There was a Great Hall with its soaring arches of oak that were, even now, being carved decoratively by local artisans. The Great Hall had three fireplaces, and one large window space that did not yet have its glass. It would have to and would be a great expense. There were several smaller windows with stone windowseats built in on either side of them that would also have to have glass. Like all the windows in the Great Hall and the living quarters, they would be fitted with wooden shutters.
The kitchens were marvelous, and whoever was chosen to cook for the castle would find no fault with the design of his workspace. Water could be brought directly to the stone sinks by means of a pipe that led to a cistern set within a corner tower. There were ovens for baking, cooking, and smoking both meats and fish. Separate areas were set aside for the storage of wine, beer, and cider, as well as a creamery where the milk might be set for skimming. The creamery was a large enough room so that cheese could be made there and butter churned.
One small additional room intrigued her, for she had no idea of its possible use. “What is this place for?” she asked Scandy.
“For you, lady. The lord said there was to be a place for you to store your herbs and medicines.”
Delighted, Mairin inspected the room. There was a small stone sink in it, and Scandy further informed her it had its own private cistern to supply it with water. Stone counters with slate tops had been built into the walls which had been already carved with niches for storage. There is even room for my oak table, Mairin thought, already deciding with what to fill the wall niches. Then she remembered that she was not going to live in Aldford, and the smile on her lips was replaced with an angry frown.
“Lead on, boy!” she instructed Scandy irritably.
Although the castle’s towers were basically the same—each had two stories and an attic—two of them had differences. Beneath one, a dungeon had been hewn from the rock of the hill upon which Aldford stood. And the north tower of the castle was to house the chapel. The structure contained one soaring room rather than two levels of one room each. The altar area was fitted into the curve of the tower. Walking across the bare oak floors, Mairin thought it would be beautiful when it was finished.
The family apartments of the castle were spacious and light. Located upon the second floor of Aldford, they contained a family hall, a solar, a chamber for bathing, guestrooms, and six bedchambers. There was even, Scandy noted pridefully, a special apartment for the children. This area contained a large anteroom with a fireplace and several additional bedchambers. Another wing of the castle contained living quarters for Dagda, who was Aldford’s bailiff, for the cleric who would be chosen castle chaplain, the barber/doctor, the cook, and their families. There were barracks for the soldiers to be garrisoned in the castle, and a separate set of rooms for their captain.
Below the barracks were the stables and the kennels. Scandy pointed out where the falconry and the dovecote were, even now, being built. Beneath the kitchens, he told her, were storage rooms for additional foods in case of siege. Under the blacksmith’s shop was a small armory. There was no doubt that the plan for Aldford Castle had been a well-thought-out one. Set upon its rock base with only one means of access, it was virtually impregnable. Mairin felt a thrill of pride sweep through her. Someday it would all belong to William.
“Well,” said Eada to her daughter, seeing her return from the castle, “what do you think of Aldford?”
“It is impressive,” Mairin said honestly. “I believe the king will be pleased.”
“When do you think it will be ready for habitation?” Eada asked.
“By the spring for certain,” came the answer. “Are you planning to live there, mother?”
“Would you prefer I remain here, my child?”
“The choice is yours, mother, but I would like it if you stayed here with me and the children.”
“What?” Eada looked puzzled.
“I do not intend living at Aldford,” said Mairin calmly.
“Daughter,” came the reply, “you go too far, I think. If you continue on like this, you will drive your husband into the arms of another woman.”
“I am a good, faithful wife, mother,” Mairin replied. “My husband has no cause for complaint.”
“Except that your disposition these days is an evil one. If I did not know better, I would say you were possessed!”
“It is time for William to be fed,” came the answer, and Mairin departed the hall where she had been speaking with her mother.
Looking after her, Eada sighed deeply. She understood very well that Josselin had hurt Mairin, but standing aside and looking at the situation, she could also understand both sides of the issue. According to Dagda, and she took his word, for he had been there, Josselin had publicly accepted his wife’s version of her kidnapping which, in the end, had turned out to indeed be true despite the improbability of it being so. Still Josselin had had his doubts, even if he had kept them to himself until that fatal moment. Eada considered his behavior admirable under the circumstances. She could not think of a single man of her acquaintance over the years, except possibly her Aldwine, who would have believed Mairin’s tale.
Mairin, however, expected complete loyalty from her husband. Her first marriage to Prince Basil, when she had been so total an innocent, obviously had left its mark. Her whole life, she had been cosseted and loved, but for the little time between Ciaran St. Ronan’s death and her coming to Aelfleah. Even then, she had had Dagda loving and protecting her. The enormity of what appeared to be Prince Basil’s betrayal of his bride had obviously left a stronger impression upon Mairin than any of them had realized. She wanted the impossible of Josselin, and it would have indeed been impossible for any man to meet Mairin’s inflexible standards of loyalty in love.
Eada wanted to help Mairin and Josselin back to the happiness that they had shared before her daughter’s kidnapping from York. She believed with all her heart that they truly loved one another, but she also knew the longer it took to heal the breach between them, the more difficult it would be to heal it, for with each passing day, the wound was allowed to fester, the gap between the lovers grew wider and deeper.
Then one afternoon when Mairin had been home but two weeks, a messenger came down the hill and across the river up the road to Aelfleah. The horseman was from the queen who was back in Normandy, and he bore a message for Mairin. Offering hospitality to the messenger, Mairin broke the seal upon the parchment he carried and unrolled it. Her violet eyes widened as she read the message within.
To Mairin of Aelfleah from Matilda, Queen of England, and Duchess of Normandy, Greetings.
Your half-sister, Blanchette of Landerneau, wishes me to ask you if she would be welcome at Aelfleah. She desires to meet you, and to personally convey her thanks to you for your kindness and generosity to her, despite the evil done you by her mother. It is my desire that you offer her your hospitality until early next summer when she will enter my own endowed convent in Caen with my little daughter, Cecily.
Since I know the great kindness of heart you possess, and that you would not refuse your queen such a small request, I have taken the liberty of sending the lady Blanchette on to England. She travels but one day behind the rider who has brought you my message. As always, you have my prayers. I think of you often.
The letter was signed with the queen’s signature, and Matilda’s seal.
Mairin stared at the parchment for several long moments, and then she handed it to Josselin. He quickly scanned it, saying as he finished, “We have no choice.”
“Is it not enough that I have provided handsomely for the daughter of that woman? Must I open my home to her as well?”
“What is it?” asked Eada, totally confused.
“The queen is sending my half-sister for a visit,” said Mairin sarcastically. “Is that not wonderful? We must keep her until next summer when she enters her convent.”
“The child is not responsible for what her mother did to you, my daughter,”
Eada said sharply. “When will she arrive?”
“Tomorrow,” said Mairin shortly, and Eada laughed aloud.
“She does not give us much chance to refuse, this queen, does she?”
Suddenly, Mairin saw the humor in the whole situation, and she joined her mother in laughter. “If you could see her, mother. She is the prettiest woman, but she is no bigger than a minute. Yet she can terrorize the king if she is denied her way. I have heard it told she even blackened his eye once. Well, there is nothing that we can do to prevent Blanche de St. Brieuc’s daughter from coming to visit with us, and so I suppose we must make the best of the situation and welcome her.”
“Remember that she, like you, is Ciaran St. Ronan’s daughter as well, Mairin,” said Eada. “I think if you try to think of her more as your father’s child as you were, and less that woman’s offspring, you may find your half-sister easier to accept. If her heart is with the church, she cannot be an evil person as was her mother. It seems to me that Blanchette St. Ronan is reaching out to you, Mairin. Do not turn away from her because of her mother. Judge her on her own merits. How old is she?”
“She was to be born the winter after the autumn I was sent from Landerneau. It is autumn of the year 1070, and I will be twenty shortly. Therefore, my half-sister will be fourteen this winter.” She looked at Josselin who had been silent all this while. “I remember you telling me you never met Blanchette. Is that truth, or another of your lies?”
“I have never lied to you, Mairin,” he said quietly.
“You have also not been entirely truthful with me,” she said.
“I never met Blanche’s child,” he said.
“We will put the children in with us,” Mairin decided, “and then Blanchette can have Brand’s old room.”
“It is a pity,” Eada remarked sweetly, “that Aldford is not habitable yet, for it has lovely guestrooms. I am going to enjoy living there. This old house seems quite primitive in comparison.”
“I have never noticed,” Mairin replied sharply, and Josselin hid a smile. “We will have to hurry if we are to have my half-sister’s room ready, for the Blessed Mother only knows exactly when she will arrive tomorrow. It could be before noon.”
It was not, however, until early the following afternoon that Blanchette St. Ronan and her escort arrived from the coast. Mairin’s first glimpse of her half-sister reconfirmed once again her abilities to see what others did not. Months before, she had seen a sweet-faced girl, and Blanchette was indeed that same sweet-faced maiden having, Mairin realized as she looked closely at her half-sister, all of Blanche’s features. In the mother, however, they had been sharp features. In the daughter, they were softened. It helped that Blanchette had Ciaran St. Ronan’s deep blue eyes and rich russet hair.
Mairin had found herself dressing carefully that morning, for first impressions were important. She had chosen her black taffeta skirt with a gray brocatelle tunic top embroidered with gold. Upon her chest she wore Queen Margaret’s cross, and in her ears were the fat pearls and garnets. Her hair she chose to wear loose, but for a simple gold band, and Eada smiled at this small vanity shown by her daughter.
Blanchette had traveled with an English nun, Sister Frideswide, a plump and jolly little woman with a deep laugh who was returning to her convent which was but two hours further on from Aelfleah. The good sister would not even stop to accept Aelfleah hospitality, for she feared she could not reach her home before dark if she did. The king’s soldiers escorting her were obviously disgruntled at having to spend a night outside the convent walls eating smoked fish and sour wine when they might have been at Aelfleah. Josselin understood this, and invited them to return to his manor after they had delivered the good sister.
Their captain had thanked Josselin, and the lord of Aelfleah suspected that Sister Frideswide would reach her destination in record time, much to the regret of her bottom. The nun and her escort thundered off, and Josselin turned to observe the first meeting of the half-sisters. For a long moment the two women stood and looked at one another. Young Blanchette was modestly attired in indigo blue, her russet hair hanging in two braids. Her head was covered with a simple white veil.
“Welcome to Aelfleah, sister,” Mairin said quietly.
“Do you look like our father?” Blanchette asked. “I always wondered what he looked like.”
“Yes, I look a little like him, but I also have some of my mother’s features too. Our father was a handsome man. You have his eyes, and your hair is his color.” Mairin drew the girl into an embrace. Then she set her back gently. “Come, let us go into the house. There is a wind today in the valley and the air is chilly. I would not have you ill after such a journey.”
“Did our father love you very much? Do you think he would have loved me also?” There was a poignancy to Blanchette’s questions.
“Did your mother not tell you of our father?” Mairin asked.
Blanchette sighed and shook her head. “She would not speak of him except on rare occasions. She said it distressed her too much, but my nurse, Melaine, said that he was a good man.”
“Melaine was your nurse? She was mine also! How is she? Does she still live? What of old Catell? Did you know her also?”
“The witch woman?” Blanchette seemed horrified. “She was condemned to be burned when I was four, but when they went into the Argoat to take her, she was not there, and to my knowledge, she was never seen again. They said that the devil came for her, and took her away.”
“More than likely she escaped them to move to another part of the forest,” said Mairin dryly. “She was an amazing old woman with a great knowledge of healing.”
“You knew her?” Blanchette’s deep blue eyes were round with fascination.
“Aye, I knew her. She taught me many things having to do with herbs and healing. She was an interesting old lady, but what of Melaine?”
“She still lives. It was through her I first learned of your existence, although mother never knew I knew. Melaine said that my mother sent you away before I was born because she claimed you were bastard-born. The queen says you are not, and that Landerneau belongs to you, not me. I am so glad! I never liked Landerneau. It always frightened me, surrounded by the forest as it is. Except that Hugo died of the measles, we were to be married this coming summer, and I would have had to live there. I have always felt so guilty that you were sent away.”
Mairin led her young half-sister into the hall of the house and settled her by the fire, for the girl looked chilled. “Bring wine,” she ordered Nara who was hovering nearby. Then settling herself into a chair facing Blanchette, she said gently, “Melaine should not have told you about me. None of what happened between your mother and me was of your making. Like me you are innocent.”
“How old are you?” asked Blanchette.
“I will be twenty in six more days,” Mairin said. “When were you born, Blanchette?”
“I will be fourteen on the twenty-third of February next,” came the reply. Then Blanchette’s eyes grew round and her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a cry. “Holy Mother! You were only five when mama sent you from Landerneau. Oh, I am so ashamed! I am so ashamed!” and she began to cry.
For a moment, Mairin was stunned by the girl’s apparent depth of guilt over her mother’s behavior. Then with a sigh of resignation, she stood up and drew her half-sister into an embrace. “Do not weep, Blanchette,” she said quietly. “It was not your fault. Remember, you were not even born then.”
“She did not like me,” Blanchette sobbed. “She did not like me at all, and when Melaine had her second baby, mama called her back from the village so she could nurse me. Mama said no lady should allow her breasts to be spoilt by the constant tugging of a baby’s mouth, but Melaine said’twas unnatural for a woman not to want to nourish her own daughter.” Blanchette wept harder.
Damn Melaine, thought Mairin. She always did chatter too freely and without heed for the feelings of others. To her great surprise, Mairin heard herself saying,
“I am sure that your mother loved you, Blanchette. Did she not arrange a fine match for you with a powerful and important family? It appears to me that she surely had your best interests at heart when she did that.”
Blanchette raised her tearstained face to her half-sister. “You are so good,” she said worshipfully. “How can you be so good after what mama did to you?”
Mairin’s arms dropped from about her sister, and she gently resettled the girl back in her chair before sitting down herself. It was plain that the girl had a desperate need for love, for she, poor child, had obviously never had any. Still, she did not want Blanchette idolizing her to the point of sainthood, for Mairin knew better than most her faults. “I am not good in the sense you imply, little one,” she began. “My mother was an Irish princess, a Celt in every sense. The Bretons are also a Celtic race, but their proximity to the rest of Europe has taken them further from their origins than the Irish. Do you see that large man with my husband? His name is Dagda, and he had the responsibility of raising my mother, and when she died, she put me into his care with our father’s approval. I will tell you his story one day, Blanchette, but for now, all you need know is that Dagda was once one of the most feared warriors in Ireland. He has raised me as a Celt, and we forgive nothing.
“I never forgave your mother her treatment of me. I longed to revenge myself upon her, and when the opportunity arose, I grasped at it like a drowning man grasps at a straw. At no time, however, was it my intention to hurt you. You are of my blood. As for your mother, that was a different case, but she might have escaped me except that in her own personal desperation, she made a fatal mistake.
“Your mother had met my husband several years prior to his coming to England with the king. When she learned of his good fortune, she managed to gain a place for herself amongst the queen’s ladies when the queen came to England to be crowned. She implied to the queen that Josselin would welcome her as his wife now that he had found his good fortune. My husband has known the queen since late boyhood, and she is fond of him. She believed she was doing Josselin a favor by transporting Blanche de St. Brieuc to England. You can imagine her deep embarrassment and her indignation when she learned otherwise.
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