Queen Hereafter (20 page)

We three are like a triad of pride
, she thought:
the harper, the Lady of the North, and the foreign queen
. But she doubted the other two, with their prideful tempers, would agree.

ON A SUNNY MORNING
, Eva held the door to the great hall open—the oak so new that its oils were pungent—for Lady Juliana, a young Saxon woman whose father, Eva had learned, had betrayed Malcolm by bargaining with King William for lands in England. A hostage in the Scottish court on account of her father’s behavior, Juliana, as an illegitimate daughter of a significant man, understood Eva’s situation—and vice versa—better than most.

“We are birds in a pretty cage, you and I,” auburn-haired Juliana had whispered to Eva one day. “We have luxury and privilege here, but no right to our own freedom.”

As they entered the hall with Queen Margaret and her ladies to break their fast after prayers, Eva saw Margaret seated with her foreign maidservant, her sister, and some others. The queen ate little, although Eva knew that Margaret had not eaten yet that day, and she was pallid, refusing most of what Kata, her maidservant, urged on her. Finally the queen tasted a little plain porridge and sipped a shallow cup of hot milk. Then while others ate, she sat discussing household matters with Dame Agnes. Sir Wilfrid brought an account roll for her review, mentioning the queen’s royal properties in Scotland, which Eva now heard had been granted to her by Malcolm in honor of their marriage. Finally Margaret rose from her chair and motioned for the ladies to follow her from the hall.

“Where are we going?” Eva asked as she and Juliana walked with Lady Edith, the wife of Juliana’s father. The two women got along well, despite the odd nature of their relationship.

“To the chapel across the glen to pray,” the older lady answered.

“But we prayed for an hour, not two hours ago,” Eva said.

“Hardly enough time to sin again,” Juliana agreed wryly.

“The queen insists that daily devotions keep our souls in good repair,” Lady Edith replied.

“My soul does not need so much repair,” Eva muttered, and Juliana laughed.

She kept to herself that the queen had requested her to sometimes go alone with her to prayers. Truly she preferred harp music over prayer for cleansing one’s soul, but thought better of saying so. For her, playing music felt as inspired and healing as prayer, but that sentiment might be considered heretical here.

Eva found a place near the door of the anteroom chapel with Juliana while the queen knelt, folding her hands in prayer. Sometimes, as now, Margaret had such grace and purity that Eva would not have been surprised to see a halo around the queen’s head rather than mere sunlight filtering through the little window.

She sighed, wishing she could get away to practice her harp, when Juliana nudged her. “I need to work on my embroidery,” the girl whispered. “I pray that my work will be passable today. The queen has an unforgiving eye. Let us go,” she urged. “Come, I will show you the solar.”

Eva nodded, and they tiptoed from the chapel. Looking back, she saw the queen turn her head slightly as they departed. The Saxon woman missed nothing, Eva realized.

In the sunlit room at the height of the tower above Eva’s bedchamber, Eva was sitting with Juliana when the ladies returned to resume their stitching. The queen welcomed Eva and took up her work from a painted basket. Not sure what was expected of her, Eva was glad when Lady Agatha brought her a folded green woolen gown that she said belonged to the queen, and showed her that part of the hem had come loose and needed repair.

“Did you learn stitchery skills in the north country?” the woman asked in her heavy accent.

“Of course,” Eva said, biting back further comment—stitchery was one of the earliest skills a girl could learn, north or south.

Silently she began to work, looping the thread snugly as she fixed the torn hem. The gown was neatly made of moss green wool lined in pale silk, with flowers embroidered at the hem, on the sleeves, and on the front of the skirt, and she admired the artistry of that handiwork, turning it to examine the inside.

She was glad that she had worn her good dark blue gown that day and had taken time to neatly plait her black hair with red ribbons. The ladies of the queen’s circle wore handsome gowns of linen, wool, and silk in an array of colors, and their hair was smoothly arranged, whether covered by a veil or left loose or braided. Eva had noticed from the first that the queen preferred plenty of color in her own wardrobe, often wearing several bright colors at once in gown, shift, shoes, and cloak. Margaret also had a taste for the finest fabrics and exquisite embroidery with touches of gold and silver threads, seed pearls, and even small inset semiprecious stones in the bandwork. Indeed, her garments draped gracefully along her slim curves, and both bright and soft colors flattered her fair coloring—and Eva had the feeling Margaret knew that quite well, indicating that the foreign queen had a certain vanity mingled with her better qualities.

Wynne had already mentioned to Eva that the queen encouraged her ladies to dress well, as befit their station as her companions. If they did not own or could not afford such things, Margaret helped them by purchasing ells of cloth in the local market and hiring seamstresses in the town to sew the gowns, which the ladies then embroidered. If the queen offered to improve her wardrobe, Eva thought, she would refuse; her own things, though plainer than most, were fine.

“The king, too, now dresses handsomely in things chosen by the queen,” Wynne had said. “And the Lady scissor-trims his hair and beard herself. He looks like a Saxon now, with long hair and mustache.
You should have seen him before—like a bear,” she added with a laugh.

Eva worked on the green gown, silk and wool rustling under her fingers. After a while Queen Margaret rose and circled the little room, speaking to each woman, praising here, gently correcting a technique there. She paused by Eva.

“Neatly done,” she said. “Though you might prefer to play harp rather than do stitchery, is it so?” Eva smiled and the queen touched her shoulder and moved on.

Moments later, as Margaret paused by Juliana, she took the piece the girl was working on to examine it. With a quick, impatient huff, Margaret grabbed a set of silver scissors and ripped out a section of colorful stitches that had been sewn with tiny seed pearls. Eva gaped, seeing Juliana’s look of dismay as the pearls scattered over the floor.

“This work is uneven,” Margaret said. “Only the finest embroidery will do for a priest’s vestment, especially if it comes from the queen’s circle. Do it again, Juliana. It must be flawless.”

Juliana flushed. “I beg your pardon, my lady.”

“Only the best, do you understand? I ask the same of myself. Only the best, ever.” Margaret returned to her own chair, her cheeks pink as she sat to resume her own needlework.

The queen’s stern words hung in the air. Eva saw the other women working earnestly, all of them silent, while the maidservant Finola dropped to her knees to gather up the pearls. Over her head, Eva caught Juliana’s gaze. The girl lifted a brow in clear, silent comment. Then she went back to picking loose threads out of the cloth in her hands.

Margaret embroidered a new line of stitches steadily, her expression so calm that Eva wondered if she felt any remorse. The queen had a ruthless side as Juliana had said, and a startling temper out of keeping with her otherwise exemplary manners.

“Lady Juliana,” Margaret said a little while later, leaning forward to look. “Those new stitches are nicely done.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Juliana murmured.

“Do you do much embroidery, Lady Eva?” the queen asked after another stretch of silence.

“I do,” Eva answered, and showed the sleeves of her gown, where she had trimmed the blue wool in a looping pattern of yellow and green thread, matching the band she had sewn along the hem. Under the gown, she wore a shift of creamy linen embroidered with blue flowers.

The queen admired the work, smoothing slender fingers over it as she discussed the technique Eva had used. Others peered over her shoulder, including Lady Agatha, who exclaimed and reached out to touch Eva’s sleeve. Princess Cristina did, as well.

Cristina gave the work close scrutiny, pointing out missed stitches and stating what would have fixed them. For a moment, Eva felt overwhelmed by a chatter of compliments in various languages; she understood English, Gaelic, and Latin only, and she was impressed by how easily the Saxon women changed languages, even in the midst of a conversation, a necessary skill in most royal courts, she realized, particularly when the queen and her kin were foreigners.

Lady Agatha held out a piece of cloth embroidered with an elaborate design and insets of gold wire, minutely wrapped with the silken stitches. The piece was a priest’s stole, Eva saw.

“Take this,” Lady Agatha told her. “Trim and finish the back, then line it with that piece of silk and hem it. Your stitches are good enough for that. We have much work to do here, since we are making things for the church as well as for my daughter’s household. We will teach you new stitches, and you will learn much.”

Taking up a little pair of scissors, Eva snipped loose threads as she had been assigned. She did not want to do this, she thought, and would far rather be elsewhere, away from this earnest little workshop with its busy, productive, unquestioning ladies—but for the Lady Juliana—and its demanding mistress. She needed to tend to her own work of harp playing and bardcraft. But she could not play harp for the queen and her circle unless Margaret asked her,
and so the only strings she handled in the queen’s solar were of silk and cloth.

But she was a
seanchaidh
, not a seamstress. How long must she be a hostage in Malcolm’s court—and worse, in a ladies’ stitchery circle?

EVA STOOD IN THE
cool morning air watching Ruari and the other men of Moray readying to depart. She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly and desperately lonely, wanting to ride away with them. While Ruari paused to check his horse’s harness, she ran toward him.

“Take me with you,” she blurted. “We have been here a month. Do not leave me here.”

He smoothed the blanket under the saddle. “We have no choice; you know that. And Lady Rue expects you to do as she has asked.”

“Spy for her?” Eva hissed.

A muscle pulsed in his cheek. “Listen and learn while you are here. Send word when you have something to share. Take this”—he handed her a small leather pouch jingling with coins—“and use it to pay messengers and purchase ink and parchment. Send your sealed letters to Abbot Drostan at Loch Leven. He will see to the rest.”

Pocketing the coins, pouting like a child, Eva knew she could not win the argument. “Then give this to my grandmother. I wrote down all I have learned here so far,” she said, handing him a folded parchment on which she had inked all the news she had. “I have heard of no designs on Moray,” she spoke softly. “The queen is lovely and kind, does needlework, and prays a good deal. She has a temper—but so does Lady Gruadh. I have heard no mention of a secret book, but the queen’s own books are prettily painted and she reads to us daily. I am asked to play harp and to sew stitches. Though a hostage and a
spy
,” she added in a fierce whisper, “I hear nothing of any use to Moray. Tell her there is no need for spying here. Tell her I wish to come home.”

“Watch your words,” Ruari whispered, glancing around. “Very well, I will give her this. She will cherish it and wait for more—not for secrets, but because it comes from you.”

Tears sprang to her eyes. Impulsively, Eva stood on her toes to hug Ruari and kiss his cheek, while he patted her back. “Be safe,” he said gruffly.

Nodding, she stepped back and hastened away. She lacked her grandmother’s strength to stand and watch while they left her alone here.

THUNDERSTORMS RUMBLED OVERHEAD
one afternoon as Margaret sat at a table in the great hall playing a game of chess with Malcolm, who had been surprised when she had suggested it. He and De Lauder had returned a little earlier with several hares brought down by their hawks before the rain swept through, and his hair was still damp, though he had changed to dry clothing. He sipped ale with one beefy hand wrapped around a wooden cup, and he picked at a dish of sweetmeats, which he now offered to Margaret.