Page 3 of Tanglewood Legacy (The Three Sisters 3)
A nun arrived then and gripped Delphine’s arm in one knotted hand. “Come, my children. It will be all right. Come now.”
Delphine and her sisters were whisked away toward the other females, but there was no gratitude in her expression for the coins. Delphine looked at Isis with the betrayed and dangerous expression of a wolf whose leg was caught in a trap.
“Did you know her?” Circe asked in a whisper.
“We met on the ship.”
“The look she gave you was… chilling,” Medea added.
Isis gave a heavy sigh. “She and her sisters were forced to come here to act as wives to those men, I assume in order to avoid prison. I don’t think they’ve had many options in life, and I’m sure Delphine took one look at those men and feared for her youngest sister.”
“I understand your compassion for them, but if we’ve learned anything through our experiences in this realm,” Medea said, “it’s that we can’t interfere. This world has its ways. We have ours.”
After everything, Isis agreed with her sister, but she couldn’t quite shake the feeling of guilt that hung with her as they made their way toward the Vieux Carré. Not doing anything made her feel helpless, an admittedly useless emotion she’d felt all too often lately. Strange, uncomfortable response considering her significant power.
Without another word, they made their way through the grid of streets. When Rhys spotted the Office of the Intendant, he handed the Tanglewood tree to Medea. A few leaves fell off the branches and drifted toward her toes. “I’m off to perform my manly responsibilities,” he announced, touching the brim of his tricorn hat as he’d seen other men do and heading for the simple wood building.
Isis gave a shallow laugh and glanced toward Circe. “He does love beingthemanamong us. I fear Rhys may never come down from the pedestal this society has put him on.”
“Oh, but he understands who’s really in charge!” Circe laughed wickedly.
A regiment of French soldiers turned the corner and marched past them on the road, presumably toward thePlace d’Armesthey’d passed on the way in from port. Soldiers meant there must besomeorder here. Perhaps Delphine and her sisters would end up married to gentlemen after all.
“I’m going to procure horses,” Isis said, wanting to keep busy and not think of the women on the dock.
“We’ll come with you,” Circe offered.
Isis looked at her very pregnant sister and then at Medea, who was tending the Tanglewood tree, and shook her head. “Someone has to wait here for Rhys. Besides, I don’t think we should put the tree at any more risk than necessary.”
Medea nodded in agreement. “One for each of us, sister.”
* * *
Between the emotionaldrain from her interaction with Delphine, her continued lack of sleep, and the unforgiving heat and humidity, Isis fought a pervasive and interminable exhaustion by the time she reached the stables on the edge of the square where a soldier had told her a man named Martin was selling horses. Even her magic seemed sleepy. The shadows that usually clung to her like favored pets followed her listlessly. She gritted her teeth. Part of the cause was surely the state of the Tanglewood tree. What she needed was a quick transaction so that she and her family could be on their way to their new life and put their roots in the ground, both figuratively and literally.
Monsieur Martin was busy chatting with another customer, so Isis made her way to the corral and studied the horses within. These animals weren’t common in Darnuith, where witches preferred to fly on brooms and sleds were frequently pulled by dogs. Paragonians used mountain horses, but their feet and legs were built for climbing. These animals seemed oddly delicate comparatively. How was she to choose an animal?
She glanced back at Martin and his customer. Neither looked very interested in her or her needs. Likely, they thought she was waiting for her husband. She heaved a sigh. These earth-dwellers were becoming terribly predictable.
A dappled gray mare walked up to her and nudged her with her nose. “Well, aren’t you friendly, sweet girl.” She scratched the horse behind the ears and laughed as it nuzzled her cheek.
“You don’t want that one, mademoiselle,” a man’s voice said from behind her. She turned to get a better look at the source of the comment and had to steady herself on the rail. This was no sweaty drunkard or haggard settler. The Frenchman who passed Martin and the other customer and headed straight for her was remarkably clean, with a straight white smile and a head of well-styled curls the color of coffee grounds. His linen shirt was white and loose-fitting everywhere but in the shoulders, where he was exceptionally broad. She could not help but take notice of the way his breeches and boots suited his form.
She cleared thickness from her throat and found her voice the exact moment he seemed to notice her staring. “Non? She seems an exceptionally gentle animal.”
He scoffed and came closer, stroking the gray mare’s neck. “She is. I’d say she’d make a wonderful pet, but this horse can’t pull a cart. Considering you disembarked today, I assume you will need a horse to use for driving as well as riding.”
Goddess, it was hot. It took her a moment to gather what he was saying. “How do you know I disembarked today?” She hoped he wasn’t one of the men who’d come to scope out potential brides. The idea was repulsive.
“Mind, I’m not a voyeur. I was retrieving a shipment of goods from that ship and just happened to notice you with your, uh…” He gave her a quizzical look and circled two fingers in the air.
“Family,” she filled in quickly, relieved it was goods he was after and not a woman. “I am here with my two sisters and my sister Circe’s husband.” For some strange reason, she had no desire for this man to think she was spoken for.
“You have no husband of your own, then, hmm?” His gaze flicked over her face, down her torso, and back up to meet her eyes.
“No,” she said through a coy smile, feeling a strange warmth in her bosom she was unaccustomed to.
The corner of his mouth lifted at this news in a way she found quite pleasing. He took a few steps closer, gesturing toward the gray mare. “The carriage of her head is too low.” He pointed at the slope of her neck toward her shoulders. “Her conformation is poor. She’ll make a terrible driving horse. If you’re lucky enough to get her to pull at all, she’ll likely injure herself, and you’ll have wasted any small price you pay for her.”
