Winter Dreams

by Robyn Neeley

  “He has been a good horse?” she asked, remembering even as she spoke how, despite sometimes taking her advice, her uncle often berated her for her questions. Too many questions, he had told her from the time she was a little girl. You ask too many questions and you must stop. And later Lord Simon had said, It is none of your concern. Hold your tongue.

  Lord Robert turned to the stallion and stroked his nose. “I trained him to be a warhorse. Lady Elizabeth gave him to me when I became my brother’s steward. He has seen me safe home from many battles.”

  “What harm could it cause to keep him a while longer?”

  His jaw tightened, but he did not turn on her. When he spoke, he sounded amused — a pretense, she knew, because she heard the underlying anger in his tone.

  “I did not know my lady had such an affection for horses.”

  “It’s not the horse I feel affection for!” she snapped and then hissed in a breath when she realized what she had said, and that she had said it aloud. Lord Robert stared at her in blank surprise, his face even more expressionless than before, if that were possible.

  “My lord,” she said miserably, dropping her eyes and staring at her boots, unwilling to look at him. No wonder her uncle chastised her for her questions. Look where they led. Yet she had already revealed herself. What harm could there be in taking a further step? She had already said too much. A little more wouldn’t matter, and it might make a difference. “If you will not do this for yourself, will you do it for me? As a boon for me?”

  He was quiet for a long time before answering, until reluctantly she lifted her eyes to meet his gaze.

  She blushed scarlet at the look in his eyes.

  “Very well,” he said. “I will grant you this boon.” He patted the stallion’s nose, then turned to her and demanded, “Will you in turn grant me one?”

  The world tilted a little and she had to grip the rail to keep from stumbling. Dimly she was aware of Jacob whistling as he mucked out a stall. In Lord Robert’s gray eyes she could see he remembered every detail of every encounter they had ever had, and a shiver mixed of unease and happiness slipped through her.

  “Yes,” she whispered and pushed past Lord Robert into the sunlight.

  • • •

  Robert swallowed spiced wine and listened to the conversations around the table. Elizabeth, seated at his hand, chewed on a piece of cheese, then sighed and said, “At least you no longer glare at her.”

  “My lady?” He spared a glance for his aunt. Surely she didn’t intend to pursue that subject again?

  “She has skipped more than one meal because of you.”

  This could not be a promising conversation. Yet if he tried to end it, Elizabeth would pursue it. The trick was to satisfy her without revealing any crumb of information she might use against him, even if only for his own good. Elizabeth did very many annoying things for his own good.

  “I am sorry to hear that,” he said, not trying to sound too sorry.

  “What has made you stop glaring? Did you finally talk to the girl instead of snarling at her? Perhaps you have finally come to realize she is unlikely to murder you in your sleep?”

  He tore off a bite of meat from the joint. The way she said these things.

  Was there any error in admitting he had spoken to Imma? Imma was a fast friend to his aunt, however unlikely it seemed, so she might have spoken of him and he must admit to it or he would arouse Elizabeth’s suspicions, a situation not to be tolerated.

  “I spoke with her,” he said grudgingly. And she had promised him a boon, and that made him feel more kindly toward her. But he had no intention of saying so to Elizabeth.

  “Well,” Elizabeth said, “At least you no longer look as though you’d like to strangle her. That glare of yours — ”

  “I do not glare.”

  Elizabeth rolled her eyes and selected another piece of cheese from the tray. “Your father always said that, too. Your father glared.”

  “Father was nearly blind. He was not glaring, he was trying to see.”

  “Perhaps that is your problem. Have the physician examine you.”

  “I have no problem.” Why did he allow his aunt to reduce him to the quarrelsome tactics of a small boy? He took a deep breath and reminded himself that while he must not allow Elizabeth to pry, he must not seem to be stopping her. If she thought he guarded a secret, she would annoy his thanes and rattle his servants until one among them revealed it. His heart seized for a moment. Had any of them guessed it? Surely not. Except —

  Elizabeth had already noted that his manner toward Imma had changed. Perhaps he should go back to glaring at her so that no one would guess —

  Elizabeth made an impatient sound as she peered at a bowl of roasted chestnuts, poking them with her bony forefinger. “I wish you could just see what a kind and gentle lady Imma is.”

  “I assure you I bear her no ill will. In fact, I am utterly indifferent to her.” There. That sounded well. Perhaps it would be sufficient to keep Elizabeth at bay. If anything could keep Elizabeth at bay.

  She sighed again and abandoned the chestnuts, taking another chunk of cheese instead. “Edward is arranging a marriage for her.”

  His gut clenched. He did not wish to hear about Imma with other men or about marriage, or even anything to do with the future at all. The present was troublesome enough.

  “I told you I am indifferent,” he said forcefully. “How her future is arranged matters not one whit to me.”

  “I was merely going to say — ”

  “Elizabeth — ”

  “She never interrupts me,” Elizabeth said. “She listens and thanks me for my advice.”

  “Yes, but does she take it?” Robert muttered, snagging a slice of cheese before Elizabeth could consume the contents of the entire tray.

  “I worry about you.”

  Robert sighed. Elizabeth full of care and concern for him was worse than Elizabeth at odds with him.

  “You have no cause for worry, my lady.”

  “Oh, Robert,” she said. “When will you care about anyone other than your dogs and your falcon?”

  “My dogs and my falcon have never betrayed me,” he snapped, and that, finally, was enough to make her quiet.

  Chapter Seven

  The snow fell in thick sheets, blanketing the marshes, drifting in high piles in the foreyard. It fell so heavily a man could not see that which was right in front of him. The snow had not stopped in three days and the household whispered about the winter already being worse than any in memory. Unable to leave the keep, Robert felt restless and unpeaceful. It took effort for him not to be snappish with his retainers.

  “You insisted on coming to Athelney,” Elizabeth reminded him at the midday meal.

  “It snows in Glastonbury,” he pointed out.

  “Yes, but at least it is Glastonbury.”

  He did not respond. Elizabeth must always have the last word, so let her have it. He lifted his cup of mead and watched Imma finish her meal at her place below the central fire.

  If she would talk with him, the way she had the day Jacob had given her the kitten, he was sure his restless boredom would be alleviated. But to see her there, and know she was out of reach, only made him more irritable.

  He gulped his drink. He still had not decided if he’d been fortunate the day that fate had driven her to his keep.

  She glanced up and caught his gaze. She held it for a moment before turning to respond to something her table companion said. Did she ever think about him? Did she indulge, as he did, in idle daydreams?

  Soon the meal would end and she would disappear into Elizabeth’s room for the rest of the afternoon, and then he wouldn’t even have the pleasure of looking at her, seeing the curve of her cheek in the firelight —

  Except that the s
now was falling and his household was mostly unoccupied and Imma, he knew, happened to be a bard.

  He began to smile. He summoned his servant Kenneth. “Fetch Lady Imma to me,” he instructed, ignoring the quizzical look Elizabeth gave him. He watched as Kenneth approached Imma at her place at the table. She gave Kenneth a startled glance when he spoke to her, then shot an unreadable look in Robert’s direction before getting to her feet and following Kenneth to the front of the room.

  “Yes, my lord?” Her voice was soft and neutral, as if she barely knew him. He was conscious of the weight of Elizabeth’s attention on him.

  “My lady Imma,” he said, keeping his voice was as calm and neutral as hers. No one in this hall would guess how close he was to sweeping her into his arms, no matter the consequences. “We are in need of entertainment this dreary afternoon, my lady. Would you tell us a tale?”

  A dark brow lifted in surprise. “Of course, my lord,” she said. “But I only know the Welsh tales.” She said it as a question.

  “I expected as much, seeing as you are Welsh, my lady.”

  She nodded, her violet eyes taking in his face. She must have seen something in his eyes because she said, “Oh!” and caught her breath. Then she said in a rush, “Tell me where to sit, my lord, and as soon as the tables are cleared, I will tell you about King Pryderi, and the evil enchantment he fell under that turned the kingdom of Dyfed into an empty wasteland.”

  Intrigued, Robert gestured for the servants to place a bench for her near the fire. She took her seat and, as the meal ended, the members of the household arranged their own benches around her so they could hear her tale.

  Outside the wind howled and the snow fell but here the central fire crackled, and the mead flowed plentifully, and the storyteller was beautiful to look upon.

  “When Pryderi returned to Wales from the invasion of Ireland, he married Cigva, and became the king of Dyfed. He had hoped that the trials he had endured had ended, but that was not to be … .”

  • • •

  “The snow hasn’t stopped yet,” Imma said the next morning, turning away from the window. “Does it always snow this much at Athelney?”

  “It is always miserable at Athelney,” Elizabeth muttered. She made a sound of frustration and set the altar cloth aside, then shifted her chair closer to the fire.

  “My lady, you seem upset. Is there anything I can do?” Imma knew Elizabeth disliked asking for help but the old woman did seem to be in some distress. Lord Robert’s keep might crackle with fires in every hearth, but the stone walls chilled the inhabitants and cold drafts whistled down the halls and through the rooms, no matter how many weavings were hung to block the cold wind.

  “It’s my hands,” Elizabeth admitted. “In the winter they become so stiff and sore. I grow frustrated at my limitations.” That Elizabeth even admitted to experiencing limitations was a sign of her deep distress.

  “Shall I call the physician?”

  “He says I am getting old and nothing can be done,” Elizabeth sighed, rubbing her fingers. Imma supposed he had suggested she discontinue her sewing but Imma could not imagine Elizabeth doing that. The idea that she had earned some idleness near the end of her life would never cross her mind.

  “What about the wise woman?” Imma suggested. Sometimes the healers who passed knowledge from mother to daughter knew treatments that the traditionally educated physicians did not. Imma had met Hunydd, the Welsh healer who lived in the loft above the weaving workshop, when Jacob had hurt his hand attending to the horses.

  “I trust the physician,” Elizabeth said.

  “Sometimes men don’t pay as much attention to women’s concerns as they should,” Imma pointed out tartly. Something might be done if only Elizabeth could be convinced to try. “May I summon the wise woman?”

  “I do not trust the Welsh,” Elizabeth said, then seemed to remember to whom she was speaking and added, “Except you, Imma.”

  “I will supervise her.”

  Elizabeth didn’t answer at first. Imma knew she was struggling to reconcile her distrust of the Welsh in general with her knowledge that many people in the household relied on Hunydd to heal them.

  “My lady?” Imma knew a gentle push was all it would take now.

  “Very well.”

  At Elizabeth’s grudging acceptance, Imma summoned the servant and gave directions. A few minutes later, an older dark-haired woman came into the room, face lined with her years but serene for all that. A servant accompanied her with a tray filled with a pitcher and several parcels.

  “Good day,” the healer said, giving Imma a brief nod of acknowledgment. Then she turned to Elizabeth. “My lady. Your arthritis pains you?”

  Elizabeth inclined her head, her lips pursed.

  “Heat the water,” Hunydd instructed the servant, who busied herself with a pot over the fire.

  As she did so, Hunydd opened a small leather bag and emptied a portion of its contents into a wooden cup.

  “Will you send to Lord Robert for a block of his wax?” Hunydd asked Elizabeth, who was watching the preparations suspiciously. “I will be able to return most of it to him.”

  “Very well,” Elizabeth said and gave instructions to the servant, who bowed and left the room.

  Then Hunydd dipped hot water into the cup and stirred. She handed the cup to Elizabeth, but Imma stepped forward and took the steaming cup instead. She sipped from it. Hunydd slanted her a glance but said nothing as she handed the cup to Elizabeth.

  “It’s a tea that will ease the pain and stiffness,” the healer told Elizabeth, who sniffed the cup with a wrinkled nose. Despite her obvious misgivings, Elizabeth drank the liquid down, not bothering to conceal her shiver of distaste.

  “The herbs are bitter,” Hunydd remarked with a slight smile. “Ah!” she said, turning toward the door as the servant came in with the wax. “Put it in the bowl — that one there. And then put the bowl in the hot water. Yes, like that.”

  When the wax had melted, Hunydd put the bowl on a table, then drew the table nearer to where Elizabeth sat. Imma dipped her finger in the bowl. The wax was warm but not uncomfortably so. She rubbed the cooling material from her finger and nodded at Elizabeth, who made no move to touch the bowl.

  “Put your hands in the wax,” Hunydd encouraged her. “It helps.”

  Hesitantly, Elizabeth dipped her hands in the bowl. A surprised look crossed her face and a small sigh escaped her lips as the warmth of the wax soothed the pain and stiffness in her hands.

  “Make sure your hands are coated,” Hunydd instructed. “Good. Now hold them above the bowl and let them drip. The wax will dry soon.”

  Elizabeth did as instructed. “And then?”

  “Then we will wait a few minutes and peel the wax off. Your hands will feel better. The relief is only temporary, which is why I gave you the infusion. That will help the swelling and stiffness, but it takes a while for it to work.”

  She fumbled in a pouch on her belt, and withdrew a parchment cachet. “Have your servant brew the herb as a tea before you go to bed tonight. I will return on the morrow to see how you feel. If the draught is helping, we will continue it. If not, we will try another remedy I know.”

  Elizabeth’s face had relaxed, the lines of tension easing. She nodded her agreement.

  Turning away from Elizabeth, the healer touched Imma’s shoulder and said, “My lady, if I may speak with you?”

  Imma raised a brow. What could Hunydd want with her? She glanced at Elizabeth, whose eyes were closed. She wasn’t paying any attention. Imma followed Hunydd into the hallway, shutting the door behind them. The healer walked down the corridor some paces from the door, drawing Imma into a shadowed corner away from observers. Imma’s heart beat faster. What required such secrecy?

  “My lady,” Hunydd began, then stopped. For a m
oment, the serene mask slipped and she looked discomfited and unsure. That was unexpectedly reassuring to Imma. Then Hunydd said, “I have known Lord Robert a long time.” Another hesitation. Then: “He’s a good man.”

  Imma looked at the other woman, her skepticism evident in her voice. “You’re no freewoman. You never chose to reside here.” She thought of the Welsh man and his son that she’d seen some days previously. Hunydd wasn’t the only one in such a predicament.

  “That doesn’t make Lord Robert a bad man,” the healer said. “He’s not the one who steals slaves.”

  That didn’t make him blameless, Imma knew. “Yet he does not restore you to your former status.”

  “And leave me to starve? Where would I return to, my lady, if he bade me go back to Wales? My village was destroyed in the wars.”

  Imma looked away. Her uncle’s words echoed in her ears. You will make the peace, he had said, and believed. And still she did not know how.

  “My lord is generous,” Hunydd said. “I would not like to see him hurt again, Lady Imma.”

  The unexpectedness of the comment made her start, and the urgency in Hunydd’s tone made her stare. “I won’t hurt him,” she said, at a loss as to what response was expected of her.

  “You will leave in the spring, and you will break his heart.”

  “That doesn’t seem at all likely,” Imma said. She must leave in the spring, that was true, but Lord Robert did not seem to have formed the kind of attachment to her that Hunydd seemed to be alluding to. She doubted he would allow anyone to break his heart, least of all Imma.

  “He will rage against your betrayal — ”

  Imma gave a shocked sound of surprise. What did the healer think Imma intended to do? And why did she think Robert would lose control over himself because of it?

  “I cannot imagine Lord Robert doing such a thing,” Imma protested.