The Storyteller

Chapter 29: For the Sake of Adventure

The road back to Ashfield was not terribly long; however each step Clorinda took, no matter how jaunty her manner, or how cheerfully her whistles; each step was a miserably long distance.

The bottom of her riding cloak was covered with a healthy layer of dirt and dust, and so was her face; this coming about due to a tumble she had taken down a hill, partially done on purpose for the fun of it and partially pure accident. She loved the scraps on her elbows and knees, the feeling of raw skin and sore muscles; what a day!

The village in sight; Clorinda began to slow her pace down, her whistled songs grew softer and her jaunt had turned into a slow trudge. By the time she was a few paces away from Ashfield Manor; however, her whistles had stopped entirely and her trudge almost gave the appearance as if she was walking in slow motion—on her tip-toes.

She waved at to the two stable girls busy brushing down a black mare. The eldest one gave a curt, little bow while the younger secretly waved back. With the last of her smiles shed, Clorinda inhaled deeply and popped into the manor.

What luck! No one was in the entry way, perhaps her father had gone out riding. That would give her just enough time to change out of her stolen tunic and trousers and put on a respectable dress. She sneaked over to the staircase.

“Clorinda? Is that you?” Damn it. Clorinda winced at the sound of her mother's voice. She hurriedly draped her cloak around her, to conceal her clothes.

“Y-y-yes?” She cleared her throat, “Yes, Mother?”

She heard the shifting of chairs and another, booming voice, “Come. Here.” The strict, barking sound almost lent speed to Clorinda's feet as she entered the small room by the hearth.

Her father and mother had, apparently been waiting for her return after all. Her mother did not acknowledge her daughter's presence initially, her attentions buried in her sewing. Her father; however, had already risen from his chair and was standing hard eyed , arms cross, a nervous, angered twitch on the left side of his forehead.

“Good evening, Mother, Father.” She replied.

The silence continued to reign, her father's continued stares unnerved as well as angered her, Clorinda went on, doing what she did best in these situations. “Lovely day was it not? The most charming weather we've seen in months...I think. The road....the road isn't nearly as muddy as it was last week, why I must have....”

“I told you you were forbidden from riding out past Ashfield.” Her father, the Lord Gregory said, measuring each word carefully.

“Well, yes, but like I said...it was such a lovely day out that I...”

“And how many times,” her father interrupted, “have I had to punish you for your disobedience?”

“I've lost count, I'm afraid, but do go on and refresh my memory. I know you love to.” Clorinda retorted.

A vein near her father's temple was looking particularly nasty, “Look at you! Covered in grime, cloak stained and tattered! I pride myself that I am a reasonable man, but when I see my daughter coming home each day like some vagabond from the road I...”

“Harmless sport, Father!” Clorinda said, “I was only out for a walk. I hate staying indoors all day. A little exercise? How have I harmed your reputation at all?”

“Cease your prattling, you little fool, if that is all you woman are decent for!”

“At least I'm decent at all, unlike some of you men!” Clorinda spat back, she pointed accusingly, unfortunately this movement jarred her cloak and slipped away revealing her tunic and trousers, and her dagger.