The Dragon of Trelian by Michelle Knudsen Page B

“You had it coming, for the position you put us in today.”
    “Then — did he really come calling for me? Or was that a joke, too?”
    “Yes, he really came calling,” said Morgan. “But we told him you were off seeing to some wedding details for Maerlie and that we didn’t know when you’d be back. Of course, it was harder to convince Mother —”
    “
Mother
was looking for me, too?” This was awful.
    “You were gone for hours, Meg!” said Maerlie. “Did you think no one would notice?”
    Morgan shook her head. “If Maerlie hadn’t argued so passionately on your behalf, I would have told Mother the truth. But instead we told her we’d had an argument and that you went out to take a walk and cool off.”
    “So we’ve covered for you with everyone else,” Maerlie said, “but I’m afraid you’re going to have to tell us where you really were. And to save you some time, I’ll say straight out that we will not believe you were merely out for a walk somewhere. Not dressed like that, you weren’t.”
    Meg stood silently, head down, trying to think. What could she say that they’d believe? Maybe it was all right to mention Calen, but that still wouldn’t explain her clothing. . . .
    At a loss, she looked up to find them staring at her again. Morgan looked angry. Maerlie looked hurt.
    “You’ve always been able to tell us the truth before, Meg,” Maerlie said quietly. “It’s obvious you’re standing there trying to make something up. Why won’t you just tell us? Do you really trust us so little?”
    “Don’t, Maerlie. Don’t say it like that. I do trust you.” She hoped Morgan wouldn’t notice that her last sentence wasn’t exactly directed at both of them.
    “But?” asked Morgan.
    Meg bit her lip. “But I can’t tell you this. I’m sorry.”
    Morgan and Maerlie looked at each other. Something passed wordlessly between them, and Morgan rose. She touched Meg’s hand on the way to the door, and left.
    “Can you tell me, Meg?” Maerlie asked once she was gone. “Just me? You know I won’t say anything if you don’t want me to. Not even to Morgan, although you must know you’re hurting her with this secrecy.”
Hurting me, too,
Meg could hear her saying beneath the words.
    Meg walked over and sank into the chair Morgan had left empty. She closed her eyes to shut out Maerlie’s unhappy face and rested her head back against the rich, soft fabric. She wanted to tell. She wanted to throw herself down on the floor with her head in Maerlie’s lap and confess everything, to feel her sister’s strong hands stroking her hair and hear her calm, wise words making sense of it all. She had always gone to Maerlie with every problem, every pain, every bit of news she’d been bursting to tell, every fear and worry. But this time she knew she couldn’t. She held Jakl’s life in her hands. She had already risked one friend’s life today — that was true, no matter how many times she told herself Jakl would never have hurt Calen — and the instincts that had guided her then, that had convinced her that bringing Calen to the cave was the right thing, those instincts were screaming at her now to be strong, keep silent.
Don’t let her in.
    “Gods, what
is
it, Meg?” Maerlie whispered. “Why can’t you trust me?”
    I can’t. I’m sorry.
Meg opened her eyes. She suddenly felt very tired. “Please stop. Just stop asking. I can’t tell you.”
    “Meg, please —”
    “Can’t you please just leave it alone? Why do you need to know so badly?”
    Maerlie seemed taken aback. “Because . . . because we’re worried about you.
I’m
worried about you. You disappear without a word to anyone, and not for the first time, I might add, and then you show up in those clothes —”
    “Why do you have to worry?” Meg leaned over the arm of the chair. “Why must you assume it’s something to worry about?”
    “Meg —”
    “Why can’t
you
trust
me,
Maerlie? Why can’t you trust me to have this