” She
tightened her hand on Dando. She put her other hand on
her flat stomach, for courage.
She hoped it was true that he could not make her.
But the lord only smiled. “Your name is Fenella Scarborough, is it not?”
Fenella’s breath caught.
“I have made inquiries. It wasn’t difficult. Your laugh is
known far and wide.” He stroked the fabric of the dress, and
she saw how it sprang softly away from his overly segmented
fingers.
“Fenella,” he said. “You will come with me to this party. It
is only one night. This I swear. One night only, and a party
only. Then you will be free to leave me if you choose. I give
you my word. But come with me this night, you shall.”
In the next moment the dress was on her body, the waist
falling into place, the collar settling lovingly onto her shoulders, the ribbon sash tightening around her midriff, and the
skirts swishing around her legs and over her bare feet. A
breeze ran through her hair, unknotting it from its plaits
and then lifting it high, weaving it tightly into a pattern she
could feel across her scalp.
The donkey jerked away from Fenella’s astonished, frozen hand. He ran across the field as far as the fence would
allow.
Fenella stood still.
“And a high-heeled shoe with a ribbon rosette.”
Fenella’s feet pinched, and she staggered, looking down.
“Or perhaps a flat shoe instead. Do not fret. It is well
known that women, being less athletic, cannot manage high
heels as well as men. If that does not work, then you may
dance barefoot.”
“I shall not dance at all!” Fenella spat. She gathered the
skirts of her dress in her fists. She looked down at her bodice, but had no idea how to get out of the dress. She saw no
fastenings. Could she rip it off her body?
He was smiling at her, and talking, still talking. “Now we
come to the jewels. Pearls, I think. Two strands, black and
white, entwined.”
Fenella felt the weight of the strands encircling her throat.
She grabbed at them—these she would tear off, and immediately. But the movement of her hand brought something
else to her attention.
On her right thumb sat a ring of gold set with a single
pearl the size of a plover egg. The pearl glowed in the last
rays of the setting sun. She reeled back in shock. The price
of the ring alone would have kept her entire family all of
their days.
There was one moment of confusion. One moment when
she thought of the winters in which food was scarce. One
moment when she thought of how her aunt had died, tired
and sick, lines etching her face. One moment when she
thought of the years ahead, of how hard she and Robert
would have to work to feed their babes, years when the harvest might be poor and the watermill idle.
For that moment, she wondered compulsively if she was
being a fool. Perhaps she ought to make a bargain. She
would go to the party, give him this one night, in exchange
for the ring. Such a small thing to him. So much to her.
The lord held out his hand for her to grasp. “Come.”
But then the moment was over.
“No,” Fenella said calmly. “And I do not believe you can
force me.” She held her arms out stiffly at her sides. “I would
like my own clothes back.”
Another long pause. When the lord spoke at last, his
voice was soft. “I am sorry.”
She thought she had won at last.
“I am sorry you have made this decision. It is a bad decision. You see, I have not been idle these three days, Fenella.
I have found out much about you. Including . . .” The lord
paused. “That you are pledged to marry.”
Fenella lifted her chin. “It is true. I am pledged. So good
sir, again, I say you nay.”
“His name was Robert, wasn’t it?” The lord smiled. “He
was a good enough young man, from what I hear. What is
the phrase you humans use? God rest his soul.”
For the length of three heartbeats, Fenella stayed still.
Then she whirled. She ran, hiking her skirts up high like
Lady Janet from the song, awkward in the pretty, impractical shoes, clawing with one hand at the pearls at her neck.
She felt the necklace thread break and then the pearls spill
away from her, falling in her wake. She kicked off the shoes.
She ran across one field, and then two. Finally she came
to the little house that Robert had been building for them.
There she discovered him at the foot of the ladder, crumpled on the ground, with his neck broken.