Chapter Sixty-Seven - Mama

Clara was seated on a small stool in the middle of her cell, regarding her nails critically and as if they were the enemy.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said, pointedly ignoring Rowanne.

“I came to see how you were doing,” Eithne lied, in the way the despised court etiquette had taught her.

“To gloat more like. In your shoes, I would do the same.”

“Do you need a change of clothes?” She held her nose. “It stinks in here.”

“My slop pail is full.”

“I’ll send someone. In fact, Rowanne, would you be kind enough to fetch one of the girls?” She drew the bodyguard aside discreetly, making a request which seemed to meet with her approval if the light in her eyes was anything to go by.

“Will you be okay, Eithne?”

She squared her shoulders. “I think I can deal with any threat from a lone Frankian, especially one as filthy as this. Stand up, Mama. Is that blood on your gown? I suggest you remove it with all speed.”

Eithne held out her hand as if she were about to take possession of the article of c