Rosehaven (21 page)

Hastings allowed herself to be painted. She said nothing when they garbed her in the gown she had worn on her wedding day. Finally, it was done.

“You are beautiful,” Dame Agnes said, stepping back and looking at her charge up and down, rubbing her arthritic hands together. “Do you not agree, Alice?”

“Aye, the loveliest lady in the land.”

“Was the chair leg mended, Agnes?”

“I saw to it personally,” Agnes said. “Someone had
worked the leg loose. It was not an accident, but now it is fixed.”

“A chair leg and Severin’s saddle,” Hastings said. “How odd this all is.”

When Hastings entered the great hall, she saw that Severin was holding out her chair for Marjorie.

Hastings called out, “Good evening, my lord.”

Everyone turned to look at her. She saw Severin’s hand still on her chair back. She saw that Marjorie was just smiling toward her. She said something to Severin, then returned to her own chair, leaning over to pat Eloise’s hand.

Severin now held the chair for her, for his wife. He even pushed it closer to the trestle table when she was seated. He even touched his fingertips to her shoulder.

“You look well,” he said, seating himself beside her. “By Saint Andrew’s teeth, what is that red on your cheeks and mouth? Do you have the fever?”

“No, it is Alice’s attempt to make me less ordinary.”

“I do not like it. You look like a camp trollop.” He picked up the corner of the soft linen spread and pulled it toward her. “Wipe it off.”

She did.

“Now you look pale, but at least you once more look like yourself.”

“Aye. Myself.”

Marjorie leaned toward Hastings. “I was worried about you, but your women did not think you should have too many people coming into your bedchamber. You look much better, Hastings. I was very distressed when Severin brought you home yesterday. All were.”

“Thank you, Marjorie.” She ate a bite of cherry potage. She tasted the rich red wine MacDear had poured into the thick soup.

“MacDear made the potage just for you. I asked him what your favorite dishes were, and he said this was one of them and he had not prepared it for you in a very long time. The dear man even allowed me and Eloise to remain
in the kitchen to help him. He yells louder than any man I have heard in my life.”

Hastings looked beyond Marjorie to Eloise, whose head was down. She wasn’t eating, just shoving her food about on the pewter plate. “Eloise? Did you help MacDear like you did before when you lived here?”

“I did not know you had helped MacDear before,” Marjorie said, covering Eloise’s small hand with hers.

“I did not. Hastings wanted me to but it was too hot in the kitchens. Everyone yelled. That fat man yelled. I did not remain.”

Hastings gasped. “That isn’t true, Eloise. You even sat on MacDear’s lap. Don’t you remember?”

“I remember that you made me sit on his lap. He smelled and he yelled. I hated it.”

“Then why did you go back today?”

“Because Marjorie was with me. She didn’t make me do anything I did not want to do. I ate cherries.”

“Aye, you did, sweeting. You still have a red tongue.”

Eloise stuck out her tongue at Marjorie, then laughed and pressed herself against Marjorie’s side. Marjorie said to Hastings, “My little sweeting here will give me gray hairs before I am even an old woman.”

“You will never be old,” Eloise said. “You are the most beautiful lady in all the world.”

Lady Marjorie tweaked Eloise’s nose, laughing all the while. “You are shameless, Eloise, flattering me until I will grow so large a head it will not fit through our bedchamber door.”

Eloise laughed. Hastings stared. It was the first time she had seen the child so gay. Trist mewled and climbed up onto Hastings’s shoulder. She winced because of the knotted muscles, then began to relax when the marten’s body heat began to seep into her.

She turned to her husband, who was staring down at his soup. “You do not care for the cherries, Severin?”

He looked clearly distracted. “What? Aye, Hastings. It is tasty.”

“Will you sleep in your own bedchamber tonight?”

He cocked his head at her. “If you are well enough. I did not want to take the chance last night that I would roll on you and mayhap hurt you.”

“I am well enough. Where did you sleep last night?”

“Here in the great hall, wrapped in a blanket, listening to my men snore. Edgar the wolfhound curled up next to me.”

Mayhap he had. Surely he couldn’t have bedded Marjorie with Eloise in the same chamber. She began to feel better.

Eloise said, “I did not sleep well last night with Dame Agnes because she snores too. She’s not like Marjorie. She’s bony and her breath isn’t sweet.”

Hastings saw the great hall, all its people, through a haze of misery. Severin had bedded her. He had bedded another woman as his wife had slept in his bedchamber close by. It was too much.

She feared what she would do. Her fist closed about her knife. Slowly, she rose. Trist mewled but remained on her shoulder, wrapping himself now around her neck.

She said nothing to either her husband or anyone else, just walked slowly across that huge expanse that was filled with laughing people until she reached the solar stairs.

Then she heard Severin call out, “Trist, come back here. You have not eaten enough as yet.”

But Trist didn’t move.

Severin did not come after her.

But Marjorie came. She knocked softly on the bedchamber door. Hastings believed it would be Dame Agnes and called for her to enter. When she saw it was Marjorie, wearing an exquisite gown of saffron wool that Hastings had worn only one time before, she wanted to yell for the woman to leave her alone. But she didn’t. She remained silent, watching her walk gracefully to the bed.

“Are you feeling all right, Hastings? Severin asked me to see you. He is concerned.”

Hastings just stared at her. “Why are you wearing my gown?”

“I did not wish to but Severin insisted. I was not able to bring many things from Sedgewick, and naturally I
wanted Eloise to have enough. I had only two gowns and they were both quite dirty. He insisted I wear one of yours. Do you mind? If you do, I will remove it immediately.”

“Aye, I mind. Will you remove it here in my bedchamber, Marjorie? Or will you wait to remove it in your own bedchamber whilst Eloise sleeps with Dame Agnes?”

“Ah,” Marjorie said, as she ran her white fingers through her incredible silver hair. “So that is the reason you left the great hall. The reason Eloise slept with Dame Agnes was because I had a cough that kept awakening her. It was irritating. I wanted Eloise to sleep, not just lie there, listening to me cough and cough.”

Hastings looked beyond her to her grandmother’s tapestry. How clear and vivid the colors still were. She said nothing.

“I will go to my bedchamber now and remove this gown. I am sorry that I did not ask you if you minded. You were sleeping and Severin just gave it to me. I had no idea the gown was so important to you.”

“Aye, it is.”

“Then I will leave you. I will return the gown very soon. I hope you will be well tomorrow, Hastings.”

“Aye, I do too. I did not hear you cough at all downstairs, Marjorie.”

“No, it went away this afternoon.”

“Marjorie! What are you doing here?”

It was Severin, standing in the open doorway, looking large and intimidating, and Hastings hated him more at that moment than she ever had, even when he’d held her down and forced her.

“I am just speaking to Hastings. I will leave now and remove the gown. I will return it shortly.”

“What are you talking about?”

But Marjorie just smiled, shaking her head. Severin turned to watch her leave the bedchamber. When he turned back, he said, “Why did you walk away from your dinner? Why did you take Trist with you? I called for him but you wouldn’t let him come back to me. What is this about a gown? Hastings?”

21

S
HE WISHED SHE HAD HER KNIFE, BUT ALAS, ALL SHE HAD
was Trist draped over her shoulder. She said, not really wanting to look at him, but unable to look away, “Her chair was mended. Did you know that someone had twisted that leg off? Do you not find that strange? Why would anyone do that, Severin? Why were you going to seat her in my chair again?”

He plowed his hand through his hair. He looked utterly baffled, then impatient. “This is nonsense. What is wrong with you? The Healer did not describe such symptoms to me that you now seem to have.”

“I am feeling just fine now. Did you discover any more about your saddle flying out of that window?”

“My saddle, aye, it was my saddle, wasn’t it?” He stared at her, stared at Trist, who was looking intently at his master from his perch on her sore shoulder. “You believe I had someone throw my saddle down on you?”

“No, that is too devious. If you wanted me dead, you would simply throttle me.”

“Aye, and I have wanted to throttle you more times than I can count.” He turned away from her and began to take off his clothes. She turned her back to him. She felt the bed give when he eased down on it. He blew out the
candles. The bedchamber was plunged into darkness.

“What was all that about Marjorie’s gown?”

“It isn’t Marjorie’s gown. It is my gown and she will return it. She said you gave it to her.”

“Aye, to wear since she had nothing left. Dame Agnes saw nothing amiss with lending her the gown. Why would you care, Hastings?”

“I do not want her to take what is mine.”

“It is naught but a silly piece of clothing.”

She said nothing. She heard him breathe, heard his breath ease and slow into sleep.

“This is damnable, Trist,” she whispered, petting the marten’s head. “Just damnable. What am I to do?” She was not exercising patience as Dame Agnes had advised her to do. She’d blurted out everything. And Severin had looked at her as if she were as mad as his mother had once been.

Two days later, Hastings rode Marella into Oxborough village. She did not tether her palfrey in the alleyway. She left her directly in front of Thomas the baker’s shop. Ellen raced to see her, hugging her close, telling her she had been terrified that she was dead when she first saw her.

“I did not know what to do. My father picked you up and brought you into the shop. I ran to the castle. Lord Severin came immediately. He even let me ride pillion with him.”

“Thank you, Ellen. Did you know that it was Lord Severin’s saddle that fell on me?”

Ellen knew that. Hastings imagined that everyone in the village knew that and wondered about it, aloud. Aye, he was a man who had married an heiress and now there was a beautiful creature living at Oxborough. And his wife, the heiress whom he didn’t need anymore. Hastings could almost hear them discussing this. It made her belly cramp. She shook it off. “I want to find out what happened. How could a saddle simply fall from a window? It makes no sense.”

Ellen saw her mother look up from her baking in the
corner of the shop and lowered her voice. “You believe someone did it on purpose? To kill you? With a saddle? Come, Hastings, that is silly. No one really thinks that is possible. Perhaps some believe it a willful act, but not everyone does. Nay, not more than half the people think it was done apurpose.”

A willful act. Done apurpose. But not to kill her. Then to what? Scare her? Why?

“You mean that the person found himself or herself there by the window with the saddle nearby and I happened to be beneath the window quite by chance, and thus, the saddle comes flying out to land on my head.” It did sound remarkably silly. But still. “I want to speak to the apprentices.”

“Very well, I will go with you.”

Robert the leatherer’s shop smelled of sweet oils, tanned hides, soft leather, and sweat. Master Robert had one journeyman and three apprentices, all of them working in the shop. Master Robert, short, a filthy apron wrapped around his fat belly, bustled forward, bowing even as he said, “Lady Hastings, dear child, I am so happy to see you well again. To think it was your lord’s saddle that fell on you! Imagine that. I am devastated it was from my window that saddle fell. I will do anything, lady, anything. Just tell me your wish and I am your slave.”

Well used to Master Robert from her earliest memories, Hastings merely nodded in that haughty way she knew would silence him, at least for a few moments.

“I would speak to your people, Master Robert. That is my wish.”

An hour later, Hastings was chewing on an almond bun that Thomas the baker had given her fresh from one of his ovens. “No one saw anything. It seems that there were a half dozen men-at-arms from the castle at the leatherer’s that day. I suppose that I will have to speak to Gwent.”

“Aye, he is a good man,” Thomas said. “Eat another bun, Hastings. You are nearly as skinny as the handle on my oven paddle.”

Hastings returned to the castle to see Severin riding out with Marjorie. Where was Eloise?

At least Marjorie wasn’t wearing another of her gowns. She had finally laundered one of her own? Hastings was truly supposed to be patient? She was tempted to ride after them, but she did not. There were duties that awaited her. Real duties, not trysts with a lover. She also wanted to speak to Gwent.

When she found Gwent, he said, “Severin has already questioned the men who were at the leatherer’s shop that day. None saw anything. It was an accident, there is no other possibility.”

“You, Gwent, were not the one struck down by that saddle.”

“Aye, ’tis true enough,” he said, then turned to wave to Alice. “But the facts remain the same, Hastings. Forget about it.”

Hastings spent the next hour with Lady Moraine. Edgar the wolfhound lay with his head and wide, scored paws on Lady Moraine’s feet.

“I am making you a gown, Hastings,” she said. “It is the softest green. You will look rather lovely in it. Severin was right last evening. You should not wear the red cream on your mouth or smear it on your cheeks. Your features are too fine. Do you like the gown? It will be finished by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Forgive me, Lady Moraine, but I heard Lord Severin tell Marjorie that the gown would be hers.”

It was Eloise, standing off to one side, obviously listening to their conversation.

“Did you really, Eloise?” Lady Moraine said before Hastings could open her mouth. “When did my son say this?”

“I believe it was this morning, madam. He said the material would make her look like a goddess. She is a goddess and so very beautiful. She deserves to have splendid clothing.” Eloise stared at Hastings.

“Well, no matter what you heard, Eloise,” Lady Moraine said brusquely. “The gown is for Hastings. Now,
child, would you like to sit with us and sew?”

But Eloise just shook her head and skipped away.

“How very odd,” Lady Moraine said, staring after the child. “I did not pull out this material until this afternoon. The child lied. Why would she do that?”

“She loves Marjorie very much. Perhaps she sees that Marjorie wants to take my place and is thus very willing to assist her.”

“Venom from a child is unpleasant, worse than from a grown man or woman. I will think about this. Ah, I must see the Healer today. My potion is nearly gone.”

That evening, garbed in a lovely gown Hastings had never seen before, Lady Marjorie came into the great hall, greeting everyone graciously, smiling, her white hands fluttering. Her hair was loose silver waves down her back, held back from her forehead with a gold band. Severin stared at her.

It happened midway through the long meal. Marjorie’s nose began to swell and turn red.

Hastings blinked, not believing her eyes. She opened her mouth, felt meanness flow through her, and shut it.

Marjorie’s nose swelled to an even greater size and turned a brighter red. Soon people were staring at her, talking behind their hands. As for Severin, he had been feeding Trist. When finally he looked past Hastings to Marjorie, he gasped. Then he threw back his head and laughed aloud.

Soon the entire great hall was laughing and pointing.

Eloise burst into tears. Slowly, the hall quieted. And into that silence, everyone heard Marjorie ask, “Sweeting, why are you crying? What is wrong, Eloise?”

“Everyone is laughing at you, Marjorie. It’s your nose.”

Marjorie’s hand flew to her nose. She felt it, horror nearly crossing her beautiful blue eyes. “Oh no, what is wrong?”

“It is swelled and very red,” Hastings said. “Perhaps you would like to come with me, Marjorie. I will mix some herbs that will reduce the swelling and take away the redness.”

Hastings had never seen Marjorie move so quickly.
There was no talk, no laughter. It seemed that everyone understood that the exquisite Lady Marjorie was humiliated.

“What could bring this on?” Marjorie asked, seated on a low stool while Hastings mixed mugwort and primrose with three spoonfuls of vinegar. She had looked into the small mirror Hastings’s father had given his wife many years before. She hadn’t shrieked, just stared at herself and lightly touched her fingertips to her nose.

Hastings knew very well what had brought this on, but she just shook her head. “It is very likely a poisoning from some food that your body does not like. This drink will cure it quickly, you will see.”

“But what food? I have never had this happen before.”

Hastings shrugged and mixed, keeping her head down. She poured in just a bit of goat urine, said to be very efficacious in matters of swelling. She felt wicked, but at least she would cure Marjorie. She wasn’t that mean. Sometimes it was difficult being a healer. “Mayhap it is some herb MacDear uses that no other cook knows about. Mayhap it is not wise for you to continue to eat his food.”

She handed her the small cup filled with thick liquid. “Drink it quickly, Marjorie.”

Marjorie drank it straight down, then turned white and held her stomach.

“Nay, do not retch, else you will have to drink it again. This will pass. Just think about your nose being small and white again. Aye, see it already passes.”

Marjorie’s nose returned to normal within the hour but she would not return to the great hall.

Hastings fetched Eloise from the great hall, then returned to her own bedchamber, smiling and humming.

I am truly wicked, she thought. But then again, so was her dear mother-in-law.

Hastings felt queasy. She pressed her palm against her stomach, wondering. She raised her hands and cupped her breasts, squeezing them. They were sore. She had not suffered her monthly flux in many weeks.

She was with child, Severin’s child.

She wondered if Marjorie would soon also carry Severin’s child.

She shook her head, raced from the keep to the stable, and asked Tuggle to saddle Marella.

When she pulled her palfrey up in front of the Healer’s small cottage, the woman was on her knees in front of her herb patch, whistling. Alfred was stretched out his full length in the sword of sun that shone through the thick branches of the sessile oak trees.

“Hastings,” the Healer said, sitting back on her heels. “Look at this. It is a new sort of daisy. I have worked it and worked it and now I am certain that when I pound the flowers into powder and mix them with wine, it will ensure that Lady Moraine stays well in her head.” The Healer paused, then grinned. “I believe it will also cure warts. I tried it already on two of the village boys. The warts were gone in three days. The boys will tell their mothers and sisters, and soon I will have more goods from the village than I will ever need. We live amongst a very warty people. And now I can remove them. I am the greatest healer in Britain. What think you of that?”

“I think I am carrying Severin’s child.”

The Healer rose slowly, wiping her hands on her skirts. She stepped to Hastings and merely looked at her. She reached out her hand and laid it on Hastings’s belly. She looked at her tongue. She lightly scratched the skin on the backs of Hastings’s hands, then looked at her fingernails.

Then she stepped back. Alfred stretched and rose. He meowed loudly and prepared to jump into Hastings’s arms.

“No,” the Healer said sharply. Alfred frowned at his mistress. Hastings had never before seen a cat frown, but Alfred did. He swished his tail and ran to the nearest sessile oak tree and was gone into the thick green leaves in but moments.