Rosehaven

  “No. It seems that the smaller chair where she has sat had a broken leg. There was no choice but for her to sit in your chair. It means nothing, Hastings. You are ill and not thinking clearly.”

  “No, I suppose I am not thinking at all.” Ah, but the pain she felt. It was bowing her inward, threatening to bring her to her knees.

  “I will go back to my bedchamber now,” she said calmly. She turned one last time to see Severin staring toward her. He half rose in his chair, then turned to look at Marjorie as she said something to him. Hastings saw him stare at those white fingers on the sleeve of his tunic.

  “It is too much,” Hastings said, and made her way up the stairs like a bent old woman.

  She did not rise from her bed the following morning. Her head still pounded, the muscles in her shoulders knotted and burned. Severin had not come to the bedchamber the previous night.

  He had slept with Marjorie, she knew it.

  She ate fresh white bread spread with thick butter, and a large bowl of chicken broth, with just a hint of rosemary. Alice brought her chunks of sweet Oxborough cheese.

  Alice patted her hand. “Do not worry, Hastings. All goes well. Everyone knows what is to be done. Everyone is very worried about you. I believe Lord Severin rode once again to the village to question all the apprentices again at Robert the leatherer’s house. Still, it seems an accident, though I do wonder how Lord Severin’s saddle could possibly fall on you. It bothers Gwent too. He keeps scratching his head and staring up at nothing at all.”

  Hastings knew why that saddle had fallen on her. Marjorie had hired someone to hurl that saddle down on her, Marjorie, the woman who would take her place as mistress of Oxborough were Hastings to die. But a saddle surely wasn’t a very certain way to ensure another’s demise. And why Severin’s saddle? Unless it was Severin himself who had shoved the saddle from the open window down upon her.

  She sighed. It made no sense. It had to be an accident. Still, she remained in bed all that day, just staring at the tapestry her grandmother had sewn for thirty years, according to Hastings’s mother.

  When Severin came into the bedchamber, looking healthy, windblown, as strong as an oak tree, she just closed her eyes. It hurt too much to look at him.

  She said only, “Have you mended Marjorie’s chair leg?”

  He frowned at her. “Are you all right, Hastings? Are you thinking clearly? What is this about a chair leg?”

  She looked at him straightly, watching him as he strode across the room to come stand beside her bed. “She was seated in my chair last night because, I was told, hers was broken. Is it fixed?”

  “I do not know. No one spoke of it to me. I wish you to rise now. You will grow mold if you remain in bed much longer. Come, there are duties you must attend to. The Healer said you were to rest, not sink into the folds of the mattress.”

  “Mayhap later,” she said. “I am very tired. I wish to sleep.”

  He looked down at her, studying her pale face. “I do not like this, Hastings,” he said, then turned on his heel and left her. Trist crawled out of Severin’s tunic and leapt upon the bed.

  “Where did your master sleep last night?” she asked as she stroked the marten’s soft fur. “Were you with him? Was he with her?”

  Trist poked his head beneath her chin, opened his mouth, and bit her.

  “So you believe I am foolish, do you? You are not a man, Trist, so I suppose she is just another female to you. Her silvery hair doesn’t make your eyes crazed with lust.”

  Trist bit her again, this time just a little harder. She laughed. She couldn’t help herself.

  She slept throughout the afternoon, Trist beside her.

  “Wake up, Hastings. You will bathe. I have had the lads bring the water. Come now, no more acting like the swooning lady of the keep.”

  Hastings allowed Dame Agnes to bathe her. She sat docilely while she dressed her and brushed her hair. She wasn’t surprised when Alice slipped into the bedchamber.

  “I have a pot of margolis,” she said. “It will add a bit of color to your cheeks. I think your lips need a smear of it as well.”

  Hastings allowed herself to be painted. She said nothing when they garbed her in the gown she had worn on her wedding day. Finally, it was done.

  “You are beautiful,” Dame Agnes said, stepping back and looking at her charge up and down, rubbing her arthritic hands together. “Do you not agree, Alice?”

  “Aye, the loveliest lady in the land.”

  “Was the chair leg mended, Agnes?”

  “I saw to it personally,” Agnes said. “Someone had worked the leg loose. It was not an accident, but now it is fixed.”

  “A chair leg and Severin’s saddle,” Hastings said. “How odd this all is.”

  When Hastings entered the great hall, she saw that Severin was holding out her chair for Marjorie.

  Hastings called out, “Good evening, my lord.”

  Everyone turned to look at her. She saw Severin’s hand still on her chair back. She saw that Marjorie was just smiling toward her. She said something to Severin, then returned to her own chair, leaning over to pat Eloise’s hand.

  Severin now held the chair for her, for his wife. He even pushed it closer to the trestle table when she was seated. He even touched his fingertips to her shoulder.

  “You look well,” he said, seating himself beside her. “By Saint Andrew’s teeth, what is that red on your cheeks and mouth? Do you have the fever?”

  “No, it is Alice’s attempt to make me less ordinary.”

  “I do not like it. You look like a camp trollop.” He picked up the corner of the soft linen spread and pulled it toward her. “Wipe it off.”

  She did.

  “Now you look pale, but at least you once more look like yourself.”

  “Aye. Myself.”

  Marjorie leaned toward Hastings. “I was worried about you, but your women did not think you should have too many people coming into your bedchamber. You look much better, Hastings. I was very distressed when Severin brought you home yesterday. All were.”

  “Thank you, Marjorie.” She ate a bite of cherry potage. She tasted the rich red wine MacDear had poured into the thick soup.

  “MacDear made the potage just for you. I asked him what your favorite dishes were, and he said this was one of them and he had not prepared it for you in a very long time. The dear man even allowed me and Eloise to remain in the kitchen to help him. He yells louder than any man I have heard in my life.”

  Hastings looked beyond Marjorie to Eloise, whose head was down. She wasn’t eating, just shoving her food about on the pewter plate. “Eloise? Did you help MacDear like you did before when you lived here?”

  “I did not know you had helped MacDear before,” Marjorie said, covering Eloise’s small hand with hers.

  “I did not. Hastings wanted me to but it was too hot in the kitchens. Everyone yelled. That fat man yelled. I did not remain.”

  Hastings gasped. “That isn’t true, Eloise. You even sat on MacDear’s lap. Don’t you remember?”

  “I remember that you made me sit on his lap. He smelled and he yelled. I hated it.”

  “Then why did you go back today?”

  “Because Marjorie was with me. She didn’t make me do anything I did not want to do. I ate cherries.”

  “Aye, you did, sweeting. You still have a red tongue.”

  Eloise stuck out her tongue at Marjorie, then laughed and pressed herself against Marjorie’s side. Marjorie said to Hastings, “My little sweeting here will give me gray hairs before I am even an old woman.”

  “You will never be old,” Eloise said. “You are the most beautiful lady in all the world.”

  Lady Marjorie tweaked Eloise’s nose, laughing all the while. “You are shameless, Eloise, flattering me until I will grow so large a head it will not fit through our bedchamber door.”

  Eloise laughed. Hastings stared. It was the first time she had seen the child so gay. Trist mewled and climbed u
p onto Hastings’s shoulder. She winced because of the knotted muscles, then began to relax when the marten’s body heat began to seep into her.

  She turned to her husband, who was staring down at his soup. “You do not care for the cherries, Severin?”

  He looked clearly distracted. “What? Aye, Hastings. It is tasty.”

  “Will you sleep in your own bedchamber tonight?”

  He cocked his head at her. “If you are well enough. I did not want to take the chance last night that I would roll on you and mayhap hurt you.”

  “I am well enough. Where did you sleep last night?”

  “Here in the great hall, wrapped in a blanket, listening to my men snore. Edgar the wolfhound curled up next to me.”

  Mayhap he had. Surely he couldn’t have bedded Marjorie with Eloise in the same chamber. She began to feel better.

  Eloise said, “I did not sleep well last night with Dame Agnes because she snores too. She’s not like Marjorie. She’s bony and her breath isn’t sweet.”

  Hastings saw the great hall, all its people, through a haze of misery. Severin had bedded her. He had bedded another woman as his wife had slept in his bedchamber close by. It was too much.

  She feared what she would do. Her fist closed about her knife. Slowly, she rose. Trist mewled but remained on her shoulder, wrapping himself now around her neck.

  She said nothing to either her husband or anyone else, just walked slowly across that huge expanse that was filled with laughing people until she reached the solar stairs.

  Then she heard Severin call out, “Trist, come back here. You have not eaten enough as yet.”

  But Trist didn’t move.

  Severin did not come after her.

  But Marjorie came. She knocked softly on the bedchamber door. Hastings believed it would be Dame Agnes and called for her to enter. When she saw it was Marjorie, wearing an exquisite gown of saffron wool that Hastings had worn only one time before, she wanted to yell for the woman to leave her alone. But she didn’t. She remained silent, watching her walk gracefully to the bed.

  “Are you feeling all right, Hastings? Severin asked me to see you. He is concerned.”

  Hastings just stared at her. “Why are you wearing my gown?”

  “I did not wish to but Severin insisted. I was not able to bring many things from Sedgewick, and naturally I wanted Eloise to have enough. I had only two gowns and they were both quite dirty. He insisted I wear one of yours. Do you mind? If you do, I will remove it immediately.”

  “Aye, I mind. Will you remove it here in my bedchamber, Marjorie? Or will you wait to remove it in your own bedchamber whilst Eloise sleeps with Dame Agnes?”

  “Ah,” Marjorie said, as she ran her white fingers through her incredible silver hair. “So that is the reason you left the great hall. The reason Eloise slept with Dame Agnes was because I had a cough that kept awakening her. It was irritating. I wanted Eloise to sleep, not just lie there, listening to me cough and cough.”

  Hastings looked beyond her to her grandmother’s tapestry. How clear and vivid the colors still were. She said nothing.

  “I will go to my bedchamber now and remove this gown. I am sorry that I did not ask you if you minded. You were sleeping and Severin just gave it to me. I had no idea the gown was so important to you.”

  “Aye, it is.”

  “Then I will leave you. I will return the gown very soon. I hope you will be well tomorrow, Hastings.”

  “Aye, I do too. I did not hear you cough at all downstairs, Marjorie.”

  “No, it went away this afternoon.”

  “Marjorie! What are you doing here?”

  It was Severin, standing in the open doorway, looking large and intimidating, and Hastings hated him more at that moment than she ever had, even when he’d held her down and forced her.

  “I am just speaking to Hastings. I will leave now and remove the gown. I will return it shortly.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  But Marjorie just smiled, shaking her head. Severin turned to watch her leave the bedchamber. When he turned back, he said, “Why did you walk away from your dinner? Why did you take Trist with you? I called for him but you wouldn’t let him come back to me. What is this about a gown? Hastings?”

  21

  SHE WISHED SHE HAD HER KNIFE, BUT ALAS, ALL SHE HAD was Trist draped over her shoulder. She said, not really wanting to look at him, but unable to look away, “Her chair was mended. Did you know that someone had twisted that leg off? Do you not find that strange? Why would anyone do that, Severin? Why were you going to seat her in my chair again?”

  He plowed his hand through his hair. He looked utterly baffled, then impatient. “This is nonsense. What is wrong with you? The Healer did not describe such symptoms to me that you now seem to have.”

  “I am feeling just fine now. Did you discover any more about your saddle flying out of that window?”

  “My saddle, aye, it was my saddle, wasn’t it?” He stared at her, stared at Trist, who was looking intently at his master from his perch on her sore shoulder. “You believe I had someone throw my saddle down on you?”

  “No, that is too devious. If you wanted me dead, you would simply throttle me.”

  “Aye, and I have wanted to throttle you more times than I can count.” He turned away from her and began to take off his clothes. She turned her back to him. She felt the bed give when he eased down on it. He blew out the candles. The bedchamber was plunged into darkness.

  “What was all that about Marjorie’s gown?”

  “It isn’t Marjorie’s gown. It is my gown and she will return it. She said you gave it to her.”

  “Aye, to wear since she had nothing left. Dame Agnes saw nothing amiss with lending her the gown. Why would you care, Hastings?”

  “I do not want her to take what is mine.”

  “It is naught but a silly piece of clothing.”

  She said nothing. She heard him breathe, heard his breath ease and slow into sleep.

  “This is damnable, Trist,” she whispered, petting the marten’s head. “Just damnable. What am I to do?” She was not exercising patience as Dame Agnes had advised her to do. She’d blurted out everything. And Severin had looked at her as if she were as mad as his mother had once been.

  Two days later, Hastings rode Marella into Oxborough village. She did not tether her palfrey in the alleyway. She left her directly in front of Thomas the baker’s shop. Ellen raced to see her, hugging her close, telling her she had been terrified that she was dead when she first saw her.

  “I did not know what to do. My father picked you up and brought you into the shop. I ran to the castle. Lord Severin came immediately. He even let me ride pillion with him.”

  “Thank you, Ellen. Did you know that it was Lord Severin’s saddle that fell on me?”

  Ellen knew that. Hastings imagined that everyone in the village knew that and wondered about it, aloud. Aye, he was a man who had married an heiress and now there was a beautiful creature living at Oxborough. And his wife, the heiress whom he didn’t need anymore. Hastings could almost hear them discussing this. It made her belly cramp. She shook it off. “I want to find out what happened. How could a saddle simply fall from a window? It makes no sense.”

  Ellen saw her mother look up from her baking in the corner of the shop and lowered her voice. “You believe someone did it on purpose? To kill you? With a saddle? Come, Hastings, that is silly. No one really thinks that is possible. Perhaps some believe it a willful act, but not everyone does. Nay, not more than half the people think it was done apurpose.”

  A willful act. Done apurpose. But not to kill her. Then to what? Scare her? Why?

  “You mean that the person found himself or herself there by the window with the saddle nearby and I happened to be beneath the window quite by chance, and thus, the saddle comes flying out to land on my head.” It did sound remarkably silly. But still. “I want to speak to the apprentices.”

  “Very well, I wi
ll go with you.”

  Robert the leatherer’s shop smelled of sweet oils, tanned hides, soft leather, and sweat. Master Robert had one journeyman and three apprentices, all of them working in the shop. Master Robert, short, a filthy apron wrapped around his fat belly, bustled forward, bowing even as he said, “Lady Hastings, dear child, I am so happy to see you well again. To think it was your lord’s saddle that fell on you! Imagine that. I am devastated it was from my window that saddle fell. I will do anything, lady, anything. Just tell me your wish and I am your slave.”

  Well used to Master Robert from her earliest memories, Hastings merely nodded in that haughty way she knew would silence him, at least for a few moments.

  “I would speak to your people, Master Robert. That is my wish.”

  An hour later, Hastings was chewing on an almond bun that Thomas the baker had given her fresh from one of his ovens. “No one saw anything. It seems that there were a half dozen men-at-arms from the castle at the leatherer’s that day. I suppose that I will have to speak to Gwent.”

  “Aye, he is a good man,” Thomas said. “Eat another bun, Hastings. You are nearly as skinny as the handle on my oven paddle.”

  Hastings returned to the castle to see Severin riding out with Marjorie. Where was Eloise?

  At least Marjorie wasn’t wearing another of her gowns. She had finally laundered one of her own? Hastings was truly supposed to be patient? She was tempted to ride after them, but she did not. There were duties that awaited her. Real duties, not trysts with a lover. She also wanted to speak to Gwent.

  When she found Gwent, he said, “Severin has already questioned the men who were at the leatherer’s shop that day. None saw anything. It was an accident, there is no other possibility.”

  “You, Gwent, were not the one struck down by that saddle.”

  “Aye, ’tis true enough,” he said, then turned to wave to Alice. “But the facts remain the same, Hastings. Forget about it.”

  Hastings spent the next hour with Lady Moraine. Edgar the wolfhound lay with his head and wide, scored paws on Lady Moraine’s feet.