Chapter 11
Marjorie was glad Lord Drayton and his men were finally here. More people in the castle meant more work, but it would also provide a buffer between her and the ever-lurking Lord Jordan. He hadn’t approached her again in the last three days, but he always seemed to be looking at her. The one time she’d accidentally caught his eye, he’d smiled sadly and looked away first. It had confused her. She hated being confused.
She tried not to yawn while she stood behind the Grancourt daughters during Lord Drayton’s arrival. She’d had the same nightmare for the last three nights, making her lie in bed trying to stay awake to avoid it. She didn’t think Sir Walter would have cared if she missed the initial greeting. She wasn’t important, after all. But Anne had been coughing so severely all day she wanted to stay close. At the first sign of Anne faltering, she was going to call for Gunther to take her upstairs. Like a sack of grain if need be. She refused to let her nightmare come true because Anne was too proud to admit to being ill and resting.
“There he is,” Batty squealed.
He was an awful peacock. Everything about his procession through the gate was ridiculous. Men-at-arms rode in bearing flags. More flag bearers flanked Lord Drayton on his pure white steed. The horse’s saddle had more ornamentation than Anne’s finest gown, which she was currently wearing.
Batty sighed about how handsome he was and if Marjorie pushed past her exhaustion she had to admit he had a regal air about him. He dismounted and eagerly greeted Sir Walter, gushing about how delighted he was to see Grancourt at last. She had an odd sense that he was lying. Hadn’t he been to Grancourt before? She felt an absolute certainty that he had, that she’d already thought he was a peacock. Goodness, she needed some proper sleep that wasn’t plagued by nightmares.
As soon as Lord Drayton and his entourage were in the great hall, she decided to skip supper and go upstairs. She’d hear about it from the cook later, since all hands were needed, but she’d been yelled at by him before. She could stand it again.
“Promise me to make Anne retire if she starts coughing again,” she said to Batty, squeezing her arm to make her know she was serious. “If she won’t and you think she’s in a bad way, come and get me. Do you promise?”
“Goodness, Marjorie, you’ve been like a squawking mother hen about Anne for the last few days. If she says she’s fine, she’s fine. Why are you so fretful lately?”
Because Anne dies in my dreams every night, you thoughtless girl.
“Just keep an eye on her. You know she’s been unwell.” Marjorie looked into the great hall, wishing she could sink onto one of the benches and put her head down on the table. She didn’t know how she’d make it up the stairs.
She’d only put her foot on the first step when shouts broke out from the other side of the door. Pressing herself against the wall, she waited to see if it was a minor squabble that would subside in a moment. The shouts grew louder, along with the sounds of thundering feet. A crash sounded in the distance and she finally heard the word she feared most.
“Attack!”
After the men in the great hall had gotten themselves past her hiding spot, she tore out of the stairwell in search of Batty and the girls. Fay skidded to a halt in front of her, gave her a tormented look, and finally grabbed her hand.
“Come with me. Father’s ordered us to the chapel cellar until he knows what’s going on.”
“Who is attacking us?” Marjorie asked as they ran for the chapel. The back courtyard was a seething mass of men readying weapons and donning armor. “Have we been betrayed by Lord Drayton?”
Fay ground to a halt again and looked at her with astonishment, then shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. He never tried anything like that before.”
“What?” Marjorie called, a few paces behind her. Goodness, Fay was quick. She thought she’d heard, just didn’t understand. She remembered her strange feeling that Lord Drayton had been to Grancourt before.
They got into the chapel and, to Marjorie’s relief, Anne and Sophie were already there. The priest was prying open the hidden hatch that led to the safest place for them during a possible invasion. To her great dismay, Lord Jordan jumped from behind the lectern and helped him pull up the heavy trap door.
Why? Shouldn’t every able-bodied man be out defending the castle? There was definitely nothing wrong with his body, as far as she could see. What bad luck did she have that he would be there with them? She didn’t have any longer to lament. Anne bellowed for them to get inside, holding a lantern over the opening. One by one, they made their way down the winding, crumbling steps. Marjorie hated the place. It was one of the oldest parts of the castle and it looked and smelled like it. Cobwebs were everywhere when she finally reached the bottom and she nearly had a fit when she walked right through a big patch in the dark.
She waved her hands and scratched at her face and hair, trying to get the awful, gossamer web off her. It stuck to everything and she imagined a spider was already taking up residence in her hair. She could catch and kill a rat without an ounce of trepidation. She wasn’t scared of crows like Batty was. But spiders. She shrieked, knowing she was covered in them.
Blessedly, a light flared. Lord Jordan held a candle aloft and hurried toward her with it. “Marjorie, are you all right?” He saw the source of the trouble at once and carefully picked away the remains of web while she stood there trembling like a ninny.
“Do you see any spiders on me?” she asked.
“No, it’s only a cobweb.” He swept the candle high in an arc, squinting at the support beams and ceiling. “I don’t see any spiders anywhere.”
She let out a shuddering breath, mortified to show such weakness. “I’m sorry,” she said, ducking and trying to go under his arm to where the others huddled on benches against the wall. “I don’t know what it is about spiders that frightens me so.”
He smiled and she saw how gleaming white his teeth were in the candlelight. “It’s probably the eight legs. Or maybe the disgusting pincers. Or maybe the—”
“Yes, it’s probably all of those things,” she said, unable to resist returning his smile. It was kind of him to try and ease her discomfort.
He led her to the bench and sat her beside the priest, handing her the candle. The only available spot left to sit was the other side of the bench, next to Batty. She had a brief stab of disappointment, which she quickly dismissed. Why should she want to sit next to him? Batty was as good at killing spiders as anyone. She wasn’t afraid of the hairy, nasty things at all.
“Shall we pray?” the priest asked, his pulpit voice reverberating against the close walls of the cellar.
“In a moment, Father Thomas,” Anne said. “What do we know?” she asked. “Anything? And where’s Edgar?” She blew out a dismayed breath. “We forgot Edgar.”
“He’s probably so drunk he doesn’t know there’s a battle raging.” Sophie’s voice came from the center of the gloom. Marjorie held the candle up to share a smile of agreement with her about their old physician.
“But what about Roric?” Fay asked. “He’s not fit to be out there.”
“He insisted,” Anne said. “He flatly refused to come with me, saying he’d die at Sir Walter’s side if necessary.”
“I hope it’s not necessary,” Batty whimpered.
“Let us pray about it,” Father Thomas boomed hopefully.
“It’s admirable that he went,” Batty said, nudging Marjorie’s arm. “He’s quite a bit older than you, Lord Jordan, and less able-bodied.”
“Jor—Lord Jordan has an old injury,” Sophie said. “Don’t you?”
Marjorie leaned over to see if he was flustered. She’d had the same thought and was eager to hear his excuse from his own mouth. He turned to Sophie and scowled. How impertinent! She recalled with a start how fast Sophie had run to Lord Jordan’s side when he’d been in a heap in the hall. Was he such a good friend of Sir Leo’s? The familiarity was jarring.
“I’m a pacifist,” he said. “I don’t believe in fighting or killing.”
“You wouldn’t defend your land? Your family?” Batty pressed.
Marjorie knew she was being loyal and berating Lord Jordan for his rough treatment of her. But oddly, she found she’d almost forgotten it and had completely forgiven him. Normally, she carried a grudge for a good, long time. It was refreshing not to be angry for once.
“Leave it, Batty,” Anne said. “Your views are different from ours, Lord Jordan, so I hope you can forgive my maid’s passionate response. But holding to one’s beliefs is always admirable.”
“Amen,” said Father Thomas. “Let us pray for tolerance.”
“But what do we know about the attack?” Anne asked. Marjorie almost giggled at the priest’s disappointed sigh.
“I was outside when it started,” Lord Jordan offered. Marjorie held up the candle again, shining the light on him. He smiled and nodded at her. She felt a flutter in her stomach. It must have been from running to get to the cellar. “One of the guards on the wall shouted that he saw torches in the distance and almost immediately after that, all hell broke loose. Uh, sorry, Father.”
“So the torches in the distance must have been a distraction, to think we had time to prepare. How could they have gotten so close to us without anyone seeing?”
“Could we have been betrayed by Lord Drayton?” Fay asked with a glance at Marjorie.
“Certainly not,” Anne said. “What a thing to say.”
Marjorie was glad she hadn’t offered up that opinion when she heard Anne’s sharp defense of him. She found her tiredness was coming back now that the initial furor in getting safely hidden had died down. She leaned her head against Batty’s shoulder and listened to the others mildly arguing about the battle. They’d know who attacked them when Sir Walter and his men were victorious. Of that, she had no doubt. Sir Walter was the greatest knight in the land.
Father Thomas finally got his way and began droning out a prayer, which promptly put her to sleep.
*
Jordan wasn’t happy being down in that hole with the priest and the ladies. He’d wanted to get out there and see some real life medieval action. Leo had said he would be a welcome help and promised Sophie he’d keep an eye on him. Then Sophie had thrown a tantrum, tearfully foretelling his sure to be gruesome death by beheading or cannon blast to the gut.
“Sophie, there’s certainly no cannon. The men on the wall would have seen them hauling it long before it could get close enough to do any harm.”
“I don’t care. He’s coming with me. He’s not fit for your kind of battle. He doesn’t know anything about this life!”
It still stung. And then Batty, of all people, had attacked his manhood. Thankfully, Anne had shut her down. He noticed Marjorie had fallen asleep at least an hour ago, and the priest’s singsong prayers were making him feel sleepy as well. A huge coughing fit from Anne made his head snap up in a hurry. It also woke Marjorie, who tearfully rushed to her side, kneeling on the cold dirt floor in front of her.
“When will this battle end?” she asked, wiping her face. Jordan suspected the tears had started while she was still asleep. A bad dream? “It’s too cold and the air is full of bad humors down here,” Marjorie continued. “Didn’t anyone think to bring something to drink?”
Jordan snapped to at that and felt stupid for not helping sooner. “Here’s a flask of wine I grabbed off the table,” he said. Marjorie took it as soon as he held it out. Anne managed a few sips and then keeled forward, caught in the throes of a fresh bout of coughing.
Marjorie gave him a dirty look as if it were his fault and whacked her mistress’ back, trying to clear whatever gunk was attempting to drown her.
“I have medicine,” he whispered to Sophie. Even in the dark cellar he could see her eyes fill with hope.
“You do?” she whispered back. She stood up and went to the other side of the room, making a big show of rubbing her back. He got up and paced back and forth beside her. Just two cowards stretching their legs. Well, he was the only coward. She had her gender as an excuse. “What kind of medicine?” she asked eagerly as they passed each other in the close confines.
“All kinds. Aspirin, ibuprofen, acetaminophen, cold and flu remedies, a couple z-packs, some plain old penicillin, allergy meds, I’ve got an epinephrine shot …” he trailed off, sure he was forgetting something. “I have a lot.”
“How did you get all that? I mean the prescription ones?”
“I went to a bunch of doctors and pretended to be sick. And I called Harriet and pretended to have the clap to get one of the strong antibiotics. I really took one for the team on that one, since you know she told Uncle Billy, who probably told Mom.” He stopped, remembering their whole family thought he was dead. His uncle’s girlfriend wouldn’t be gossiping about his supposed STDs.
She frowned, most likely thinking the same thing. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
He shrugged, once again passing her and turning in a tight circle to face her again. “Neither of us was sick. I brought it for us. But I mean, I’m not going to be stingy or anything if you want to try it on Anne. We should be careful, though. Who knows how our strong medicine will affect these people who sip herb teas when they’re sick.”
“They don’t even do that,” Sophie whispered anxiously. “It’s worth a shot, she’s dead either way.”
“What the hell?” he hissed, stopping in his tracks.
“That’s part of the curse.” Sophie nodded over at Anne, who was slightly recovered, but still coughing erratically and pulling at the neckline of her dress. “She keeps dying. We want to try to save her, and maybe we can now that we have real medicine. Leo knows a lot about ancient Asian remedies, but they didn’t work last time.”
“Yeah, it’s probably worth a try, but you know antibiotics can’t treat cancer or lung disease. We don’t know what she’s got.”
Before Sophie could answer, the trap door above them creaked open. “It’s all over,” a voice called down.
A second later, Roric stuck his head around the curving stairs, a big cut over his eye and an even bigger grin on his face. Of course it had to be old Roric, to showcase how truly cowardly Jordan had been. He could feel Batty’s scornful eyes burning into him as she passed him to get to the stairs. He waited until everyone was up before ascending. That was the very least he could do.
At the top, he was surprised to see Marjorie waiting by the lectern. She twisted the ends of her shawl and jumped out, blocking his way. He looked around for Sophie but she was long gone, off to make sure Leo was all right.
“I heard you tell Lady Sophie you have medicines,” she accused. Oh, crap. She stared at him unblinking while he tried to come up with something to say. “Are they from Italy?”
Oh, thank God. He nodded gratefully. “Yes, there have been great advancements in Italy that haven’t made it here to England. Unfortunately.” Shut up, Jordan.
She dipped her head and then looked up at him so beseechingly with her incredibly beautiful eyes. “I beg you to help Lady Anne. She’s been ill with coughing and fevers most of her life. Our physician, Edgar, sometimes can ease her suffering, but she’s never truly been healed. If you think your medicine can help her, I beg you …”
She might have gone on begging until the sun rose, so he held up his hand. “Marjorie. Of course. I brought the strong and advanced medicine from Italy as a gift to Sir Walter.” In for a penny, in for a pound, he continued babbling. “As you know, I’m currently without a position as, uh, chancellor, yes, chancellor. I was hoping Sir Walter would look kindly on me.”
Why hadn’t the earth swallowed him up yet? He had no idea. Miraculously, Marjorie didn’t see right through his extremely poor acting. She bobbed on her toes and smiled a smile that zapped through him as if he’d touched a live wire. They didn’t even have electricity yet but it was radiating off of Marjorie.
“Thank you, Lord Jordan, thank you.” She curtsied and ran from the chapel.
He sat down on the nearest pew and closed his eyes. It was clear she loved Anne. Clear she cared for everyone in the castle as far as he’d seen. If she had set the curse, why? Why would she doom everyone she knew and loved?
As much as he didn’t want to call up Lyra again and make Marjorie her puppet, he had to have answers. No matter what Lyra said about it not being her curse, she’d been there. She’d made it happen with her dark powers. The wicked witch had the answers he wanted, and he was going to get them.