A VISIT AND A FORESEEING
Marguerite was in the hallway, leaning against the wall, tears pouring down her cheeks. Here in the darkest part of the castle, she could be fairly sure that no one would hear her. It was safe to give voice to her tears.
“Stupid man! How could you! How could...”
The sound of footsteps echoed up the hallway. Marguerite stopped her angry words as two women walked briskly past.
“Greere, have ye seen Father Matthew?”
“No.”
Marguerite shifted into deeper shadow and sniffed. She ran a hand over her face, feeling that her cheeks were wet with tears.
And I don't even have a handkerchief. Or you, to wipe them away.
She tensed, listening as the last of the two sets of footsteps echoed into silence. Sniffing furiously, she tried to forget that strange tender moment when Sean had dried her tears. She reached for her headscarf, straightening it, and sought composure, trying to look as neat and tidy as possible.
I should go back.
She turned in the hallway and headed back along, walking briskly and silently to the great hall. She shouldn't have left Rubina alone at the jousting. The poor dear would likely be worried about her.
“But she would understand – I know she would. I just have to make sure he's safe...”
She trailed off, sniffing again, as memories of Sean at the joust, reeling backward, came back to her.
“Marguerite!” A gentle voice called her name from the doorway.
She turned round, noting Rubina standing on the top step. “S...sorry,” she hiccupped. “I just had to get some air...too many people out there.” She dropped her eyes, knowing that Rubina would catch her out in the lie.
Rubina nodded. “He's being tended to by Father Anselm now.”
“Oh.” Marguerite blinked rapidly, hoping she could hide that her eyes were damp with tears. She felt a bit irritated by Rubina's assumption. “Well, that's good,” she said tightly.
For some reason that she couldn't have explained to herself or anyone else, she didn't want anyone to know how strongly she felt about Sean.
Maybe because I know he doesn't feel that way about me.
“Grandma said he's not badly injured,” her friend persisted. “Just jarred, most like, and his wrist will need setting.”
“Oh,” Marguerite said again. “Well, then.”
“I think that we could go and visit him with Grandma later, if you would like to?” Rubina said, making the sentence a question.
“Mayhap,” Marguerite said, looking at her hands where they twisted the handkerchief she held, over and over.
“I'll meet you by my chamber at four of the clock?” Rubina asked.
Marguerite nodded. “Good.”
As she heard her friend's footsteps disappearing into the further reaches of the castle, Marguerite realized she was relieved. She wanted to see Sean again. Make sure he was well. The visit with Lady Joanna, dowager duchess of Buccleigh, was an ideal time to do it.
Fifteen minutes later, at four of the clock, she paused outside Rubina's bedchamber. In the past, they had always shared a room, but now that Rubina was married, Marguerite had her own lodgings here in Aberleigh Castle. She breathed in the scent of floral perfume that wafted out of the room behind Rubina and let the scent calm her.
“Right,” Rubina said affably. “Let's go and find Grandma.”
They went downstairs to the great hall again.
“There you are,” Lady Joanna sniffed dryly. She seemed amused, one high-boned cheek lifting in a grin.
Marguerite breathed in the scent of spices and amber that hung around her and felt it calm her nerves. There was something very exciting about the old duchess. It was said she was a powerful seer, like Rubina's own mother – her daughter. Altogether, there was a haunting mystery about her that the glamorous Lady Amabel did not have. Like the whisper of dry leaves down a disused hallway, the magic that clung to Lady Joanna was at once exciting and slightly scary.
“Marguerite,” she said, smiling at her.
“My lady.”
Marguerite felt her hair stand on end as she stood back for the gaunt, dignified duchess to go ahead into the darkened passageway. She had met her once or twice, so the fact that she knew Marguerite by name was not that odd. However, all the same, it was strange that she chose to single her out. Marguerite schooled her breathing to a restful murmur and followed the eerie swish of the black velvet skirts down the hallway to the still-room.
The door creaked as Lady Joanna opened it. Marguerite followed her inside.
“Whoops,” Rubina whispered, standing on Marguerite's dress-train as she followed her into the room.
“Don't worry,” Marguerite whispered back, collecting her skirts on her right side with a bunching fist. She was just glad to know Rubina was there behind her.
She breathed in the dry air of the still-room, smelling the musty scent of preserved herbs. Bunches hung from the rafters, drying in the arid air. A fire crackled, sending the shadows of the unprepossessing wooden bench flickering across the ceiling and shivering over the floor. Marguerite's heart pulsed sharply.
“Is he here?” she whispered to Rubina.
“I don't know,” Rubina whispered back. As if in answer, her grandmother stepped into the darker recess in the far side of the room.
“There you are, eh, Mara! Where's the patient?”
To their surprise, Mara appeared. She must have at some point become Grandmother's assistant, though neither Rubina nor Marguerite knew. Given the old lady's sinister reputation, Marguerite had second thoughts about Mara's suitability as a baby-minder.
Whist, Marguerite, she chided herself, half-amused. Lady Joanna is Rubina's grandma! She's no more a witch than you are.
Nevertheless, looking into those inscrutable dark brown eyes, she had to suppress a shiver of apprehension.
“Ah. You'll do,” Lady Joanna said dryly. “You'll get what you want, though I think you don't know what it is you look for. And when you do, it'll no' be what you thought it was.”
Marguerite frowned. That made no sense.
Abruptly, the lilting, colloquial tone disappeared from the old noblewoman's voice. “Right,” she said. “We need to get a kettle on. Rubina? You set some water on the fire. Miss Marguerite? Fetch the tansy out of the rafters there.”
“The...oh!” Marguerite saw the direction of the older woman's gaze. She was staring up at a bunch of gray-green foliage hanging from the rafters. Marguerite, tall and nimble, shinned up the stool and untied it. “Here, my lady.”
Lady Joanna sniffed dryly. “You're scared of me. No need to ‘my lady’ me to hide it. I'm not a witch, whatever people think. Now. Put that in the water.”
Marguerite gulped. If she really could read minds, she might at least try not to make it so disconcerting! Shaking her head at herself, she started to take handfuls of the leaves. The old lady was whispering to Mara, who left.
“Where's she going?” Rubina asked as she directed Marguerite about how much to add.
Lady Joanna grinned. “To get the patient.”
Marguerite and Rubina looked at each other. Rubina gave her a friendly grin.
“Grandma doesn't like to have to argue with the priests,” she said.
“The priests think Grandma is a witch,” Grandma dryly interjected. “And the last thing I need is a battle of wills with them. I'll not fight about clearing my name when they're the only ones who sullied it in the beginning.”
Rubina nodded. “Yes, Grandma.”
“And another thing. That daughter of yours. I think when she grows up – if she grows up, if you don't spoil her to death first – she'll have the sight.”
“Oh?”
Marguerite felt a prickle of hairs rise on her neck, watching Rubina's reaction to that information. The sight was a gift passed down the ancient female line of Lochlann, of which Rubina was part. Not every woman received it, though. Rubina herself had not. Strange, then, that little Joanna would have been the one to get it. Or not so strange, she thought, given her namesake.
“Ah, Mara,” Grandma said suddenly. “There you are.”
Marguerite instantly lost all focus on her friend, her relations or the disturbing prophecy involving her. A resonant voice spoke from the doorway.
“I should go to the infirmary. I don't deem myself fit for privileged treatment. I...”
Marguerite's eyes hung on that pale, gray-lipped face. He was clearly in a lot of pain and trying not to succumb, and Marguerite's heart reached out toward him even as she wanted to smile. You big stubborn fool. She covered her grin even as she stepped forward.
“You can go and assuage your guilt and get gangrene then,” Lady Joanna briskly retorted. “I find the two are quite similar in their nature – gangrene rots the flesh and guilt rots the joy of your life.”
That silenced all of them then.
Even Mara, who was reaching for a pestle and mortar to grind a salve, looked surprised, and then turned quickly away – either shocked or trying not to smile. Marguerite couldn't tell. She just stared at Sean, who was swaying on his feet, gray-faced and shocked. She carried on staring at him, trying to will her strength into him.
Sean looked back. In that moment, the space between them dissolved. His brown eyes met hers and locked. His lips moved, as if he wanted to say something. Marguerite felt her heart ache to help him. It felt as if he was looking right into her soul.
Lady Joanna sniffed dryly, the sound shocking Marguerite out of her reverie. “Right. Rubina, how's that tansy coming on?”
“Well, Grandma.” Rubina, of them all, sounded cheerful. “I think it's ready when you need it.”
“Good.”
“My lady, I...” Sean said, starting his objections again.
Lady Joanna focused her withering stare. “Just what I need. A noisy patient. Mara, if he talks again, put that Valerian under his tongue. Bit of that ought to knock him out.”
The gaunt, skull-like woman said it in a mirthless monotone. All the same, Rubina giggled. The black eyes shot a look at her, warning, and then Lady Joanna laughed.
“Och, lass,” she grinned, “I'll no' put the lad to sleep really. Just threatening. He has to be awake to do the treatment.”
Marguerite winced as Lady Joanna took hold of Sean's wrist. Her thoughts of everything else washed away in her concern for him as she saw him flinch and his lip go white as he bit down on it.
“Aye, it's strained, eh?” Lady Joanna said. Sticking for the moment with her colloquial accent, she inclined her head to Rubina. “Bring that tea here, lass. It's to stick his arm in while we try to set it. Reduce the swelling while we work, so we will.”
Marguerite found herself standing against the wall, feeling ineffectual but interested, as her friend, Lady Joanna and Mara all clustered round Sean. His wrist was immersed in the warm water, infused with tansy, while Lady Joanna worked on his wrist. Marguerite would have enjoyed watching the process in a more detached way – she was interested in medical things and spent time with the priests at her father's house, listening to their discourse on medicine. Now, her interests were all personal. All focused on the patient. Sean was pale and sweat stood out on his brow, and, as the older woman gripped his wrist and twisted firm and hard, he yelled in torment.
Marguerite felt her own heart flinch as his wrist gave a wringing snap that even she could here. He slumped forward, white faced.
“That's better, eh?” Lady Joanna nodded. “Now. We'll strap his shoulder and send him off to rest. And that rib can do with strapping. Not broken, I think. But it'll swell like the blazes were in it if we leave it to its own devices, eh?”
Marguerite watched, round-eyed, as the dignified seer and Mara worked on Sean. Rubina was helping them, holding him in place while they bandaged his shoulder with some complicated-seeming strapping.
“I can help,” she said softly. Lady Joanna heard her.
“Right, lass. Hold him steady. I'll get the shoulder where it should be...there. Hold him still.”
Marguerite laid her hand on his shoulder, feeling a shock thrill through her as she touched his hard, lean body. She felt his pulse jump under her fingers and felt a delicious warmth flood her, making her womb tingle, as she thought about it.
I never dreamed to feel such closeness to him.
She looked into his eyes and he looked back, his brown gaze unwavering. Close and strong, that gaze held hers and it felt as if her heart touched his.
She could feel the thready, slippery jolt of his pulse as the seer bound the bandage tight around his wrist and then his shoulder. She could see the throb of the blood vessels in his neck, pale green against the paler skin. She could even see the softness of his hair and had to fight the urge to touch its satin-smoothness.
He moaned and, as the team of Joanna and Mara moved down to his ribs, his eyes met hers. Marguerite swallowed hard. In their level stare was such a look of love that her heart almost melted. She felt like she was floating. She smiled.
“Almost done down here,” the seer informed them, breaking her reverie. “Now. I'll need a salve of arnica made up to treat this swelling. Rubina? You know where I keep the dried plants. Fetch it, will you? Mara? You can make the salve. Marguerite? Take the patient out.”
Marguerite stared at her. She supposed it was logical to assign her – the one person with no expertise in herbal craft – to do the easy job. All the same, though, it seemed almost as if she knew this was something her heart longed to do.
“Y...yes, my lady.”
Joanna made a noise that sounded like a snort, but she was looking down at her work when she did it, so it was hard to tell whether it was meant to be derisive or gentle. Then she looked into that pale, gaunt face and her thoughts all flew away.
“Come on,” she said gently. “Let me help you to your room.”
Sean swallowed hard. “No, I mean...no, my lady. I can walk unaided. I'm sure I...” He stood, stumbled and sat down, hissing through clenched teeth.
“Tell him, Marguerite,” Joanna sniffed. “Stubbornness makes a long recovery. You want to never regain full use of your shoulder? Do what you're doing.”
Marguerite blinked. “Come on, Sean,” she said gently. “Let's go.”
Sean nodded. He clenched his lip in his teeth and stood. Marguerite clutched his arm as he wobbled. Sean tensed and she would have let go, but for the voice out of the darkness.
“That's it, Marguerite. Keep him on his feet. Slow and steady.”
Marguerite nodded, tightened her grip on his thick, muscled arm and headed out.
In the hallway, Sean stopped dead. He looked into her face. His mouth was stern but his deep, dark eyes held another message. They glowed.
“Marguerite,” he said quietly. “I can manage. Truly.”
“Oh, Sean,” Marguerite said softly. “I can help.”
“No,” he said gently. “No. It's better if I just go. Come on now. I promise I won't do it any more harm.”
“Very well,” Marguerite swallowed hard. She unclenched her hand from his arm. He looked into her eyes.
Gently, very deliberately, he stroked her cheek. Just as he had on the practice-field, when she had been crying. He smiled at her. His eyes were so soft and gentle.
Then, just as suddenly, he moved his hand away and let it drop to his side. He turned and headed off, limping, toward the stairs.
“Goodnight,” he called. “Please convey my thanks to Lady Joanna and also Lady Rubina. I am surpassing grateful for their work.”
Gulping, Marguerite swallowed the lump in her throat. Then, eyes blinded with tears, she turned and headed briskly down the hallway.
Infernal, wretched man! Why did he insist on confusing and misleading her? Why was it that she never knew where she stood?
Sniffing angrily, she turned and walked away along the corridor, skirt swishing behind her. She clenched her fingers together, but no matter how she wrung them, she could not make them forget the sweet sensation of his pulse. Moreover, no matter how many tears flowed down her face, it would not wash away the softness of his fingertips, gently tracing tear-tracks down her cheek.