The Traitor's Daughter (Complete)

Part 38-Consequences

 A light drizzle had washed the ground, making it appear fresh and clean. Zena glanced out of the kitchen window at the yard outside. A small smile lightened up her face as she saw Harry and Jack walk towards the back door.

"Good morning, lady," Jack greeted her with a wide grin, as he placed the basket of eggs on the table. "Here, two dozen in all. Hope you're satisfied now," he teased her. She had hounded him to gather the eggs for the cake she was planning to bake.

"Thank you, Jack," she said, putting a plate of golden fried eggs in front of him.

"Ah, gal. You make the best breakfast," Harry said, picking up his own plate and digging into the succulent pancakes.

Hilda, the cook, had gone to see her sister, and so Zena was helping out in the kitchen. It had been so long since she had felt this love, warmth, and camaraderie, as she found in this house with these simple village folk. Harry, old, gnarled, and wiry, with a weather-beaten copper skin, and wise look, was a softy at heart. He had helped her plant her favorite roses in the garden and would bring her fresh flowers every day.

Jack, on the other hand, young, enthusiastic, with brown, wavy hair and twinkling eyes, well muscled from the hours he spent in the fields, was a little more than her own age. His charm was legendary and he was quite popular among the girls in the village.

"Put the kettle on the fire, Jack, while I see where Jane has disappeared to," she said, wiping her floury hands on the apron.

"You're quite bossy this morning, Zena," Jack teased again, his eyes shining with mischief. Jack had not said in so many words, but she knew that he had taken a fancy to her.

"Get thou to work, slave," she replied flippantly, waving a hand.

They broke out into a laugh, the sound surprising Zena. It had been so long since she had laughed at anything. Back there, in the palace, she had forgotten how to do so. Even now, the sound of her laughter was a bit rusty to her ears.

Self-conscious, all of a sudden, she walked out of the kitchen, mumbling, "I'll go get Jane."

Jane had been another revelation. When they had returned here, more than two months ago, she had had no idea that her father was in love. She had, with some, reservations, met Jane, but her doubts had slowly melted away with time. Jane was one of the most genuine people she had ever met. Wise beyond her years, kind and tactful, she had refrained from asking her unnecessary questions about her time in the palace. Instead, she had given her a room, a warm meal, and a friendly hug, before leaving her to overcome her grief and gave her time to forget her ordeal. Zena was so glad, when her father and Jane approached her one evening, letting her know that they had decided to get married. She couldn't have asked for a better stepmother, for Jane was madly in love with her father, and cared deeply for Zena. She had opened her home and her heart to them and Zena was grateful to her for that.

Now, she found Jane hurrying inside, righting her disheveled clothes. Glancing out of the door, she could see Victor chopping wood in the shed. No two guesses, for what the newlyweds had been doing outside, Zena thought with a smile to herself.

"I made you some of your favorite pancakes, Jane," Zena let her know.

Jane saw her knowing glance outside to where Victor was giving a good imitation of being busy and smiled sheepishly.

"You'll spoil me, girl."

"Maybe, you need a little spoiling," Zena said.

Jane agreed. "Maybe, we both do. Come, let's get there before the pancakes get cold."

By the time they reached the kitchen, Jack had made some hot chocolate and poured himself a cup.

"There's some left for you, ladies," he handed them the kettle. "I'm off for the day," he said, looking with longing at Zena, unwilling to be on his way to the fields.

Zena waved him off, her lips curling at the corners to see his laggardly gait. He was loathe to leave her, but Zena knew better than to encourage him. Not that she didn't like him. He was a vastly likable fellow, full of fun and mischief, but the problem was that Zena still remembered a dark, brooding, and arrogant man.

Zena recalled the time when she had just arrived from St. Helene with her father. That last day, when Luke had sweet-talked her into his bed, and his cruel betrayal of her later, had been still fresh in her mind. She could never forget how he had humiliated her in front of her father. How had she ever thought that she loved him? He was too merciless and full of hatred to have any softer feelings for anyone. He would spend his days with his hate, growing crueler by the day, without ever understanding the value of her love.

Zena let out a deep sigh of regret at a brilliant life spoiled by unreasonableness and sheer pigheadedness. He just refused to see the truth. What was left then for one to hope from him?

This place was like a haven after the palace, though she missed Nan and her friends Peggy and Molly. She had still not worked out what she would do with her life, for she was busy living one day at a time, sharing silly jokes with Jack, and helping Jane clean and cook and look after the house in general.

Winter had given way to spring. Zena sat outside on the steps, knitting a tiny sock. Jane waddled over to her, sitting down, tired after working on the farm all day.

"How are you feeling now?" Zena asked the woman.

Jane was pregnant and Victor was over the moon. Zena watched their happiness, a little envious. But then she had a very good reason to envy Jane, basking in the love of her husband.

"I'm feeling wonderful, my dear. Victor has promised to take me to the nearest town to get the things for the baby and Harry is making a cradle from the wood in the shed. But, how are you feeling, Zena?"

Zena looked down at her own stomach. It was still flat, but inside her, taking small breaths and growing every day, was the heir to the throne of Zorbia.

Zena took in a deep breath. She had been so careful to avoid just this eventuality, but the last day, when her father had chanced on her in Luke's bed, and she had abruptly left with him, she had neglected to take the concoction that Nan had given her. Unknown to her, the child had continued to grow in her belly, until, one day, she had felt dizzy and sick. The village doctor had checked her pronounced her with child and her world had come crashing down around her. What would she do now? Should she give up her child or bring him up herself? Should Luke be told about it? Would he even care, if he knew?