My Favorite Things

by Lynsay Sands

  Odel stared at Tildy uncertainly as she tried to discern exactly to which fault the woman was referring. Was Tildy implying her father had lied? That seemed the obvious answer, since her aunt now stood before her, not looking the least bit dead.

  “You’re named after me. Did you know that?” Tildy asked cheerfully.

  Odel blinked, distracted from her thoughts. “I am? But your name is—”

  “Matilda Odel,” Tildy told her promptly. Her expression softened affectionately as she reached out to brush a stray strand of hair off Odel’s cheek. “And I was so looking forward to being your aunt. But of course, then there was that riding accident, and—” She shrugged.

  “The accident?” Odel asked with a frown.

  “The one that ended my earthly life,” Matilda said impatiently.

  “You mean the accident did kill you?” Odel squeaked.

  “Aye. In my prime, too,” Matilda murmured tragically, then sighed and straightened her shoulders. “Alas, such is life. Anyway, I have been watching out for you all these years as a godmother should, but I couldn’t interfere before. Vlaster said it wasn’t—”

  “Who is Vlaster?” Odel interrupted absently, her gaze shifting to the door. It wasn’t that far away. If she could just distract this madwoman for a moment . . .

  “Oh, he’s my supervisor.” Odel glanced back to see the woman peer at the floor as if in search of something. “He is around here somewhere. He probably headed straight for the keep. He dislikes the cold, you see.”

  “I do see,” Odel said carefully, easing a step to the side and a little closer to the door.

  “Aye.” Matilda made a face. “He was none too pleased to be coming down here at this time of year, but your case has reached a rather crisis point.”

  “Yes,” Odel agreed, taking another sidling step.

  “I was able to convince him, thank goodness.”

  “Of what?” Odel took another step.

  “Why, that your father’s treatment of you had made you afraid of love. That without some serious intervention, he will have succeeded in his efforts to make you as bitter and lonely as he himself was.” The woman explained herself patiently, then beamed at her. “But ’twill be all right now. I am here, specially sent to see you happy.”

  Odel paused and stared at the woman in shock. “Are you implying, my lady, that you are some sort of guardian angel?”

  “Well.” She made a face. “I am not quite an angel yet. Angels don’t need canes and fairy dust.”

  “Canes and fairy dust?” Odel’s eyes widened further.

  “Aye. I am just a godmother, a fairy godmother. I need a little help performing my miracles,” she admitted unhappily, then brightened. “Though if I succeed at helping fifty of my wards, I shall be graduated to angel.”

  “And what number am I?” Odel asked, curious despite thinking the woman quite mad.

  Matilda winced, her answer coming reluctantly. “You are my first. I have been in training up until now, you see.”

  “Well, that figures,” Odel muttered to herself.

  “Never fear, though. I graduated at the top . . . Well, close to the top of my . . . I didn’t fail,” Tildy ended finally. She sighed and took Odel’s arm, urging her toward the door Odel had been so eager to escape through just moments before. “Never mind that. All will be well. But there is much to do.”

  “Much to do with what?” Odel asked warily as her “guardian” dragged open the doors. Sunlight and a crisp winter breeze immediately washed over them.

  “With you, dear. I am here to find you a husband.”

  “Find me a husband?” Odel paused and stiffened at the claim. That was the last thing she had expected—and the very last thing she wanted. “I have no need of a husband.”

  “Of course you do, dear. Oh, my goodness, yes. One cannot procreate alone, you know. A man is needed for that chore.”

  Odel flushed, then paled in turn. “But I do not wish to procreate.”

  “Of course you do. ’Tis your duty. As the Bible says, ‘Go forth and multiply’ and all that. Yes, yes, it does and so you shall.”

  “But I am not even betrothed, I—”

  “Aye, I know. Most remiss of your father. Terribly selfish, too, keeping you chained to him so. He wanted to keep you all to himself no doubt, but we shall fix that. We will have you betrothed and married off in no time.”

  “But—”

  “Now, I’ll have no arguing from you. I know your father insisted on your staying at his side until he died, but he’s gone. And it is my job to look out for you now. I do so want to attain angel status—they have wings, you know—and after you I will only have forty-nine to go.” Tildy’s gaze settled on her determinedly. “But I do have something of a time limit. I have till Christmas to see you happy and married.”

  Odel stiffened. “Which is it?”

  Tildy blinked. “Which is what?”

  “Which are you supposed to make me? Happy or married?” she snarled, then turned to march across the bailey. Her heart was pounding something fierce, just as it had over the years when her father had raised his voice and his hand to her. Only this time was different. She wasn’t feeling fear. Instead, she was furious.

  She had spent the last twenty-five years under her father’s power being ordered about. Every wish, every desire she had ever had, had been belittled or thwarted by him. She had no intention of putting herself back under another man’s thumb.

  “But, my dear!” Matilda rushed after her, obviously alarmed. “Every girl wants to be married. Every girl wants a husband, children, and a home.”

  “I am not every girl,” Odel snapped, then suddenly remembered that this woman was quite mad. There was nothing to fear here; she didn’t need to fear losing her freedom. Not truly. The thought made her pause.

  She was free. A small laugh slipped from her lips, then she picked up her pace again and began to hurry up the steps to the keep. She was free! Why, she could go inside right now and . . . and sit by the fire if she wished. Her father would not be there yelling at her to fetch him this or do that. She could, well, she could do whatever she wanted. For the most part.

  “Oh, my!”

  At Matilda’s exclamation, Odel paused just inside the door of the keep. She did not have to think hard to figure out what had brought that gasp from her lips. Roswald Castle had done it. She felt all of her excitement of a moment ago slip away as she peered at the great hall. Her father’s presence was everywhere. It pervaded the keep as if he were not truly dead at all. Odel peered about and sighed. “It is rather grim and gloomy, is it not?”

  “Aye.” Matilda nodded solemnly.

  “Father never liked the sun much,” Odel muttered unhappily as her eyes adjusted to the dim interior. “He always insisted the arrow slits be covered with leather, no matter the season, and—”

  “There is only one chair in here,” Matilda pointed out as if Odel had not noticed.

  “Aye,” Odel agreed unhappily. In the whole huge great hall, the only stick of furniture was her father’s large chair by the fire. He had always insisted the tables and benches used at mealtimes be collapsed and leaned against the walls lest some “lazy loafer waste time sitting about.”

  “And there are not even any rushes on the floor,” Matilda added with amazement.

  “Father said that was just a lazy servant’s invention to keep from having to scrub the floor daily.”

  “Scrub the floor? But these stone floors are so cold without rushes that the air is seeping right through my slippers.”

  “I know,” Odel almost moaned the two words. “I have always wished it were otherwise.” She glanced at Matilda. “If you really wished to make me happy, you could send me a wagonload of rushes, not some useless bossy husband.”

  “That, my dear, is a very good idea,” Matilda decided grimly. Immediately, she tugged open the small pink sack that hung from her wrist. She slipped her hand inside, pulled it out a moment later, then raised the closed ha
nd in front of her face. After muttering a couple of sentences, she opened her fingers and began to turn in a circle, blowing, as she did, on the glittering dust that rested in her palm.

  Odel was busy gaping at this, her mouth hanging open like a fish, when Matilda’s little spin brought them face-to-face. Finding herself in the center of a small cloud of the glittering substance, Odel gasped in surprise, then quickly closed her eyes and mouth, and tried to step back out of the way. She was too late. She had already breathed in a good deal of the dust, and it sent her into a fit of coughing and sneezing.

  “Oh, dear!” Matilda was at her side and thumping her back at once. “I am sorry, my dear. I had no intention of blowing it in your face. I am sorry.”

  “What are you doing?” Odel choked out, straightening slowly as her sneezes and coughs subsided.

  “Aye. Well, I did mention that where angels could perform miracles without it, I need it to—”

  “Oh, my God!”

  “What is it?” Matilda asked, then turned to survey the room at which the girl was now gaping. “Oh.” She grimaced uncertainly. “Too much, do you think? Perhaps I should have used a little less fairy dust, hmmm?”

  “Fairy dust?” Odel repeated faintly, her eyes sliding over the room in shock. The floor was now covered with a clean carpet of rushes, and the walls were so white that their brightness almost hurt the eyes. As well, several huge tapestries now adorned them. Odel had never before seen such beautiful, rich weaves and she marveled at them briefly before taking in the rest of the room.

  The lone chair that had sat by the fire was no more, yet the room was full of furnishings. Several large carved chairs sat grouped around the fire, huge soft cushions on each, making them look remarkably comfortable. The trestle tables and benches that had been collapsed and leaning against the wall were now set up, long white cloths covering the tables’ rough surfaces. Two dainty pillows on the center of the bench of the uppermost table denoted where she and Matilda should sit.

  “My God,” Odel breathed, then whirled on Tildy accusingly. “You do have magic!”

  Matilda sighed. “Aye, dear. Did I not say so? I told you I have fairy dust to help—Oh! There you are, Vlaster.” Bending, she picked up a cat that slid through the open door behind them.

  “Vlaster?” Odel echoed, then her eyebrows rose as she recalled Tildy’s earlier mention of the name. “Your superior is a cat?”

  “At the moment, yes.”

  “At the moment?” Odel repeated. She started to turn away in dismissal, only to pause as her gaze took in the room again. Moaning, she closed her eyes and swayed slightly. “This cannot be happening.”

  “Are you feeling faint?” Tildy asked with alarm, letting the cat drop to the floor to put a supporting arm around her. “Just breathe deeply. Breathe.”

  Odel obediently took a couple of deep breaths, relieved when some of the tightness in her chest eased. The buzzing that had been filling her ears began to fade.

  “Better?” Matilda asked solicitously. Odel nodded.

  “Aye, but—”

  “But?”

  “You have to put this back the way it was.”

  Matilda frowned. “Do you not like it? I could—”

  She shook her head, her eyes opening and scanning the room. “I like it, but what will the servants think? They will know something is amiss.”

  “Oh, ta-ra,” Matilda laughed and waved her cane in a vague circle. “There! They shall all now believe that my servants did it.”

  “You have servants?”

  Matilda stilled and frowned at that, then peered down at the cat she had set down. “Vlaster?”

  In the blink of an eye, the cat was gone. In its place stood a man. Tall and thin, dressed in a frock and brais of black, he wiggled a black mustache at her, then ran one hand through his hair as black as the cat’s fur had been.

  “Oh, no no no.” Odel began to back slowly away, her head shaking.

  “Aye. It is perfect,” Matilda said gaily. “My dear, meet my manservant, Vlaster. Vlaster, my goddaughter, Odel.”

  “Manservant?” There was a touch of irritation in the man’s voice, but Odel was too busy shaking her head to notice.

  “Nay,” Odel repeated faintly and Matilda hesitated, frowning.

  “Aye, I suppose he alone could not have achieved all this, could he?” Turning, she marched to the door, peered out into the bailey, glanced around briefly, then stilled suddenly and smiled in satisfaction. Putting her hand to her mouth, she began making the most god-awful quacking sounds.

  “What are you doing now?” Odel hissed, hurrying to her side. “You sound like a—” Her eyes widened, and she stepped back from the door abruptly. Six of the brown female ducks that had been penned by the stables, came waddling through the keep door. “—duck,” she finished in amazement, then frowned and closed her eyes, waving her hand impatiently in front of her face as Tildy unleashed another cloud of glittering dust.

  Despite having seen some wholly inexplicable events in the past few moments, Odel was not at all prepared to find six women of varying ages and sizes suddenly standing where the ducks had been but a moment before. Each of them was wearing a gown the same dull gray-brown as the ducks’ feathers. The ducks were no longer in sight.

  “Oh,” Odel groaned. Her hand went to her forehead in horror as her own thoughts rolled around in her head.

  “Mayhap you should lay down, my dear. You appear to have gone quite white.”

  “Nay, nay. I . . .” Odel forced her hands down and her eyes open, but the moment her gaze took in the new room, the furniture, the six maids, and the tall, dark Vlaster, she closed her eyes again. “Aye, mayhap I should.”

  “Aye, I think so,” Matilda said gently. The older woman took Odel’s arm to urge her toward the stairs to the upper floor. “A nice little nap will do you the world of good. I will wake you when it is time to sup. No doubt you have been sitting up by your father’s bedside since he fell ill, and are exceedingly weary. A little nap, then a nice meal, will set everything right.”

  “Aye,” Odel grasped eagerly at that explanation of the odd things happening in her home; she was hallucinating. “I am just over-tired. A little nap, then something to eat and everything will be back to normal.”

  “Well, I hope not,” Matilda muttered a little wryly. She opened the door to Odel’s room for her.

  “How did you know which room was mine?” Odel asked curiously, but as she entered, she had a sneaking suspicion. At what she saw, she quickly turned her back to the room.

  “What is it?” Matilda asked with alarm, peering past her. Understanding crossed Tildy’s face as the woman took in the large comfy-looking bed, the cushioned chairs by the fire, and the lush rose-colored curtains that hung above the bed. The chamber looked warm and cozy. It had not looked like that when she had left it this morning. Roswald had been too mean and cheap to see to his daughter’s comfort.

  “Hmmm,” Tildy said with a shrug. “I did use quite a bit of dust . . . but this just saves me from having to tend to it now. Are you not happy with your new room?”

  Eyes still squeezed firmly shut, Odel merely began to chant under her breath. “This is not happening, this cannot be happening.”

  “There, there,” Matilda murmured, turning Odel back around and steering her toward the bed. “A nice nap is just what you need.”

  “This is not happening,” Odel said under her breath, collapsing onto the bed when Matilda pushed her against it. “This cannot be happening.”

  Chapter Two

  It was happening all right.

  Odel stared around the redecorated great hall and shook her head for at least the hundredth time since Matilda had arrived. She had taken her nap, but things had not changed back to normal—and it had been a day and a night. The walls were still a smooth bright white, decorated with colorful tapestries; the floor rustled with rushes; and furniture filled every corner of the room. More than that, now the furniture was full of people. There
were the usual servants at the nooning meal, the soldiers, and so on, but now the keep also had several guests. At least two dozen men lined either side of the head table. There had been half a dozen of them at sup last night—all young, wealthy, and single lords who had arrived while she slept. Another twenty had arrived since then, riding gaily into Roswald as if by invitation.

  Matilda called them suitors; Odel called them pains in the arse. She had no intention of getting married. Worse, she felt extremely uncomfortable under their obvious flattery. Even the lovely new gowns they praised—she had woken up to find her chests overflowing—had not eased her discomfort. Odel was not used to the presence of others. She had spent so long restricted to the company of her father and his servants, she had no idea what to say to these preening visitors—handsome though they might be.

  “Are you all right? You look flushed,” Matilda leaned close to murmur.

  Shifting where she sat, Odel sighed unhappily. “I am just a bit warm.” It was true. Frowning slightly, she glanced toward the doors leading outside and announced, “In fact, I think I shall go for a short walk once the meal is over.”

  “What a lovely idea,” Tildy said cheerfully, which immediately made Odel suspicious. She didn’t have long to wait before her suspicions were borne out. Matilda added, “I am sure that Lord Brownell or Lord Trenton would love to join you.”

  “Do please stop trying to push those men on me, Tildy. I have no interest in them,” Odel said wearily.

  Matilda’s face fell like that of a child who has been refused a treat. Odel felt guilt pinch at her and she sighed, but she did not retract her words. She really had no interest in marrying. The sooner Tildy accepted that, the better.

  “THERE IS ROSWALD up ahead, my lord.”

  Michel blinked the snowflakes out of his eyes and glanced up at Eadsele’s words. His gaze narrowed on the castle rising out of the stand of trees ahead. Yes, Roswald would suffice. The mounts were tiring and he needed to find a place to rest them. It was an unexpected occurrence, seeing as it was only past midday and they had only set out for the last leg of their journey home several hours before, but the horses were definitely blowing and Michel wasn’t the sort who would run his animals into the ground. They would stop here until morning.