Word of the Day: Purlieu
May 3, 2011: purlieu \ PUR-loo \ noun;
4. A piece of land on the edge of a forest, originally land that, after having been included in a royal forest, was restored to private ownership, though still subject, in some respects, to the operation of the forest laws.
When the king gifted Gemma’s parents the purlieu at Riverton, she did not share their joy. Her father had been waiting for the lands taken from his family almost 200 years before he was born. Since the first day Gemma’s grandfather had walked him through what was then the king’s forest and explained that it was his birthright, Gemma’s father has known those trees were his.
Gemma, however, had lived her entire life at court, and could not care less about an estate so far away from the castle and everything she had ever known. That her father wouldn’t stop talking about the estate house, and the rowan trees that made up the forest, and the small stream running next to the property only made her resent it that much more.
What estate house could compare to the castle?
What tree could compare to the thick stone walls of the castle?
In the days before their departure, she had almost convinced herself that she would hide in the castle larder until her parents had left, and when they were well and far away at their estate house, she would venture out and throw herself upon the mercy of the king. Surely he would be able to see that for a girl like Gemma, a life at Riverton would be nothing short of exile.
She had, in fact, worked out a very dramatic speech, and had practiced crying prettily in front of the mirror, but in the end she knew that she would have to go. So she packed up her favourite things, and walked the castle halls one last time, and joined her parents in the coach.
The journey to Riverton took three days by coach, and her father spent the whole ride telling her about running in among the rowan trees and racing sticks down the stream when he was a boy. Her mother laughed to see such boyish enthusiasm in her husband, but Gemma only sat in the corner of the carriage and sulked.
Why would anyone want to live somewhere it took so long to get to? she wondered sullenly as she stared at the floor of the coach and obstinately ignored her parents’ good mood.
They spent the night at road houses along the way that got smaller and rougher the closer they got to home, which only served to reinforce Gemma’s diminished opinion of their destination, and when they arrived, nothing could lift her spirits. Not the rustic charm of the estate house, or the flowering of the rowan trees, or the gentle babble of the stream that seemed to follow a person wherever they went on the estate.
She was, in fact, entirely disenchanted with her new home.
That was, of course, until she met Rowan.
Note: Just a quick piece tonight because I’m tired, and because my word today was purlieu. I firmly believe this was my punishment for complaining about dandle.
I’ll continue this piece as I get appropriate words, or, I suppose, as the fancy strikes me. It is going, at this moment, to be a bit of an unconventional love story, which I hope will be a little more uplifting (and less silly) than the stick baby story.
A slow start, definitely, but I hope it will be worth the read later. (:
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