shadow and lace (12 page)

Marlys smirked as she watched the exchange. Gareth stiffened and gave Rowena's cheek a fatherly pat. "I'm off to the village for more servants. If we are to sup tonight, we will sup in style or not at all. If I know Blaine, he hopes to be trapped by the winter snows and forced to spend the winter feasting on our beef and ale."

"And our maidservants," Marlys added as Gareth left them. Her speculative gaze dropped to Rowena's head.

Moments later, Rowena cupped her chin in her hands, the resplendence of Blaine's procession forgotten as Gareth mounted Folio in the list below. Folio pranced as Gareth gave their window a jaunty salute before squaring his shoulders and sending the horse cantering through the castle gate.

"You don't hate him nearly as much as you'd like to, do you?"

At Marlys's gentle question, Rowena swung around. Marlys swiped a strand of hair out of her mouth. A smile of terrifying sweetness appeared. She extended a grimy palm to Rowena.

"Come, Lady Precious. If I am to be denied my ambush, I've time to find you some garments for the feast. If you go down wearing that silly rag, you'll quite fade in the presence of so many ladies. 'Twould not be your desire, would it?"

Rowena reluctantly took the hand Marlys proffered, half preferring a cuffing to this unexpected kindness.

The door creaked open on iron hinges. Rowena clutched Marlys's hand and peered around the taller girl's shoulder. Marlys moved forward into the shadows of the chamber, her normally exuberant footsteps muffled.

The chamber was not in total darkness. The afternoon sun touched the sheets of velvet spiked over the windows, casting a pall of blue gloom over the shrouded furniture. A delicate mingling of rosemary and mildew wafted to Rowena's nose, making it itch. Marlys's hand slipped from hers. Rowena pinched back a sneeze.

"Everything's the same," Marlys whispered.

Cobwebs draped the candle sconces in elaborate falls of gray and white. A canopied bed frame even larger than Gareth's sat in the center of the chamber, covered by a single linen sheet. Rowena half-expected the shapeless mound beneath to rise and float toward them.

Marlys shook her head as if to clear it and crossed to an oaken cupboard in the corner. "I daresay we'll find a kirtle for you here."

Her matter-of-fact words were both comforting and irreverent. Rowena started as the door of the cupboard crashed into the wall. While Marlys dug through the cupboard, Rowena sidled toward the bed. She reached out a tentative finger and poked at the lump in its center. The straw tick erupted in a frenzy of squeaking and skittering, and she snatched her hand back.

"Mice," Marlys pronounced without turning around. "There would be, you know. The cats don't come here. Keep an eye out for rats, won't you?"

Rowena peered around, unnerved by the sheer size of the chamber. She sat down on the corner of the bed frame. Her toe explored the dark stain spilling over the stone floor beside the bed.

From beneath the bed came the faint skitter of claws on stone. Rowena jerked her feet up. Marlys paid her no heed; she had crawled into the cupboard. Only the soles of her boots were visible. Her voice was muffled. "Used to hide in here when I was little. Goes clear through the wall. Big enough for a family of ten."

Rowena leaned over the side of the bed and gingerly lifted the sheet. In the eerie light, she could barely make out the faint outlines of a cradle. She ran her hand along the beautifully carved surface. Her finger came back furred with dust.

She dropped the sheet guiltily as Marlys rose from the chest with a hiss of satisfaction, unfurling a mound of peacock blue trimmed in ermine. In the eerie blue light, the crushed velvet seemed to hover above the floor with a life of its own.

Marlys lifted one trailing belled sleeve of the matching undertunic. "What do you think? Perfect for you, is it not? Blue to match your eyes."

The rich blue was not near to the color of Rowena's eyes, but she did not say so. " 'Tis a lovely kirtle. But I dare not wear another's garments without their leave."

Marlys snorted. "The lady who would mind is long gone. My stepmother has been dead for nigh on twenty years. You have
my
leave. 'Tis all you need."

She piled the dress in Rowena's arms, then dove back into the cupboard to pull out a wimple and girdle. Marlys muttered to herself, "Stand up straight, Marlys. Comb your hair, Marlys. Don't slouch like an ape, Marlys. Silly bitch thought she'd make a lady of me."

"Silly, indeed," Rowena said softly. A veil came sailing over to land on her head. Rowena swept the gauzy softness from her eyes. "Was she pretty?"

Marlys threw back her head in a bay of assent.

"God, she was beautiful! With raven black curls that tumbled to her waist and flashing blue eyes."

Rowena touched the cradle with her toe. "Did she and your papa have a babe?"

"She brought her bratling with her when she came. Never had time for it though. Kept it swaddled all the time. I used to hide in the cupboard and sneak out to untie the fat little thing when she left it unattended. Used to drive her batty. She never could figure out how the creature wiggled its way out. She was blessed with beauty but no brains." Marlys slapped a comb in her hands. "Much like yourself."

Marlys crossed the chamber, her strides quick and sure. She swept back the linen covering a table, carelessly knocking a pine box to the floor. Rowena bent to retrieve it. Her finger traced the sloping wing of a bird carved into the pale wood, and she started to open it.

Marlys snatched the box from her hand. "Gareth spent days carving this for her when Father sent word he was bringing home a new mother for us."

"How did she die?"

Marlys lifted her gaze from the box. Her lips quirked in a strange smile. "She had a bad heart."

Rowena flinched as Marlys flung the box behind her. "Don't stand there gaping at me, Ro. We've work to do."

Rowena gave a secret smile, thinking how pleasant it was to be called Ro instead of Puppy and wondering what Marlys hoped to gain with her kindness.

Sir Blaine of Ardendonne conquered Caerleon without drawing a single sword. By nightfall, the castle was ablaze with light and laughter. Music rang from the rafters. The swallows darted into the night, seeking any surcease from the raucous merriment. Burly villeins with sleeves pushed up over hairy forearms dragged the furniture along the wall to make room for dancing. Dunnla shuffled in and out from the kitchens, bellowing commands that sent more than one lady into a genteel faint. Gridmore followed her commands by putting plates of cold partridge on the hearth and loads of firewood in ladies' laps. Blaine supervised the chaos with hands on hips and a proprietary smile. He single-handedly rescued a squealing midget from the oven where Gridmore had tossed him after mistaking him for the roast boar.

In a deserted chamber at the top of the keep, Rowena heard the faint piping of bells and a heated squealing as if a herd of pigs had laid siege to the feast below. She stared into a mirror of hammered silver. A stranger blinked back at her. Her chest rose and fell in shallow rhythm. She touched her cheek with two fingers. Her skin was as cold and foreign as the polished surface of the mirror.

Two brilliant slashes of crimson stained her cheeks, matching the lavish red of her lips. A thick line of kohl rimmed her eyes. With each blink, her eyelids clung, and she feared they would be stuck forever closed. Darkened with ashes and stiffened with oil, her lashes swept upward like rebellious spiders to meet the darkened arch of her brow. A golden crespine net confined her hair. A blue wimple flowed from it, hiding her sturdy neck in folds of plush velvet.

Count to one hundred. Then come down and join the feast.

Rowena began counting aloud as Marlys's words returned to her. She got as far as eight before forgetting the next number Marlys had taught her and being forced to start again. Her hands fumbled nervously with the exotic jars of ashes and berries spilling from the teak box to the table. "Fourteen," she mumbled. "Sixteen, forty-four, sixty-eight, twelve, one hundred."

She leaped out of the chair, tripping over the sleeves of the undertunic. By holding her arms at stiff angles in front of her, she maneuvered the door open. The golden girdle resting on her hips caught on the iron handle as she tried to slip through. She tugged herself free with a curse learned from Gareth and perfected by Marlys. If things proceeded in this alarming manner, Gareth would not fail to notice her. She would be the only lady in the hall laying flat on her face.

A sweet tenor drifted to Rowena's ears, followed by a nasal bray of laughter. Her steps slowed as she entered the open gallery leading to the stairs. Entranced by the flood of colors and lights sweeping through the hall below, she sank to her knees, clutching the balusters in her sweaty palms.

The candles had been replaced by a blaze of torches. A fire roared along the length of the wide fireplace, banishing the drafts to the deserted corners. A line of ladies clasped hands and wound among the men, leading their perfumed sleeves and wimples in a seductive dance of shimmering silk. Gareth was nowhere in sight.

A handful of dice clattered on the stones in the center of a kneeling circle of squires. Their hearty shouts rose above the din. Rowena was not surprised to find Marlys among them, her only concession to the celebration a shiny black pair of gauntlets newly pilfered from Gareth's chamber. Her rusty scabbard clanked on the hearth as she swaggered to the other side of the group.

Her dark eyes lifted to the gallery. Rowena ducked behind a wooden column.

"You do seem to turn up in the most remarkable places."

Rowena looked up as the smooth voice poured over her.

Sir Blaine leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed. The corner of his mouth curved in a smile. "Sleeping in my hall. Crouching behind pillars. You are a lady of mysterious pursuits. I've been asking Gareth where you were all evening. He simply replied, 'About' in the most infuriating manner. His habit of babbling all the time is one of his more endearing traits." He extended his hand to Rowena.

She took it, her eyes narrowed. He gently pulled her to her feet. "Ah, you have not forgotten me, either." This with a sheepish grin that must have gotten him far with his nurses. "I swear to you I have no intention of ravishing you here in the gallery. I mistook you for a different sort of lady at Ardendonne. There now. Do stop yelling at me. I can see you've acquired Gareth's loquaciousness in your stay at Caerleon."

Rowena opened her mouth and closed it. She had not said one word.

"That will be quite enough," he went on. "I will not tolerate that sort of talk from such a charming damsel. You should be ashamed."

Rowena found her tongue. " 'Tis you, sir, who should be ashamed. Regardless of the sort of lady you mistook me for, you had no right to force your attentions on me. Knights are supposed to stand for something noble and good. Would you not give even a lady of low birth a choice? Have you no respect for chivalry?"

Blaine applauded. "How your eyes sparkle when you chasten! More, more! Don't stop now."

"I should think—" Rowena paused, realizing she had been baited into berating him. Her glower collapsed into a reluctant smile at the mischievous sparkle in his brown eyes.

"You see, my fair lady, I was not only besotted with your beauty on that night, I was besotted with ale. I awoke the next morn with pounding head, aching chin, and cringing with mortification at my ill-mannered treatment of you. I humbly beg for the boon of your forgiveness."

Before she could answer, he had taken her arm and led her to the rail of the gallery.

Directly below them, the minstrel Mortimer bent over his lute, his mop of blond hair hiding his face. A lady clad in scarlet from wimple to slippers plopped down on his lap. He pushed her away with a sour note from his strings. A laughing squire took her place and Mortimer's music took wing. The hall rocked with laughter.

"Gareth has always told me Caerleon was my home as well as his," Blaine said.

"You take his words to heart, do you not?"

"Not as I take yours to heart. What does the merriment put you in mind of, dear lady?"

Rowena rested her chin in her hand to relieve the weight of the wimple. "An undignified siege."

"A charming thought! A siege not of blood and battle, but of music and laughter, wit and pleasure. Does it not make your blood sing?"

Rowena shrugged, ignoring the husky note which edged his voice. He rested his elbows on the rail, leaning nearer as if they had been friends for years.

"What would you do if it were a real siege disguised beneath the cloak of hospitality? Mayhaps I've only hastened abovestairs to carry away the lady of the castle while the master is distracted."

"Marlys is the lady of Caerleon."

Blaine's smile tightened. "Marlys is no lady."

Rowena edged away from him. Her gaze darted over the hall. "Where might the master be?"

"Probably in the bailey discussing some of the duller aspects of knighthood like tournaments and horses."

"Those are not the aspects you prefer?"

"I prefer ladies to mares, if that is your meaning."

"Ladies who throw themselves at your feet, no doubt, to beg for your attentions."