Inside the keep, Madelyne found herself dwarfed by the high-ceilinged Great Hall and the lines of crude, log- hewn tables that filled it. For a brief moment, a shiver of remembrance flitted through her mind, bringing with it the image of the smoke- and laughter-filled hall at Tricourten on the night she and her mother had escaped. Casting a sidewise glance at the dais where the lord and his guests would sup, Madelyne almost expected to see her father sitting there with his cronies as he played the lute and sang with the voice of an angel. Her apprehension settled when she saw that the table was empty, and she silently berated herself for her nervousness.
As long as she was in the king’s care, Fantin could not hurt her. Thus Madelyne would do whatever she must in order to remain under the king’s protection.
Still ignored by Mal Verne and his men, she took the opportunity to study the tapestries that hung on the walls, stretching to such a height that she had to strain her neck in order to see the top of the images, and then to look around at the people scurrying about their business. The rushes beneath her feet rustled, and although she saw one mouse dashing away when his slumber was disturbed, she noted that the keep seemed as well-kept as the bailey and stone wall.
Then, suddenly, she was aware that all were staring at her. She looked at Mal Verne, whose voice speaking her name had caused her to look up, and saw that he was giving her an impatient look.
“My lady, do you not wish for a bath and a change of clothing before supper?”
“Oh, aye,” she gave him a grateful smile, and was rewarded as his stone-face seemed to falter for a moment.
Then, as if that flinch had not occurred, Mal Verne gestured with a graceful hand to very short, very round woman standing to one side. She had brilliant red hair pulled into a tight braid, with a wide yellow-white streak from her left temple along the length of the braid, which was wound into a bun. “Then you and your maid may follow Peg abovestairs.”
Peg was at least two score years and had a motherly attitude that cloaked her like a comfortable cape. She gave a brief curtsey and waved the women behind her.
At the top of the stone steps was a balcony over which Madelyne could look down and see into the hall, and she paused for a short moment to do so. Then, gathering the skirt of her habit, she hurried to catch up with Peg and Tricky.
“My lady, this shall be your chamber whilst you are here.” Peg threw open a door that led to a small but well-appointed room. “My lord sent a messenger on to announce your presence, an’ we all hastened to make ready for you, just as we did the time his lordship’s cousin came to visit when the leaves were ust turning gold and brown…or, alack, was it my lord’s mother’s sister that time?…now I shall have to ask Robena on that, for I fear my memory gets a bit slow now and again.” Her rambling commentary was as welcome as the small fire that warmed the room, chill even in the midst of summer, and the large wooden tub that sat next to the hearth.
Madelyne stepped into the room just in time to avoid being sloshed by a pail of steaming water carried by a serf. She stood back and watched as a line of servants brought more and more pails, filling the tub, and leaving several more pails filled with hot and cold water to adjust the temperature.
Peg bustled over to the tub and, opening a small jar, poured dried flowers and herbs into the water. Then, she stood expectantly, her pudgy hands folded, and with a start, Madelyne realized she was waiting to assist her in disrobing. “Oh, nay, I do not—”
“We shall help you to bathe, my lady,” Patricka said firmly, nodding at Peg. ’Twas as though some private message had passed between them, and before Madelyne could allow her modesty to rule, they advanced upon her and began to assist her out of her habit.
“Lord Mal Verne sent some of Lady Mal Verne’s clothing for you to wear,” Peg explained as Madelyne stepped into the tub. “Packed as ’twere in those oaken trunks, I shook out the wrinkles when I heard that you’d be in need of them. ’Twill be quite a relief from this plain gown and veil of yours, my lady, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
Madelyne did not know whether ’twas the sudden heat of the water or the notion that Mal Verne was married that caused her to gasp, but she ignored the sudden, inexplicable sinking of her heart and lowered herself into the rose-scented tub.
She looked over at Peg, who was chatting on as she showed Tricky several gowns of brilliant, jewel colors. At the least, she thought wryly, Mal Verne provided well for his wife. Even from her perch in the tub, she could tell the quality of the cloth and the intricacy of the embroidery.
She wondered, suddenly, if Lady Mal Verne, at least, was able to soften the harshness in his face and demeanor.
“Methinks this blue for the undertunic,” Tricky was saying as she eyed Madelyne and then the cloth, and back again.
“You are well thought,” nodded Peg, her jowls jiggling. “With her hair of such dark color, and her eyes like a pale moon—aye, she makes me think of mine own sister, whose hair was so long and thick as mine is. And my own auntie, well, ’twas her pride and joy this hair of our family, and when she had the ague, she must had it cut and how she bewailed that fate for days!”
The two women huddled together for a moment, throwing occasional glances over their shoulders at Madelyne. Tricky’s arms gesticulated wildly, punctuating her bobbing head, and Peg nodded and murmured, nodded and tsked, and expounded on her reactions with rambling sentences of family anecdotes.
Madelyne, a bit discomfited with what she deemed as a conspiracy against her, sank into the tub and attempted to block out the two women and their chatter. A faint, wry smile did curve her face as she succumbed to the realization that Tricky had found her mentor, and that she, Madelyne, would likely be the pawn in her learning game.
The scent of roses filled her nose, for the first time ever not related to the duties of making rose beads. And, as if she was smelling it for the first time, Madelyne inhaled and closed her eyes, enjoying the sweetness of the floral scent. The steaming water was heavenly, such that she paused for a moment—albeit a brief one—to thank God for her safe arrival, and to contemplate whether ’twas a sin that she should enjoy such an earthly pleasure. Baths, although available at the abbey, were only occasional and never this warm and sweet. Most often they were a dip in the nearby stream, or a few hands of lukewarm water.
Tricky dug soap scented with basil and rosemary from a small crock, using it to clean under Madelyne’s fingernails and to wash the grime and sweat from all parts of her body. Even the black rose-petal stains had faded when she was finished.
The loosing of Madelyne’s braid after two days relieved the tightness of her skull, and the pleasure-pain of it had her sighing in soft delight. How wonderful it felt when Peg began to pour warm water over her thick hair, and how much more like heaven on earth could it be when she used her strong fingers to massage her scalp!
It was not until she stood in front of the fire, wrapped in a soft blanket, that Madelyne remembered the clothing. She held out a hand to stop Tricky as she approached with the blue undergown.
“Nay, Tricky, I cannot wear such fine clothing. You of all know that I’m promised to our Lord God, and that I cannot in good conscience don flamboyant finery. Peg, ’tis not my place to use that which belongs to Lady Mal Verne.”
The two women exchanged glances, and Tricky nodded as if to give Peg permission to respond. “My lady, I am sorry, but your clothing has been taken to be washed. And, ’tis the lord’s orders that you dress as befits your station, as the Lady of Tricourten. Wherever that land may be, certainly the women there do not see such simple gowns as flamboyant.” She gestured to the overtunic, which was pale blue, embroidered with gold and silver threads. “This is but a plain gown, my lady, by standards at court. And verily, you will wear aught that is more up to date when you join the king.”
Peg sighed, smoothing a hand over the embroidery that rimmed the edges of the overtunic, her eyes taking on a far-away look. “I remember that day when mine own baby Shirl went to care for one of the queen’s ladies, and how she pored over the patterns and cloths and threads to be certain that she should dress in her finest, and that all that she brought with her for her lady was the most beautiful to be had from Lockswood, and even there at court ’twas as if she were naught but a country bumpkin. An’ how my daughter worked to learn that new fashion, worked day and night, and… ” Her voice trailed off and a look of confusion passed over her face. She glanced at the cloth she held in her hand, then at Madelyne, and the light of understanding came back into her eyes. “Ah, well, aye, my lady. You must be dressed ere supper is served, and this is all that you have to wear.”
Madelyne’s gaze strayed to the fine cloth, but she resolutely turned from it and walked over to the bed, where several other gowns lay strewn across it. “There must be something else that more befits a nun,” she
