“Bog wumps!” Poggwydd was horrified. “Do you eat bog wumps? Does anyone?”
“Well, I don’t,” she agreed. “But I don’t eat cats and dogs, either.”
The gnome sat down again. “I don’t think you know what you are talking about.” He gave her an accusatory stare. “I think you are badly confused about all of this.”
She pressed her lips tightly together in frustration and nodded. “Why don’t you just think about what I said,” she suggested finally. “In the meantime, stay away from the castle. If you need food, come ask for me. I will tell everyone I am to be told if you do. Is that all right?”
Poggwydd folded his arms across his skinny chest and hunched his shoulders as he looked away from her. “I might just leave. I might just go back to where I came from and forget about trying to make a home here. I don’t think this is going to work out.”
She got to her feet. Couldn’t argue with logic like that, she thought. “I’ll come back and see you again tomorrow,” she promised. “We can take a walk and not talk about anything, if you like.”
He shrugged. “If you can spare the time.”
She left him sitting there looking off into space, pretending that nothing she said or did mattered to him, that he was above it all. She had come out to talk with him after hearing from Bunion the whole of what had led to the little fellow being strung up by his heels, wanting to do something to prevent it from happening again. Bunion and Parsnip could promise that it wouldn’t, but if they caught Poggwydd again where he wasn’t supposed to be she wasn’t all that sure the promise would mean anything. Kobolds were not known for their generous natures, and even though these two were her friends, friendship only went so far.
As she strolled back through the grove of Bonnie Blues toward the castle, she tried to decide what else she could say that would make a difference. She needed to do something besides brood on her situation as a former Carrington student, an identity she was trying to put behind her at this point. Her father hadn’t said anything more about her suggestion that she go back to being tutored by Questor and Abernathy, but she had a feeling he was considering something else. No one had indicated what that might be, not even her two would-be tutors, who kept hemming and hawing around the subject whenever she brought it up to them.
So now she was thinking that it might be a good plan to come up with an idea of her own, a project that would convince her father that she was doing something useful. Working with the disadvantaged had always appealed to her, and there was no one more disadvantaged than the G’home Gnomes. If she could demonstrate her ability to change even one of them for the better, then her chances of being allowed to try to do so with all of the others would be greatly improved.
However, Poggwydd wasn’t doing much to cooperate, and she was starting to think this might be tougher than she had thought.
She was still mulling this dilemma over, paying little attention to anything around her as she meandered out of the forest and onto the roadway leading to Sterling Silver, when she suddenly found herself face-to-face with Laphroig of Rhyndweir and his entourage. There were six or eight of them, all on horseback save for the driver of the carriage in which Laphroig was riding. She didn’t realize who it was right away, still distracted with thoughts of Poggwydd and G’home Gnomes, and so she stood where she was as the procession rolled up to her and stopped. By then, it was too late to consider an escape.
Laphroig flung open the carriage door, leaped down, and hurried over to her. “Princess Mistaya,” he greeted warmly, reptilian tongue flicking out as he executed a deep bow.
“Lord Laphroig,” she returned warily, only barely managing not to call him Lord Lafrog. She had heard Abernathy use the nickname often enough that she had begun doing so, as well.
“So wonderful to see you!” he declared effusively.
He grasped her right hand with both of his and began kissing it effusively. Rather forcibly, she extracted it from his grip and gave him a meaningful frown. “It’s not that good to see me. But thank you for the compliment.”
She had learned something about diplomacy while growing up a Princess in her father’s court. You were always polite, even when what you most wanted was to be anything but.
“I hadn’t dared hope that I would be so fortunate as to encounter you personally on this visit. But now that I have, I shall consider it an omen of good fortune.”
She nodded, taking in his strange outfit. “What is that you’re wearing?” she asked, unable to help herself. “Why aren’t you wearing black?”
“Ah, you’ve come right to the crux of the matter,” he replied, giving her a knowing wink. “My clothing is not the usual black because my visit is not the usual visit. It is a different reason entirely that brings me to Sterling Silver. I have been to see your father concerning you.”
“Have you?” She felt a sudden chill sweep through her. “About me?”
“I have requested permission to court you with the intention that you should become my new wife and the mother of my children!” he declared, sweeping the hat from his head and bowing deeply once more. “I intend that we should marry, Mistaya.”
It took her considerable effort, but she managed to keep her face composed and her emotions concealed. “You do?”
“Your father has already said he would consider the matter. I shall use that time to come calling on you regularly. I shall make you see that we are the perfect match.”
In your dreams, she thought instantly. But what was this about her father agreeing to consider the matter? Shouldn’t he have dismissed it out of hand? What was he thinking?
“Lord Laphroig.” She gave him her most charming smile. “Do you not already have a wife? Are you not already spoken for?”
A cloud of gloom settled over his froggy features. “Unfortunately, no. A terrible tragedy has occurred. My son passed away quite suddenly less than two weeks ago. Dear little Andrutten. A fever took him. My wife, in her grief, chose to follow him into that dark realm of death, and now both are gone and I am left alone and bereft of family.”
“I’m sorry, I hadn’t heard,” she said, embarrassed by her ignorance.
She remembered his wife, a pale, slender woman with white-blond hair and sad eyes. There were stories about that marriage, and none of them was good. She had never seen their child.
He bowed anew. “Your condolences mean everything.”
“I should think you would be in mourning for them,” she suggested pointedly. “For a suitable time before courting anyone.”
He shook his head as if she were clueless. “I will be in mourning for them forever. But duty calls, and I must answer. A Lord of Rhyndweir requires a wife and sons if he is to fulfill his duties. I must not leave the Lordship imperiled, even for as long as thirty days. I must provide an heir to reassure my people.”
Whatever this was about, Mistaya was certain that it had nothing to do with duty and obligation. Laphroig was up to something, just as he was always up to something, and somehow his machinations had found their way to her doorstep. She decided to lock and bar the door before it could be forced.
“My Lord, I am hardly a suitable match for you,” she declared. “I am young and naïve and not yet well trained in the art of wifely duties.” She nearly gagged on this part. “I am best suited for continued study at an institution of higher learning—as I am sure my father has told you.”
Laphroig cocked his head. “It was my understanding that you had been dismissed from Carrington.”
She stared at him, sudden anger boiling up as she realized that only a spy could have provided such information. “I intend to continue my education elsewhere.”
He smiled. “This in no way hinders my plans for you. You can be tutored at Rhyndweir castle for as long and extensively as you like. Tutors can be engaged to educate you on any subject.” He paused. “Save those only a husband can teach.”