“I am making you a gown, Hastings,” she said. “It is the softest green. You will look rather lovely in it. Severin was right last evening. You should not wear the red cream on your mouth or smear it on your cheeks. Your features are too fine. Do you like the gown? It will be finished by tomorrow afternoon.”
“Forgive me, Lady Moraine, but I heard Lord Severin tell Marjorie that the gown would be hers.”
It was Eloise, standing off to one side, obviously listening to their conversation.
“Did you really, Eloise?” Lady Moraine said before Hastings could open her mouth. “When did my son say this?”
“I believe it was this morning, madam. He said the material would make her look like a goddess. She is a goddess and so very beautiful. She deserves to have splendid clothing.” Eloise stared at Hastings.
“Well, no matter what you heard, Eloise,” Lady Moraine said brusquely. “The gown is for Hastings. Now, child, would you like to sit with us and sew?”
But Eloise just shook her head and skipped away.
“How very odd,” Lady Moraine said, staring after the child. “I did not pull out this material until this afternoon. The child lied. Why would she do that?”
“She loves Marjorie very much. Perhaps she sees that Marjorie wants to take my place and is thus very willing to assist her.”
“Venom from a child is unpleasant, worse than from a grown man or woman. I will think about this. Ah, I must see the Healer today. My potion is nearly gone.”
That evening, garbed in a lovely gown Hastings had never seen before, Lady Marjorie came into the great hall, greeting everyone graciously, smiling, her white hands fluttering. Her hair was loose silver waves down her back, held back from her forehead with a gold band. Severin stared at her.
It happened midway through the long meal. Marjorie’s nose began to swell and turn red.
Hastings blinked, not believing her eyes. She opened her mouth, felt meanness flow through her, and shut it.
Marjorie’s nose swelled to an even greater size and turned a brighter red. Soon people were staring at her, talking behind their hands. As for Severin, he had been feeding Trist. When finally he looked past Hastings to Marjorie, he gasped. Then he threw back his head and laughed aloud.
Soon the entire great hall was laughing and pointing.
Eloise burst into tears. Slowly, the hall quieted. And into that silence, everyone heard Marjorie ask, “Sweeting, why are you crying? What is wrong, Eloise?”
“Everyone is laughing at you, Marjorie. It’s your nose.”
Marjorie’s hand flew to her nose. She felt it, horror nearly crossing her beautiful blue eyes. “Oh no, what is wrong?”
“It is swelled and very red,” Hastings said. “Perhaps you would like to come with me, Marjorie. I will mix some herbs that will reduce the swelling and take away the redness.”
Hastings had never seen Marjorie move so quickly. There was no talk, no laughter. It seemed that everyone understood that the exquisite Lady Marjorie was humiliated.
“What could bring this on?” Marjorie asked, seated on a low stool while Hastings mixed mugwort and primrose with three spoonfuls of vinegar. She had looked into the small mirror Hastings’s father had given his wife many years before. She hadn’t shrieked, just stared at herself and lightly touched her fingertips to her nose.
Hastings knew very well what had brought this on, but she just shook her head. “It is very likely a poisoning from some food that your body does not like. This drink will cure it quickly, you will see.”
“But what food? I have never had this happen before.”
Hastings shrugged and mixed, keeping her head down. She poured in just a bit of goat urine, said to be very efficacious in matters of swelling. She felt wicked, but at least she would cure Marjorie. She wasn’t that mean. Sometimes it was difficult being a healer. “Mayhap it is some herb MacDear uses that no other cook knows about. Mayhap it is not wise for you to continue to eat his food.”
She handed her the small cup filled with thick liquid. “Drink it quickly, Marjorie.”
Marjorie drank it straight down, then turned white and held her stomach.
“Nay, do not retch, else you will have to drink it again. This will pass. Just think about your nose being small and white again. Aye, see it already passes.”
Marjorie’s nose returned to normal within the hour but she would not return to the great hall.
Hastings fetched Eloise from the great hall, then returned to her own bedchamber, smiling and humming.
I am truly wicked, she thought. But then again, so was her dear mother-in-law.
Hastings felt queasy. She pressed her palm against her stomach, wondering. She raised her hands and cupped her breasts, squeezing them. They were sore. She had not suffered her monthly flux in many weeks.
She was with child, Severin’s child.
She wondered if Marjorie would soon also carry Severin’s child.
She shook her head, raced from the keep to the stable, and asked Tuggle to saddle Marella.
When she pulled her palfrey up in front of the Healer’s small cottage, the woman was on her knees in front of her herb patch, whistling. Alfred was stretched out his full length in the sword of sun that shone through the thick branches of the sessile oak trees.
“Hastings,” the Healer said, sitting back on her heels. “Look at this. It is a new sort of daisy. I have worked it and worked it and now I am certain that when I pound the flowers into powder and mix them with wine, it will ensure that Lady Moraine stays well in her head.” The Healer paused, then grinned. “I believe it will also cure warts. I tried it already on two of the village boys. The warts were gone in three days. The boys will tell their mothers and sisters, and soon I will have more goods from the village than I will ever need. We live amongst a very warty people. And now I can remove them. I am the greatest healer in Britain. What think you of that?”
“I think I am carrying Severin’s child.”
The Healer rose slowly, wiping her hands on her skirts. She stepped to Hastings and merely looked at her. She reached out her hand and laid it on Hastings’s belly. She looked at her tongue. She lightly scratched the skin on the backs of Hastings’s hands, then looked at her fingernails.
Then she stepped back. Alfred stretched and rose. He meowed loudly and prepared to jump into Hastings’s arms.
“No,” the Healer said sharply. Alfred frowned at his mistress. Hastings had never before seen a cat frown, but Alfred did. He swished his tail and ran to the nearest sessile oak tree and was gone into the thick green leaves in but moments.
“Have you vomited?”
Hastings shook her head. “I do feel queasy sometimes. Not just at a certain time of the day, but it just comes and goes. I cannot predict it.”
“Aye, I would say you carry his child. He is a potent man. Most of the churls are potent, and thus women are cursed to have their wombs filled whether they wish it or not. Aye, men—the blight of our land. Would that I could poison all of them, but then again, women like you wouldn’t be pleased were your husband to crumble into dust.”
“I would not be too certain of that right now, Healer.”
“So he is acting more faithless, is he?” Then she grinned, showing very white, very even teeth. “Bring me this Marjorie and let me see what she is about.”
“She is always very nice to me,” Hastings said, so depressed she kicked her toe into a rock and gasped from the sharp pain. “She is also very beautiful except for last night when her nose swelled and turned red. I mixed a drink for her and it went away.”
“Perhaps you should have waited, Hastings. The swelling would have gone away by the next morning.”
“I know that, but I was weak. I didn’t let her suffer. However, I did add goat urine to the mixture. She drank it.”
The Healer laughed and patted her face. “Well done. You have turned into a fine woman, Hastings. Now, did I tell you what I learned from a monk who happened to visit me two d
ays ago? If I grind up columbine leaves and add saffron, it will cure jaundice. What do you think of that?”
Hastings was excited, she couldn’t help it. “Show me how to do it, Healer. I must know.”
The Healer laughed. “If you and your husband had been married for more than a year and your womb was still empty, I would give you the distilled water of wallflowers to drink twice a day for four weeks. Unfortunately, Lord Severin is like most men, he plows and plows and his seed sinks immediately into fertile ground. Such a pity. Come with me, Hastings, and I will give you just a bit of my special mixture—no, I will not tell you the ingredients. It will keep you smiling and your belly calm.”
• • •
Severin shoved the door inward. His skin felt tight, his loins were heavy, his wife hadn’t spoken to him for well onto three days, and he was furious.
Hastings was standing over a narrow table mixing some of her damnable herbs. She looked up, then immediately back down to the mixture in a wooden bowl. “Did I ever tell you that MacDear will gently shred columbine flowers onto the platters that hold the meat? He says it makes the food look more appetizing. He prefers the red columbine, he says it adds—”
“I am sick of this, Hastings. You have changed again. You have returned to the woman I married. You have not treated me well. You have ignored me. The miracle has ended. I did not muck it up. I do not know why you have changed, but you once more have your shrew’s mouth. If you wish to go back to the way we were, then so be it. However, you will see to me, your husband. My man’s need is great. I would have you now and I will tolerate no arguments.”
“Did you know that the name ‘columbine’ is from Latin and means dove? You see, people believed the plant looked like doves’ heads.”
He was on her in a moment. The pulse was pounding wildly in his neck. Trist wasn’t with him.
“You will force me, Severin?”
“Aye, if I must.”
“What is wrong with Marjorie? Is it her monthly flux or is she tired of you? Are you not moving quickly enough to remove me from Oxborough so that you can wed her?”
He jerked back as if she had struck him. “You are mad,” he said, and ripped her gown from neck to waist. “Don’t speak such nonsense again. I cannot have Marjorie. Fate saw to that many years ago.” He ripped open her shift, baring her breasts.
“You will not force me again, Severin.”
“I will do as I please with you, Hastings.” He picked her up and threw her onto her back on the bed. He was over her in a moment, pulling up her skirts, opening his breeches. He was breathing hard.
She stared up at him and said, “Would you risk harming your child?”
He froze over her. “You carry my babe? A new lie, Hastings, but not a very good one. I haven’t touched you for a very long time.”
“Aye, and surely that is my fault.”
“I have had other things on my mind. Now I want to relieve myself.”
She bucked and heaved, so furious that she wanted to kill him. He lowered his face to kiss her and she tried to bite his mouth. He couldn’t believe that she had tried to bite him. He reared back, forced her legs wide, and came into her hard and deep. She yelled, more with anger than with the pain of it.
“You animal,” she screamed at him, not caring if a servant was outside the bedchamber door to hear her. “I hate you. I wish your saddle had hit you on the head. Maybe everything would be different, maybe—”
He was deep now, pushing against her womb, breathing hard as he heaved over her.
When he reached his release, he froze over her. As she felt his seed inside her, she said, “I will never forgive you this, Severin. You have betrayed me. I would that you never touch me again. Go back to your Marjorie and leave me be.”
“Aye,” he said, heaving and jerking, so spent he could barely speak, “mayhap I will. She always has smiles for me. She always welcomes me, just as she did when she was a young girl. Why did you humiliate her?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Her nose.”
“I did nothing. I did fix her goddess’s nose though.”
“It matters not if you lie to me. Why will you not bend to me again? Why do you compel me to force you? Why will you not smile at me again? Why won’t you let me kiss you or caress you? Why won’t you let me give you pleasure?”
“I did smile at you until she came and you looked at her like a lovesick boy. You don’t care if I smile or if I cry. All you care about is staring at her, riding with her, seating her in my chair. Your desire for her is clear for everyone to see.”
He pulled out of her and stood beside the bed, staring down at her. Her legs were sprawled open but she didn’t care. She watched him straighten his clothes.
“I am with child. If I were not a healer perhaps I would destroy it, for I want nothing from you. Nothing.”
He was over her in an instant, his hands around her neck. “You will not speak like that. It is blasphemy. A man would be justified to kill a wife who killed his child. Ah, but you aren’t with child, are you?” He released her throat and fell onto his back again. He sighed. “Lie no more, Hastings. You know I will go easy with you if you will but bend to me again. You also know I will take you whenever I wish to. That is the way of it. Don’t fight me. There is no need. Smile at me again, caress me with your hands, kiss me in front of our people. There was no reason for you to stop that.”
“Where did you ride with Marjorie this morning?”
“I showed her the marsh just beyond the northern estuary. Why? Come, Hastings, do not be jealous. It doesn’t become you. Let me come to you the way I did before. You enjoyed my body. You yelled your pleasure. Do not continue this madness. I told you, Marjorie was lost to me years ago. It is over. It is done.”
Where had Marjorie gotten that new gown? Rot the woman and rot Severin. “You think it your right to betray me? To have two women in the same keep? Or will another saddle fall upon my head?”
He stared down at her, his face white. He opened his mouth, but she raised her hand to stop him. “No, Severin, no lies. I can bear no more lies.”
She saw that he was as angry as he had been so long before, when they had first wedded. He came over her again, shoved into her, and moved over her until once again he reached his release.
He held her arms above her head, speaking even as his breathing still hitched. “No lies, Hastings. I will tell you the truth. You are pathetic. Look at yourself. Ranting at me, lying there with nothing to give me but your damned anger that I do not deserve. It is you who have mucked up the miracle, not I. I will not accept this, Hastings. Damn you, become the way you were a week ago. Look to Marjorie, she is sweet and gentle, an angel who walks in the sunlight even when it is night. Aye, try to mold yourself into Marjorie’s likeness.”
He jerked off her. As he walked from the bedchamber, she yelled at him, “I wish your saddle had fallen on you! All that was between us was a lie. I was never anything to you save a convenience. Damn you, I am not pathetic! I would rather mold myself in Satan’s likeness than Marjorie’s.”
He slammed the door behind him. She lay there for but a few moments, then rose to bathe herself. It was at that moment that Hastings made her decision.
22
“IASK IT AS A FAVOR TO MY FATHER. PLEASE, BEAMIS, don’t say no.”
Beamis scratched his armpit, looked everywhere but at his mistress’s face, and wished Gwent would magically appear, overhear what she wanted him to do, and forbid it without hesitation and with great force of voice.
Hastings tugged at his sleeve. “Listen, Beamis, you know my father traveled to this place three or four times a year. Don’t shake your head. Surely you knew of it. You were his master-at-arms. You did, did you not? Of course you did. You accompanied him.”
He nodded finally, praying that if Gwent didn’t come then Lord Severin would appear. No, he would not pray for that. All knew that Lord Severin had mucked things up again with his wife. All knew tha
t he desired Lady Marjorie, an exquisite wench with exquisite silver hair that a man wanted to stroke and rub against. But, Beamis thought, she was still just a wench like any other wench. Hair wasn’t all that important.
Hastings was an heiress and a healer, only a wench secondarily. “I can’t,” he said finally, and wanted to cry.
Her hand was still on his arm, tugging now frantically at his sleeve. “Beamis, I cannot remain here and watch her take my place.”
“I cannot, Hastings. Please, do not ask this of me. It is impossible. I cannot.”
He was miserable, she could see that, but she didn’t care. She said very quietly, “The saddle that fell on me—Lord Severin’s own saddle. You know it was not an accident. Do you wish Fawke of Trent’s daughter to be killed? If I remain here, it could happen and you know it, Beamis.”
Beamis groaned. Half the men thought it had been an accident. The other half wondered aloud, but Beamis knew what they thought. They believed that someone wanted Lady Marjorie to take Hastings’s place as mistress of Oxborough. But who? The lady herself? How could someone so beautiful, with such exquisite hair, be so treacherous?
He was suddenly struck with inspiration. “No one will kill you. I will taste your food.” He beamed at her. There was a wide space between his two front teeth. He habitually cleaned between those teeth with his tongue. “No one can poison you if I taste your food before you do.”
She sighed and turned away, saying over her shoulder, “I am with child, Beamis. You wish my child to die as well? Lord Fawke’s grandson?”
He cursed, spat in a mud puddle, kicked a roving chicken, and cursed some more at Gilbert the goat, who was chewing on a long strap of old leather. He wanted to strangle that goat with that leather strap. But the goat gave milk. Hastings would need the milk so the child would remain healthy in her womb.
He plowed his thick fingers through grizzled black hair. “I would be undone. Lord Severin would kill me were he to find out. And how would he not know? You would be gone from Oxborough and so would I. The roads are dangerous. There are more outlaws between here and the southern coast than men guarding King Edward. I could not sufficiently protect you. Besides, I would be dead because Lord Severin would kill me.”