Carolyne Cathey (19 page)

Eleanor knew whom
Beth meant, yet she felt compelled to ask.  "Is there a problem, Nurse?"

The old woman
nodded. 
"Aye.  Lady Mellisande."

Eleanor sighed in
hopes to ease the tightness in her chest, but the stubborn knot only grew
larger.  "Why does he tolerate her, Nurse?"

"I don't
think he yet knows the woman's cruelty."  Nurse rubbed at her forehead as
if to soothe an ache, and Eleanor worried that the woman worked too hard. 
"She also knows we are forbidden to speak ill of the nobility, and if she
does become our lady, anyone who's tittle-tattled to the master can be certain
of retribution."

"He's
against this betrothal, Nurse. I know he is.  If I only knew why he has
agreed."

"'Tis better
not to ask, lass.  Their ways are none of our affair.  'Twill be wise of ye to
remember that.  And now for the immediate problem, no female will dare to serve
the master at the head table.  Where is John?"

Beth sniffed and
wiped her nose with the back of her hand.  "Under a haystack most likely. 
While Lord Kyle was at mass, John was fillin' that Lady Mellie's tankard when I
stepped on her skirt.  When she screamed at me, John sloshed ale on her gown
and she threatened to slice off his manhood.  He turned as white as the ale's
foam and fled from the hall."

Eleanor clenched
her teeth.  "The lady's behavior is intolerable, yet what are we to
do?"

Nurse Kincaid
sighed.  "Serve this meal before we become the main course.  Where is
Peter?"

Eleanor picked up
two trenchers from the table.  "I'm not afraid.  I'll serve."  She
hadn't told a complete lie; her fear burrowed beneath the intensity of her fury
and her determination to stop a dreadful wrong.  Wondering how to accomplish
the feat, she stepped barefoot through the doorway into the great hall.

A smoky haze
swirled in vaporous layers, thickening like fog amidst the rafters.  A few of
the knights sat at tables placed alongside each wall.  Knights milled around
the center hearth, drifted to one table, then another.  A snaky trail gleamed
wet on the rushes where John must have bolted from the dais to the entry. 
Eleanor focused on the table of honor.

Lady Mellisande
sat beside Kyle, in apparent amusement, a smile on her face an angel would have
been proud to claim.

Kyle behaved with
controlled politeness.

Eleanor inhaled a
deep breath to relax her stiff lungs and walked past the center hearth.  Heat from
the fire didn't even begin to warm her cold body.  Smoke mingled with the scent
of roasted mutton and stale rushes, then curled and lofted in front of her
eyes.  The knights and visitors mumbled in indistinct conversations, but
Eleanor could only think about finding a moment of privacy to tell Kyle about
his betrothed. 

Lady Mellisande
laughed as if she had said something witty.  Kyle didn't laugh, again a sign of
his displeasure.  Eleanor approached the table and set one trencher between
Lord Kyle and the pale pretender of sweetness.

Kyle glanced up,
then stilled.  "What do you here?"

"I serve
your meal, my lord."

Lady Mellisande
glared, her lips clamped tight.

Eleanor placed
another trencher before a too-interested Lord Hanley.  She shuddered and ignored
his heated examination.

Kyle leaned
toward her.  "Where are John and Beth?"

"The
servants are indisposed at the moment."

"What is the
problem?"

"Fear, my
lord.  Now, if you will excuse me, I will see to the ale."  As she turned
to leave, she wondered if, instead of waiting, she should call Lord Kyle to the
solar right then.  Just being near the she-devil made her skin crawl.

"Lord Kyle,
I've the most wonderful idea."

Eleanor slowed at
the sound of Lady Mellisande's voice.

"I wish you
to give Eleanor to me as a gift.  I will take her with me this day to train her
as a ladies maid." 

Eleanor's stomach
lurched.  She turned to Kyle, in wait for his answer.

Kyle splayed his
hands on the table.  "Lady Mellisande--"

"Nay.  Do
listen, my lord.  Her tongue is most atrocious and you'll benefit much from the
training I'll give her.  I'm most proficient with servants, and I'll return her
to you much improved."

As in, dead
. 
Eleanor's heart shriveled into a knot with silent echoes of Lady Mellisande's
promised atrocities.  The woman had also vowed Eleanor would not be around long
enough to tell Kyle the truth about her.  The only time for revelation might be
the moment at hand. 

Deciding to
encourage Lady Mellisande to reveal her own ugliness, Eleanor lifted her chin
along with her courage.  "My lady, as I mentioned in the garden during our
enlightening discussion, I do not belong to Lord Kyle, thus he cannot give me
to you." 

Then Eleanor
spied the ewer at the end of the table and remembered Beth's tale in the kitchen
about John.  Shaking from what she intended, Eleanor moved to the end of the
table and picked up the pitcher of ale.

Lady Mellisande
nodded as Eleanor passed by.  "You see what I mean, my lord?  She knows
not her place.  You will benefit from my service, for she'll never again raise
her voice to you as she did earlier this day."

Kyle's mouth
twitched in anger.  "Nay.  I want her as she is.  The subject is
closed."

Eleanor longed to
throw her arms around Lord Kyle's neck in grateful appreciation.  Instead, she
took deliberate steps toward Lady Mellisande, the heavy ewer in hand.

"You will
not deny me, Lord Kyle.  Consider her as my wedding present from you.  In
truth, I am so anxious to please you with her changed manner, I will send her
ahead without delay."  She gestured to someone behind Eleanor.  "Take
her to Hanley Hall."

Kyle shoved to
his feet.  "I said she is not up for barter.  If you know naught else of
me, Lady Mellisande, know this.  I hate interference."

Eleanor swallowed
around a lump of foreboding.

Lord Hanley
pushed up from his chair, his face splotched with red.  "You insult us,
Kyle.  Think on this.  If King Edward hears how your leman dares dress like the
nobility, well, let’s say a mere rabid tantrum from him would be a blessing. 
Now, in trade for my silence, I insist on a trade of some sort.  I have a
winsome lass of mild manner--"

"How Eleanor
dresses in none of your affair."

Eleanor
hesitated, then took another step.  Kyle might be livid with what she intended,
but she also might not live long enough to have another chance.  Not daring to
look around to see whom Lady Mellisande had summoned, Eleanor steadied her hand
and held the pitcher over the woman's tankard, ignoring the sheer hatred that
blazed from the lady's eyes.  Eleanor then purposefully spilled the ale onto
the table and Mellisande's rose-hued silk surcote.

Eleanor gasped. 
"Oh!  My lady!  I've messed your gown."  She set down the ewer then
bumped the container.  The contents burbled over the edge of the wood onto the
woman's lap.

Lady Mellisande
leapt to her feet.  "You bitch!  You whore!"  She swung her hand.

Eleanor's face
stung from the slap, but satisfaction soothed the blow.

"The threats
I promised in the garden compare nothing with what I will do to you now."

"Cease, Mellisande! 
'Twas an accident!"  Kyle grabbed the lady's shoulders, but she shook her
raised fist at Eleanor's face.

"After I
whip you until you bleed, slut, I will force you to lie in a dung heap until
worms eat your raw flesh."

"Enough!" 
Kyle shook the crazed woman.  "You are like your father after all.  You
behaved with such meekness I'd begun to wonder if Hanley had sired you.  You
are like an over-ripe fruit, attractive on the outside, but rotten within from
a poisoned seed."

Rage built in the
woman's face until she looked about to explode.  Then she ceased her struggle,
a mixture of shock and abhorrence on her face.

Pleased with the
results of her clumsiness, Eleanor nodded to Kyle.  "Forgive me, my lord. 
Perhaps I'd best withdraw."  She took a step back.

Lord Hanley
lunged at Kyle.  "You dare to treat my daughter with contempt while you
slobber over this peasant?  Unhand her!"

"Then she'd
best keep her foul tongue silent and her hands off Eleanor!"

"You killed
my son, and now you insult my daughter!"

"Your son
was on my land with a sword in his hand!"  Lord Kyle shouted the words,
his face as red as the flames of the center hearth.  "He rode beside you
to steal my land.  I rightfully protected my property and my life.  You hope to
steal Trystonwood through Lady Mellisande since you failed with my mother and
your son."

"Heed well,
Kyle, until Mellisande is your wife--"

Kyle laughed.  He
raised his tankard in salute.  "To truth.  Never, Hanley.  I never
intended to wed your devil's seed."

"But the
betrothal--"

"Is
nonexistent.  A farce."

A farce?
Things
of which you know naught.  Trust me
.

Stunned with the
outcome of her interference, Eleanor backed away.  Unanswered snatches of past
mysteries about Kyle's mother flickered into her mind, but the news about the
betrothal slammed all else aside.  Kyle had just admitted he had never intended
to marry the woman. 

Things of
which you know naught, trust me
, rang through her mind in repetitive
accusations.

"You think
you've won, Kyle, but the king shall hear of this!"  Lord Hanley swung a
blow.

Kyle laughed and
grabbed Lord Hanley's wrists.  "I'm not a woman, Hanley.  I'm not cowed by
your fists."

"'Tis war,
Kyle!  'Tis war!"

War?  The empty
ewer trembled in Eleanor's shaking hands.

Gasps resounded
in the hall.  Stools thudded onto the floor.  Women screamed.  Eleanor heard
the scrape of steel as knights drew their swords.

Her mouth went as
dry as the stale rushes.  She should stop the fight.  She should confess how
she prodded Lady Mellisande's wrath.  She should plead for Lord Hanley to
change his mind.  She should beg Kyle for forgiveness.

Eleanor ran to
the dais where Kyle held a furious Lord Hanley at arm's length.  "Lord
Kyle!  Cease!  I--"

Kyle seared her
with a glare.  "I want this hall cleared, now!  Everyone out!  You too,
Eleanor!  Out!  One of you knights take Eleanor to my chamber and guard
her."

He wanted her
under arrest. 

Her heart wedged
in her throat and beat for release.  "Please, Lord Kyle--"

Someone grabbed
Eleanor's arms from behind in a painful grasp.

"You'll burn
for this, witch."

Brigham
. 

The ewer slipped
from her hand and shattered at her feet.

"You'll
burn, witch.  You'll burn."

"
L
ucinda!"  Eleanor threw
open the door to her sister's cottage.  "Lord Hanley has threatened war
and 'tis my own doing!"

She clutched the
cold metal handle for support as she gasped for breath.  Not only did her chest
hurt as her lungs struggled for air, but her sides cramped and her legs shook
from weakness.

Lucinda stilled
in a half-turn as if frozen by the moon's rays that flooded the small interior.

The latch rattled
in Eleanor's unsteady grip.  She released the handle and fought to keep her
tears inside.  "Lord Kyle shouted for me to get out.  Then he ordered a
guard to arrest me.  And then Brigham . . .   I bolted and ran.  I . . .
"   Eleanor leaned against the doorjamb and held her aching sides, her
mind in a jumble of fear and guilt.  "Lucinda, he might be killed!"

Lucinda's
expression of startled confusion shifted to wide-eyed terror, and still she
stared, unmoving. 

Eleanor felt the
urge to ramble, to fill the censorial silence.  She took a gasping breath into
her air-starved lungs. "I only thought to expose Lady Mellisande's
deceitful nature.  I . . . I spilled the ale on her gown in hopes to rile her
temper.  I didn't realize--"

A whimper drew
her attention to two huddled figures in the grayed edge of moonlight. 
Lucinda's children.  Eleanor's niece and nephew.  What a scourge, her horrid
tongue.  Would she never learn to think before she spoke?

"War?" 
Lucinda sank to her knees beside the unlit center hearth, her eyes wide,
disbelieving.  "Oh, Ellie, what have ye done?"

The young girl
scrambled across the wedge of moonlight and curled up beside Lucinda.  She
appeared about eight years of age.

"Mum?  Did
Aunt Ellie say war?" 

Startled, Eleanor
glanced at her niece, wondering how she knew Eleanor's identity.  They had
never seen each other before.

Lucinda brushed
strayed strands of hair from the girl's face.  "Hush, Dwinna.  Don't worry
none." 

"Will we's
all be killed?"  A young lad Eleanor guessed to be five, sank down by
Dwinna.

Lucinda pulled
her children to her and rocked them in her arms.  "Shhh, Michael.  Hush
now."

Heartsick,
Eleanor moved to her sister, wondering how to explain about her and Lord Kyle,
about how she had believed she would be his wife.  About the dream.  About
Brigham.  About Lady Mellisande.

With her hands as
shaky as yesterday's porridge, Eleanor drew up her gown past her ankles and sat
beside Lucinda on the dirt floor.  Tears pressed for release.  Despite the
threat of further punishment, she never should have left the convent.  If war
struck, her family as well as all of Trystonwood might be tortured and killed. 
Including Kyle. 

Lucinda patted
Michael's cheek, then Dwinna's.  "Listen, luvs, and do as I say.  I want
ye to stand in the doorway and watch to see if any one comes, but don't even
think 'o puttin' a toe outside.  I don't want the evil spirits to catch
ye."

Memory of the
second vision leapt into Eleanor's mind.  She had seen fire and smoke, heard
screams . . . A shudder of panic racked her body.

Dwinna and
Michael plodded to the door, their silhouettes thin against the moonlight.  As
thin as their long shadows that stretched across the floor like pointed fingers
of accusation.

"Somehow, I
must cease this senseless tragedy, Lucinda.  I must end the catastrophe my
foolishness started.  I must!  But I don't know how!"  She rubbed her
forehead, yet no miraculous thoughts burst forth. 

"Sounds like
'tis too late fer notions, Ellie.  Sounds like the bowl is broke and can't be
made whole agin."

Eleanor drew in a
tight breath for control and studied her sister's terrified expression. 
"I know what you're thinking.  You're wishing I hadn’t come.  I've brought
disaster to Trystonwood . . . to you, and Michael, and Dwinna.  And Lord
Kyle."

Her heart
crumpled into a tight ball of remorse.  Eleanor touched the coarse wool that
covered her sister's forearm and Lucinda trembled beneath her fingers like a
frightened rabbit.

"Lucinda, my
thoughts leap into actions before I consider the results.  I'm dense. 
Dense!"  Eleanor buried her face in her hands as her crumpled heart
struggled to beat inside the tight constriction of her chest.  "'Tis all
my fault.  If I hadn't spilled the ale, Lady Mellisande wouldn't have shown her
vileness, Lord Kyle wouldn't have lost his temper, and Lord Hanley wouldn't
have threatened war."

"Do ye
realize what happens in war?"

Eleanor raised
her blurred gaze to her sister's face, caught by the bitterness in her tone.

"Ye've been
in that convent all these years like a butterfly in a field o' flowers with no
thought for what life is like for us slugs 'neath the rocks.  Ye've not had to
scrape and beg fer food.  Ye've not had to sell yer body nor yer soul so yer
wee'uns can put a scrap into their bellies they don't have to steal from the
dogs.  And then ye come here and cause trouble."

"Lucinda--"

"I've seen
war, Ellie!"  Lucinda's tone rose, then she glanced at her children.  She
inhaled a ragged breath and leaned closer.  "Tis blood and death.  Fire
and hell.  Most likely what we have'll be burned, as will the crops which are
just now bein' harvested.  With winter comin' on, those of us that don't git
raped er killed, will either starve er freeze." 

A haunted look
filled her eyes as if she stared down the rocky path of yesterdays. 
"Three born of my body now lie ‘neath the ground ‘cause of war with Lord
Hanley.  Life is so hard that sometimes, if I didn't have to worry 'bout me wee'uns,
I'd . . . I'd . . ."

"Nay!"
Eleanor grabbed Lucinda's shoulders and gave her a hard shake.  "Don't say
it!" 

Lucinda shoved
her away and then pierced her with a hateful glare.  "Ellie, yer right.  I
wish ye hadn’t come.  Ye should never have left the convent."

'Twas dreadful
enough when the thought taunted Eleanor, but to hear the truth uttered aloud by
her sister, drove despair through her like a blunt stake.  Tears pressed again
for release.  Then anger raised an ugly head. 

"The convent
isn't as easy a life as you think, Lucinda.  True, I had food and shelter, but
I was treated as a slave.  I suffered punishment and degradation.  The nuns
burned . . ." Eleanor paused, afraid to reveal about visions and witches,
even to her sister. 

"And ye
learned how to speak like a lady and put on airs."

Eleanor met
Lucinda's accusing glare.  "I don't apologize for my education.  But if
you remember, sister, if I hadn't come at that particular moment, you'd be
minus one hand."

"If you
hadn't come, then I'd be sharing the Lord's bed 'stead o' ye.  And I wouldn't
have any haughty notions of bein' his lady."

"Haughty?"

"Beth told
me ye act like yer better than the rest of us."

"Beth's
jealous, 'tis all."

Lucinda glanced
at her children, then back to Eleanor.  "The lord asked me and the wee-uns
up to see ye when ye lay ailin'.  He feared ye might die."

Eleanor opened
her mouth, startled.  "He did?  But he never said.  Of course, we haven't
had much time to . . . to . . . "  Eleanor fell silent.  She and Kyle
hadn't had much chance to discuss Lucinda.  She had been too busy sharing his
bed.  Or causing war.  "Then that's why Dwinna knew me."

"When I went
to the keep, worryin' 'bout ye, feelin' guilty, ye lay in the lord's own bed. 
The lord's bed!  Like his lady!  With his tendin' to ye like he cares fer ye
somethin' fierce.  And in payment, ye've caused misery."

Eleanor stared at
her sister, unable to dispute the claim, then her breath hitched.  "You're
jealous."

"We'se
hungry!"

Horrified,
Eleanor peered past the wedge of moonlight into the gray and black shadows of
the small cottage.  No rushes on the floor.  No fire for warmth in the chilled
night air.  No candles.  No stools or cots, only a pile of rags in one corner .
. . their bed, perhaps?  And her sister had been caught stealing a bag of
grain.

"Lucinda, do
you not have enough to eat?"

In spite of the
dim light, reality shone from Lucinda's eyes, cruel and hard.  Her hair,
although the same color as Eleanor's, hung dull and coarse.  Several gaps
showed where teeth once grew.

As if ashamed
under Eleanor's scrutiny, Lucinda ducked her head.  "We've not have enough
to eat ever since Lord Kyle left after Lady Cathryn died.  But when Brigham
slayed me 'usband 'cause Timothy didn't want to share me no more, we lost all. 
The folks here give us what food they kin, but they'se hungry too."

So, Brigham
had
murdered Lucinda’s husband.  What a horrid, horrid man.

Lucinda lifted
her ashen face and Eleanor saw the fear in her eyes.  "I don't mind fer
meself, ye see.  'Tis the wee-uns that breaks me heart.  And if war hits, this
scarcity will seem like a feast."

Eleanor released
a tremulous sigh and lowered her gaze to her clasped hands.  "Heaven
forgive me.  What I'd meant to improve, I've destroyed.  What I'd hoped to win,
I've lost. Even if the lives of those I love are spared, Lord Kyle will hate
me.  You're right, Lucinda.  I should return to the convent, and yet, I haven't
completed my mis . . . "  Eleanor swallowed the word mission, not wanting
to open the subject to dangerous curiosity.  "I mean, I can't leave this
catastrophe behind.  I must find a solution before I depart."

"What kin ye
do?  'Cept make things worse."

Eleanor sucked in
a painful breath.  Lucinda's bitterness made Eleanor realize her error in
coming to her sister for solace.  She had been so frightened when she ran she
hadn't known where else to go.  And she most likely didn't have much time
before Kyle found her.  Or Brigham.  Or Lady Mellisande.  Eleanor rubbed at her
arms from the sudden chill. 

And even if Kyle
found her first, he would surely hate her now, but how severe the punishment he
would surely deliver, she didn't know.  Perhaps she should leave before any of
them found her, a cowardly exit, she knew.  Eleanor stared at the silhouettes
of her niece and nephew, black against the white moonlight. 

Black.  White.

The dream.

A mockery.

"Will things
git worse, Mum?" 

Eleanor hadn't
noticed that Dwinna had joined them until the child's shaky question skewered her
guilt.  A tear rolled down her niece's cheek like a shiny trail of liquid
moonlight.

Michael knelt
beside Lucinda.  "I'se hungry."

"Luvs, go
back to watch at the door."

"Aw,
Mum."  Michael kicked a bare foot on the dirt.

Lucinda gave him
a light swat on his backside.  "Do as I says."

Dwinna tugged her
brother back to the doorway and sat on the threshold.

Feeling as if
death stalked, Eleanor pushed to her feet and moved to the door that linked the
living chamber with the animals' byre.  Only black silence.  Eleanor looked
over her shoulder at her sister.  "What about your livestock?  Don't you
have eggs and milk?"

Lucinda shook her
head, then rose and joined her at the doorway.  "Brigham took our cow for
an inheritance tax, and Billy, the Friar, took our chickens for a death
payment.  'Twas all we had.  And not only do we not have any food, we won't
have any heat from the animals' bodies fer the winter.  Just their bein' there
helped keep us warm."

Indignation rose
in Eleanor's chest to join her anxiety, her guilt.  "But 'tis unfair!  How
can they take all you have?"

Lucinda laughed,
hard and ugly.  "And who's to gainsay em?  They kin do what they please. 
We'se only peasants, Eleanor, lower than dirt."  She shook her head at her
sister.  "Ye have strange notions, ye do."

Rage for
Lucinda's plight flowed through Eleanor's body.  She took her sister's hand and
urged her back to the patch of moonlight.

Lucinda pulled
free and moved to the doorway where Dwinna and Michael sat on the floor. 
"Ellie, what happened after Lord Hanley threatened war?"

Eleanor sank to
her knees and closed her eyes.  "Brigham . . . "  A shudder of doom
rippled down her spine.  She forced her eyes open again, desperate for
reassurance of life.  Beads of perspiration trickled down her face.  "He .
. . he threatened to burn me as a witch."

Her sister's
silhouette stilled, then she turned toward Eleanor.  "He doesn't toss out
idle threats, Ellie.  The man has committed deeds that'd make yer mind
shrivel."  Her sister's voice trembled with her terror.  "Ye need to
git away.  Ye need to git back to the convent afore he catches ye."

"And leave
Lord Kyle?"  An invisible hand must have clutched her throat, for she
couldn't swallow.  "But, he's in danger!  I can't . . . "  Her
sister's silent rebuke stopped her protest.  "Oh dear heaven.  He's in
danger because of me." 

Eleanor placed a
hand on the cold earth and pushed to her feet.  She crossed her arms over what
would certainly be a permanent knot in her stomach.  Fighting tears, she turned
her back to the moonlight that reminded her of Kyle's glorious hair.  Eleanor
stared beyond the grayed edges of light to the shadows, the symbol of her
future . . . black. 

To spare
Trystonwood, she should leave, but where?  If she returned to the convent, the
nuns would exact retribution for her escape. 

"How can I leave
Kyle?"  She didn't realize she had said the words aloud until her sister
uttered a harsh laugh.

"After all
that's happened, I'd say he'd be better off without ye."

Eleanor stifled
the groan that shoved from her chest.  She had failed at her supposed mission. 
The hateful steward had won after all.  She swiped at an errant tear and turned
to her sister.  "Who is Brigham to hold such power?"