Alicia Roque Ruggieri (3 page)

4

“Up, lazy bones. 
Breakfast won’t wait for you,” a voice broke into Bethan’s heavy sleep.  She
struggled to orient her thoughts as she opened her eyes to the dimly-lit room. 
Turning on her side and half-rising, she saw one of the older girls standing
before her.  A contemptuous expression reigning in her eyes and mouth, the
speaker reinforced her words by pulling the blanket off Bethan.  Then she
waited, hands on her hips.

Bethan shook her head in
an effort to rouse herself.  “It must be early yet,” she muttered in a
sleep-soaked voice.

The girl snickered. 
“Perhaps for you.  For those of us used to working, ‘tis late.  The sun already
rises.”

From her mat on the
stone floor, Bethan scrambled to her feet, brushing off her tunic.  She had
slept in it for warmth.  “What should I do first?”

The girl shrugged.  “I
don’t really know.  We’ve already done almost everything.”

“Oh, Winter, you know
‘tis not true,” another girl put in.  She straightened the bedding as she
spoke.  “Don’t worry, Bethan.  We’ve only been awake a little while.  Anyway,
Cook asked us to let you sleep.  You had a long journey yesterday.”

Bethan returned the
girl’s smile, relieved that she was not at fault.  Winter raised her eyebrows
and moved away.

The other girl stepped
toward Bethan and took her by the hands.  “Come along, Bethan,” she continued. 
“I’ll show you where you can wash your face and hands.  Then, you and Aine will
bring breakfast out to the rest of the servants.”

Bethan followed her to
the bowl of water already used by the rest of the servants.  “And you,” Bethan
inquired as she washed, “what is your name?”

The girl smiled again,
displaying a row of square buckteeth.  “You may call me Amy.  Come, Aine will
have the gruel buckets ready.”

~ ~ ~

The rising sun cast a
burning hue across the roofs as Bethan and Aine carried the brimming buckets of
brown gruel into the yard.  Each also bore a large basket of broken loaves,
left over from last night’s meal.

Bethan felt the cool
dust of the yard beneath her feet and took in the sights around her with wide
eyes.  Last night, dusk had cloaked the manor and her vision; now in the waking
daylight, she saw this strange place clearly.  And there was much to see.

Built of thick, heavy
gray stone, numerous buildings spread across a wide courtyard, including the
old Roman barracks, now used for the servants’ sleeping quarters.  Packed dirt
served as the foundation for the stone walls surrounding the stronghold. 
Bethan saw several guard towers similar to the two that had flanked the gate
she and Deoradhan entered last evening.

Though still so early,
noise rose from every quarter as the inhabitants began their day.  Many
servants clustered near the kitchen entrance, some of the stableboys pulling on
their ragged shirts and yawning.  Dairy maids stood combing their fingers
through their hair, trying to unknot and plait the oily locks.  A few guards
leaned against hitching posts, dozing.  Bethan recognized Calum among them.  He
smiled at her when their eyes met.  She returned the courtesy, glad to see a
familiar face.

“They wait for us,” Aine
murmured to Bethan.  With lithe hands, she set down her basket of bread, and
the servants moved eagerly toward the two girls, settling into irregular lines.

Bethan took her place
beside Aine, carefully following the experienced girl’s example.  Every servant
took a piece of dark bread, and most also brought a bowl to receive the scoop
of nourishing gruel Bethan and Aine offered.  Bethan began to glance around,
wondering if she would see Deoradhan’s familiar face.  She had known him for
only a day, but even a day’s acquaintance made his kind presence welcome to
her.  In a way, he reminded her of Garan, with his aloof otherness.  As her
eyes searched the crowd, the question of whether he would welcome seeing her
again flitted through her mind and caused her to blush.

As she filled a bowl
with gruel, her head bowed, she heard Deoradhan’s mellow tenor voice.  “Good
morning to you, lassies.”

A smile rose to Bethan’s
lips, but as her eyes lifted to Deoradhan’s face, she saw that, though his
words were for them both, his gaze was for Aine alone.  Bethan felt
disappointed but could not be surprised.  Aine was a rare beauty, a lily among
thorns, as the Holy Book said.   Of course Deoradhan would be taken with Aine;
a man, he would judge and be pleased, at least initially, by appearances.  And
Aine certainly was comely in every way, Bethan regretted to acknowledge as she
compared her own paltry beauty with that of her companion.  She looked to see
how Aine would respond to Deoradhan’s obvious regard.

Aine’s plush lips curved
up in pleasure.  “Hello, Deoradhan,” she replied softly, her eyes shyly meeting
his.  “Are you wantin’ some breakfast, something to refresh you?”

He shook his head and
glanced around.  The rest of the servants began to disperse, heading toward
their daily tasks.  Deoradhan picked up the girls’ buckets and stepped next to
Aine.  As they moved back across the yard toward the kitchen’s outer door,
Bethan heard him quietly answer Aine, “Seeing you is all the refreshment I
need, lass.” 

Aine’s round cheeks
flushed.  At the sight of her delight, Deoradhan’s own smile deepened.

Seeing them thus, Bethan
felt a little hurt.  She liked him, this messenger lad with eyes the color of
the far-off sea, an easy smile, kind manners, and more than a hint of polish. 
He embodied much that she admired and hoped to see in Garan. 
So in a way,
when I like him, I’m really liking Garan,
Bethan reasoned, trying to ignore
the guilt rising up within her.

Deoradhan and Aine
strolled close together, his eyes on her bowed head, seeming to nourish himself
on the sight of her bonny countenance raising itself to his every few moments. 
Walking a bit apart from them, her heart restless, Bethan roused suddenly,
astonished at her own thoughts. 
He’s courteous and pleasant, aye, but he
can’t cause these tender feelings in my heart.  I’m promised to Garan.  I must
be faithful to him.  Besides, this man serves other gods. 

‘Tis wrong. 

Oh, Living God,
she prayed, dropping a pace or two
more behind Deoradhan and Aine,
help me not to falter!  May my heart obey
You alone, as my father taught me.

5

Amy grasped Bethan by the
arm, startling her so that the dough nearly fell off the table.  “Bethan,
you’ll never guess!”

Bethan tried to look
stern.  “I probably won’t, and it had better be something worth hearing.  I
almost lost that bread dough, and if I had, I would have lost my head, most
likely, when Cook found out.”

The lively
fifteen-year-old’s eyes sparkled like sunlight on water.  “Oh, it’s worth
hearing, Bethan.  Are you ready?”  When Bethan nodded, she went on.  “There’s
to be dancing tonight in the stableyard.”

Excitement rose in
Bethan.  She would welcome a diversion from the melancholy that had crept up in
the past few days she had been at Oxfield.  “Dancing?  With whom?”

“With the young men
around the estate, of course.  None of the uppity house servants will come,
except for Deoradhan, but most of the stable boys and herds and some of the
guards will attend.”  Amy began to work the dough with Bethan.

Uninvited, a thrill ran
through Bethan’s spirit when Amy mentioned the messenger.  Pushing away her
guilty conscience, Bethan inquired, “Deoradhan will be coming?”

“Aye.”  Amy plucked a
handful of flour from the sack beside them and dusted it across the rough-hewn
table.  She began to separate the dough into loaves before speaking again. 
“You favor him, Bethan?”

Bethan felt her heart
bang against her ribs and her face grow hot.  She swallowed hard.  “No, I … I
just don’t know very many others here yet, and I always think of him as sort of
a friend.  He’s the first person I met from Oxfield, you know.”

Amy nodded.  “I just
wondered.  I wouldn’t have blamed you if you did fancy him, though.  Most of
the kitchen maids do.  I’ve even seen Lord Drustan’s wife smile a little too
warmly at him when I served in the hall once a long time ago.  But don’t say I
told you that.”

“How long has Deoradhan
been at Oxfield?” Bethan asked in a voice she hoped sounded nonchalant.  “Or
was he here before you?”

Amy bit her lip,
remembering, then shook her head.  “No, he came just a little while after I
did, more than two summers ago now.  I had just turned thirteen at the time.” 
She laughed.  “I remember being out in the courtyard when Deoradhan first rode
in on his horse Alasdair.  When he cantered through that great iron gate, all
the servants turned and stared, especially the lasses. 

“Mind,” she said,
shaping the loaves, “Deoradhan’s not handsome in the usual way.  He hasn’t got
great dark eyes or a fair countenance, and he’s not tall and elegant like
some.  But I remember that from that first day, he rode with such a look of
purpose to his eyes and in his way of carrying himself, it attracted everyone
to him.  Now, I’m sure he’s got those who don’t like him, same as everyone
does, but there’s something about Deoradhan that draws you.  It’s the reason
all of us kitchen girls get excited when he comes.  You must have felt it, too,
or you wouldn’t be asking me about him, now would you?”  Amy smiled at Bethan,
her mouth showing a gap where she had lost a tooth.

“But,” Amy sighed,
“We’ve no chance with the lad, now, Bethan.”

“What do you mean?”

Amy raised her thin
eyebrows.  “Surely you’ve noticed how he looks at Aine.  Hangs on her every
word, he does.  Not that they’re many or very clever.”  She snorted.

“Why do you suppose he
likes her?” Bethan asked, even though she already guessed the answer.

Amy shrugged.  “Why do
you think he does?  She’s pretty and that’s enough for most men, even for
Deoradhan.”

Bethan nodded, knowing
Amy spoke accurately.  “She is pretty.  I can’t argue with that.”  Aine was as
beautiful as the sun rising across the dew-laden meadows back in West Lea. 
Bethan felt jealousy stab her, knowing she could never compare with the
dark-haired kitchen maid.

Suddenly, she realized
how unattractive her feelings were.  Dusting off her hands, Bethan laid the
last of the loaves aside and covered them with a sheet.  She grasped Amy by the
hands.  “Come along with me.”

“What?”

Bethan tugged her along
toward the door.  “Come along.  Those loaves must rise, and so we’ve some time
on our hands.”  She stopped and smiled sincerely at Amy.  “We two may not have
Aine’s rosy lips or her graceful limbs, but we
are
going to look very
pretty indeed for the dancing tonight, if I have anything to do with it.”

Amy’s green eyes lit
like fireflies.  “Lead on, Bethan.”

~ ~ ~

The night was clear and
crisp with the scent of autumn.  Deoradhan made his way across the courtyard
toward the stables.  Dancing tonight, then his conference with Lord Drustan to
see whether he could be spared to travel north.  Again.

Six times in the last
year he had made the dangerous journey up the island, eluding robbers and wild
beasts, avoiding notice while scouting for information. 
At this point, I
would welcome any change, no matter how it came.  Any wisdom, as long as it
allowed me to regain what is mine by right.

Frustrated, Deoradhan
turned his mind to other, more pleasant matters.  Such as Aine whirling to the
music of pipe and drum, her every movement a stream of grace and beauty.  Her
small feet would be bare, her dark hair like a flock of black sheep running
down her shoulders, her teeth white like northern mountain peaks.  She would
smile with pleasure at every word he whispered.

His mind saturated with
thoughts of the girl, he decided. 
Tonight, after the dancing, I shall ask
her.

Her arm tucked into that
of Winter, Aine tried to match her steps to those of the taller girl.  In the
glowing dusk, she glanced up at the profile of her companion, envying her
careless audacity, her certainty that she knew what she wanted and how to get
it.  Brazen at times, aye.  Cruel, often.  But confident.

As different from you
as day from night.
 
Aine could not seem to settle on anything to satisfy her, to take away the
longing that ate away at her being.  Some nights, as she lay on her hard
pallet, thin woolen blanket pulled up to her frozen chin, she tried to think of
what could absorb her loneliness, what remedy would assuage her yearning for
something . . .
more
. 

Far off, a robin sang
out his ancient song, practiced since the beginning of time.  Mama had loved
the evening songs of the birds, Aine recalled now.  She could remember her
mama’s face turning toward the window of their cottage as darkness fell.  She
might be in the middle of something important, might be bathing little Currier
or churning out butter, but at the voice of the red-breasted bards who carried
their instruments internally, Mama would rise, handing over the task to a
willing Aine.  With eyes infused with pleasure, the older woman gazed into the
gloaming, her tired lips blossoming into a mysterious smile.  For a few
unfettered moments, Mama regained and exceeded the loveliness of her youth. 
There in the evening hours, her mama’s deep soul-beauty appeared, coaxed into
blooming by the siren-sounds from the wood.  Night after night, Aine had watched
in wonder while her Mama delighted in sonnets fresh from the hand of her God.

Walking across this
courtyard, arm in arm with bright-cheeked Winter, Aine could not understand
what Mama had found to solace her in the night songs.  When the darkness
approached, Aine wanted only to distract herself with such things as would take
her mind off the horrible fears that invaded her mind and heart.  Even now,
with the shadows lengthening across the earth, chilly thoughts wrapped
themselves around her thin shoulders.  She shivered and moved closer to Winter.

Winter glanced down at
her.  “Cold?  Don’t worry, ‘twill be warm inside the stable yard.  The heat of
the horses—and the laddies—will see to that.”

Aine flushed scarlet,
suddenly glad for the darkness.  What things this girl could say!  At the
mention of their waiting partners, however, her mind ran to Deoradhan.  As his
sensitive sea-blue eyes blessed her thoughts, she wondered if he anticipated
the sight and presence of her as much as she did him.

With unusual boldness,
Aine dropped her arm from Winter’s and began to scamper on slender legs toward
the glittering lights that beckoned.  “Come, let’s hurry!” she called back, her
heart racing past her feet to meet that of the spirited messenger.

The running girls caught
the eyes of Bethan as she, along with Amy and Haylee, picked their way around
the horse dung littering the ground near the stables.  Squinting through the
dusk, she couldn’t recognize who they were.

“’Tis Winter with her
lackey Aine,” Haylee observed frankly.

“That girl will only
bring trouble for the scared wee mouse,” Amy put in.  “I wish Aine would
realize that.  But I think she admires Winter, if that’s possible.”

Bethan nodded.  She,
too, had noticed the power and influence Winter exerted over Aine.  “It’s too
bad, really.  Aine appears so trusting and innocent, and—”

“Winter is anything
but,” Amy finished.  “I know.”

“Aye, Aine’s not a
wicked girl, really.  I’ve tried to warn her, but she seems blind to Winter’s
faults.  Or not willing to admit them,” Haylee commented as they approached the
buildings where the horses were kept.  Invigorating music wafted through the
cool air to greet them, and the three hurried their steps simultaneously.

At the door, the girls
exchanged excited smiles.  Gloriously pleasant hours stretched out before them
like sun-filled meadows before energized horses.

“You look very bonny,”
Amy whispered to Bethan as they moved the doorway.

“So do you,” Bethan
replied sincerely, thinking of the time they had spent combing and plaiting
their hair, scrubbing their faces, and brushing off their simple tunics in
preparation for this evening.  They both looked as fine as grooming could make
possible, Bethan knew.  Haylee, younger by a year, had used her time wisely
after supper as well; her golden mane shone like a king’s treasure trove and
her limbs glowed from a hearty washing.

As they entered the
stable area, Bethan breathed in astonishment at the yard’s transformation.  All
the usual filth had been cleared away, leaving the square expanse open for
dancing.  Torches lined the yard, blazing warmly to illuminate.  Three or four
stable lads stood at the far end of the yard, equipped with the essential
instruments: recorder, bagpipe, and drums.  Already, they began to beguile the
assembly with vigorous music, the inimitable sound of the pipe undergirding the
high sweet whistle of the recorder, belted together by the drum’s varying
pulse.

At the instruments’
call, the dance floor sprang to life before Bethan’s widening eyes.  Here, a
guard swung a dairymaid round; there, a shepherd boy pranced to the laughing
admiration of his kitchen maid partner.  Bethan’s spirit leaped at the prospect
of such carefree merriment, and she, too, wished to join in similar wild
abandon. 
There is nothing evil here,
she thought. 
‘Tis only fun. 
Even Papa would surely permit it.

Permit it, aye.  And
caution, as well.