by Speer, Flora
By then Fionna was certain she was dreaming, for Quentin had left her and she knew he wouldn’t return, not ever. Whereas, she knew Janet would never willingly allow someone else to take care of her sister if she wasn’t watching to be sure Fionna wasn’t harmed. That meant Janet couldn’t be gone, but Quentin was. Just trying to make sense of the peculiar, confusing dream was exhausting, so she gave it up.
Catherine induced her to swallow more of the poppy-laden wine. Most of the candles were snuffed until the room was pleasantly shadowy and quiet. Fionna was alone, with only Catherine left to watch over her.
Then, at last, the poppy syrup overcame her completely and the dreams stopped. Fionna slept.
“Tell me the truth.” Quentin faced Catherine in the great hall of Wortham Castle. The sun was just rising and Quentin was in full armor, prepared to depart as soon as Royce gave the word. “Will Fionna recover?”
“I believe she will,” Catherine said. “It will take weeks, perhaps months. She will need rest and good food, but there is a fair chance she can be restored to health.”
“Thank you. I know she is in the best of hands with you.” Quentin had known Catherine for several years, since shortly after her mother died and Catherine had come home from the castle where she was fostered, to assume her place as Royce’s chatelaine. He trusted her as completely as he trusted Royce, and he was well aware of Catherine’s skills as a healer.
“Do you want to leave a message for Fionna?” Catherine asked.
“There is nothing I can say – nothing I dare say.” Quentin was aware that Catherine had seen, and heard, his whispered farewell to Fionna late at night, after a maidservant had told him Janet was in her own bed and fast asleep. Oddly, he wasn’t embarrassed to have her know. Catherine
would never reveal another person’s secrets.
For a long moment Catherine regarded him out of grey-green eyes that were remarkably similar to Royce’s eyes. She said nothing more; she just placed her hands on his shoulders and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Then she left him and went to make a tender farewell to her father.
Quentin hurried down the steps to the bailey, where Braedon waited with a fresh horse from Royce’s stables for him to ride. Cadwallon was already mounted, and so were the men-at-arms who would accompany them. A few minutes later Royce appeared and they all set off on the final leg of their journey to Windsor and their meeting with King Henry.
Chapter 18
The sound of quiet laughter interspersed with women’s voices woke Fionna. She opened her eyes to see sunlight shining through small panes of pale green glass. She blinked, not believing what she beheld. But a longer second look revealed that she was not mistaken. A narrow window embrasure was set into a thick stone wall, and the window opening was glazed.
Where was she? Who would – or could – indulge in the incredible luxury of glass windows? Except for small stained glass windows in churches, every other window Fionna had ever seen was simply an opening in a wall, with wooden shutters to close during bad weather.
Then she remembered she was at Wortham Castle. She looked around curiously, moving her head with caution because she felt oddly light, as if she’d float right off the pillow if she wasn’t careful. The sensation was a bit unsettling, though it was lovely to be so warm and comfortable, to feel no fear or urgency.
Slowly Fionna took in the details of her surroundings. The walls of the room where she lay were plastered and painted in a deep shade of blue. Braziers on either side of the bed warmed the room and bed hangings of fine blue wool were drawn back to allow the heat to reach her.
The quiet voices continued. Fionna turned her head to see who was talking. Janet and Lady Catherine were side by side on a wooden chest that had a pillow on top of it to make a comfortable seat. Janet was wearing a greenish-blue wool gown and her red curls were tied back with a matching ribbon. She looked happy.
Fionna couldn’t believe her eyes. Then Janet laughed. Fionna couldn’t credit what she was hearing. She stared at her sister in astonishment. She must have made a movement that caught the attention of the two young women, for both of them looked at her.
“Ah, you are awake at last,” said Lady Catherine. She came to the bed to lay a cool hand on Fionna’s cheeks and forehead. “As I promised, Janet, the fever is completely gone.”
“Fionna. Oh, my dear.” Janet flung herself onto her sister’s body, embracing her with great enthusiasm.
“Be careful of her injured arm,” Catherine warned.
“Yes, I will. I’m sorry, Fionna. Did I hurt you? I’m just so happy to see you awake.”
“How long have I been asleep?” Fionna asked.
“Four days,” Janet answered. “At first, I feared you’d die, but Catherine promised you would live, and she was right.”
“Four days?” Fionna repeated. “So long?”
“You weren’t asleep all of that time,” Catherine said, “though I don’t expect you to remember the wakeful hours. You were very sick.”
“But Catherine saved you,” Janet said. “She has taught me so much about caring for sick or injured people. Yesterday, I assisted while she sewed up a man-at-arms who had cut himself with his own sword.”
“Thank you,” Fionna said to Catherine. “Not just for nursing me, but for being kind to my sister, too.”
“Janet and I have become friends,” Catherine said. “She has been a great help to me. Now, are you hungry?”
“Not really. It’s so pleasant just to lie here and do nothing. I know it’s sinful to be lazy, but I don’t want to move.”
“You are still feeling the aftereffects of the poppy syrup,” Catherine explained. “It will wear off now that you are awake. Some people crave the syrup even when they don’t need it any longer. I tried to give you the smallest possible dose, so we will hope you can escape that unpleasantness. Tell me, does your arm hurt?”
“Just a little.” Fionna moved her arm, testing it. “It’s stiff, but not as painful as I remember.”
“That’s because the swelling has gone down. I’m sure the two of you have much to say to each other, so I’ll leave you and Janet to your privacy. One of the maids will bring bread and broth, and I expect you to eat everything on the tray.”
“She is the most amazing girl,” Janet said when they were alone. “Catherine manages the entire castle for her father. She is so good, and kind and funny, too. She saved your life when I was certain you would die.” Janet paused on a sound that was rather like a suppressed sob.
“I’m glad you have a friend,” Fionna said.
“Wait until you see this castle!” Janet cried, quickly recovering herself, as if her worry over Fionna was fading into the past. “The tapestries in the great hall! The huge barracks for the men-at-arms! So many horses in the stables! And, oh, Fionna, the wonderful food!”
“Glazed windows instead of shutters,” Fionna murmured, adding to Janet’s list the marvel she had already noticed.
“Braziers in every room!” Janet continued. “The lowliest servant here at Wortham is warmer and better fed than you and I ever were at Dungalash – or I ever was at Abercorn. When I think of the chilblains I endured each winter, I want to cry.”
Janet’s excited account of the wonders of Wortham Castle was interrupted by the arrival of a maidservant with the tray Catherine had promised. Fionna discovered to her surprise that she was hungry, after all. She ate a large bowl of soup and a chunk of fresh bread. Then she fell asleep again, with Janet sitting on the bed, holding her hand.
It was dark when Fionna wakened. Janet was gone, and Catherine stood by the bed with a cup in her hand.
“There is no poppy syrup in this,” Catherine said, handing over the cup. “It’s only water and wine. I thought you might be thirsty. You may get out of bed tomorrow if you like. But expect to be weak at first.”
“Is Lord Royce at home?” Fionna asked. “I ought to thank him, as well as you. I owe both of you so much.”
“My father is
n’t here.” Catherine regarded her patient steadily. Though the faint hint of a smile lurked in her eyes, nothing else in her manner suggested that she knew Fionna yearned for information about anyone other than Royce. “Father and Quentin went to court together. Quentin’s men-at-arms who were here have left, too.”
“They’ve all gone.” It wasn’t a question. Fionna heaved sigh.
“Quentin, at least, is bound to return to Wortham before too long,” Catherine said. The smile in her eyes finally reached her lips. “He left his favorite horse stabled here, and I know he’ll want it back. I’m sorry to say I can’t provide any information about the other men who came at the same time you did. They were only here for the one night, and I scarcely noticed them. I didn’t even join them in the great hall while they were eating.”
“Because you were busy taking care of me,” Fionna said, wondering if it was only the horse that would draw Quentin back to Wortham.
She did feel much stronger the following day, so with Janet’s help she dressed in a simple blue wool gown that Catherine provided, and the two sisters went to the great hall for the midday meal.
Despite that tell-tale glazed window in her room, Fionna expected Wortham to be similar to Carlisle Castle. She quickly saw that Janet’s rapturous descriptions were the understated truth. How poor and barren Dungalash was in contrast to the comfort and luxury of Wortham! Even Carlisle, pleasant as it was, could not compare to Royce’s home. Gorgeous tapestries covered the walls of the great hall. Gold and silver plate was displayed on beautifully carved wooden chests set around the room. Clean rushes and sweet-scented herbs were strewn over the floors. There was a notable absence of dogs roaming about, and Fionna could detect no smell of rotting bones or of other discarded food.
All of the people Fionna saw were nicely clothed and well nourished. No wonder they were eating so heartily; it was impossible to resist the delicious food.
“If you want my opinion,” Janet whispered to Fionna, “after seeing Wortham, I can understand why King Alexander welcomes Normans into Scotland. I’ll wager he wants the Scots to become used to this kind of luxury, so they will stop protesting against the Normans.”
“Men like our brothers will never stop protesting as long as they live,” Fionna said, “They despise luxury. They’d rather live in poverty, freezing in winter and eating oatcakes, than bend the slightest bit to accommodate the king’s Norman friends.”
“The truth is, I like the Normans,” Janet said. “I always hated being cold and poorly dressed and ill fed. Though I’m sure not all Normans live this way.”
Fionna let Janet talk on, grateful that she wasn’t complaining or criticizing, and amused to hear her sister sounding so happy. Janet’s taste for comfort and luxury, starved during her years at Abercorn, was in full bloom now.
Fionna wasn’t immune to the pleasures of life at Wortham, either, but she knew it couldn’t last. She would not allow herself, or Janet, to become a burden to Royce. She was going to have to find some other place to live. There weren’t many possibilities. Without dowries, neither sister could hope to marry.
They could enter a convent but, again, without a dowry they’d have no position. They’d be relegated to servants’ status and spend their days scrubbing floors or in the laundry room. Fionna thought she could bear that life for herself, but she wanted better for Janet.
She knew women sometimes earned a living by brewing ale, but she was without funds to purchase a brewery, or to begin one. She wasn’t very nimble at a loom, so she couldn’t set herself up as a weaver and sell the cloth she made. Nor did she own a house with rooms she might rent.
The problem preyed on her mind, dampening her appetite and slowing her recovery. For several nights she slept poorly, instead lying awake to worry about the future.
And then one morning she rose from her bed to the realization that her monthly courses had resumed for the first time since shortly before she had left Dungalash. She should have been relieved to see proof that she wasn’t with child by Quentin. She wasn’t going to have to find a place to hide in order to escape the disgrace of unwed motherhood, nor was she going to have to face Janet’s disapproval.
Instead of being glad, she felt as if her last tie with Quentin was gone. She wept several times that day. When Catherine remarked that a woman’s courses sometimes resulted in a day or two of low spirits, Fionna seized on the excuse. As far as she could tell, Janet believed it.
But she couldn’t fool herself. The brief happiness she had experienced with Quentin was over and if she had any pride left, she’d hide her grief and begin to make a new life without him.
It took Quentin and his companions a week to reach Windsor, and they arrived only to learn that King Henry wasn’t there. He had moved on to St. Albans, where he was to remain for at least a month, until after the Feast of the Epiphany. The next day they mounted their horses again and, in weary obedience to duty, rode on to St. Albans. There Royce used his influence to procure a single room for four of them in the crowded abbey guesthouse and a very limited space in the stable for their retainers and the horses. Quentin and Royce immediately applied for a private interview with the king. Then they waited five days until the royal summons came.
“You would think he’d be eager to hear what his ambassador has to say,” Cadwallon grumbled, using his fingers to comb his hair in preparation for facing the king.
“He wants to see all of us together,” Quentin complained. He knew the way he jerked his belt tight around his narrow waist indicted just how irritated he was, but he didn’t care. “I need to speak to Henry alone, man to man.”
“Tell him so,” Royce advised. “He may grant your request. Henry is busy, but not unreasonable.”
“I don’t understand why he wants to see me,” Braedon said, looking more worried than puzzled. “The squires I have spoken to here act as if they know a secret about me. Can the king be intending to cancel my appointment to his household?”
“He’s a fool if he does,” said Cadwallon in a bracing tone that made even Braedon smile.
King Henry received them in a small audience chamber. The only other person in the room was one of Henry’s ever-present clerics, who was ensconced at a table in the corner, ready with quill and inkpot to write down whatever the king commanded. As an odd addition to the clerical materials, a sword with a plain, leather-wrapped hilt and an unornamented scabbard lay on one side of the table next to a couple of rolled-up parchment documents.
King Henry I of England, the third son of William the Conqueror, was a tall, powerfully built man, with thick black hair that was beginning to turn grey. When he chose to do so, he exerted a charm that easily bound men to him in friendship – and lured many women to the royal bed. His queen, the half-Saxon older sister of the king of the Scots, knew about and patiently accepted his numerous affairs. Henry’s admiration and respect for his wife was unfeigned, for the gentle lady whom the commoners called Good Queen Maud had devoted herself to promoting peace between Saxons and Normans in England. She had provided Henry with two healthy male heirs, and he had married off their daughter, Matilda, to the Holy Roman Emperor, thus cementing important friendships on the continent. No king could ask more of his queen.
Part of Henry’s charm lay in his easy manners with his nobles. He did not stand on ceremony, but came forward to greet the four men who entered the audience chamber.
“Royce, it’s good to see you again,” Henry exclaimed, clasping his old friend’s hand. “Quentin, I want to hear all about the mission to Scotland now, before you make your formal report to my full council. Sir Cadwallon, I’m sure you have some interesting tales to tell of your adventures beyond the border. Squire Braedon, how are you?”
“Very well, thank you, Sire,” Braedon responded, a little stiffly.
“My lord,” Quentin said, choosing to deal immediately with official matters, “here is my report on the information I gathered while I stayed at the Scottish court. I have included a second, privat
e version, meant for your eyes only. Also in the package is the agreement King Alexander signed, that I sealed in your name, as you commanded me. I’m sure you will want to read the documents before the council meeting takes place. Despite some recent skirmishes along the border, I have Alexander’s personal word of honor that he fully intends to adhere to the terms of the agreement and to continue his peaceful relations with England.” Quentin handed over the heavy, cloth-wrapped package of parchment sheets.
“I am pleased to hear it.” Without actually meeting Quentin’s eyes Henry accepted the package and passed it on to the cleric. “Now, my friends, tell me what you learned in Edinburgh that isn’t written in the reports.”
Quentin spoke first, providing a detailed outline of his meetings with King Alexander, along with the information he had gathered about the rebellion in the highlands. When he was finished Cadwallon took up the story, describing what he had seen and heard at court, as well as in the ale houses of Edinburgh. Finally, Braedon revealed the rumors and bits of scandal he had learned from other squires, and from servants and ordinary folk.
“All useful information,” King Henry said. “You have done well. But, Royce, why are you here?”
“I think Quentin should explain that,” Royce said.
So, once again Quentin took up the story, a distinctly unofficial one this time. He began with his discovery of Fionna unconscious by Liddel Water. Royce added some details, until the king knew almost everything that had occurred between Liddel Water and Wortham Castle.
“This, too, is important information,” Henry said. “There will always be rebels and traitors in Scotland, some of them men who long for a different king from the one they have, and other men who despise England and fear we have designs on their country. Fortunately, Alexander is a firm ally and David will be, too, when his turn comes to rule. They will keep the rebels under control. I am grateful for the work you’ve done, Quentin. Louis of France is stirring up trouble for me in Normandy, so I am glad to have Alexander standing honestly at my back to guard the border between our countries.