Jemma giggled and even Penelope smiled as she looked over at her mother and aunt. Even at their advanced age, they gossiped and teased as if they were young girls again. She would miss them very much when they returned home and left her here, alone, to face a new future. She tried not to think of the moment when her entire family would leave her.
“Whatever it is, and wherever it is, my sword is still lodged in its eye,” she said, her smile fading. “I want my sword back.”
Jemma’s head snapped up. “Dunna go back to the swamp to get it,” she warned. “Have de Shera make another one for ye. I wouldna risk me life trying to retrieve something that can be just as easily replaced.”
Penelope sighed, sorrowful at the loss of the sword her father had given her, and returned her attention to the window. She could hear seagulls crying, having come over the mountain from the bay on the other side. They were riding the drafts and swooping down on potential food in the bailey. As she rolled over onto her belly, there was a knock at the chamber door and she leapt up, moving to open it. It was nearing the nooning hour so she was hoping it was food. Lifting the iron latch, she opened the heavy oak door.
The small corridor outside was dim but her focus immediately found a small, dark-haired girl standing well back from the doorway. Looking at the girl, Penelope immediately realized two things; that there was no food in the girl’s hands and that she had an obviously pregnant belly. She was dressed in simple clothing, leading Penelope to believe it was a servant.
“What is it?” she asked.
The girl blinked as if startled by the question. She took a step back as if fearful of Penelope, but then suddenly lifted her hand and thrust a bundle of pale fabric in her direction.
“I… I thought you would like this,” she said, her voice quivering with fright. “M-my brother said you were getting married and… and… this was my mother’s.”
Penelope was confused. “Your brother?”
The girl nodded unsteadily. “He said you were his bride.”
Penelope peered more closely at the girl; she was very small and very pregnant, and it began to occur to her who it might be; my sister is eight months pregnant with her first child. Realization dawned and, with a start, Penelope came away from the door, turning to her mother.
“Mamma!” she hissed. “Come quickly!”
Jordan was off her chair, scurrying to the door. Penelope, her eyes wide, gestured towards the girl in the corridor. Jordan looked at the young woman curiously and then to Penelope as if expecting more of an explanation as to why she had been called over. Penelope’s gaze lingered on her mother a moment, hesitantly, before returning her attention to the girl.
“Are you Lord de Shera’s sister, then?” she asked timidly. Since she was so terrible with tact or gentleness, she had called to her mother. She needed help in the face of the nervous and terrified young girl. “He… he told me you that you were here at Rhydilian.”
The girl had backed away nearly to the stairs, looking fearfully between Jordan and Penelope. The ball of fabric in her hand was still extended.
“Aye,” she whispered. “I have come to… to bring you this. It belonged to my mother.”
Jordan, seeing a child who was very pregnant, tried not to gasp at the sight. She was shocked by it. Being gentle and sweet and motherly by nature, she carefully moved towards the skittish young girl.
“Why, what is it that ye’ve brought us, child?” she asked, her manner kind and soothing. “What is yer name, lass?”
The young girl wanted to back away but the steps were behind her so, for the moment, she held her ground as Jordan came close.
“Tacey,” she murmured, her voice quaking pitifully. “My name is Tacey. This was my mother’s wedding cap. My brother said I should bring it to you.”
Jordan smiled encouragingly as she reached out, very carefully, and took it from her. She unfurled the wad of silk and pearls. “’Tis beautiful, it is,” she said gently, holding it up to get a look at it. “Have ye been keeping it safe all these years?”
The Lady Tacey de Shera ap Gruffydd nodded, her dark hair flapping down over her dark eyes, but she remained silent and nervous. A tiny woman with bird-like arms and quick movements, Jordan smiled sweetly at her.
“Yer mother would have been very touched tae see ye take such good care of it,” she said kindly. “Would ye like tae come in and visit with us, lass? Come along, now. Since ye are tae be kin, we would like tae come tae know ye.”
Jordan was able to reach out and grasp the girl gently by her very slender arm. Tacey, torn between her innate fear of people and the lure of a kind, motherly voice, allowed herself to be directed towards the chamber. She was dragging her feet, however, very timid and nervous. She spent so much of her time alone that being around people terrified her, and being around strangers made her want to faint.
But she permitted Jordan to carefully pull her into the chamber, her eyes darting about fearfully. When she saw Jemma, she nearly bolted but Jordan held her firm. In fact, she pulled her towards the hearth where they were sewing on the big silk dress.
“We were just sewing Penny’s wedding dress,” she said. “This is me cousin, Lady Jemma. Do ye sew, lass?”
Tacey didn’t even know what to say; she was being pushed around by a well-meaning woman with a heavy Scots accent. Jordan gently sat the girl down in a chair that Penelope had pulled up and Jemma was already bending over her, handing her needle and thread.
“Ye can sew the sleeve,” Jemma said in a gentle tone that was much different from her usually-aggressive manner. She was very good with babies and children. “See how the gold thread has come unwound? Just follow the pattern around the sleeve and re-stitch it. It will be simple.”
Tacey took the needle, dumbly, looking at the sleeve in front of her as Jemma pointed out the repair work. All the while, she was quivering in fright but there was something about these women that instinctively put her at ease. They were very kind and very gentle with her, something that had been missing for most of her life and especially as of late. She’d hardly seen a soul in over a year other than her brother and her brother’s knights. Now, here she was in the midst of strange women and hardly knew how to behave.
So, very hesitantly, she lifted the needle, peering at the sleeve and really having no idea what to do. When she looked up at Jordan and Jemma, they were smiling encouragingly at her. She swallowed hard.
“I… I have not sewn much,” she said. “I am afraid I might make a terrible mistake.”
Her voice was so small and young-sounding, and she seemed so very lost and bewildered. Jordan’s heart ached for the girl as she sat down beside her.
“Nonsense,” Jordan said firmly. “Ye canna make a mistake. All ye need tae do is stitch in and out, in and out, and follow the pattern. Here, I will show ye.”
Carefully, she took the needle and fabric from Tacey and began to carefully stitch as an example to Tacey. Tacey watched with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity, glancing up at Jemma and Penelope and noting the kind expressions on their faces. She was coming to realize these women were trying very hard to be kind to her. When Jordan handed the material and thread back to her, she took it timidly.
“Are you sure you want me to help you?” she asked, looking at the women around her. “I would feel terrible if I damaged the dress. I would never forgive myself.”
She sounded so very beaten and sad. Penelope sat on the floor next to her, gazing up into the small, fine-featured face.
“Of course I want you to help,” she said. “You are Bhrodi’s sister, are you not? Think what it would mean to me to wear a dress you helped to sew. It would make you part of the wedding ceremony, would it not? That makes it special.”
Tacey gazed down into Penelope’s lovely face, studying it closely for the first time. When Bhrodi had come to her last evening and informed her that she would soon have a sister, Tacey was understandably surprised. And she was understandably anxious. But within the first fe
w moments of knowing Penelope and her mother and aunt, she was coming to see that they were all very lovely and kind women. Her fear of the new situation, and of these unfamiliar women, was subsiding somewhat. She swallowed hard, struggling to summon her courage.
“I… I have not sewed in a few years,” she admitted. “I was never very good at it.”
Penelope was inspecting the sleeve in Tacey’s hand. “Nor am I,” she said. “That is why my mother and aunt are doing the sewing. Surely you must be good at other things?”
Tacey could feel herself warming to the conversation although it was difficult; she’d spent so much of her life in isolation because of her rare royal status that she’d hardly had the practice in social situations. She was a young woman literally locked in a tower for her own safety.
“I do like to draw,” she said hesitantly. “And I speak four languages. I also play the harp and sing, but it is difficult to play these days because… because….”
She was indicating her big belly and Penelope smiled, trying desperately to put the frightened girl at ease. “You must be very excited about the baby,” she said. “When is he due to arrive?”
The faint glimmer of warmth in Tacey’s eyes faded and she averted her eyes, looking at her lap. “I… I am not entirely certain.”
Jordan and Jemma, who had birthed sixteen children between them, were listening carefully. “What do ye mean ye are’na certain?” Jordan wanted to know. “What does the physic say?”
Tacey seemed to shrink, her eyes riveted to her belly. “There was a physic at first and he thought mayhap in early summer,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But he was not certain.”
Jordan and Jemma passed concerned glances. “What do ye mean?” Jordan continued, trying to be gentle but genuinely concerned. “Do ye not recall when ye had yer last menses? The physic would know based upon that.”
Tacey was still staring at her lap. Then, she lifted a boney hand to flick away a tear that had made its way onto her cheek.
“My… my menses… they do not come anymore,” she said, confused by the question and trying very hard not to weep. “When I married my husband last year, he only… he was only fifteen years of age, you see, and… and he was killed and… I have been here ever since.”
Jordan, Jemma, and Penelope were all looking at each other with various stages of unease. Penelope was simply confused and concerned over the girl in general but Jordan and Jemma, as the older women, could see much more than that. Tacey ap Gruffydd seemed very lost and forlorn, and incredibly neglected. Moreover, it seemed that she really didn’t know anything about her pregnancy, or even how it physiologically happened. Was it possible she didn’t even know the reality of how a woman became pregnant? Based upon those observations, Jordan could feel the rage building in her heart. Who could have done such a terrible thing to this tiny little woman? The mothering instinct began to run wild.
“Has no one tended ye, lass?” Jordan asked softly, daring to put a hand on Tacey’s dark head. “Has no one bothered tae talk tae ye about this?”
Tacey appeared confused. “I… I do not know,” she said. “The physic told me I was pregnant and he told me I would soon have a son.”
Jordan was stumped. “But no one else?” she asked. “Has no one taken care of ye?”
Tacey nodded firmly, wiping away the tears on her cheeks. “My brother has provided very well for me,” she insisted, trying to sound as if she wasn’t totally alone and discarded. “I have a comfortable chamber and good food. And he comes to talk to me every day so I am not lonely.”
That wasn’t enough for Jordan; the entire situation was unacceptable. She stroked the girl’s dark hair to give her some measure of comfort that had evidently been sorely lacking. She couldn’t help herself.
“But has anyone tended ye?” she wanted to know. “Has anyone looked at the babe tae see if he thrives? Has anyone checked on ye tae make sure ye thrive?”
Tacey shook her head, daring to look up at the host of concerned faces around her. “Nay,” she said. “But I am well and the babe moves around. He is well, too.”
“But who will come when it is time to deliver the babe?”
Tacey looked completely bewildered by the question. “My brother has a surgeon for his men,” she said. “He will be here.”
Jordan was outraged. “To deliver a baby?”
Tacey nodded hesitantly and with that, Jordan looked at Jemma, biting off words of anger. She did, however, throw up her hands in exasperation. And then she could remain silent no longer.
“I canna believe what I am hearing,” she said to Jemma. “Did ye hear the lass?”
Jemma was as disgusted as her cousin. “She is no more than a bairn herself,” she said. “She needs someone to look after her. Who would leave this child to fend for herself? And who wants a smelly old barber delivering the babe?”
“Outrageous!”
“Terrible!”
Penelope watched her mother and aunt go into a private huddle. They were speaking in Gaelic, obviously about Tacey, hissing and whispering, and casting long glances at the young woman. Tacey watched them with great concern, fearful that she had said or done something wrong. When Penelope glanced at Tacey and saw the expression on her face, she hastened to reassure her.
“They are always like this,” she said, grinning to ease the girl’s anxiety. “They have sixteen children between them and they think they know everything about babies. I suppose they do.”
Tacey was eased, somewhat. Penelope’s manner soothed her a bit. “I would like to know something,” she said timidly. “I would like to know how to tend him when he is born.”
Penelope’s smile faded. “Has no one told you anything?”
Tacey shook her head. “There are only men around me,” she said. “What do they know?”
“No female servants?”
“My brother does not like them at Rhydilian. He says they are disruptive.”
Now it was Penelope’s turn to be surprised and mildly outraged. She turned to her mother and aunt.
“Did you hear what she said?” she asked. “She said there are no womenfolk here at the castle at all. No one to help her or tell her how to tend the child.”
That was it for Jordan and Jemma. The older women set down all of their sewing implements and grabbed for their cloaks. Penelope and Tacey watched them mutter and grumble to each other as they donned capes. It was clear that they had a mission to attend to; what it could possibly be was anyone’s guess. But Penelope thought she might have an inkling.
“We shall return,” Jordan said, forcing a smile at Tacey because she looked so pale and frightened. “Take heart, lass. We shall make sure ye are well tended and that the babe is well tended when he comes.”
Tacey was nearly beside herself with anxiety. “But… but I do not want to be any trouble,” she said. “Please do not bother my brother with anything. I do not want him to think I have done something wrong.”
Jordan patted the young girl on the head. “Ye haven’t done anything wrong, lass,” she said. “And we will make sure to take care of yer brother.”
The last words were spoken rather ominously.
*
Bhrodi had no idea what he was returning to when the hunting party returned from their very successful jaunt. It was close to sunset and although the meat his men carried on their steeds would not be for this meal, it would make fine provisions for the feast on the morrow.
As the sons of de Wolfe returned to their encampment and Bhrodi’s men disbursed, Bhrodi headed into the keep. He found that he was very eager to see Penelope. She was all he had thought of most of the day, an unusual occurrence. Usually, his mind was on his tasks or other important items. To have his attention garnered by a woman was something that hadn’t happened in two years. He’d missed it.
Penelope’s brothers, Patrick and Edward and Thomas, had accompanied him on the wedding hunt. They seemed like decent men, but of course it was hard to tell co
nsidering they looked at Bhrodi as if he was a thief to steal their sister. Patrick, an enormous knight with pale green eyes, seemed to be the most amiable, but frankly, Bhrodi was a little intimidated by him. The man’s size alone had him leery, and his fists were as big as a man’s head, so Bhrodi kept a civil conversation with him and tried not to get within arm’s length should Patrick have an ulterior motive with his sister’s intended.
It was an odd sensation, really, for Bhrodi had never been intimidated by any man, ever. Even now, as he walked towards the keep, he found himself chuckling about his fear of Sir Patrick. The Wolfe certainly had produced sons worthy of his legend. Bhrodi hoped he would do the same someday.
But the smile faded from his lips quickly enough. Upon entering the keep, the first thing Bhrodi saw was a female serving woman in the smaller feasting hall. The woman was scrubbing the worn, chipped table that was the centerpiece of the hall. Confused, Bhrodi took a few steps into the hall itself to realize there were two more women inside; one was on her hands and knees, washing the floor corner where the dogs liked to sleep and the other one was cleaning out the hearth itself. There were clouds of ashes coming forth.
Bewildered, Bhrodi looked around to make sure he was even in the right castle. It looked like his but it certainly didn’t smell like it. The dog and feces smell had nearly been erased. With a furrowed brow, he backed out of the hall and took the spiral steps to the next level where there were two chambers; his and his sister’s. He peered inside his sister’s chamber only to see that it was completely empty. Tacey wasn’t anywhere to be found, and he quickly realized the entire third floor was empty.
Now he was truly puzzled as well as concerned. He took the steps two at a time as he made his way to the top floor where he had given his bride and her family free reign. The moment he hit the upper landing, he could hear the voices of women – heavy Scots accents mostly. He knew it was Penelope’s mother and aunt; he’d come to know them briefly over the past two days and had seen that they were very practical, mothering women. But cursory observations were as close as he had gotten with them. When he finally poked his head inside of the chamber where Penelope had been sleeping, he was hit by an astonishing sight.
The Original de Wolfe Pack Complete Set: Including Sons of de Wolfe Page 289