She knocked lightly, then harder as Dantien didn’t answer. Maybe she was still asleep.
“Come in.” Dantien called out, her voice barely heard through the door.
Gabrielle entered, and Dantien appeared in the bedroom doorway, looking as though nothing had happened the night before. She was wearing her shift, but her riding pants were underneath.
“Your boots are under the table by the door.” she said, and went back in.
Gabrielle reached under the serving table, retrieved her boots, and sat in a chair by the center table to put them on. She looked at the pile of clothes on the table. Hadn’t Dantien put them away? She saw the heavy mottled vest, the archer’s armband, gloves. These were new items.
Dantien came back out the bedroom, still in her shift, and came up to the table. Her step was business-like, as if something was on her mind. She reached for the vest, not looking at Gabrielle.
“I’ll be done soon, then we’ll talk.” she took the vest and a few more items, and turned to go back to the bedroom.
“Gareth brought those to you, didn’t he?” she tried to make it sound more like a question than accusation.
“Yes. This morning.” she nodded her head toward the bedroom and they both went back in. Dantien laid her items out on the bed as Gabrielle stood in the doorway, watching.
The laughter from the servants rang in her head. “Like a cat in heat.” Wilford had roared.
“Gareth has come to visit you a lot lately.” Gabrielle remarked. Dantien picked up her hairbrush, then put it back down on the nightstand.
“We had to resolve the problem.”
“Problem?”
“Me.” she went over to the darkened fireplace, picked up the fire iron, and twirled it as if it were a sword. She began to pace, swinging it at her side.
“Whatever Gareth has told you about me, Gabrielle, is probably true.” she stopped, waiting for her words to sink in.
“You’re a spy.” Gabrielle said evenly, her voice low.
“I prefer the word scout.” she resumed her pacing, but kept her eyes on Gabrielle.
“You recruit and train the men, you draw up the battle plans, you’re a witch, you’re bad blood.” it poured from Gabrielle’s mouth in a rush.
“I don’t recruit.” she whacked a log hard with the iron. “I weed them out.” the iron stuck. She put her bare foot on the log and yanked it free.
“I’ve been called worse than a witch. I wish I knew some spells, Gabrielle. I really do.” she tapped the iron in her hands, thinking. “I’m good with maps. Always have been. I started helping my father when I was twelve. Twelve, Gabrielle. What were you doing when you were twelve?”
“I learned to milk a cow.” she had been really proud of it, at the time. “It’s harder than it looks, you know.”
They looked at each other in a silent assessment.
“Are you bad blood, Dantien?” Gabrielle asked softly.
Dantien replaced the fire iron, and stood with her back to Gabrielle. She crossed her arms.
“Is that what you think of me?” she asked quietly.
“No.”
“I’m not.” she turned, seeming relieved. “If I was, I would have never gotten myself into this situation, nor the solution out of it.” She drummed her fingers on the fireplace mantle. “The only option I have.”
Gabrielle felt her heart sink. The words were coming, and she didn’t want to hear them.
“I’m fighting Gareth…a match to the death.”