‘I lived to serve as well. I meant to dedicate my voice to God.’
‘Heal and return to thy work.’
‘I do not think I can.’
Magda waited.
‘I have not bled for a long while. Since I was—’ Once again Sandrine bowed her head.
Here was the source of her fear. ‘Might Magda touch thy stomach?’
‘No spells!’
‘Magda wishes to examine thee, no more.’
A nod.
Kneeling to the woman, Magda placed her hands on her stomach, closed her eyes. Tightness, anger, fear, sorrow, but no extra heartbeat, no sign of life. Opening her eyes she touched Sandrine’s cheek.
‘No child swims in thy womb. Thou hast suffered much, but not that.’
A gasp that became a sob.
Rising to sit beside the troubled young woman, Magda put a warming arm round her, took her hand. ‘Have men forced themselves on thee?’
‘The first one never touched me. Others have tried. I fought them off, always I thought in time. But when I did not bleed … I feared that in my ignorance I had not been quick enough.’
She pressed Magda’s hand, the heat of her anger flushing both of them.
‘Canst thou feel thy strength?’ Magda smiled.
‘You have given me hope. If I could prove to the sisters I am chaste, perhaps I might do as Dom Jehannes advised, seek sanctuary at the priory, with the sisters.’
‘Dost thou desire that?’
‘More than anything.’
‘Thy voice will delight them. But to prove to the sisters thou art untouched – what dost thou seek for this?’
‘To bleed. And the witness of someone whose word they would accept. Dame Lucie?’
Out of the bag hanging from her girdle Magda pulled the pouch of blood-strengthening roots and herbs she had prepared.
‘If Magda adds herbs to thy honeyed water to encourage thy womb to renew, to flush out the old blood, wilt thou drink?’
‘It will not sicken me? You swear there is no child? You are not killing it?’
‘Magda spoke truth about there being no child. Her purpose is to heal, only to heal.’
Sandrine looked into Magda’s eyes. ‘I will drink.’
Magda invited the young woman to watch as she mixed a few pinches of the powder with the water in the jug. ‘Thrice daily, until thy womb responds.’ She poured the fresh mixture into the bowl.
Sandrine took it with thanks, sniffed, sipped, drank it down. ‘Bless you. It slips down my throat with ease.’
‘More?’
A nod.
When she set the bowl aside, Sandrine blinked. ‘My eyelids feel heavy. You swore no spells.’
‘Magda uses the earth’s bounty to heal. No more, no less. We are of earth.’
‘Our bodies, yes. But not our souls. They are of God.’ A frown.
This touched her fear. Magda did not argue. ‘A bit of broth now? To nourish thy body.’ She held out the bowl.
Sandrine sipped it.
‘Sandrine is not thy given name, is it?’
A searching look. ‘How—?’
‘Magda listens, as do all in this house caring for thee.’
‘My name is Marian,’ she said, softly.
‘So many Marys. Thy name will not betray thee.’
Marian fought to remain upright as she drank the broth. ‘Why is the captain angry?’
‘He has taken on the burden of keeping safe all he loves, and his heart encompasses much. Now he has three deaths to resolve before the powerful Nevilles arrive. The city is grateful, though not so grateful as before they learned he also serves the king’s heir, the fair Joan’s husband, Prince Edward. To whom is the captain loyal, they wonder? They fear. And they are silent when he only wishes to help. Benighted creatures.’
‘Dame Agnes says we are clumsy babes always tripping over our own feet because we will not look into each other’s eyes, where truth resides.’
‘A wise woman.’
Marian swiped at tears. ‘Is Ambrose a good man?’
‘He is, despite himself. A tale for another day. Tomorrow Magda must see to the lying-in of a widow bearing her only child. But Alisoun will know all that Magda has mixed for thee. She, too, is a healer, and gifted with a voice that softens her sharp wit. She is nursing thine hosts’ children. A fever threatened the lives of all three. Only last night did the last break, Hugh with the fiery hair. That, too, has shortened the captain’s temper, and Dame Lucie’s as well. She is an apothecary, but she cannot work miracles, even for her beloved children. She has of late lost an aunt. There has been much heaviness in this household. Be patient with them, tell them what they need to know, and they will be valuable allies.’ As Magda spoke, she helped Marian ease down onto the bed. ‘Sleep now.’
With a little smile, Marian closed her eyes, the anger that had simmered atop her fear abated for the moment.
Watching Lucie return from the landing, Owen invited her to the settle near the fire. He had much to tell her, about Tucker, Pit, but he touched her chin, gently turned her toward him, and began to kiss her. Forehead, cheeks, eyelids, mouth, neck.
With a soft laugh she pulled away. ‘My love, what is it?’
‘I have missed you. All the days and nights watching in the sickroom, I yearned for you. And now, when we might at last have peace, all this.’
Putting her arms round him, she kissed him back. ‘You have a good heart, my love. You were right to give her shelter. My anger was the residue of days and nights of worry.’
‘No need to explain. I knew. I felt the same.’
Holding each other close they shared now all the thoughts they dare not voice while the fever raged in the nursery. Owen felt Lucie’s heart racing, realized his beat just as wildly. He fell to kissing her to save them both from the darkness.
NINE
A Night Watch
A soft tread on the steps. Owen eased his arms from round Lucie, sat back. She straightened her gown. Magda drew a stool near to them and settled, reaching her hands toward the fire with a sigh of ease. Lucie asked about Sandrine.
‘Magda must
