Alicia Roque Ruggieri (14 page)

Meghyn nodded.  She had
known the feeling too at one time.  “So…”

Lady Tarian shrugged. 
“So I married him with my uncle the priest’s blessing, the lord of Cantia’s
blessing, the people’s blessing.  But not God’s blessing.  And I have paid for
it.  Dearly.”

She smiled and turned
her gaze toward the floor, and Meghyn noticed for the first time that the young
woman’s right cheekbone looked dark bluish. 
Perhaps ‘tis only the shadows
from the firelight.
  “My lady,” she said, reaching across and grasping Lady
Tarian’s hands in her own heavy rough ones, “Have you asked the Lord’s pardon
for going against your parents’ judgment like that?  For doing what you sensed
‘twas wrong?”

Lady Tarian raised her
eyes, brimming brightly with tears.  She nodded.  “Aye, and I’ve tried to
follow Him again.  Meghyn, do you think that God gives second chances?  Or am I
condemned for life to…”  The tears spilled over, running down her pale cheeks.

“The Lord’s compassions
fail not; they are new every morning, my lady.”

“But Drustan…”

Meghyn rubbed the girl’s
hands.  “Don’t you worry about him.  God will take care of that man.  Do you
think he can stand in the Almighty’s way for a moment?”

The noblewoman shook her
head.  “Nay.”

“Nay is right.”

“But I got myself into
this,” Lady Tarian burst out.  “I’m not suffering because I did rightly.”

“Then pray the prayer of
David, my lady:  ‘Remember not the sins of my youth or my transgressions;
according to your steadfast love remember me, for the sake of your goodness, O
LORD!’”  Meghyn paused to let the words sink into the young woman’s soul like
rain on dry moss.  “’Tis not my place to say whether your early conversion to
Christ was real, my lady.  That’s between you and your Lord.  But whether ‘twas
or ‘twas not, you can begin this moment to obey.  As David says in that same
psalm, ‘The friendship of the LORD is for those who fear him, and he makes
known to them his covenant.’  The Lord may have a hard lesson for you to learn,
but ‘tis from the hand of a loving Father, not a punishing judge.”

The lady turned her face
toward the fire so that the kitchen maids couldn’t see her rapid tears.  Meghyn
watched as the young woman pushed back the flowing emotions and wiped her
eyes.  After a few moments, Lady Tarian turned back to Meghyn.

“’Tis late.  I must be going.”

Meghyn nodded.  “My
prayers go with you, my lady.”

A smile blossomed on the
lady’s face.  “Thank you, Meghyn.  For everything you’ve said.  You don’t
know…”  She stopped.  “Thank you.”

She rose to her feet,
and Meghyn began to struggle up herself.  “Nay, don’t trouble yourself,” Lady
Tarian pressed a hand to her shoulder.  “Rest your legs, dear woman.”

“Thank you, my lady,”
said Meghyn.  She watched the young woman move across the kitchen toward the
exit. 

In wrath remember
mercy, O Lord…

20

West Lea

“She looks very ill,”
Bethan heard her own words spill from her lips without emotion.  “You think so,
aye?”  She glanced up at Calum.  He stood by her shoulder, silent but his eyes
filled with thought.

She wiped her mother’s face
again. 
It does no good.
  Over and over, she had cooled the red face
with water, but the heat rising from the skin would not decrease.  A rash
covered her mother’s body like leprosy.  Mama had not recovered real
consciousness since Bethan and Calum had arrived several days past.

“Where’s Enid?” she
suddenly remembered. 

“She’s gone to the
neighbors’ to play,” Calum replied.  He gently took the bowl of water from her
hands.  “Why don’t you heat some gruel?  I’ll take over here.”

Bethan felt reluctant to
leave her mother’s side but relieved as well.  ‘Twas well-past noon, and she’d
been sitting at her mother’s side since daybreak.  Her back felt as if a knife
had split it in two.  She rose from the three-legged stool, giving place to
Calum, who folded his tall frame onto the low seat.

As she prepared the
light food, Bethan found her eyes moving toward the guard again and again.  How
patient he was as he wiped Mama’s face, running the cloth over her taut skin
with the tenderness of a doe toward its fawn.  Grace flowed through the scars
on his face, making what would have been disfigurement, beauty.  He bent
himself to the task single-mindedly, not eager to rush off or impatient for
Bethan to resume her place.

Whatever happens,
Lord,
Bethan prayed as she stirred the watery mixture over the hearth,
thank
you for Calum.

She felt
her heart constrict as she realized what she had prayed. 
Whatever happens…

Camelot

“Lord Deoradhan!  You’re
not leaving us already?”  About to mount, Deoradhan turned at the sound of Lady
Fiona’s voice.  She stood at the stable door, a heavy shawl wrapped around her
shoulders.  Deoradhan smiled, despite the storm raging within his heart.  Or
perhaps because her appearance proved to be a soothing influence.

“Aye,” he replied.  “I’m
going.”

“You’ve an estate to get
back to?”

Deoradhan gave a twisted
smile.  “Nay.  Not yet, anyway.”

Lady Fiona tilted her
head to the side.  “You stand to inherit your domain, then?”

“Let’s just say someone
is holding it for me,” he answered.  “And you, Lady Fiona?  Where do you make
your home?” he asked, not really caring but wanting to be kind to this friendly
girl. 
She can’t help who her father is, after all.

She moved toward his
mount Alasdair and began to stroke the horse’s neck, her pale fingers running
over the gray mane.  “Here mostly,” she said without smiling, yet with peace in
her eyes.  “My father has determined it best that I remain as a lady-in-waiting
to the queen.  He and I do not see eye-to-eye on many things.”

“So you are not often
at…what is the name of your father’s estate?” he asked.

“Dunpeledyr,” she
supplied.  “Nay, very seldom.  I go there perhaps once a year, if that.  ‘Tis
in beautiful country, though.”

“You must miss your
brother.”

“Solas?  Aye, very
much.  He and I have the same heart, though different ways of expressing our
feelings.”  She ran her hand over the horse’s nose and smiled up at Deoradhan. 
“Which is why he can remain at Dunpeledyr and I am sent away.”

Deoradhan smiled.  The
young lady had spirit, a sense of freed individuality.  Aine came to his mind
then. 
She can be forgiven a few faults, Deoradhan.  She is young yet and a
more innocently perfect girl never breathed.

“A beautiful horse,
this,” she commented.  “My father raises horses.  My lord king himself has
purchased some for his stables.”  She shook her head.  “Father never thinks
anyone can care for his horses well enough.  There’s always a new horsemaster
at Dunpeledyr, every time I visit.  Last time I heard, he had let the latest
one go as well.”

Her words caught
Deoradhan’s interest.  “Indeed, my lady?”  He paused, knitting his plot
quickly.  “Would your father take me on, do you think?  I am well-experienced
with horses, you know.”

Lady Fiona raised her
eyebrows.  “You, my lord?  Why would you want to be horsemaster at Dunpeledyr? 
I’m sure you have more lofty things to occupy you.  Why not go abroad to study
some more?  Or become a court intriguer.  Arthur can always use another,” she
smiled.

“Nay, I’ve studied and
entertained myself to my heart’s content.  All I can do now is wait for my
inheritance.  And there’s no better place to wait than in Lothian.”

“Why do you say that?” 
Her eyes narrowed, puzzled.
Deoradhan caught his breath. 
I’ve said too much.  This one is quick.
 
“You said yourself that Lothian is beautiful.  Who wouldn’t wish to wait out
the years in beauty?” 
Though not many years now.

Lady Fiona smiled. 
“Well, you can try, my lord.  If you like, I’ll write to my father about you,
asking him to consider it.”

“I beg your pardon for
saying this, my lady, but if relations are strained between the two of you,
would that do more harm than good?”

She shook her head. 
“Nay.  My father and I disagree on many things, but even I must admit that he
conducts his business affairs well and he must admit that I give good counsel
on such issues.  So, you’re not to fear, my lord.  My recommendation will do
you good.  Trust me.”

Deoradhan nodded
slowly.  For some reason, he found it easy to believe this pleasant but fiery
girl.  “Alright,” he replied.  “Thank you.”

She nodded.

“Until we meet again,
then,” he said, mounting.

“Aye, my lord.  And see
that you do my recommendation good, as well.”

‘Twas meant lightly, he
knew from her sparkling eyes, but the uneasy guilt in his heart choked any
answer he would have given her.

21

Oxfield

“Aine, someone wants to
speak with you.”  Deirdre’s voice brought Aine’s head up from her sweeping.  At
Aine’s questioning look, Deirdre added, “She’s waiting at the door.”

Strange.  In her three
years at Oxfield, she never had received visitors.  Aine laid her broom aside. 
“I’ll be right back,” she promised, and Deirdre nodded.  The older girl had
become an unofficial stand-in manager since Cook had become so immobile in the
past few weeks, and Aine felt obligated to let her know her whereabouts.

It’s not Deoradhan,
returned from Camelot, because Deirdre said ‘twas a “she.”
  Her heart
fluttered like a butterfly caught in the hand. 
Though I wish ‘twas he.

She frowned as she made
her way toward the passageway leading out to the exterior door.  Deoradhan had
not written to her since leaving almost two weeks ago.  Soon, their promise of
a speedy marriage would be null.  ‘Twas nearly a month since he pledged to
marry her. 
And a month can bring many changes.  I hope he has not changed.
 
Then Aine bit her smiling lips as another thought stole into her mind. 
Though
if he has, my prospects have brightened for sure and certain with Lord
Lancelot’s attentions to me lately.
  Since yesterday, Lord Drustan’s nephew
had spoken to her twice as she went about her work in the courtyard. 
Interesting, to say the least.  Aine’s step took on a bounce.

Her hand lifted the
latch.  The heavy door wasn’t bolted during the day, and she pulled it open
easily.  As the squeak of its hinges died away, the cloaked visitor turned to
meet Aine’s curious gaze.

Eyes as dark as her own
lifted to Aine’s face.  Though just a few short years had lent gray to the
midnight hair and more creases to the once-plump cheeks, Aine recognized the
woman immediately.  With dismay.

Her hand dropped from
the latch.  “Mama,” she whispered.

~ ~ ~

He noticed her from
across the wide hall.  Indeed, ‘twas hard for a man to ignore such drooping
eyelids and musical laughter.  Lancelot smiled. 
Especially a man like me,
he thought,
who knows his women.

And well ‘twas for him
that he did. 
When it comes time to woo and win a lady of means, I’ll know
what I want, in addition to the gold.

And land.

And horses.

And a warrior force.

Come to think of it, a
woman with all of that attached might not be so attractive…visually.  And might
be a good deal older than he as well.

Lancelot chuckled. 
‘Twas a good thing, then, that he enjoyed himself now.  Later, he might have to
suffer to obtain the satisfaction of his material needs.  Taking out one of his
charming smiles—not his best, mind you; that was reserved for special
occasions—the nobleman strode across the hall toward the hearth, where the
object of his eyes basted the several chickens roasting on a single spit.

“Winter, isn’t it?” he
called out as he neared her.  The pretty girl looked up, seemingly surprised,
and dropped a curtsy.

Lancelot smiled. 
I
know this game, little fool, and I’m better at it than you.  Your eyes have
been darting toward me for half the morning, since you entered the hall.
 
“Sorry if I startled you,” he said, imbuing his tone with sincerity.  He took
the spit handle from her.  “Here, let me help.”

“Oh, my lord…” she
breathed.  Her mouth gaped open and closed.  Rather like a pretty blond fish. 
One
I’m about to land.

He knew she was
scrambling for things to say, ways to amuse him, captivate him.  “Are these for
the feast tonight?” he asked, knowing full well that they were.

“Aye.”

“Are you going?”

“To the Samhain feast? 
I wouldn’t miss it, my lord!” she exclaimed, pink flushing into her cheeks. 
“And you, my lord?  Will you attend?  Or is Lord Drustan planning something
more sedate for his own household?” she asked, teasing creeping into her voice.

“Not to worry, I’m
attending.  Arthur himself couldn’t keep me away.  We must appease the ancient
spirits after all.”  He looked down into her cool blue eyes, frosted with
fluttery lashes.  “Especially when such beauty promises to be present.”

A shameless flush rose to
the maid’s cheeks.  Lancelot liked her well for it. 
She will be mine after
the bonfires tonight without hesitation.
  The realization didn’t give him
the supreme, biting pleasure he so enjoyed, however; that intense pleasure
never came without having emerged the victor from a struggle, a battle of wills
in which he triumphed, forcing the conquered to enjoy his pleasures.

“The priests have
already arrived,” he continued, brushing her hand with his as he shifted to
avoid the flames’ heat.

“I saw them coming in
with the peddlers.”  The girl shook her head.  “Funny how they seem like
ordinary men in ordinary clothes.”

“Until they put on the
white robes.  They will do that for the ceremony tonight.”

“To purify the people
and animals,” Winter added.

“Aye, to purify.”  He
gave her a half-smile.  “Though I must admit I enjoy the possible excitement
afterward more than the mysterious ceremony.”

Audacious girl, she
smiled back!  “Isn’t it all a ceremony, my lord?  And doesn’t it all please the
gods and the spirits?”

“True,” he replied,
inwardly laughing at what his oh-so-prudish mother would think of this trollop. 
“Though, of course, you know, the fertility rites are not so important to
Samhain as to Beltane,” his logical tongue put in.

She looked at him, eyes
narrowed in fun.  “Aren’t they, my lord?  Isn’t it necessary that the earth be
prepared during the long darkness for a fruitful spring?”

“Aye, aye, indeed,” he
agreed.  The maid’s predictable mind wearied him.  He gave the spit another
twist.  He could enjoy all he wanted of her this evening; this interaction had
assured him of her willingness.  “So I hope to see you in the courtyard
tonight?”

“Aye,” she said and
paused.  He waited a moment to see if she had anything worthwhile to say and
was glad that he had done so.  “Though I doubt you’ll notice me with Aine
present,” she added.

“Aine?” he frowned.  Who
was the girl talking about?

She gazed into his
eyes.  “You remember her, my lord.  A kitchen girl.  You met her near the
stables yesterday.”

“Oh, aye.”  Now he
remembered!  He’d spoken to her again, too, just this morning in the courtyard,
but hadn’t remembered her name.  So that was it:  Aine, the pretty sprite.

“I’m surprised you’d
forgotten her,” Winter chided.  “She hasn’t forgotten you, my lord.”

“Oh?”
“Aye.”  Winter shook her head and lowered her voice.  “In truth, my lord, she
hasn’t forgotten you for a moment since she met you.  She praises your bonny
face and even murmured your name in her sleep last night.”

Lancelot felt intrigued.

“She’s shy, though, my
lord,” confided Winter.  “That’s probably why her passion for you wasn’t
clear.”

Lancelot couldn’t resist
asking.  “And has she a lover?”

“Aine?”  Winter
laughed.  “Nay, men must be bold with her, and most find themselves weak at the
sight of her beauty.  Though I suppose you wouldn’t be, my lord.”

Another servant girl
came up as Winter finished her comment.  The newcomer dropped a curtsy to
Lancelot and turned to Winter.  “Deirdre sent me to replace you here for the
midday meal preparations.”

“Alright.”  Winter gave
place to the girl.  She smiled at Lancelot before exiting.  “I don’t blame you,
my lord, if you pursue Aine for the evening.  It will give me pleasure just to
see if you can catch her.”

Lancelot watched the
girl saunter away before heading off toward his uncle’s chambers and smiled. 
Tonight would provide great amusement for the one who mattered:  namely,
himself.

West Lea

Her soul had departed. 
As she stared into her mother’s cold face, Bethan’s chest felt as if her heart
and lungs had been torn out.  The tears bubbled over the rims of her eyes and
spilled down her cheeks.  The numb sorrow pervaded her being too much for her
to wipe the tears away.

She is in hell.

The thought ran
repeatedly through her mind like a dog on a short chain.

She is in hell, and no
one can save her now.

The tears soaked a dark
circle on her skirt as they flew down her cheeks, dripped off her chin.  A
great sob wrenched free from her throat.  “Why?” she moaned.  “Why couldn’t You
save her?”  Her head fell to her knees, and she slid off the stool onto the
ice-cold dirt next to her mama’s bed.

Oxfield

Aine hated the way her
mother made her feel.  Restrained.  Boxed in.  As if she stood in a windowless
room with no lamp. 
I didn’t always feel this way,
she realized, looking
into her mother’s dark eyes. 
Something is different from when I was little.

“Aren’t you going to ask
me in?” her mother said quietly.

Aine glanced behind
her.  “They’re busy preparing for the feast tonight, Mama.”

Her mother nodded. 
“Maybe we could sit out here in the courtyard, then—”

“I’m expected to help,
Mama,” Aine cut in.  Seeing the startled look on her mother’s face, she added,
“’Tis Samhain, you know.  There’s much to prepare.”

“Aye, I ken.  The feast
of the dead.”  Her mama gave a soft sigh.  “I wish you had nothing to do with
such things, daughter.”

Aine pursed her lips. 
Mama had no right to tell her what to do anymore. Didn’t Aine provide her own
bread?  “’Tis just a little fun, Mama.  Dancing and singing, that’s all.”

“’Tis of the evil one. 
You know that, Aine.”  Her mama’s eyes sought her own, and Aine dropped her
gaze to the ground, defiant.  The rebellious feelings surged up within her
heart even as part of her yearned to embrace her mama.

I will not be told
what to do.
  She stood in the doorway, her arms clasped around her for
warmth in the late autumn wind.  What had Mama come for, anyway?  Surely not to
reprimand her.  She waited.

“Daughter, I’ve come to
ask you to go home with me.”  Her mama’s voice grew soft, gentle as a robin’s
laughter.  “Surely you’ve had enough of your rambling away.  Come home with
me.  You’ve already missed so much, what with your brothers and sisters growing
up.”

Aine shook her head.  “I
have a good place here, Mama.  Besides, I want to be free.”

“Free from what, Aine? 
Free from those who love you?”

“I don’t know, Mama!  I
don’t want everyone telling me what to do.  Here, I’m my own mistress. 
Besides,” she continued, “I have someone who loves me here.”

“What do you mean?”

“What I said.  I’ve
promised myself to Deoradhan, Lord Drustan’s messenger.  I expect to marry him
any day now.”

Her mother stayed silent
for a moment.  “May I meet him?” she finally asked in the tense quiet.

Aine shook her head. 
“Nay, he’s away from Oxfield right now.”  She gave her mother a mirthless
smile.  “You wouldn’t care for him anyway, Mama.  He’s a pagan to his very
heart.  If he were here, I’m sure he would join in the Samhain feast happily.”

“Oh.  I see.”

“So I guess ‘tis good he
isn’t here to meet you.”  Aine grew uncomfortable in the quiet strain.  “I have
to be going, Mama.”  She hesitated, then pecked her mama’s cheek.  “Good-bye.”

Feeling like a hunted
doe, Aine ducked inside the kitchen doorway and shut the door without waiting
to hear her mother’s reply.  In the darkness, she leaned against the heavy
door, heart galloping, feeling she had escaped narrowly from the snare.

~ ~ ~

Twilight came rapidly
tonight.

“Quickly, now, girls. 
We’ll bring the bread upstairs, then off to bed you go,” Deirdre instructed the
very youngest three kitchen servants.  Watching their unruly heads bobbing
together in childish chatter at the table, she sighed.  May the Lord be
thanked, these at least would not be subjected to the festivities to honor the
dead.

But whoever causes
one of these little ones to sin …

The three small girls
finished rolling the fresh loaves into towels.  Deirdre quickly packed the
bundles into manageable baskets, giving each child one to carry.

“Now, be sure not to
wander.  Hand the baskets over to the servants at the top of the stair and then
come right back down.”  She crouched down in front of the threesome.  “And I’ll
have a story and a treat for you tonight, you’ve worked so hard today.”