Overruled by Fate

by Leila Snow

  Dismounting his horse, he strode purposefully to the door of the shack, pushing past sheafs of nameless plants that hung from the exposed rafters. He raised his fist and banged loudly upon the rickety wood then impatiently he let himself in.

  The crone was bent over the fire, stirring a large iron pot that hung above it, steaming and bubbling. Once again, Geoffrey was taken aback by the juxtaposition of the grotesque ancient’s evil potions and the pleasant scent of drying herbs.

  “I wish to employ your services again, old woman,” he said directly, tossing a pouch of coins onto the nearby table.

  She turned to face him, a smug expression playing across her weathered features.

  “Do you now, my Lord?” she questioned caustically, her eyes greedily sizing up the bag. “The lady bears the Marbourne heir after all, does she?”

  “Aye,” he returned, “Thus urgency only allows time for one ampoule.”

  * * *

  Muriel did not return to her duties that day or the next. By the third day, Madeline sent Ida to her with a message enquiring as to her welfare. The girl returned saying she had only been able to speak to Muriel from the other side of the door but that the maid had assured her she was feeling better and had no needs.

  That eve Madeline descended the stairs to the great hall. As always, she braced herself for the pain of seeing Nate and Aileth seated together at the high table. She kept her eyes lowered as she was seated next to Geoffrey, and found another reason to despise him for his arrogant display as he reclined comfortably in the Lord’s seat. As soon as her son was born she intended to petition the king to have Endle’s nephew removed from Marbourne altogether.

  As the meal progressed, her babe became more unruly, squirming and kicking painfully under her ribs until Madeline’s desire to eat had completely escaped her. She rested her head against the back of the chair and stroked her belly, trying to sooth him. Geoffrey also didn’t appear to have much of an appetite as he had barely touched the food in the trencher before him.

  “I hope you are not falling ill, nephew,” Madeline said bitingly.

  “I am well,” he glared at her. “It is simply the company that bores me,” he said as he pushed back from the table and stalked from the room.

  Madeline grinned at his ill-humour.

  “Good riddance,” she heard Nate mutter across the now-empty seat.

  A few short moments later, one of the serving women approached the head table with a silver goblet.

  “Compliments of Lord Geoffrey,” she said as she placed it before Madeline. “He wished me to convey his apologies for his poor behaviour and beg you to accept this fine, imported vintage as a token of his sincerity.”

  Madeline raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps my nephew is coming to learn humility,” she chuckled as she grasped the goblet. Just then the babe kicked once again, causing her a quick intake of breath at the sharp pain and rush of nausea.

  “Give him my blessing,” she managed. “Though I think I shall not partake and indeed will retire shortly,” she said as she set the wine back down.

  The servant nodded, lifted the goblet once again and turned to leave. She paused when Aileth spoke up.

  “It would be a shame to waste such a kind offering,” she said with a smile. “Perhaps I might try it?” she asked politely.

  The serving woman nodded and handed the goblet to Aileth.

  They sat in silence for a time, each watching the minstrels as they played a merry tune. Madeline’s babe still kicked ferociously, until she finally lifted her hand to summon Ida to help her to her chambers.

  “Are you well?” Nate leaned over to ask, worry creasing his forehead.

  “Aye,” Madeline smiled at him weakly. “The babe is restless is all.”

  She watched as his eyes lowered to her belly, the look of desperate longing she read there brought her to tears.

  “I bid thee good night, Sir Nathaniel,” she said softly as she pulled herself to her feet.

  Just as she did so, she saw Aileth clutch at Nate’s sleeve.

  “Prithee husband, I begin to feel unwell,” the girl voiced. “My mouth and belly burn,” she exclaimed clutching at her face. She then held her hands up and with a terrified expression, focused on her fingers. “I cannot feel them…”

  “Aileth!” he shouted as she toppled into his lap.

  Madeline stared in a horrified pause.

  “Call the physick and the priest!” Nathaniel frantically commanded a nearby servant. “You,” he nodded to Ida, who hovered next to Madeline, “come with me.” He lifted Aileth into his arms and strode quickly towards the stairs.

  Madeline was also jarred into action and ran as fast as she was able to the kitchens, to fetch the old cook who was known to possess some healing abilities.

  Pulling the elderly woman along with her, she breathlessly made her way up the stone steps to Aileth and Nathaniel’s bedchamber. The door stood ajar and immediately Madeline saw Nate standing over the bed, surrounded by several others. He watched as Ida tried frantically to untie the laces of his wife’s dress. With a groan of impatience he pushed her away and taking his knife from its sheath, neatly slit the ribbons binding the fabric together. There was no movement from Aileth.

  “What is wrong with her?” he begged the physick, who was looking in the unconscious girl’s eyes and mouth.

  Madeline shoved the cook forward. “See what you can do,” she ordered the woman, who joined the others at the bed.

  “She yet breathes,” the old crone stated. Then laying her hand on the girl’s chest, she noted, “though her heart beats as slowly as treacle in January.”

  “But what is wrong with her?” Nathaniel bellowed.

  The physick and woman looked at each other and simultaneously shrugged their ignorance.

  The priest moved close and dipped his thumb into the silver vessel he held. Shiny with oil, he pressed it to Aileth’s closed eyes, her forehead, and chin. He intoned, “Through this holy unction and His own most tender mercy may the Lord pardon thee whatever sins or faults thou hast committed.”

  Nathaniel groaned his helplessness and clutched at his wife’s limp hand.

  Madeline longed to go to him but forced herself to remain a sorrowing observer in the doorway.

  The priest continued with the murmured prayers of the viaticum, the last rites of the dying. Because Aileth was unable to take the communion, he instead dipped his finger into the wine and dripped it between her parted lips, giving her the Lord’s blessing. When he was finished he laid his hands on her forehead. Closing his eyes, he whispered a prayer, wishing her God-speed into the kingdom of heaven.

  Just as he finished, Aileth gasped, her body made one convulsion upon the bed and then lay still. Her chest no longer rose and fell. Madeline sank to her knees, whilst Nathaniel let out a wail and begged Aileth to wake.

  Weeping, Madeline finally rose to her feet and quietly retreated to her own bedchamber, allowing Nate to grieve his wife in private.

  * * *

  Aileth’s body lay in the chapel for two days. Many came to pay their respects and light a candle for the gentle, kind woman and her unborn child. Nathaniel spent the entirety of that time hunched before the bier, his head bowed. Madeline came to check on him regularly but she did not disturb his grief, though periodically, she sent servants to him with food and ale.

  On the third morn, a mass was said for the young woman’s soul. Nathaniel knelt at the front alongside his brother-in-law. Geoffrey had been more pasty-white and unsociable than usual since Aileth’s death. Madeline felt guilty that she hadn’t given him enough credit for his affection for his sister. His face pale and withdrawn, she could see his hands trembling from where she sat.

  A short feast followed, during which Nathaniel sat at the head table, neither eating nor speaking. There was no opportunity for conversation with him as Geoffrey was seated between them. Before the meal had finished, Nathaniel rose and strode silently from the hall.

  Madeline waite
d until the guests and servants had begun to clear before she also departed. She headed immediately to the stables where she knew she would find Nate. The small procession to Cullenthorpe would depart shortly and she wished to speak with him briefly before it did.

  As she had expected, she found him in his gelding’s stall, brushing the horse vigorously. The massive warhorse nickered when he saw her and reached his nose to sniff for tidbits.

  “Nate,” she said quietly. “I am so sorry.”

  He shrugged, avoiding her gaze. “She deserved better.”

  Madeline nodded her understanding, “That’s how I felt when Endle died. He deserved so much better than I could give him.”

  “Whenever I was with her,” Nate continued, looking up at her, “I wished she was you,” he whispered.

  “She was happy, Nate,” Madeline consoled him. “She loved you and you made her happy.”

  He shook his head. “She knew. She knew all along that I loved you. She prayed every day I would come to feel the same for her.”

  “Can you honestly say you didn’t love her?” she asked pointedly.

  “Nay,” he replied thoughtfully. “I did love her after a fashion. She was a good, sweet woman.”

  Madeline smiled. “Aye, she was. And she understood that your feelings were not yours to control. This is not your fault, Nate.”

  “Then why does it feel like it?” he choked out as he left the stall and approached her. “I feel that I am to blame.”

  He sank to his knees before her and she held his shaggy head against her bosom. Softly she crooned to him and ran her fingers through his hair.

  “The pain will ease,” she assured him.

  Suddenly the babe within Madeline reminded them both of his presence with a strong kick and Nathaniel groaned, “And my poor child…”

  “Oh Nate…” she sighed, broken-hearted for him, and at a loss for words to heal his pain.

  * * *

  It had been three full moons since Nate had left to bury Aileth at Cullenthorpe and they hadn’t had word in all that time. Finally, Madeline had sent Sir Hugh to check on him. He had returned saying that the man still mourned but seemed to be managing. He satisfactorily answered all of her many questions about how he fared, if Nathaniel was eating and drinking, and if he appeared well. Though he did also tell her that Nathaniel had declined to send a message back to her. Madeline prayed that his guilt would not eat him alive or cause him to distance himself from her.

  Muriel also did not fare well. Though she had originally appeared to be healing, she had now weakened further and hadn’t risen from her bed since Aileth died. The castle was a place of sadness. With Endle and Aileth in their graves and Nathaniel gone, there was only she and Geoffrey at the high table. Madeline had taken to inviting the priest to sit with them to provide her with at least some form of conversation.

  “How does Muriel fare?” she asked Sir Gareth, as was her habit when she returned to her room following the meal.

  His brows turned down over his eyes as he answered her. “Not well, to be honest my Lady,” he confessed heavily. “She has healed from her initial afflictions but this seems more a sickness of the heart. It is as if she has lost the will to live.”

  “Do you think it is Lady Aileth’s death that has pained her so?” Madeline enquired. “She mourned deeply when Lord Endle died.”

  “She did seem to decline after she heard the sad news of Lady Aileth, but I didn’t think they were much acquainted,” he added.

  “They weren’t.” Madeline thought pensively. “After we break our fast on the morrow,” she finally said, “I would like to see her. Perhaps a visit will be cheering.”

  Sir Gareth nodded in hopeful agreement.

  I love the ground under his feet,

  and the air over his head,

  and everything he touches

  and every word he says.

  I love all his looks, and all his actions

  and him entirely and all together.

  ~Emily Bronte

  CHAPTER 30

  It was a thin, sallow-faced woman who lay on the narrow cot, when Madeline entered the maid’s chamber the following morn. For a moment she almost didn’t recognize the girl, so altered in appearance was she.

  “Good morn,” she greeted Muriel cheerily, consciously hiding her surprise behind a pleasant smile.

  “My Lady,” the maid said trying futilely to push herself up onto her elbows.

  “Nay,” Madeline said with a gesture. “Remain in bed. I have come only to see for myself how you fare.”

  The maid gave her a sad smile. “I do not deserve your concern, my Lady.”

  “Nonsense,” Madeline scoffed gently whilst eyeing the delicate bouquets of wildflowers tucked into small pewter tankards about the room. “Now do tell, who has brought you the flowers?” she asked, her eyes twinkling, inviting Muriel to share the interesting information.

  “It is Sir Gareth,” Muriel answered, a slight blush infusing her pale cheeks with a spot of colour.

  “Is it now?” Madeline answered. “How interesting. And do you have any interest in our Sir Gareth?” she asked with a conspiratory wink.

  “Only in my dreams could I be worthy of such a man,” the maid murmured sadly.

  “But you are!” Madeline exclaimed.

  “Nay, I am not,” Muriel stated bleakly.

  “Well, let us not dispute it,” Madeline smiled. “Now answer me this, do you have need of any comfort?”

  “Nay, my Lady,” the maid answered. “My only hope is that your new maid is acceptable to you.”

  “Oh, she is suitable,” Madeline replied, “Though I do miss my friend.”

  Muriel’s eyes welled up. “It would be easier to bear if you were not so kind,” she whispered through her tears.

  “What would be easier to bear?” Madeline asked confused.

  “I cannot say,” the woman said, her eyes pleading with Madeline not to ask further. “I couldn’t abide watching your estimation of me demolished.”

  “I sincerely doubt there is much that could lower your esteem in my mind,” she said seriously. “Is it a problem with a man, Muriel? Because as women we must support each other through these things. You have done so for me and I would do so for you.”

  The maid shook her head. “It started that way, my Lady,” she confessed. “But it has become so much more evil and tortuous than that.”

  Madeline walked to the door and poking her head outside, she spoke to the knight who stood there. “See to it that we are not disturbed for any reason, Sir Gareth,” she demanded, then closed the door firmly behind her.

  Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, she took the maid’s hand in her own. “I believe you have something you need to tell me, Muriel,” she said. “Whatever it is cannot be so dreadful as you believe.”

  “Oh, my Lady, but it is worse,” the other woman cried. “I am lost and beyond forgiveness. I have not only taken the life of a good man, but a woman and innocent as well.”

  Madeline caught herself before she dropped the maid’s hand in surprise. “Nay, it cannot be. I will not believe you.”

  Muriel pulled her hand from Madeline’s grasp and put it over her face. Madeline watched in shock and horror as the woman dissolved into body-wracking sobs.

  When her weeping had slowed slightly, Madeline spoke softly to her. “Tell me,” she said.

  And Muriel poured forth all the remorse and self-condemnation that she had held within since Lord Endle’s death. She told Madeline the morbid story of Geoffrey’s falsely sworn love for her and how she had been swayed to give Endle the potion. At this point she burst into tears again and an aghast Madeline could barely understand her through her choked cries.

  “I didn’t know it was poison, my Lady. I swear it,” she pleaded. “Though it changes not the outcome, for which I will eternally be held guilty. And not just Lord Endle’s death but Lady Aileth as well.”

  “But how could you have poisoned Lady Aileth when y
ou were ill in bed?” Madeline asked in stunned confusion, her head spinning in disbelief.

  “I didn’t,” the maid replied. “But I knew he would do it.”

  “Geoffrey wanted to poison his own sister?” Madeline enquired, baffled by the woman’s guilty ramblings.

  “Nay my Lady,” Muriel explained. “The poison was meant for you.”

  Madeline gasped and her hand went to her belly. “The babe,” she contemplated quietly. “He wanted to kill the heir.”

  “Aye,” the maid agreed. “He asked me to help him and when I refused he began to beat me. Sir Gareth stopped him else he would have killed me too.”

  “But surely Muriel, you see that these deaths lay at the feet of that monster,” Madeline said pensively. “I do not absolve you of all blame but you didn’t knowingly hurt anyone.”

  “If only I could take it all back,” Muriel said sadly. “I would give my own life to stop him, please believe me, my Lady.”

  “I do, Muriel. Rest easy, I do,” she comforted the woman.

  “You must leave, my Lady,” the maid urged vehemently. “You must leave Marbourne. It is not safe for you here. You must see that he will try again or he will pay someone to accomplish where he failed. He will not give up so easily.”

  “I agree,” Madeline said nodding. “And I cannot put the babe at risk. If you promise me that you will commence eating again and resolve to live, I will depart for Alwinsopp this very day.”

  “I promise my Lady. I would promise anything to encourage you to go,” the maid begged.

  “Very well. I will leave Sir Gareth here with you,” she determined.

  “Nay!” Muriel exclaimed. “You will need his protection and if I stay here, Geoffrey will kill me for sure, and I will have broken my promise to you,” she said with a small smile. “I will come with you.”

  Madeline shook her head. “You are not well enough to travel on horseback,” she pointed out.