Rosehaven (19 page)

But they didn’t leave Oxborough at the noon bells.

• • •

“My lord,” Alart called down from his tower on the ramparts, “men from Sedgewick are nearing Oxborough.”

“Sedgewick,” Severin said, frowning. “I wonder what they want. I wonder if Sir Alan is in any difficulties.”

Severin had known the man who led the men-at-arms for many years. His name was Remis. He was getting old, but he was still strong, trustworthy, loyal. The group remained a goodly distance from the outer wall. Remis rode just a bit closer, drew in his horse, and called out, “My lord, there is the sweating sickness at Sedgewick. I have brought the child Eloise and her guardian, Lady Marjorie, and ten men, none of us as yet ill. Sir Alan insisted on remaining. He was not yet ill when he ordered us to come here.”

Trist poked his head out of Severin’s tunic. He sniffed the air and pressed his face against Severin’s neck. “You have done well, Remis. Who else is still at the castle?”

“Sir Alan has men guarding the bulwarks, my lord. None wished to remain within the castle or the walls. If outlaws come to plunder, the men will kill them. Sir Alan is a brave man.”

Hastings stepped forward. “Remis, to be certain that none of you brought the sweating sickness here to Oxborough, I believe it wise for you to camp outside the outer wall for at least three days. No more. Ask Lady Marjorie if she needs anything.”

Remis returned to the group of men who were surrounding the woman and child. There was discussion. Then he returned.

He shouted up to the ramparts, “The lady brought all we would need. She foresaw that we should not immediately enter Oxborough. We will remain without.”

“If anyone sickens, I will put a potion outside the walls.”

“My thanks, Lady Hastings.”

Severin was frowning. “This is a pity. Sir Alan is my friend. It is unlikely that he will survive. Should I go prepare him a proper burial?” Trist continued to stare at Remis. He made a soft growling sound deep in his throat, then pulled back.

She shook her head. “You might not get ill if you travel to Sedgewick, but if you did, I do not know if I could save you, Severin.”

He was already nodding. “I will keep Sedgewick closed for a week more. Do you think that is enough time, Hastings?”

“A fortnight, at least, perhaps more. I will discuss this with the Healer.”

In the three days that followed, none of the Sedgewick people who had come to Oxborough became ill. Father Carreg gave long and grateful thanks to God. Trist stayed close, never once going out of the keep. Whenever Hastings wanted to hug her husband, she had to see first if Trist was sleeping inside his tunic, against his chest.

Hastings stood next to her husband on the great front stone steps of Oxborough keep when the Sedgewick people rode through the gates into the inner bailey. Remis gave his horse over to a stable lad, then came to bow before Severin.

“My lord. My lady. God has blessed us. He has allowed us to live. My lord, I do not believe that you were at Oxborough when Lady Marjorie arrived to take Eloise back to Sedgewick.” He turned and smiled at the woman. She walked gracefully to where Severin and Hastings stood. Slowly, she raised her head and pulled back her veil.

Severin turned to stone.

Hastings did not at first notice. She saw now that the woman was even more beautiful than she remembered. “My lord,” she said, “this is Lady Marjorie.”

That beautiful melodious voice said, “Ah, Severin. It has been many years since I have seen you.”

Hastings blinked at this as she turned to her husband. He was staring at Lady Marjorie, just staring, unmoving, staring as if she were a phantom. He looked frozen; red stained his cheeks. He said finally in a hoarse, very deep voice, “Is it really you, Marjorie?”

“Aye, Severin. I am a widow now, twice over. You remember that my father forced me to marry that filthy old Baron Lipwait? He died and my brother forced me to wed
Baron Outbraith, a young man who was pleasing enough.”

“I was told that Eloise’s new guardian was a widow of a knight who had once saved Edward’s life. What is this, Marjorie?”

“It is true. King Edward owed my husband his life and thus he repaid him by giving me the guardianship of Richard de Luci’s daughter. I am content. I live well at Sedgewick. It is good to see you again, Severin.”

Hastings said in an overly loud voice, “Why did you not tell me, Lady Marjorie, when you first arrived to take Eloise away, that you knew my husband? You said nothing at all.”

Marjorie gave her a beautiful, soft smile, dimples deepening in her cheeks. “I had not believed it important, my lady. What was important was the child. Eloise, come here and bid hello to Lady Hastings and Lord Severin.”

Eloise had gained flesh. Her round face shone with health. Her braids no longer looked skinny and dull. She tightly clasped Marjorie’s hand. Marjorie leaned down and whispered something to her. Eloise smiled at Severin, nodded to Hastings, and gave them a lovely curtsy.

Hastings wanted to hug the child to her and tell her how very beautiful she was, but Eloise immediately pressed against Lady Marjorie’s side.

Trist came again out of Severin’s tunic and stared at the woman and the child. He extended a paw toward Eloise.

She laughed and said to Marjorie, “He is Trist and he is Lord Severin’s marten. He is beautiful.”

“Aye, I believe he is fit to belong to his master,” Marjorie said.

Trist continued to wave his paw toward Eloise. He did not turn to look at Marjorie, probably because, Hastings thought, her belly cold and knotted, the woman was so beautiful that it hurt even Trist’s eyes to look upon her.

Torric the steward gave over his chamber to Lady Marjorie and Eloise. Hastings herself walked up the solar stairs to visit the small bedchamber to see that Lady Marjorie had everything she needed. She paused a moment at the door, which was open just a few inches, hearing Lady Marjorie
saying to Eloise, “My sweeting, I know that you do not like being here. I know that Hastings treated you so very poorly before I arrived. But I will be here with you to protect you. You have naught to fear.”

Hastings’s heart pounded hard. She couldn’t breathe. Eloise had told Marjorie that she had mistreated her?
Mistreated her!
Aye, Hastings had tried to force food down her throat. She had protected her from that awful woman, Beale.

“Nay, Marjorie, she was nice to me—”

“You do not remember correctly, Eloise,” Marjorie said in a soft, soothing voice. Hastings could picture her lightly stroking her hand over Eloise’s hair. “Aye, I remember your night dreams, how you woke up sobbing, your face all sweaty, tears streaming down your cheeks, crying of how miserable you had been here, how no one was kind to you. I will take care of you, no one else. Worry not.”

“Aye, Marjorie. I love you.”

“And I you, sweeting. I am the only one who loves you.”

Hastings slowly backed away from the door. She did not know what to think. All she knew was that she wanted Lady Marjorie away from Oxborough as soon as possible. And she, damn Saint Oscar’s knees, had told Severin it would not be safe to return to Sedgewick for at least two weeks.

She would go ask the Healer.

She prayed the Healer would have a shorter answer.

How did Severin and Marjorie know each other?

19

“W
HY DID YOU NOT TELL ME LADY MARJORIE WAS
Eloise’s new guardian?” Severin’s words hung heavy in the air as he drank deep from his goblet of ale, his eyes never leaving her face. He looked hard and remote, like the man she had married, the man who had stood in Oxborough’s great hall saying nothing, just observing all of them. He was no longer the Severin she’d known since she had followed Dame Agnes’s and Alice’s advice and run down the keep steps and hurled herself into his arms many weeks before. She just stared at him, wondering what was in his mind.

“I did tell you,” she said finally, leaning over to pat Trist, who was stretched his full length on the trestle table next to Severin’s arm. He was washing his chin. “Do you not remember?”

“You should have said that she was young and the fairest lady you had ever seen. You should have told me that her hair is like spun silver and glitters in the sunlight. Then I would have known who she was. Why didn’t you tell me, Hastings?”

It was her turn to pull back. “You believe I should have told you this woman had hair like spun silver? Would that not sound strange coming from my mouth? I remarked
upon her beauty, but it wasn’t my first concern.”

He waved his hand at her. Trist mewled softly. Severin began stroking the marten’s shining coat, long strokes, just like he had done on her back, from her neck to her thighs. Such long, soothing strokes. She stared at his hands. What was going on here?

“Who is this woman with hair like spun silver? I gather that you know her?”

“Aye, I have known her all her life. When I was seventeen I wanted to wed with her but I was only the second son and her father needed a rich man for her. When she wedded the old man, Baron Lipwait, I went crusading to the Holy Land. That is where I met Graelam and the king.”

“Then that was fortunate, was it not? Because you met them, because they believe you honorable and strong, you are now one of the richest men in England.”

He said nothing to that, merely continued to stroke Trist’s fur.

“So you have not seen her for eight years. That is a long time, Severin. People change. Their feelings change. Haven’t yours changed?”

Gwent came into the great hall, Beamis at his side. They were arguing about something.

“My lord,” Beamis called out, “Lady Marjorie wishes to ride with the child. What say you?”

Severin rose so quickly from his lord’s chair, Edgar the wolfhound raised his head and barked. Severin seemed unaware that Hastings stood not three feet from him. “They need protection. I will ride with them.” He said nothing more, merely strode from the great hall.

Some time later, Hastings said to Dame Agnes and Alice, “I don’t know what to make of this, but Severin changed toward me the moment he saw that woman.” She was sewing a tunic for Severin of soft, warm gray. The wool was of the finest. She was pleased that her hands were steady, her voice calm. But she was cold, very cold, on the inside, where there was no warmth to be found, save from Severin. “He is riding with her and the child. He appears to worship Marjorie. He said her hair is like spun silver and shimmers
in the sunlight. Lord Severin has never spoken like that since I have known him.”

“It means nothing,” Dame Agnes said, flapping her hands at the young girl she had known since she had pulled her from her mother’s womb nearly nineteen years before, the young girl who had become a fine lady, strong and kind. She was now pale and wooden. “You just sewed a crooked stitch, Hastings. Why do you not stop that whilst we talk?”

Hastings laid the tunic over her legs, smoothing the material, paying no attention, really, just smoothing it, staring straight ahead of her. “The look on his face was worshipful. Thus, would that not mean that he worships her? He loved her as a boy, Agnes, but he could not have her since he was a second son and had no dowry to offer her father. He loves her still.”

“Nay, I doubt that. Mayhap he still sees her through the boy’s eyes, but that will not last, Hastings. Lord Severin is not a foolish man like Sir Roger. He has given himself to you. You are his wife. You will bear his children. You are the heiress of Oxborough. Without you, he would have nothing save his strong arm, and that arm would be in the service of other masters. He is now his own man. You have given him everything, a future, the ability to restore his lands. You have given him back his mother. Do not discount this, Hastings. This Lady Marjorie—bah, she is nothing, merely a memory sewn from unreal cloth, a chimera, a dream from a boy’s past.”

“When you speak thusly, it makes so much sense.” Hastings raised her face to Dame Agnes. “But you did not see him just an hour ago when he spoke of her. You did not see how quickly he left the great hall to ride with her. There is so much work to be done, but he gave it not a thought. I saw the look on Gwent’s face. He was shocked that his master would act thusly. He would not meet my eyes. He was embarrassed.”

“We will see. You will not carp at him. You will observe and you will bide your time. You will be patient.”

“I have never been patient in my life.”

“Aye, I know it. But you will begin now. Also, you will try to be gracious.”

“Gracious? To that woman I heard lying to Eloise? It will be difficult, Agnes, very difficult. Ah, here is Lady Moraine. Do come in, my lady. Agnes and I were just discussing my crooked stitches.”

Lady Moraine picked up her son’s tunic and examined the sewing. “Aye,” she said, “it appears that something bothered you just as you set this stitch right here.” She pointed and handed the tunic back to Hastings. “My foot is healed. Did you not notice that I no longer limp?”

Hastings nodded.

“I went with Gwent to see the Healer again. Alfred jumped in the poor man’s arms. I thought Gwent would faint. At least the cat didn’t knock him over. The Healer told me to give you this.” Lady Moraine handed Hastings a small vial. It was filled with a milky white liquid that looked very thick. “She said you were to pour a small amount into your husband’s wine. She said it would improve Severin’s vision of you, that it would make him feel about you as you do about him.”

Hastings realized then that it was a love potion, probably made up of ground mandrake. How had the Healer found out so quickly about Lady Marjorie and Severin?

It was humiliating. She took the vial and slipped it into the pocket of her gown.

As Dame Agnes and Lady Moraine were leaving the bedchamber, Agnes said over her shoulder, “Remember what I said, Hastings. I would not use that vial as yet. I believe there will be no reason to.”

But what did Dame Agnes know of a pain that seemed to fill every nook in her body? What did she know about a woman whose hair was so silvery and shimmery that a man looked at her and his mouth was suddenly overflowing with a troubadour’s poetry? She shook the vial, watching the cloudy white liquid darken just a bit.

Was Dame Agnes possibly right? Was Severin simply seeing Marjorie through a boy’s eyes?

She went to see Father Carreg, who was reading in the
corner of the great hall, Edgar the wolfhound’s head resting on his leather shoes. She merely nodded at him and sat at his feet next to Edgar.

Only Gwent was silent at the evening meal. Like Hastings, he was observing, eating steadily, but Hastings knew he was watching his master watch that glorious woman who seemed oblivious of Severin, all her attention focused on the child and on each dainty bite she took.

Trist was sprawled over Severin’s shoulder, looking to be asleep. Hastings had offered him some roasted pork, a special dish made just for him by MacDear. Trist had eaten two bites from her fingers, stretched, and mewled softly in his throat, and shoved her hand away with his paw.

He had made no more movements toward Eloise.

“I trust you like MacDear’s civet of hare,” she said to her husband, who was pushing the food about the thick pewter plate with his knife.

“Aye,” Severin said finally, “it is tasty. You had the rushes changed, Hastings. They are sweet-smelling.”

He had noticed something other than the glorious Marjorie, praise be to Saint Ethelbert’s knees.

“It is the rosemary you smell. Mixed with just a bit of ground roses, it fills the air with sweetness.”

What an utterly boring thing to say to a husband she wanted to kiss and caress and demand to love her and only her and not that other woman from his boy’s dreams.

She took a bite of chicken mixed with rice and almonds. It tasted like the rushes covering the cold stone floor. She thought about the vial in her pocket. It nestled there, ready for her to use, yet she hesitated. She didn’t want to drug her husband. She didn’t want the mandrake to make him turn back to her. No, she wanted him to do it of his own volition. She wanted him to want her as he had before he had laid eyes on Marjorie, who was still giving all her attention to Eloise.

Why could Marjorie not be a bitch?

Why could she not rub Hastings’s nose in her power?

Hastings sighed, leaned over, and lightly stroked her hand over Trist’s head. He mewled loudly, raised his head, looked at her for a good long time, then laid one of his paws over her hand.

“Trist has mated, I am certain of it,” Severin said, his first unsolicited words to her.

“He seems content,” she said.

“He has mated, thus he will show no more real interest until his babes are born. Then he will journey back into the forest to see that they are raised properly.”

“Is that what you will do if I now carry your babe?”

He jumped. He stared at her face, then his eyes dropped to her belly. “Are you with child? Have you ceased your monthly flux?”

How to answer him? She had never known when her monthly flux would come. It had been many weeks, but she had no idea if his seed had made a babe in her womb.

“I do not know.” Perhaps she should have lied. Perhaps if he believed his babe was in her womb, he would turn back to her. He was honorable—she cursed.

“What did you say, Hastings?”

“I remarked that Saint Osbert’s elbows were perhaps too knobby. I cursed, Severin.”

But he did not reply. She followed his line of vision. He was staring at Marjorie, who had leaned down to pick something from the floor. Her hair, loose and flowing, was a silver curtain, shimmering with light. She hated the woman.

She saw his hand tighten about the stem of his goblet. She wasn’t blind. She saw the hunger in his dark eyes. He wanted Marjorie, wanted her as he had wanted his wife just two nights before. Had he wanted her as much as he wanted Marjorie, whom he had craved and loved since his seventeenth year?

Hastings had held his affection for less than three months. And what was that affection? A willing woman who freely gave him her body? Aye, naught more.

Marjorie had been in his mind for more than eight years.

Hastings didn’t stand a chance. She fingered the vial.

No, not yet. She couldn’t bear to resort to that damned vial.

She had already seen that he had not worn one of the tunics she had sewn for him.

She wished she could stick her knife through Marjorie’s heart. The thought was deep within her and hard and real. Hastings knew then that she would never be destined for sainthood. She would be fortunate to gain a long purgatory.

A jongleur appeared, flinging five leather balls into the air, catching them, then tossing them upward, all of them in the air at the same time. He was speaking as he threw the balls in a circle around his head. He was singing. She saw that Belle was leaning heavily against the blacksmith, whose eyes were sated, his eyelids heavy. Belle was eyeing the jongleur with growing interest. Old Morric wore a witless smile.

She had seen Severin with such a witless smile.

The jongleur finished juggling the balls. He came forward to praise Lord Severin, the man who had single-handedly killed sixty Saracens near Acre, the mighty warrior whom King Edward had begged to remain at his side but stay away from his beautiful queen Eleanor.

Marjorie’s bright laughter turned many eyes toward her.

The jongleur then turned to Hastings. He struck a pose, studying her. Then he sang:

“The Lady Hastings gave Lord Severin the world.

She is gracious and wise, healing all who are ill.

She is above ordinary, it is said, giving her loyalty

to her lord, who now owns his fill.”