He called her “my lady” whenever people were around. He was starting to relax and call her “mistress” when they were alone. She found herself looking forward to seeing the little imp.
The two girls stripped her down to her birthday suit and measured her. Fabrics were draped across her skin as Jeanne pursed her lips. Sometimes frowning, sometimes smiling. Lucy trusted her to know what to do.
The girls wore what looked like an apron over their dresses. With pockets it would be perfect for working in the kitchen and the garden. Pockets didn’t seem to be invented yet. They were so useful. Would she mess up history? Lucy pondered the thought then decided her need for carrying stuff around outweighed whatever historical ripples she might cause.
Anyway, she’d probably already changed history by coming back. And by Simon coming back and dying here in the past.
What could pockets hurt?
“I was wondering, might I have aprons to wear over my dresses?” The seamstress, Jeanne, looked at her as if she had two heads.
“Mistress? A lady does not wear such a garment.”
She smiled at the kindly woman. “Well, I plan to work in the kitchen. Have you tasted the food?” She made a face. “And I’m going to plant a garden. I don’t want to get my dress dirty. So I’d really like a couple of aprons.”
Thomas came in bearing ale for Jeanne and her girls and wine for Lucy. He also brought lunch. Platters filled with chicken and other meats. And bowls of pottage. A rich, creamy soup with Swiss chard and beans mixed in. It had a savory flavor.
Seeing the chicken, Lucy decided she’d make fried chicken Southern style when William returned.
Messing with history seemed to be a slippery slope. What was next?
Another platter contained cheese, fruit and bread. Her favorites.
“Thank you, Thomas.” He smiled and left the room. They all dug in. Getting fitted for a new wardrobe was more tiring than she thought.
Finished eating, Lucy held up a piece of fabric in front of one of the girls’ aprons. “I’d like pockets on my aprons.” She demonstrated with the fabric how it would look. Then she made a pocket and showed Jeanne what she wanted for her dresses and cloak.
The woman looked thoughtful. “I can make this. A new fashion from France?”
Lucy crossed fingers behind her back, hoping she wouldn’t be struck dead. “Yes, it is.”
“Three pairs of stockings, three chemises, three dresses, a cloak, one gown for courtly doings and…” Jeanne looked at her feet. “Footwear. You need shoes. There is a traveling merchant in the village. Shall I send for him?”
Overwhelmed, Lucy nodded. The fancy dress would be made out of blue velvet and trimmed with white fur. It was simpler than the seamstress suggested, but no way was she having expensive jewels on a dress. William must be very rich. Yet he lived and dressed simply. She hadn’t seen any fancy dishes or goblets or clothing. Was it because he’d only recently moved in, or was he one of those low-key guys? She liked he didn’t show off his money or talk about it all the time.
She handed the bag to Jeanne. “Is this enough?”
The woman’s eyes went round as she felt the bag, and rounder when she looked inside. She fished out a few coins and handed back the bag. “This will do, mistress.”
Jeanne spoke to one of the girls then turned back around to Lucy. “Tomorrow is market day in the village.”
“Oh. Don’t send for the merchant. I’d love to go into the village tomorrow.”
The seamstress talked about the merchants and market day. It sounded like so much fun. Lucy couldn’t wait. She was busy thinking about something small she could buy for William when the woman’s words penetrated her brain. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“There will be a gypsy selling love potions and such things. Stay well away from her, mistress.”
The two girls blushed, and Lucy wondered if they bought love potions from the gypsy.
Maybe the woman could help her get home. In the stories she’d read as a child, they always had mysterious powers…
Chapter Sixteen
A large, grassy field had been transformed into some kind of medieval market looking like it came straight out of a movie.
People were dressed in their Sunday best. After church they all made their way to the market, laughing and talking. Lucy sniffed. So many yummy cooking smells filled the air. Various vendors set up among the carts and wagons hawking their wares.
She could hear minstrels playing in the distance. Music. For the first time since she’d landed here. What she wouldn’t give for her playlist of songs right about now.
Thomas and Albin insisted on escorting her.
“How often does the market occur?” After being at the castle for several weeks, looking at the same people and scenery, the scene playing out in front of her was a feast for the eyes.
“Once a month on Sunday, my lady,” Thomas told her as he watched the crowd, one hand on his sword and a scowl on his face. He took his duty very seriously.
Albin was drooling over a vendor selling pastries. Lucy looked at the fruit glistening on the crust and felt her stomach rumble. She bought one for each of them. At one stall she bought a few ribbons for her hair. The piece of fabric she’d been using had finally fallen apart. She ordered two pairs of shoes, feeling slightly guilty spending William’s money on something she hoped she’d no longer need soon.
The other evening, at the time between sunset and dark, she had felt something in the air. Hopeful, she climbed the steps to the battlements, placed her hand on the unmarked stone where she thought she remembered the stain and closed her eyes, wishing to go home. In the pouch at her waist she carried her jewelry and pins from her hair. She wasn’t wearing the sparkly blue wedges or tattered dress, but she thought maybe the jewelry would be enough.
Nothing happened. Instead of making a fuss, she simply went to bed and, for the first time, didn’t cry.
They came to a large space with furniture and tapestries. “Thomas. Albin. Help me pick a tapestry for William…er, Lord Blackford. And some chairs for the hall and chambers.”
They looked dubious but gamely walked amongst the offerings. The merchant, sensing a large sale, came beaming out, a mug of ale in his hand.
“My lady. Such a fine day.”
Thomas found a tapestry depicting a hunting scene. Lucy thought it would look nice in William’s room. The merchant told her the price and she almost gasped. It was like buying a fancy rug. The chairs weren’t quite as bad.
“Can you make cushions for the chairs?”
He nodded eagerly. “Whatever the lady of Blackford Castle requires.”
“Oh, I’m not the lady of the castle. I’m…” What was she? “I’m a guest of Lord Blackford.”
The man smiled. They arranged to have the pieces delivered. She paid and, with her purse much lighter, they went on their way.
“We’ll put three of the chairs in front of the big hearth in the hall. One in my chamber and one in William’s chamber.” She looked at her escorts. “Do you think he’ll like it?”
Albin made a face. “Should have purchased a sword or knife.”
“He will be most pleased, my lady,” Thomas said.
She bought a few costly spices and other things to cook her first few meals. And six laying hens to add to the ones already at the castle. She wanted to make quiche and omelets, so she needed more eggs.
Thomas and Albin were busy looking at a trained bear doing tricks. As Lucy moved toward the most colorful stall, someone pushed her. She tripped over a pile of wood and went down hard, crying out.
“My lady, what happened?”
“Ouch. Damn it, that hurt.” She put a hand to her throbbing cheek and eye. A metallic taste filled her mouth. Touching a finger to her lip, she realized her lip was split.
“Someone pushed me.”
“Stay with the lady.” Thomas moved quickly through the gathered crowd, looking for the person who pushed her.
It felt deliberate. Albin and a couple of people helped her up. A mug of ale was pressed into one hand, a relatively clean cloth in the other.
“Who pushed the lady?” one man called out.
Another spoke up: “I saw a large man with a hood.”
No one else seemed to know anything about her attacker.
Lucy winced. She was going to have a heck of a shiner in the morning. Thanking a woman for the ale, she dusted herself off and walked over to the colorful display.
Yarn.
So much to choose from. Lust filled her thinking of all the things she could crochet. She stopped. Crochet didn’t exist yet. Not until the early eighteen hundreds. For a few minutes she waffled then shrugged. She’d already made omelets and French toast for breakfast and introduced pockets. What could crochet hurt?
Feeling justified, she bought a bagful of yarn. They had sheep at the castle. She needed to find someone who could spin the wool. Then she could dye it using plants or something. At least she could try.
If nothing else, she would make William and her escorts scarves to keep warm this winter as a thank-you for looking out for her.
“Albin? Is there someone who could carve something out of wood for me here?”
“What, a bowl or some such thing, mistress?”
“Something like that.”
He scratched his head. “Osbert’s brother has come to stay. He can make whatever you need.”
Osbert was the blacksmith. Lucy remembered meeting a man who looked like he could be a brother to the burly redheaded man.
“Perfect. It’s getting late and I need to check on my stew for dinner. Shall we go?”
“Will dinner be as good as the meal this morn, my lady?” Thomas looked so hopeful that Lucy smiled.
“Just wait until you taste the meal I have planned when Lord Blackford returns.” She tried not to call him William to the men. It felt too familiar. Too intimate. Had he thought about her at all while he was away doing heaven knows what?
Not that she was thinking about him while he was gone. Yeah, right. And I’ve got a bridge to sell you, she thought.
“Albin, would you take the packages to my chamber?” She tried to treat him like a grownup. In her time, he’d be nothing more than a little boy. But here he was expected to live away from his parents. To learn to fight and serve his lord. A great deal of responsibility for a boy of eight.
“You can have another pastry, but don’t spoil your dinner.”
He grinned and scampered inside. She turned to Thomas. “Could you help me find Osbert’s brother? His name’s Norbert, right?”
He nodded, leading her toward the newly repaired hut next to where the blacksmith worked. She could see another shop or work area in progress. Looked like she could have asked him to make the chairs. Once he settled in, maybe he could make her a chaise to have by the fire in her room. It would be the perfect spot to crochet and stare out the window.
The evening light tinged the courtyard in gold. Even the rickety sheds holding the animals looked pretty.
“Thomas. Give me a moment.” As she made her way over to one of the adorable black cows with a band of white in the middle, she reached in the pouch around her waist. She’d nicknamed the smallest cow Penelope.
Penelope mooed. “Jeez, have some patience.” Lucy brushed the slightly wilted lettuce off on her dress. “Don’t tell Bertram. He doesn’t think you need treats.” Lucy offered the handful of greens to Penelope, laughing as the tongue swiped across her palm.
“Yuck. Where’s hand sanitizer when I need it?”
She leaned back against the fence, stretched out the kinks in her back and, for a moment, simply enjoyed her surroundings.
Life here was hard, yet simpler in many ways. There was a rhythm to daily life in the castle. From the meals to the peasants coming and going to the knights fighting in the lists. Lucy thought she could enjoy this life. Here in this time.
“Mistress.”
Lucy jumped. The man in question was stocky like his brother, with the same curly red hair and ruddy complexion.
“Did I startle you, my lady?” The carpenter smiled, showing a few missing teeth.
“Not at all. I was woolgathering. Norbert, right?”
“Aye.”
“I was wondering if you could make me something.”
The thought came again. Was she going to mess up history? Lucy fidgeted for a moment and then decided it was such a small thing, certainly it couldn’t hurt. She picked up a twig, drawing in the dirt.
“It’s called a crochet hook. Not very big, but the little hook on the end is important.”
“How big around is the hook?” Norbert scratched his beard and Lucy swore she saw something jump to the ground. Yuck.
“The length is the same as my hand. The width about half of my little finger.” She held up the finger in question to show him. “The hook is like this.” She drew in the dirt again and picked up a small twig to show him how thick it should be.
“Aye, I can fashion such a tool. May I ask the use?”
“You use it with yarn to make things.” Seeing his blank look, she continued, “You know, like washcloths, hats, gloves, scarves and sweaters.”
“Like a weaver fashions clothing?
She nodded.
Norbert blinked a few times. “As you say, mistress. I shall have it for you in a day.” He still looked a bit confused, but she’d see what he came up with.
“How much will it cost?” She hoped it wasn’t much, considering she didn’t have a lot left over from her market day purchases.
The carpenter turned around. “Lord Blackford provides what I require. I will inform the steward in my accounting of the items I have fashioned.”
“Great. I’ll make you a scarf.”
He looked dubious but smiled nonetheless. “Much obliged, my lady.”
Happy, she went into the kitchens to check on the stew for dinner.
Lucy sent the serving boys out with the stew and garlic bread. She was looking forward to enjoying a glass of wine with dinner.
She came to a dead stop in the hall. It sparkled. There were new rushes and herbs scattered over the floors, the cobwebs and dirt gone. Fires blazed, the candles cast everyone in a flattering light and the minstrels from the market played softly.
Bertram stood before her. “May I escort you, mistress?”
She hugged him tight. “The hall looks amazing. It’s lovely and smells so nice.”
The man blushed.
“However did you do all this in one day? You could command armies.”
He blushed some more. “I thank you.”
Lucy took his arm. She sat next to him at dinner. After enjoying three meals cooked by her, the few men who crossed themselves when they passed her had quit doing so.
“’Tis a fine meal, my lady,” one of the knights said.
Others joined in.
She glowed from all the appreciative comments. Even Clement the pig couldn’t ruin her mood. Lucy leaned over to Bertram. “I cannot wait to see what you do with the rest of the castle.”
The man grinned at her, patting his ample belly. “And I cannot wait to taste your next meal.”
The music started up again and one of the knights asked her to dance. The only thing missing from the night being perfect? Dancing with William. She missed his scowls and grumbles. And she wondered, did he still think she was crazy for telling him she was from the future, or might he come around and believe her? It meant a great deal to her that he would believe her. Lucy danced with all of the men until she was out of breath.
She’d put down her mug of wine when another man approached. The smile fell off her face when she turned.
“Clement.”
“I would be honored, my lady.” He took her arm and led her to the makeshift dance floor. Well, he was a good dancer, she’d give him that much. Just when she thought they’d have a pleasant time, he narrowed his eyes.
“You have bewitched the men.”
“I will stop you, witch. William will burn you or risk losing all.”
“You are so handsome yet so ugly inside,” she said sweetly.
Chapter Seventeen
Three long days in the rain to York. William would be grateful to spend the night in a nice, dry inn. After the nonsensical story Lucy had told him, William made the decision not to tell her he’d heard tale of a shipwreck from a distant land. One survivor. Other than her. If she was indeed from the shipwreck, which he doubted.
The Wolf’s Ear Inn was a modest inn boasting fine stables. He tossed the reins to the stable boy. “Feed and water the horses.”
The proprietor wiped his hands on an apron, smiling cheerfully. “Welcome, my lord. Will you be wanting dinner?”
“Aye, rooms and food, if you please.”
Their cloaks steamed as they dried next to the fire. The proprietor’s wife brought tankards of ale and platters of meat and bread.
“I fought alongside you many years, William. Why are we talking to the survivor of a shipwreck?”
His captain had fallen under Lucy’s charm, as had most of the men at the castle. William wanted to believe her…a fantastical tale, no doubt. ’Twas easier to believe she hit her head and addled her mind.
“The lady desired to return home. I will aid her if I can.”
His captain’s face filled with doubt. “She is not Georgina. The lady is pleasant and kind. A match for you, William. Maybe ’tis time to remarry. Have children.”
“I know she is not Georgina, but she is not telling the truth regarding how she came to be at Blackford.” He shifted in his seat. “Until I know the truth, I do not trust her. I dare not.”
His captain leveled a long look at William before turning back to his meal and digging in with gusto. He would feel better after a full belly and a good night’s sleep.
Lucy filled her morning pulling weeds in the overgrown garden and making a mental list of the plants she needed. An herb garden, fruit trees, vegetables…and flowers, because they provided a bit of pretty in an otherwise functional garden.
A Knight to Remember: Merriweather Sisters Time Travel (Merriweather Sisters Time Travel Romance Book 1) Page 12