not know how to respond. “How does the lady of the household handle such problems?” she asked in confusion.
Jonnat looked at her, confusion mirrored on his own face, and snapped his jaw shut. She saw him dart a glance around, then return his attention to her. “The lady—we do not speak of her within the lord’s hearing…or otherwise.”
Madelyne barely refrained from rolling her eyes in frustration. Whatever the absent Lady Mal Verne’s role in her husband’s life, it seemed much too extreme that her name not even be mentioned within the household. However, she forebore to respond. Instead, she took it upon herself to visit the solar where the seamstresses worked. With a few pointed questions and some veiled suggestions that the lord would not be pleased to be bothered with such trifles, Madelyne was able to smooth out the problems and get the women back to work.
Jonnat was so grateful—for, apparently, he’d been unable to handle the catty, spiteful women—that he made it a practice to approach her with other such feminine related problems. Madelyne did not begrudge assisting the man, who was a bit elderly and prone to confusion when faced with feminine wiles. And having lived among only women for so long, Madelyne was well-versed in such conflicts—for even in the abbey, there was occasional jealousy and gossip.
Thus, it was not until after the midday meal that she found the time to escape to the chapel for some moments of reflection, and then to God’s other home, the outdoors, to bury her hands in the soil and encourage the struggling plants to grow.
Since the fire, she’d seen little of Mal Verne himself. Though he’d been burned heartily by a fallen ceiling beam, he’d insisted on rising from his bed the following day—overriding her protests—and going down to the village to supervise the rebuilding of the burned out homes. She’d heard from Tricky, who had the information from Clem, that Lord Gavin had declared that no home be built closer than twenty paces to the next.
A sudden high-pitched giggle pierced her ears. Madelyne pulled back onto her haunches and looked toward the high growth of boxwood, which was shuddering much too violently to be simply the breeze passing through. Just as she turned, the bushes next to the thick boxwood hedge parted, and Tricky stumbled through. She had her skirt clutched in her hands and she was looking behind her, another giggle tumbling from her mouth, as she dashed toward the pathway.
Upon seeing Madelyne, she paused, raising a finger to her plump, berry-like lips, and, eyes twinkling, ducked behind a rosemary bush.
Heavy crashing announced the arrival of someone larger and stronger than Tricky, and Madelyne watched in faint amusement as Jube burst through the hedge several paces from where her maid had appeared. He skidded to a halt in his tracks when he caught sight of Madelyne and froze, looking acutely uncomfortable.
“Hail there, Jube,” Madelyne said, pulling a small growth of oregano from the midst of the lavendar patch.
The tall blond man stood, tugging at his tunic and brushing dirt and leaves from the sleeves of his
“I wondered where you’d gotten off to,” Madelyne commented idly.
“Ah, yes, my lady. As I knew you would be occupied for some time here in the garden, I went to see to… mmm…some other business.” He rubbed his prominent nose, then pinched the spot where it bent to one side. “Er…has anyone happened along here recently?”
She bit her lip to hide a smile. He tried so hard to sound casual, but his gaze continued to dart around like a butterfly. “Nay, not that I have noticed.” She avoided looking toward the rosemary bush, which vibrated briefly. “I have been very busy, though, and may not have seen someone if they passed by quietly.”
“Mmmm.” Jube clearly did not know how to react, and ’twas obvious that he was torn between his duty to watch over her, and his desire to learn where Tricky had escaped.
Madelyne took pity and dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “Go you and finish your business—I shall be here yet until the sun reaches the top of that apple tree.”
He smiled at her, and, passing a hand over his thin hair, gave a quick bow. “Thank you, my lady. I will return then.” He started to go, then turned back. “If anyone should pass this way, you may…mmm…never you mind.” And, with a faint flush staining his pale face, he bounded off down the path with the grace of a plow-horse.
No sooner had he gone than the rosemary bush shuddered in earnest and Tricky blundered out of hiding. Her face was flushed with enthusiasm and her honey-colored hair straggled in messy wisps, springing from the confines of its braid. “Many thanks, my lady!” she said.
Madelyne’s amusement grew. “An’ what kind of chase do you lead him on?”
Tricky sank down on the ground next to her, reaching for a tuft of grass that grew amidst the thyme. “He thought to kiss me, and I thought to foil his plans!” She tossed the grass to one side, heedless of the fact that it missed Madelyne’s head only by a slight margin.
“If he has overstepped his bounds, you need only tell me,” Madelyne told her, looking at her shrewdly…while at the same time, wondering what it would be like to have a man think to kiss her. Lord Gavin’s face popped into her mind, and she bit her lip. Had he mayhap thought to kiss her on the wall that first eve at Mal Verne? And if he wished to, why had he not done so?
Madelyne suppressed the sudden shiver of heat that slid up her spine, then resolutely dismissed the thought. A man such as Gavin Mal Verne would want naught to do with a mousy nun such as she…and, dear Lord, she’d forgotten—he was married! She pursed her lips, renewing her silent vow to return to life at the abbey as soon as possible. She’d been with out its walls for less than a fortnight, and already she was tempted to stray from God’s path!
“’Tis naught for you to be concerned with,” Tricky was saying earnestly. “Jube has behaved only kindly toward me, and I have no quarrel with his attentions.” She beamed, plucking a daisy, and began to pull its silky white petals from their yellow center mooring. “He loves me, he loves me not …”
Just then, a dark shadow fell over the two women. Tricky looked up, squeaked in surprise, and floundered to her feet. “My lord!”
Madelyne raised her face, shielding her eyes from the sun that blared behind him, but did not move from her position. “Good day, Lord Gavin.”
“My lady.” He cast a brief glance at Tricky, who had begun to melt away into the nearby shrubbery. “Patricka.” He looked around, then down at Madelyne, who had shifted so that the sun did not blind her. “I do not see Jube, my lady. Is he not nearby?”
Madelyne saw Tricky’s sudden intake of breath and replied mildly, “He was here only a moment ago, my lord. I believe he stepped away to…tend to some personal matter.”
“Ah. Chasing some unsuspecting maiden most likely.”
Madelyne stared up at him, aware that her surprise was openly on her features. Had he actually made a jest? She looked closely at his face, but saw no indication of good humor in his eyes. He plucked a stem of peppermint and began to chew on the leaves.
Tricky stepped backward once more, trampling on the boxwood. “With your leave, my lord, my lady,” she babbled, “I shall find Sir Jube and inform him that his presence is requested.” Without waiting for a response, she turned and crashed into the thick brush and disappeared.
Lord Gavin peered after her for a moment. “What ails your maid, Lady Madelyne?”
She shrugged slightly and returned to her task of pulling up the oregano that had begun to sprout throughout the garden. Her hand trembled, and she felt her heart leap into her throat when he crouched down beside her. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see his scuffed brown boots and his strong tanned hand resting on the dirt. He was too near, and she could not think clearly.
“You’ve spent much time setting right the gardens of Mal Verne, as well as guiding old Jonnat in his tasks. The villagers speak highly of you and your healing skills, and I wish to thank you for all you have done.”
Madelyne kept her gaze trained on the plants in front of her, afraid that if she looked over and was caught in his stare, he would see what in her eyes she did not wish for him to know. “I am not used to being idle,” she replied. There was a silence and she nearly gave in to the urge to look at him, but instead kept her attention trained on a ladybird that scuttled along the stem of a daisy.
“I wish also to thank you for tending to me, and to my hurts. How fares the woman we saved from the fire?”
