Summer's Storm

by Denise Domning

  Anne peeked around the door’s edge. When she saw all of them watching her, she gave a nervous smile and strode forward, her healing wares on a tray. Kneeling at Temric’s side, she set the tray upon the floor, then began to gently pry and prod at his face.

  Philippa and Rowena came to stand beside Anne. Philippa pointed toward Temric’s cheek. “I think it only needs stitching along this bit of it,” she offered, then squatted to search Anne’s bits and pieces for a length of very fine thread. “If you use this, the scar will be thinner for him.”

  Temric grunted. “You can leave it as it is for all I care. Let me bear the mark as a reminder of what it cost me to lose control.”

  “Oh, you’ll bear the mark either way,” Anne assured him, threading her needle. “I’ve stitched you often enough I suppose I don’t need to warn you that it’ll hurt, but I will remind you to hold still,” she warned Temric, then put the needle to his cheek.

  Rowena made a quiet sound. A quiet yelp from the doorway followed. “Don’t let her fall, Peter,” Temric shouted, lurching to his feet. By the time both Philippa and Anne had risen, Rowena hung limply from the boy’s arms.

  “I did nothing,” the lad protested squeakily in his native tongue. “Truly. She just fainted.”

  Anne laughed. “We believe you, Peter,” she told the boy in English. “Our lady is as fine a one as Graistan’s ever known, but she cares little for blood or the repairing of wounds.”

  “Rowena, squeamish?” Philippa laughed, her own English almost accentless. “That’s hard to believe for all the cuts and scrapes of her younger years.”

  All three of those conscious in the room stared at her in stark surprise. Lady Graistan groaned. Temric stepped forward. Peter gratefully shifted his burden to his elder sibling.

  “You speak English!” Anne cried, new color in her face as she realized what she’d thought hidden had been understood.

  “Is that so surprising?” Philippa asked with not a little pride, then went on in explanation. “Margaret made me learn. She assumes that because I spoke French before English that I’m united with her against Lindhurst’s commoners. She believes I tell her what Lindhurst’s folk say about her behind her back, when the truth is that I tell her what I want her to hear.” She finished with a quick lift of her brows.

  “Equals,” Temric murmured with a smile, yet cradling his brother’s wife in the crook of his arm. Philippa smiled. His love for her was like a physical thing, enveloping her with his warmth, enfolding her with caring, as it encircled her heart with sweetness.

  With all her soul, Philippa willed him to read her own affection for him. In the next instant, his eyes closed slightly and his mouth lifted in sad acknowledgment. However much pleasure her caring gave him, it was farewell he was telling her. As tears stung at Philippa’s eyes, he looked at Anne.

  “Where did Lady Rowena send Lord Lindhurst’s dam?”

  “To her son’s tent out near the river,” the maid replied.

  “Good,” he replied with a nod. “That means you can take both your lady and Lady Lindhurst back to Graistan’s women’s quarters. When they’re safe, return with a bite to eat and you do your stitching. Tell Ilsa to inform Rowena--Lady Rowena,” he corrected himself, “that I’ll stay here quietly and unguarded, until I’m called for.”

  Then, as if he didn’t dare look upon her, his gaze shifted past Philippa to his brother. “As for you, Peter, you may stay or go as you please. However, if you stay know that I’ll be precious poor company.”

  Rowena’s head moved, sliding along her brother-by-marriage’s shoulder as she tried to straighten. When she couldn’t, her eyes opened. Her face remained ashen. “Temric, I think I should lay down for a few moments,” she sighed.

  “So you shall, sister,” Philippa said, coming to put her arm around Rowena’s shoulders. As her arm pressed against Temric’s chest, the need to kiss him once more woke. The need to sob came with it. There’d be no more kisses between them, not today, not ever.

  Anne took hold of Rowena’s other arm. When Peter moved out of the way, they led their charge to the door. Philippa dared not look behind her at Temric. Another glance and she’d weep for certain.

  “Come, sister,” she said, her voice choked and quiet. “We’ll take you to your bed.”

  With Rowena between them Philippa and Anne left the room only to have Rowena try to pull free of them on the landing. “You can let me go,” Rowena tried to command. “Although my stomach yet wrenches, my head is steady.”

  Philippa eyed the twisting, wedge-shaped steps. Passage down them was easy enough for one person, but it was doubtful that even two, slender women might descend side by side. How had they ever forced Temric up them while he fought them? She looked back at Rowena. “Are you certain?”

  “Of course.” Rowena’s attempt at assurance was weakened by the quiver of her voice.

  “I tell you, my lady. I’ve never met one so stubborn as she,” Anne whispered in English to Philippa.

  The pleasure of this shared confidence was like a touch of balm to her bruised heart. Philippa smiled at Anne, then looked at her sister. “As you wish, Rowena,” she said, releasing her sister to step down onto the first stair. “However, it’s best that one of us walk ahead of you, while the other goes behind, to catch you in case you fall.”

  It was a long, slow descent, with Rowena clinging to the wall as she went. By the time they reached the hall, Lady Graistan was herself again. The noblewoman strode to the high table, intent on breaking her fast, while Philippa lingered a moment with Anne. “I’d thank you for stepping between my sister and I,” she said in English to the commoner. “There was more than a little risk for you in protecting me.”

  Anne brushed away Philippa’s thanks with a shake of her head. “I want no thanks from you. You’d already made enough trouble for yourself with Temric and I saw no point in more being heaped atop you.”

  Once again, awe filled Philippa. “You have no idea what a marvel of kindness Graistan is.”

  A furrow appeared between Anne’s brows. “Aye, Graistan’s a good place to live, but not so different from most other places, I think. Give thanks to God that there aren’t many places like Lindhurst.” Anne’s frown deepened and she dared to catch her better by the hand. “No lord should do to his wife what’s been done to you. I say if he treats his wife so, I’d not care to be a servant in his home.”

  All Philippa could do was offer a murmur of agreement, so stunned was she by Anne’s claim. When Anne tried to release her hand, Philippa caught her fingers. “Truly?” she asked. “Graistan is not so different from other houses?”

  “Truly,” Anne told her, concern darkening in her eyes. “There are several women here from other houses, who came when their ladies were brides of Graistan. Ilsa, Lady Rowena’s maid, is one. Ask her. She’ll tell you. Not only will she tell you, she’ll tell you and tell you.” She gave the noblewoman a friendly wink. “Now, go and break your fast, while I return to my cousin to sew his wound.”

  “He’s your cousin?” Philippa cried, only now remembering that Anne had said as much before. On the heels of surprise, came the need to probe Anne for everything she could learn about the man who loved her. “Please, when you’re done with him, come to me. Speak to me of him.”

  The friendliness ebbed from Anne’s expression. “My lady, I cannot,” she said, reverting to the tongue of her betters.

  With that, the sense of companionship growing between them shattered, leaving Philippa feeling all the more bereft. At Lindhurst, she and the commoners were bound together in a shared hatred for those who ruled. Here at Graistan, she’d lost the man she loved, her sister passed judgement and rejected her, and the servants were far too aware of the difference between them and those who ruled. That left no one at all to care for her. The loneliness must have shown on her face, for the maid made a soothing noise and brushed gentle fingers against her better’s cheek.

  “Poor chick,” Anne said. “‘Tis no life at al
l you’ve had and here I am denying you even a wee bit of joy. I’ll see what Temric allows, although you mustn’t be surprised if he refuses. My cousin is a very private man.” With a final, brief smile, the maid flew to the closest table, where she grabbed up rolls and cheese, then hurried back to the stairs.

  That left Philippa nothing else to do but cross the hall for the high table. As she went, she stared at the bounty laid out for the morning meal. There were several sorts of fresh breads as well as the usual round manchet bread used for plates. Wheels of cheeses lay ready for slicing. A great caldron of grain pottage bubbled on one hearth. It was a far cry from the thin gruel and stale bread Margaret served at Lindhurst.

  As she came to a halt beside Rowena at the high table, anger bubbled up anew behind her in her. What right had her sister to make Temric’s love for her into something shameful? Rowena looked up at her, then raised a brow in question.

  So cold a gesture only drove Philippa’s irritation higher. She crossed her arms. “Might I sit with you, or should I take my sinful self to the women’s quarters where you won’t be shamed by me?”

  Rather than return anger with anger, the stiffness drained from Rowena’s expression. She sighed. “My pardon,” she said quietly. “I had no right to chide you. My tongue can ofttimes be swifter into motion than my thoughts can follow. You’re a woman full grown and, as such, you make your own decisions. Even still, you shouldn’t”--she stopped herself, then her throat moved as if she were swallowing whatever else lay upon her tongue. “Ah, what does it matter,” Rowena finally said as she patted the space on the bench beside her. “Sit. Let’s pass our time in happiness rather than in argument.”

  Loneliness ebbed with the invitation. “I would like that very much,” Philippa said as she settled herself onto the bench and took a bit of bread.

  “We haven’t much time left, you know,” Rowena said, staring down at the pottage in her bread bowl.

  “Nay?” Philippa replied in surprise. “Why not? I thought the hunters wouldn’t return until the morrow.”

  Rowena shot her a sad, sidelong look. “Your mother-by-marriage insists that the bishop be called to hear her complaint against Temric. I had to send for them, even though I think the bishop won’t be much pleased about it.”

  “I see,” Philippa said quietly as her heart ached. Leave it to Margaret to once again cheat her of what she held so precious.

  “I don’t want you to go,” Rowena cried just as quietly, grabbing her sister by the hand. “To have discovered you only to lose you so swiftly is more than I can bear.”

  Philippa curled her fingers into her sister’s palm. “I would stay forever if I could. Graistan is a wondrous place.”

  “So it must seem to you,” Rowena replied as pain flickered through her eyes. “Would that I didn’t know the sort of life you face upon your return to Lindhurst,” she whispered.

  “Would that you didn’t,” Philippa agreed, bowing her head. Would that she didn’t know the sort of life she faced at Lindhurst. Would that she might reclaim the ignorance she’d owned only three days ago. Knowing that life at Lindhurst was so different from what others experienced made it far harder to contemplate returning.

  “Lady Graistan?” The porter’s shout cut across the low rumble of voices in the big room.

  Philippa raised her gaze to the man who stood before the tall wooden screens that guarded the hall against the door’s draught. His gaze slipped from his own lady to the visiting noblewoman. “Lady Edith of Benfield returns,” he called, then stepped through the opening in the screens to reclaim his post at Graistan’s massive doors.

  “Maman? She returns?” Philippa breathed in shock. “You didn’t tell me Maman was here with you,” she cried to her sister.

  “She’s here,” Rowena said and gave a pained shrug. “I suppose it was selfish of me, but I thought I would keep you to myself for a time, since she was hunting with the bishop. As for expecting her now, I didn’t. Something else must be bringing her back to Graistan, for my message to the hunters has only just left our walls.”

  “Philippa? Philippa? Where is my love!”

  The call echoed around the hall even before the slight woman dressed in mud-stained gowns of green and gray stepped past the screens. Philippa looked at her mother. Despite that Edith of Benfield was nigh on two score, her form was yet girlishly slim. The years had dimmed Philippa’s recall of how alike she and her mother were. From this distance the only difference Philippa could see was that her mother’s hair was a darker shade of golden beneath Edith’s plain, white wimple.

  As Edith caught sight of the one she sought, her face came to life with joy. “Philippa!” she cried as she launched herself across the room. When she reached the high table, she knelt beside the bench to embrace her child.

  Confusion tore through Philippa. In the place of the excitement she always expected to feel upon this reunion with her mother there was only the anger that had plagued her since this morn. Against it, all she could think was why her mother had wed her to one such as Roger.

  Edith didn’t seem to notice that her joy wasn’t returned. Her eyes, their color owning more green than either of her daughters’ eyes, glinted with happy tears. “Philippa, my love,” she murmured as she stroked her daughter’s arm.. “Oh, my darling, I cannot believe it’s you. Why, I almost didn’t believe that young cleric when he told me you were already at Graistan. We didn’t expect you for days. Would that I’d know you were here! If I had I’d have been here to greet you.

  “Let me look at you,” Edith continued, easing back onto her heels. She studied her child for a long moment, then lifted a hand to stroke her daughter’s cheek.

  Within Philippa, pain warred mightily with the part of her that needed so to be loved. The pain won. She turned her face to the side to avoid the caress. “Enough, Maman. You’re making a spectacle of yourself.”

  The older woman gasped. “God save me, but it’s true,” she whispered. “I didn’t believe your lord husband when he said you hate me, but now I see the proof upon your face. Nay!” she cried out. “Nay, I won’t let that be true. It’s you,” she rose onto her knees to stare past Philippa at Rowena. “You’ve done this,” she accused, hatred searing the edges of her words. “What foul lies have you told Philippa that might destroy her love for me?”

  Astonishment tore through Philippa. “Maman!” she cried in protest, glancing at Rowena as she spoke.

  Her sister’s expression was icy, the blue of her eyes as cold and clear as a winter pond. “Madam,” Rowena said, “you’ll have a care with your insults in my house.”

  Edith’s face tightened into a matching coldness. “Do you think to tease aye, my ladys and false humility from me when I’m so close to destroying all your ambitions? In another day or two, what rightfully belongs to my daughter will be restored to her, leaving that fine lord to whom your father married you with none of what he expected you to inherit. Will he still want you then? I think not. Aye, I wager that within the month you’ll be creeping back to that convent where you belong.”

  “Maman!” Philippa cried, shocked by the venom pouring from her dam’s mouth. Where was the mother she remembered from childhood, the one who’d showered love and care upon her?

  “I warned you,” Rowena retorted, her words chiseled from stone as she spoke over her sister. “Take yourself from my hall, or would you rather I have the porter remove you?”

  “Nay,” Edith cried, grabbing for Philippa’s hands. “Nay, don’t let her separate us,” she pleaded of her elder daughter. “Oh, sweetling, it’s been so long and I am so hungry for your company.”

  Confusion made Philippa’s head spin. None of this made any sense to her. Was everything she remembered of her mother nothing more than a dream, concocted to help her survive her life at Lindhurst? “How can you be the loving mother you portray to me?” she cried. “Not once in all the time of our separation have you come to see me. You cannot know how I cried for you, but you never even sent a m
essage.”

  Startled, Edith leaned back from her. “But, I do send you missives. I send a letter every month, even though you return each one to me having never opened it. Your husband tells me this is because you hate me and despise my lifestyle at Benfield. You cannot know how your rejection has hurt me, or how hard I’ve struggled to believe it couldn’t be true. Once Benfield died and I was at last free to come to you, I begged your lord to let me visit. He said you wanted nothing to do with me.”

  Understanding flowed through Philippa, so complete she nearly sighed. But, of course this is what Roger would have said. Roger had done everything he could to destroy her relationship with her mother. “I said nothing of the sort,” she said softly. “Indeed, I saw not one word of any of the messages you sent me.”

  Edith’s mouth gaped. Her gaze flickered across her daughter’s face, then her eyes narrowed. “What is this?” she said, her voice low and harsh.

  “Roger is very jealous and cannot bear that I might love anyone but him,” Philippa offered in explanation. “Nor, I think, did he want any interference in his ownership of me,” she added with a sigh.

  “You cannot mean that he hurts you,” Edith gasped.

  “Hurts her?” Rowena retorted on a breath of scorn. “You should see the pretty belt of scars he’s laid on her midsection. I always thought you favored Philippa, Maman. If that’s true, how could you have wedded her to such a monster?”

  “Nay,” Edith breathed, trying to deny Rowena’s claim even as she paled in shock. “Nay, you lie. Roger is a handsome knight, noble and true, who values my precious child for her delicacy. He cherishes her for the refinement and civility she brings to his hall. This he’s told me, himself. You’re spewing these lies only because you’re jealous of her.”

  Hysterical laughter crowded up in Philippa’s throat. “She isn’t jealous of me,” she said. “I’m jealous of her. Her husband is gentle and kind, and loves her dearly.”