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A sudden warmth blossomed through Tabby’s chest, then waned into emptiness. “Only God can fix any creature. I can merely help them. Sometimes. If they are not too sick. ”
“My poppy says I had to come from Warwick to stay away from the sick cows,” Violet informed her, once again looking at the flowers. “He didn’t want me to get their sickness. ”
“I see,” Tabatha replied. But her thoughts were elsewhere, stuck suddenly on the realization that the little girl’s papa might be off fighting a war…but it was her mama who’d died and left her alone. Not her papa. “Does your papa miss your mama? Is he sad, now that she is with the angels?”
Violet paused from her examination of the calendula and turned to look at Tabby. “I miss my mama. But I have Clara. And my poppy is not sad except when the cows die. ”
Tabby drew in a deep breath and might have responded, but a heavy footstep behind her made her turn. She looked up into Nevril’s familiar, bearded, scarred face, and all at once a rush of heat and shivers washed over her. Her cheeks went hot and her knees felt weak.
And all at once, she realized what a fool she’d been.
But Nevril wasn’t looking at her; his attention was fixed on Violet. “Come now, little one. Do you not be underfoot here. The mistress is working. ”
“But I must get a flower for Poppy,” said Violet, her lower lip coming out mutinously. “He said one every day. And I must find one for him before he comes from Warwick. ”
“Now, Violet,” Nevril began.
“My name is Lady Vio—” But her words were cut off as Nevril swooped her up into his arms, then the girl was overcome by a gust of laughter following by shrieking giggles.
Tabby felt a quiver of something in the back of her mind and looked up at Nevril. He seemed unusually tense, even as he bounced the child in his arms. “Clara!” he bellowed, stalking away without a word to Tabby.
Tabatha rose to her feet, watching them…and listening. At the sound of her name, Clara looked over from the earnest conversation with some of her friends. Her eyes widened and she scrambled to her feet, coming toward Nevril and Violet.
When Tabby heard something that sounded like “Lord Malcolm,” she frowned. Nevril glanced over his shoulder at her, and both he and Clara had guilty looks on their faces. Then they seemed to be arguing—or at the least discussing something very vehemently.
By now Tabby had approached, and she was close enough to hear, “He will be furious when—” before Nevril stopped himself. He thrust the giggling Violet at a frightened-looking Clara, then turned.
“Mistress Tabatha,” he said. “Is aught amiss?”
She looked from him to Violet to Clara and then, that quivering growing stronger in the back of her mind, she said, “Sir Nevril. If you might walk with me a moment?”
He hesitated, causing an icy hand to grip her insides and then squeeze, but then he said reluctantly, “Aye. ”
Tabby was aware that her palms had gone damp and her mouth dry. What was she to say? How could she tell him…what she wasn’t quite certain of?
Nevril walked with such lead feet that she was nearly moved to set him free. But instead she continued until they were in a quiet place in the garden, beneath a shadowy rose arbor.
“I hope the girl didn’t bother you,” he said stiffly. He stood apart from her, his hands on his hips, looking just over her shoulder. His cheeks were ruddy and his expression emotionless.
“Who is that girl?” Tabatha asked, seizing on the topic at hand. Though it wasn’t the reason she wanted to speak with him, it would do to begin, while she worked up her courage. “She is from Warwick. Is she your daughter?”
“Nay!” Nevril replied, startled, his attention coming back to her. “I have never been wed. ”
Tabby looked at him, and then all at once comprehension dawned. Lady Violet. There was only one lady at Warwick, aside from Judith. “She is Lord Malcolm’s child, isn’t she?”
Nevril’s jaw tightened and his lips curled into each other. “Mistress Tabatha, you need have no worry about the girl. She won’t bother you again. ”
Tabby looked at him, and all at once she no longer cared about Violet or Lord Malcolm or even, for that moment, Lady Judith. Her insides were aflutter and her heart pounded roughly. She swallowed hard and stepped closer to him, looking up into his stony face. “What I said, Sir Nevril…about—about never loving a man of war…? Do you recall?”
He blanched, then that harsh expression returned as he made a sound of derision. “Do I recall? How could I forget?”
She shook her head, drew in a deep breath. This was not what she meant to say, how she meant to go about this. Trying to keep her words steady and strong, she whispered, “I…’tis possible…I might find that my mind has changed. ”
He stilled, his eyes widening a fraction. “Indeed?” His voice came out in low, rough syllables.
Holding her breath, praying she hadn’t waited too long, Tabatha stepped toward him and rested a hand on his chest. She looked up, suddenly lost in his gaze. Then, very slowly, one of his large hands reached out, sliding around to cup the back of her head…and he lowered his face toward hers.
The prickle of his beard and mustache was pleasant and soft, but it was the firm touch of his lips that had Tabby’s eyes closing and her heart thudding madly. Warmth exploded inside her, rushing through her limbs as, after a moment, he slid his arms fully around her, pulling her up against him in a long, earnest kiss.
When he lifted his head, looking down at her with searching eyes, he said, “Mayhap your mind has been changed, Mistress Tabatha?”
“I am not certain,” she replied breathlessly. “Mayhap I must needs more convincing. ”
His surprised, delighted laugh was smothered when he gathered her up again for another very long, very thorough kiss.
It was not a long time later when Tabby confessed that her mind had most definitely been changed.
FIFTEEN
It was two months since Judith had been unceremoniously dumped off at Lilyfare.
Several things had come to pass during that time, including the confirmation that she was not carrying the future Lord Warwick. Nor had Judith received any messages from her husband, other than one that had been delivered when Sir Lelan and a group of others had arrived from Warwick, nearly a month ago.
My lady wife, read the message, from your devoted lord husband, greetings.
I have received your letter and I beg apology for keeping your messenger longer than intended. If you are reading this, then Sir Waldren has returned, bearing this missive from me, and I trust you will not punish him for his seeming disobedience.
I found it necessary to keep him at Warwick for a fortnight to ensure he did not carry with him the orange-spot illness that has wreaked havoc among my cows, and is now beginning to infect the people here. I did not wish him to carry this plague to Lilyfare and endanger you and others. ’Tis also the reason I cannot, in good conscience, return to Lilyfare at this time. I do not wish to leave whilst my people are ill and dying. I hope and pray this ague does not rise at Lilyfare, and I beg you send word at the nonce if the cattle there take ill with red-orange spots on their muzzles.
I thank you also for the information contained in your previous communication. Though it was appreciated, it was not well-received, as you might expect. I have taken it upon myself to send word to our friends about the situation in the hopes that aught may be rectified by one means or another. Until then, I beg you to remain within Lilyfare and to send word immediately should any visitors arrive, or any summons be sent to you.
I do not know when I shall be able to quit Warwick. As the illness spreads, ’tis less likely that I dare travel. In the mean while, I hope this finds you well. And if there is any change regarding your health, I bid you send me news.
Malcolm de Monde, Lord of Warwick, & etc. 15th of August, 1166. Warwick Keep.
She gnawed over that sentence oft during the month since she received the missive. He cared only if she was breeding? If she was not, did that mean he would come to Lilyfare in an effort to get her with child—then leave once more?
A shiver of worry huddled deep in her belly when she realized he could contract the frightening illness, and he could die. Was that why he stayed away? Because he feared infecting her?
Judith’s confused thoughts must have translated to distress or distraction as she swung the lure for Hecate, for the raptor descended unexpectedly, landing on her ungloved hand.
Judith cried out as the bird’s sharp talons bit into the top of her hand. She froze as the bird stilled, waiting for the food reward. Despite her pain, Judith flipped the lure enticingly onto the ground, steeling herself as Hecate launched off her hand down to the bit of raw meat. As the raptor took off, her talons dug in a little more with the effort, but then released her mistress’s hand.
Blinking back tears of pain, Judith looked down at her fist. Blood trickled from the deepest cut—but she was fortunate, for she’d been footed several times in the past, and Hecate had been gentle with her today.
“’Tis only what I get for being distracted,” she said aloud, turning to go back inside the mews for a clean cloth—then stopped abruptly.
A young girl, surely no more than a decade old, stood in a corner of the falcons’ flying yard, watching her. She had wispy blond hair and huge blue eyes and the expression on her innocent face was a combination of concern and curiosity.
“Hail there, young mistress,” said Judith, looking around for any sign of the girl’s friends or family. The child didn’t look familiar, but Judith was not acquainted with every child of every serf, villein, or freeperson in Lilyfare after her long absence.
But she thought it strange that the girl was unattended and in an area of the courtyard restricted only to those who cared for the raptors and the horses. While Judith wasn’t particularly strict about such things—for she herself had roamed among the mews, meadows, and stables when she was a child, mixing with the children of serf and freemen alike—she did find it odd the girl was alone and unsupervised. It could be dangerous in the stable area.
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