A DISCOVERY AND A CALL
Marguerite sat in the turret room, looking out on a stormy spring sky. She glanced across at Rubina, who was busy working on her tapestry. She seemed calm. Little Joanna slept in a cradle across the room, Mara half-asleep beside it.
I should be so peaceful here.
Marguerite felt restless. She couldn't stop thinking about the news from the southern towns, the news of battles. The war was barbaric and cruel in a way that the Scots had at once expected and feared. It was, it seemed, only a matter of time before it reached them, flooding everything. It was a terrifying prospect.
“Rubina?”
“What, dear?” Her friend's eyes, usually so at peace, were also tense, shadows underlining their radiant softness.
“You have heard the news?”
“Mm.” Rubina nodded, bending over her sewing. “Baliol won't last long on the throne.”
Marguerite nodded. The new king, John Baliol, was not well-thought of by the nobles. Not, Marguerite thought sadly, that it was his fault. To him had fallen the impossible task of satisfying two masters: Scotland and the English king. No one could do that.
“Poor man,” was all she said.
“Indeed.”
They sat quietly awhile, the only sound the small, homely crackle of the fire in the hearth. Up here, all was still and quiet. Nothing could have been less warlike than this cozy, snug space. They could hear the rise and fall of the child's breathing and of Mara as they slumbered by the fire. Somewhere, out above the courtyard, a blackbird sang. Its liquid song floated through the window, sweet and clear.
Rubina lifted the tapestry closer, squinting at it. “Little Joanna is sleeping through the night, at least,” she smiled, changing the subject.
“That's good,” Marguerite agreed.
The silence stretched between them. There was no use in dwelling on the news of conflict.
At least Camden and Sean are spared from harm.
“I welcome the rest,” Rubina smiled. “Mara is so good with her, but she still brings her to me when she's restless. It's good now that she's finally sleeping better.”
“Mm,” Marguerite nodded. “I would we all slept peacefully.”
“True,” Rubina nodded. “I have slept poorly of late.”
“Me, too,” Marguerite agreed.
She had lain awake, the news of the war wreathing through the uncertainty in her mind, both of them keeping her restless. She knew it was the same reason Rubina couldn't rest. “Rubina?”
“Yes?”
“Has your grandmother said anything further about our patient?”
“Sean? Why, no. I think she means to check on him tomorrow though,” Rubina replied.
“Oh.” Marguerite nodded. A pleasant idea occurred to her. Mayhap Lady Joanna could use an extra pair of hands. It was so naughty that she hesitated to volunteer, even though she wanted to. She cleared her throat. “When?”
“Two hours after sunup,” Rubina said succinctly. “She always says it's a good time to wake.”
“Oh.” Marguerite smiled at that gentle confession of humanity from the older woman. “I am inclined to think she's right.”
“Me, too. Or I used to. Now when the wee babe wakes me, I'm inclined to just be pleased I was ever asleep to waken.”
They both laughed. Marguerite bent over her stitching again, doing her best to concentrate. All the same, her mind kept hopping to thoughts of Sean. At the first moment she could, she stood and headed out.
“Off to find some luncheon?” Rubina asked. She set down her embroidery on the settle, stretching out long, elegant arms before her.
“Indeed,” Marguerite said tightly. She felt restless and excited and couldn't wait any longer to put her plan into operation. She couldn't forget her last visit to the sickroom and wanted to have another chance to talk to Lady Joanna.
“Good idea,” Rubina nodded. “I'll come down. Mara?” she called.
The woman sighed and blinked, and then sat up, abruptly awake. “Yes, milady?”
Rubina smiled. “Sorry I disturbed you. Just wanting to ask if you're going to take luncheon in the kitchens?” she whispered, endeavoring not to wake the child.
“I asked Bronna to bring me something here,” she said. “So's I dinnae have to move the bairn.”
“Good.” Rubina smiled at the nurse, and then smiled tenderly down at the crib where the infant lay. Marguerite joined her and together they looked down at the baby. She lay on her side, one fist clenched tight by her small, reposing face.
“She's so beautiful,” Marguerite whispered.
“She is,” Rubina agreed. “I am so lucky she's part of my family. Now, let's find luncheon.”
“Agreed.”
They walked, arm in arm, from the room. As they went, Marguerite sensed a tension in her friend's demeanor. “Is something troubling you?” she asked, concerned.
“I can't deny Grandmother's words about Joanna worried me,” Rubina said softly. “I know Mother had a hard time with the Sight.”
“Oh?” Marguerite frowned. The words Joanna had spoken about her returned to her mind, disturbing her anew. What had they been? Something about getting what she wanted, only when she got it, it would not be what she expected. “Mayhap we can ask her to explain more.”
Rubina smiled tenderly. “Mayhap. If we can find her again. She tends to keep herself to the northern tower.”
“Maybe we'll see her tomorrow,” Marguerite said hopefully.
“Maybe.”
They walked up to the high, pointed archway that led into the castle's small solar.
“Grandma!” Rubina said as they entered.
There, by herself at the table, dressed in the black velvet that made all her clothes, was Lady Joanna. Marguerite shivered.
How strange was it that, even though they were late coming down to luncheon, the dowager duchess was still there, finishing her meal? Just when they needed to see her? Odd.
“Ah! Lasses,” the older woman said, fixing them with her piercing gaze. She seemed completely unperturbed to see them. Her white hair was pulled back in a severe braid and she looked regal and elegant. Her big grin belied the dignified appearance somewhat. “There you are. I was just finishing off.”
“What's for lunch, Grandma?” Rubina asked affectionately. If she found it strange to see her there, she gave no sign.
“Stew,” she said succinctly. As Rubina launched into some talk about the stew and how good it had been the day before, Marguerite sat down opposite, feeling deeply uncomfortable. She looked up to find Lady Joanna's piercing dark gaze on her. That made her shiver.
“There's a storm coming,” Lady Joanna said softly.
“There is?” Marguerite looked out of the window, heart fluttering with the first twinges of alarm. Though the sky was pale white-touched gray, there was no sign of anything except tranquil springtime rains.
“Not out there,” the woman chuckled. “In here.” She tapped the finger of her left hand lightly against her temple.
Marguerite shivered.
“Grandma?” Rubina frowned at her. She had been talking to one of the footmen, sending him off to fetch more bannocks, and had missed the exchange. “Did you say a storm?”
“I said a stew,” she chuckled. “Look. Right there.”
Rubina rolled her eyes and sighed. “I heard that part.”
“Good.”
Marguerite frowned, noting the older woman's secrecy. Why hadn't she told her about it? Was the “storm” she foresaw for Marguerite's ears alone? The fact that she concealed the news from Rubina made her more worried.
“I was just with Mara,” Rubina informed them as she ate, “and she said that Joanna is sleeping so well!”
Marguerite let the talk wash round her and listened with half an ear to Rubina, who told them all about Joanna's sleeping habits. She found it hard when, every time she looked up, Joanna's eyes were on her.
“Rubina, dear,” the older woman said as they ate, “do go and see if Joanna is awake. I wanted to check on that mark you mentioned on her back.”
“Oh, it was just a little bruise...I'm sure it's gone now,” Rubina demurred. She looked at her grandmother's hard stare and evidently decided not to argue. “Yes, Grandmother.” She pushed back her chair and Marguerite could almost have been amused by how quickly she raced to follow what her grandmother requested. “I'll fetch her immediately.”
“Good,” she chuckled appreciatively.
Marguerite felt suddenly nervous: she didn't want to be left alone with Joanna when she was in such a disturbing mood. All the same, though, being here gave her an opportunity to ask the thing she wanted. Almost as if Joanna had known what it was she wanted to do.
“Lady Joanna?” she said when Rubina had gone.
“Yes?” the woman asked, raising a brow. Marguerite had the distinct impression that she knew exactly what she was wanting to ask, but was going to make her say it anyway, just to be harsh. It was disconcerting. She took a slow breath and began.
“I heard you were going to check on Sir Sean again tomorrow and...”
“Of course you can come with me, my dear,” the woman smiled. “I could do with an extra pair of hands.”
Marguerite stared at her. “How..?”
She grinned, disconcertingly. “Don't look at me like that,” she said. “It doesn't take much to see there's care between you and that young man. Remember what I said.”
“About the storm?”
“Yes. And the other – what I said yesterday. We'll meet at half an hour past eight.”
“Yes, my lady.”
The next morning, Marguerite waited in the hallway, drawing a shawl around her shoulders. She shifted from foot to foot, blowing on her cold fingers to warm them in the early springtime chill. Her stomach was churning with nerves and impatience.
When it felt as if she'd waited an age, she tiptoed up and peered around the edge of the door. She couldn't see anyone and hesitated to enter. Under the circumstances, it wasn't really an impropriety. She eventually heard the floor creak.
“Ah, there you are,” Lady Joanna said mildly, as if Marguerite hadn't been standing there frantically for what felt like ages. “Ready? Let's go.”
Marguerite swallowed hard, trying to flush out the lump that closed up her throat. “Yes.”
She let the older woman enter first, and then followed her in.
“Oh.” Joanna spoke succinctly.
“What?” Marguerite called, feeling sudden fear thrill through her. Inside, she stared in alarm. “What the...”
Sean had gone. The bed was empty. No one was there.
Joanna gripped her wrist. “Don't worry,” she said. “He's not dead. You'll see him again and sooner than you think. Now, let's go.”
“No!” Marguerite whispered. “No. Lady Joanna? Where...how?”
She looked into those dark eyes. They were level, firm and there was compassion in them, for someone who chose to see it. “Hush, lass. It's all good. He's safe where he is. You're where you should be. We just need to tell my daughter. And trust. You think you can do that?”
Marguerite bit her lip. “I can try,” she whispered.
Lady Joanna patted her arm. “Good lass. Let's go downstairs then. See?”
Marguerite followed her. In the hallway, she was surprised to see Blaire, the maid of Lady Amabel. She was walking briskly toward them both. “My lady. Oh, Lady Joanna.” She curtseyed deeply.
“What is it?” the older lady asked tersely. “What news have you?”
Marguerite frowned at the angry tone of her voice. Why did she sound so impatient?
“My lady...” The maid licked dry lips. “Um...Lady Marguerite is being sought in the solar. If you can come now, milady?”
Marguerite frowned. “Who would call on me here?” she asked. She looked at Joanna, who shrugged.
“Best go and see, lass. I'm going up to find my daughter, and then to my still-room. I'll be there the day.”
“Thank you,” Marguerite whispered.
In the solar, she was surprised to see a man dressed in light mail, suitable for riding. A messenger? Her breath quickened with nerves.
“Lady Marguerite.” he bowed extravagantly low. “My lady. A letter for you.”
“Oh?” Marguerite reached forward, glancing sideways at Blaire, who curtseyed and then hurried away. The man passed her a folded square parchment. She stared at the seal.
“Father?” The seal on the red wax bore the impression of a water-bird, flying over wavy lines suggestive of a lake. It was her father's seal.
“Yes, milady.” The messenger bowed low. “The Baron of Eghill sent me out to find you. I headed to Buccleigh. At Buccleigh, I was sent here. I went fast as I could. The letter's not a week old.”
“I thank you,” Marguerite said absently. “Please go to the kitchen to take some repast. You'll be rewarded for your pains.” He must have ridden like a madman to get it here so fast!
“Thank you, milady.” He bowed and headed out.
When he'd left, Marguerite scanned the letter. Not a good reader – she knew her numbers and some letters – she headed off to find someone to help. Upstairs in the still-room, she wordlessly passed the message over the counter to Lady Joanna.
The older woman read it, brows lifting. “Courage, dear,” she said to her. “It's not your parents – they're alive and well. Not any of your kin, in fact.”
“What, then?”
“It’s you. You're to be married.”
That was when the world went dark.
“Married?” Marguerite whispered. She couldn't believe it! Not now. Not when she had just met Sean and her world was full, for the first time, of the promise of love.