by Diane Darcy
It was an almost physical pain to separate herself from him, but one step at a time, she made herself follow his mother, glancing around as she did so.
The entrance floor was made of stone, and had a couple of pretty tables with vases and doilies on them. A few portraits hung on the wall, and off to her left was a great hall, with tables, huge wall hangings, and a giant fireplace.
She, who was never even star-struck anymore, was more than impressed.
Lady Helena led the way up the steps, and Cara clung to the polished banister as she made her way up the curved staircase.
It felt awkward, following a complete stranger, though she supposed that’s what Wallace essentially was to her as well.
Before they’d even reached the top, she heard giggling coming from down the hall.
They crossed rough wood flooring toward the noise, and Lady Helena stopped in front of a door and opened it.
Two young girls, laughing and chatting, folded laundry, and they stopped short, their eyes widening the moment they saw the two of them.
They both curtsied. “Mother,” the tall blonde said, and the shorter, dark-haired girl quickly followed suit. “Mother.” Both looked at Cara with wide eyes.
“Finish this work, posthaste, and then run downstairs and see if Cook needs any help from you in preparing for tomorrow.”
The words were innocuous enough, but the tone seemed harsher than required.
Both girls dipped another curtsy. Mother, apparently satisfied, moved on.
Down the hall, Lady Helena opened a door on her right. “This is my eldest daughter’s room, but for now she can sleep with her sister.”
The sharpness was gone from her tone, but she was still quite stern. Cara resisted the urge to curtsy, as she didn’t want to encourage the woman to send her downstairs to see if Cook needed help. “Thank you,” was all she said.
Lady Helena proceeded into the room, and bent to the fireplace. Lighting a taper from the embers, she lit two candles sitting on the nearby bureau.
Cara glanced around. There was a bed, a wardrobe, a chair, and a heavy curtain pushed to one side of the window opening which contained no actual glass. Wooden shutters opened to the late summer night. A red and gold hand-knotted rug graced the floor, and there was a small, landscape painting hanging nearby.
She glanced up to see there were no light fixtures, and then at the wall beside the door, to see there was no switch.
She drew in a breath and let it out slowly. It was lovely, but all in all, pretty primitive.
Lady Helena pulled one of the drawers open. “Here is an extra gown that should fit, and some nightclothes,” she indicated folded bundles of clothing in the drawer before snapping it shut.
She straightened and folded her hands together. “I will send up a birch stick for your teeth, the servants will bring you water to wash with, and do you require sustenance or can you wait until the morn?”
The sharpness entered her tone again, and Cara, still caught on birch stick? was almost tempted to agree, that yes, she could wait, but she was starving and didn’t want to go searching for a kitchen later.
“Something to eat would be great.”
“Very well, I will see you in the morn.”
With another glance at Cara’s necklace, that was that, apparently, because Lady Helena was out the door, and snapping it shut behind her without another word.
Cara glanced at the candles, fireplace, and spartan room. It was a minimalist’s dream.
A girl dressed as a medieval servant brought some bread, cheese, and ale which tasted like heaven. Another followed with water and a birch stick.
She ate, drank, and washed up before laying her dirty, wrinkled gown over the only chair and getting into the sleepwear which turned out to be a long, white nightgown.
She tried to take the necklace off, but no luck. She finally gave it up.
She actually tried brushing her teeth with the stick, softened on one end, but finally bailed after digging it into her cheek one time too many.
The sun was down, and she blew out the candles and crawled into bed. She sank into its softness, but had to move a few times to get comfortable, as the necklace dug into her neck, and it felt as if the mattress was probably stuffed with hay or something, and she was getting poked.
So not just minimalists, but maybe Amish or Quakers or something? She had no idea if they had those in England, or if this was going to turn out to be some sort of equivalent.
She moved around to get comfortable, and then finally released a long breath and let her body relax. She was actually feeling disappointed.
As weird at their beginning had been, over the last two days, anticipation, and a hope for something more with Wallace had blossomed within her.
Long distance relationships were a thing, right?
She turned over and sighed deeply once again. She knew herself enough to know this wasn’t the life for her. A Hollywood party-girl and a Quaker?
It sounded like a movie cliché.
Sad to say, the two just wouldn’t mix, and she was pragmatic enough to accept it.
That didn’t mean she had to like it, was her last thought before she drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 8
Wallace finished talking to his steward, Sir Gladwin, and had barely seated himself at one of the chairs in front of the fire, when his mother stormed into the great hall.
Not that it was much of a great hall. It had the requisite furniture, tables and benches, but as it was the smallest of the estates their family owned, they’d once considered it no more than a country home.
It was regrettable he’d not thought to fill it full of their riches, before much that they possessed had been confiscated.
She stopped in front of him, blocking the fire, and asked, “Well?”
He wasn’t sure if she referred to the outcome of his aborted battle with Sir Rupert, or the beautiful Lady Cara.
“Well, what?”
“What happened? Who is the girl?”
He shouldn’t be irritated with the one person who had lost as much as he, or even more.
“Please, sit.”
She quickly sat, and he nodded toward the two servants stacking tables and setting up sleeping pallets in preparation of nightfall. “Out.”
They scurried out of the room and closed the doors, leaving them alone.
“I had him exactly where I wished, Mother.” His fist clenched at the remembrance of it.
“What happened?” His mother’s face filled with pain.
“Both kings awaited the outcome. I believe King Henry was unhappy the joust took place, but after agreeing in court last month before witnesses, I believe he felt he could not back down.”
His mother leaned closer. “And then?” She almost whispered the words.
“The joust had begun, when a lady appeared before my steed. I was focused upon Sir Rupert, and almost did not see her, but instinctively pulled up at the last moment, and she was saved.”
She sat back. “The female upstairs?” she glanced at the ceiling.
“Aye.”
“You called foul?”
“Aye. The king would hear none of it. Was glad of the excuse to cancel the joust, the only reparation, giving the girl to me.”
Anger filled her face. “What sort of reparation might that be, pray tell?”
He shrugged. “I no longer blame her. She was chased upon that field, most likely at the behest of Lord Dinsdale. Yet more treachery.”
They sat in silence for a long while. Finally, his mother said, “So, we are to yield? This,” she raised her arms indicating the house, “is how we are to live, the inheritance we pass to your children?”
“Nay, I will never yield. We will simply regroup, and try again.”
He looked at his mother. “Newcastle is as close as I might get to the king again this year. I believe I should go.”
His mother, hands rubbing her temples, sighed wearily and actually sank back in her chai
r. “Aye. ’Tis a good idea. It would also give your sisters a chance to be seen.”
He’d never witnessed his mother unbend her spine in such a way before, and it echoed his own flagging emotions.
He’d thought to go alone, but she had the right of it. The girls needed to marry, and with so many attending, he’d not deny them this opportunity socialize.
Mayhap he’d leave Cara behind. He’d have to think on it.
“Somehow, someway, we will find a way to recover what is rightfully ours.” He moved, the latent muscles in his body clenching and hardening as he voiced this conviction.
He would. He was determined. He would not surrender their family honor until the last breath left his body.
Cara woke to the unpleasant sensation of someone staring at her.
Her lids fluttered and she found herself looking directly into the eyes of a stranger, a teenage girl sporting odd-looking ringlets on both sides of her head.
Cara sat quickly, assuming she was needed to do the girl’s makeup for an upcoming scene, and the mattress beneath her crinkled in a peculiar way.
The young girl jumped back with a startled, “Oh.”
Memory flooded, disorienting her, and she sifted through thoughts of the necklace, losing her job, and traveling with Wallace.
This was Wallace’s home.
They’d arrived here after she’d been fired, kidnapped, run away, and attacked. Wallace had saved her. She’d slept in his arms.
And she’d never gotten that kiss she’d been after. The thought, in the midst of all the others, made her blink.
Something was just wrong with her.
She stared at the girl.
“You’re not going to scream, are you?” the girl asked.
She looked so alarmed, Cara had the sudden urge to laugh. Instead, she offered a wide smile. “Nope, not planning to scream. What about you?”
At that, the girl grinned widely. “Not at all. ’Tis simply I heard Wallace brought you home with him. And Mother told me I was not allowed to see you so, of course, I came forthwith.”
“Of course. How old are you?”
“Sixteen summers.”
Cara pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. “Well, that explains it then, doesn’t it?”
“Explains what?”
“That you did exactly the opposite of what your mother asked.”
The girl giggled. “I believe I like you.”
Cara chuckled. “Good, because I like you just fine.”
“You’ve a different way of speech.”
“That’s because I’m from America.”
“Where?”
“America. You know, jump in an airplane at bedtime, cross the ocean, and you’ll be there for breakfast.”
The girl looked at her blankly.
“Seriously?”
When the girl’s look turned expectant, Cara shook her head. “Never mind. Do you happen to know where Wallace is?”
“Why do you wish to know?” The wide-eyed girl looked as if she waited to hear a juicy piece of gossip.
Since Cara was well rested, and therefore, back to her normal teasing self, she obliged. “Because, I need to find him so I can kiss him senseless until he doesn’t remember his own name.”
The girl’s reaction didn’t disappoint. She gasped, her hands flew to her cheeks which flushed with color and she laughed. “If Mother heard you say so, you would be in such trouble.”
Cara grinned. “Then we’ll keep it our little secret, won’t we?”
The girl’s mouth dropped slightly, as if she considered the notion, and then her lips tilted in a charming grin. “I would wish to say I would keep such a secret, but chances are fine I will not.”
Cara laughed. “I like your honesty. I think we’ll get along just great. Now, who are you exactly?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I did not think to say.” She dipped into a quick curtsy. “I am Lady Amelia of Wolfsbane.”
“You’re Wallace’s sister?”
“I am.”
In the spirit of when in Rome, do as Romans do, Cara slid off the bed, put one toe behind her, and dipped into a curtsy, emulating the other girl quite well, she thought. “I am Lady Cara Jones, of Huntington Beach.”
Introductions over, the girl reached forward to clasp Cara’s hands. “We are to be sisters, are we not? You are to marry my brother, Wallace?”
Now it was Cara’s turn to gape. “Sorry, what? Not that I’m aware of.”
The girl stepped back, pressed both hands to her mouth, and giggled. “He has not asked for thy hand yet? Please accept my apologies, I did warn that I am quite unable to keep secrets, though my mother will no doubt think of the most terrible chores if she hears I gossiped. Please, pray tell, forget I said aught, and you can pretend surprise when Wallace asks for your hand. Are you not going to morning prayers?”
“Sure.”
The other girl curtsied several times, and fled the room.
Wallace was planning to ask her to marry him?
That was just bizarre. They’d only known each other two days, though they had been through a lot together, and her first thought was to seek him out and kiss him. But marriage?
Good grief.
Still shaking her head, she noticed her gown was missing and dug out one of the dresses Lady Helena said she could borrow.
It fit well enough, it’s slim-fit bodice emphasizing her shape, and had pretty embroidery along the neckline. She added a rope belt, and glanced around for a mirror, didn’t find one, and decided she needed to find a bathroom.
She slipped into her shoes, brushed her hair, and tied it back with a ribbon before heading into the hall and glancing both ways. The darkness of the corridor was decidedly gloomy.
There weren’t any light fixtures, only a window on the far end offering a minimal glow, and some light spilling up the stairs.
These guys enjoyed roughing it. She opened a couple of doors which revealed dismal bedrooms, until the third revealed Lady Helena, sitting on a chair, getting her hair done by a maid.
They both turned, and heat rose in Cara’s face. “I …” she stuttered. “I’m so sorry, I was just looking for the bathroom.”
“You require a bath?” Lady Helena’s brows arched.
“I wasn’t actually looking to bathe, I mean, I guess I could use a shower, but I was, you know, looking for the facilities.”
Both women looked blank. Finally, Lady Helena said, “Was there not a chamber pot under your bed?”
Of course, Cara knew what a chamber pot was but ... her mouth parted as she tried to be accepting of their way of life.
She’d been going in the woods for the last couple of days, and had no desire to continue the practice indoors, in a pot, before shoving it under her bed.
That was just nasty.
“I didn’t look actually. Isn’t there a bathroom? Or I guess even an outhouse?”
The maid put the finishing touches on Lady Helena’s hair, and the woman stood, folding her hands in front of her.
“There is a garderobe, of course, and you are welcome to use it, though ’tis for communal use. Most ladies prefer their own necessary.”
Cara bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing, because she’d been certain Lady Helena was going to say pot to piss in.
She still thought she might prefer a hole to squat over, versus a pot under the bed. She was, after all, used to portable toilets on movie sites. How much worse could the horrors of an indoor outhouse be? “Which way to the garderobe?”
Lady Helena sniffed as if Cara were being ridiculous. “Down at the end of the hallway.”
Cara went on her merry way to the end of the hallway, opened the door, and after one deep inhale, determined to breathe as shallowly as possible as she got through this next trial.
Okay, this was worse. Apparently, portable toilets had some sort of ventilation system the people here hadn’t bothered to install.
But, get through it she did, emergi
ng to shut the door and put her latest grueling experience behind her.
She traveled the dark hallway once again, and down the stairs that led to the first floor, where the open doors and bigger windows let in more light.
She’d been pretty wiped the night before, and hadn’t noticed all the details, such as the wall sconces using real candles, the details on the tapestries, or the industrious servants running hither and thither.
She followed two women who looked as if they knew where they were going and ended up outside, like a lemming, following the crowd.
Amelia found her and tugged her forward to join Lady Helena to stand up front as they packed into the small chapel where Father Hazleton stood before an altar.
He sang Latin in a nice, baritone voice. He spoke about a saint, some sort of confessor of faith, led them in a really long prayer, mostly about acts of contrition and repentance, and purgatory.
His assistant sang next.
Following the example of those around her, she held her hands in prayer, bowed her head, and made the sign of the cross.
As they left, she was separated from Lady Helena, and she turned back to see Father Hazleton watching her.
Regardless of the warm summer morning, a shiver went down her spine.
She ended up in the great room and glanced around at the long tables, candelabras, beamed ceilings, and the large fireplace with a stone mantel set along one wall.
The room was full of people eating breakfast, others served food, there were several sitting around chairs by the fire, and Wallace himself stood at the far end, speaking with a man much shorter than himself, who nodded at everything Wallace said.
A sense of relief swept through her and she immediately started toward him, ignoring the curious stares directed her way. In fact, it wasn’t her imagination that every single person she passed turned to watch. Even Wallace stopped his conversation at her approach.
He gave a slight bow, a courtesy he’d not bestowed before, and, with a smile and a dip of her head, she curtsied in response.
As she faced him, a myriad of emotions rushed through her. Happiness to see him, memories of their time together, a bit of elation at the thought of him asking her to marry him. His apparent infatuation left her feeling giddy.