Kingdom Come (42 page)

Once John’s escort passed through the gatehouse, there really wasn’t much more to see. There were a lot of soldiers upon the parapets and a lot of dogs pacing with them as they walked their beat. She could see the city beyond, the torches burning to illuminate homes and streets, and she could catch whiffs of cooking smells. But they were mostly smells of roasting meat, which made her nauseous, so she tried not to smell too much.  Just when she was considering turning away from the window and going to sit with the boys, there was a soft knock on the door.

David and Bud looked at her expectantly.  Rory rose from the stool and went to the door, a bit apprehensive.  She didn’t open the door, somewhat fearful of what might be on the other side.

“Who is it?” she called.

There was a slight hesitation. “I am Lady Margaret, Lady Hage,” came a soft female voice. “Sean’s wife.”

Rory unlatched the iron bolt and opened the door.  A very slender, very pale young woman with enormous green eyes stood there, smiling timidly. On her hip was a little girl, about a year old.  Rory smiled at the pair.

“Hello,” she said to the woman. “It’s nice to meet you. Who is your little friend?”

The Lady Margaret de Russe Bigod-Hage gazed back at perhaps the loveliest woman she had ever seen.  The lady was tall and lush, with a curvy figure, long chestnut colored hair that she allowed to flow free, and big hazel eyes.  The woman’s stunning beauty was something of a shock. And she had no idea what the lady meant with her very odd question until Rory reached out to touch the baby’s hand.  Margaret hastened to answer.

“This is my daughter, Eleanor,” she replied. “It is a privilege to know you, my lady. I was so happy to hear that Kieran had returned from the great Quest with a wife.”

Rory motioned for Margaret to enter.  The tiny woman slipped into the room and Rory shut the door behind her.  They turned to each other, Margaret far more timid than Rory.  In just those first few seconds, Rory could see that Margaret was a very proper Medieval woman in every way; she was extremely polite, her hair was pulled back into an elaborate bun on the back of her head, and her surcoat was very conservative and even somewhat loose to avoid flaunting her figure.   She was also quite pretty in a pale, ethereal sort of way.  Rory studied the skin of her face, something that had never seen modern cosmetics or moisturizers.  Her skin looked a little oily, minor acne on her chin, but was otherwise clear. Overall, Margaret seemed rather fragile and Rory knew she would have to be careful with her; from outwards appearance, a twenty-first century woman might frighten this one to death.

“So, Lady Margaret,” Rory began, trying to be careful in her speech and manner. “How long have you and Sean been married?”

“For five years, my lady,” Margaret replied politely.

Rory took a second look at her, trying not to be obvious about it; the young woman couldn’t have been more than sixteen or seventeen. “How old were you when you were married?” she couldn’t help the question.

“I had seen twelve summers, my lady,” she replied proudly. “Sir Sean and I had been betrothed since I was a child.”

Rory stared at her, doing the math in her head; Kieran had mentioned that his brother was only a year and half  younger than he was, which meant Sean was around thirty years of age.  He was twenty five when he married Margaret, who was only twelve at the time.  Pedophilia is alive and well in Medieval England, she thought. Still, she knew it was the custom. No one thought twice about it.

“Congratulations,” she didn’t know what else to say. “And congratulations on Eleanor. She’s beautiful.”

Margaret looked at the brown-eyed little girl, smiling hugely. “Ellie is my love,” she said. “She is a very good child, very bright.”

“I can see that,” Rory said, laughing softly when the baby grinned a big four-toothed grin at her. “She looks like you.”

Margaret’s smile vanished. “Oh, no, my lady,” she insisted. “She favors her father greatly.”

Rory lifted her eyebrows, knowing in Medieval society, the world revolved around the man. She nodded as if to concede the point.  There were two enormous chairs of stuff cow-hide over near the blazing hearth and she indicated for Margaret to sit.

“Tell me about yourself, Lady Margaret,” she said as they sat down opposite one another.  “Where did you grow up… I mean, foster?”

Lady Margaret shifted Eleanor to her lap and Rory found herself inspecting the woman’s surcoat; it was finely made with incredibly detailed stitching around the bodice.  Someone had taken a lot of time and effort with it.  But Margaret seemed oblivious to the fact that Rory seemed to be staring at her breasts.

“I was fortunate enough to have fostered at Berkeley Castle,” she said proudly. “My father is Edward Bigod, half-brother to the Earl of Norfolk.  I was born at New Buckenham Castle, my father’s holding.”

Talk about powerful family ties, Rory thought.  She smiled politely. “Do you have any sisters or brothers?” she asked, simply to keep the conversation going.

But Margaret shook her head. “Alas, I do not. My father is extremely disappointed he has no sons.”

There was really nothing more to say to that so Rory spoke on the first thing that popped into her mind. “Do you have any hobbies?”

Margaret cocked her pretty blond head. “Hobbies?”

“Talents. Skills. Do you draw?”

Margaret smiled brightly; she had nice, straight teeth that were slightly dingy. “Indeed I do, Lady Hage,” she replied. “I sew. Why, I sewed this dress.”

She indicated the embroidery that had Rory so fascinated. It really was stunning work.  Rory looked closely at it; there were flowers and bees in an intricate pattern.

“It’s gorgeous,” she said sincerely. “You do beautiful work.”

“My thanks, Lady Hage.”

The conversation died slightly. Rory was running out of things to ask about when Margaret piped up.

“Do you have also skills, Lady Hage?” she asked politely. “Surely you must be very accomplished to have married Sir Kieran.”

Rory suddenly felt like the most useless person in the world; she couldn’t sew or speak five languages like some Medieval women, or even play an instrument, but she could draw. And she could sing. Okay, so she didn’t feel entirely useless.

“I can draw and I can sing,” she announced. “And I can cook.”

Margaret looked startled. “Cook?”

Okay, maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say. Proper Medieval women really didn’t cook, but she had already admitted it.

“Yes,” she admitted to it. “I can cook. I’m a great cook and Kieran is very proud of me.”

It could have been interpreted as a rebuke, but Margaret didn’t take it that way. Her timid smile returned. “I… I have always wanted to learn,” she confessed. “I have been taught to run a household and I understand the art of maintaining kitchen stores, but I have never learned to cook.  At Berkeley, they would not let us into the kitchens when the cooks were at work.”

Rory smiled. “I’ll teach you,” she said. “It’s really very easy.”

Margaret appeared intrigued if not reluctant. “Do you believe I can learn? Is it difficult?”

Rory waved her off. “For a smart woman like you? You’ll be great at it.”

Margaret giggled as if she was planning something bold and crazy.  “As you say, Lady Hage,” she said, not completely understanding the odd speech patterns but understanding enough that she was coming to like Lady Hage very much. “I am grateful for your tutelage.”

Rory just smiled at her, thinking the poor little thing really was timid. God help her if she hung around Rory for too long; she would either shrivel away with shock or learn how to stand up for herself. Rory watched the pale, lovely girl, wondering which it would be.  The conversation began to drag again and Rory looked around the room, trying to think of something more to say.

“Well,” she began, grasping for thoughts. “Uh… this is a pretty big keep. Who else lives here?”

Margaret stepped up with the answers. “Sean and I have a room on this floor, next to Kieran’s room,” she told Rory what she already knew. “There is another room next to ours, a very small room, which is Andrew’s.  Below us are chambers for Christian and Lord Jeffrey. Oh, and a small chamber for Charlotte.”

Rory cocked her head. “Charlotte? Who’s that?”

“Christian’s betrothed. She only came to live with us a few months ago.”

“Oh,” Rory replied. “I haven’t met her yet.”

Some of the smile disappeared from Margaret’s face. “And you shall not, more than likely,” she said. “Christian does not like for anyone to speak with Charlotte.”

Rory’s face screwed up with confusion. “Huh?” she said. “Why not?”

For the first time since introducing herself, Margaret appeared uncomfortable. “Lady Charlotte was a betrothal that Lord Jeffrey insisted upon,” she lowered her voice, speaking hesitantly. “She is from the Longley family in Northumbria, the Lords of Northwood. Christian does not want a bride. He forbids anyone to speak to her.”

Rory’s confusion grew. “Why not?”

Margaret shrugged. “I do not know,” she said honestly. “But he forbids anyone to speak to the girl. I’ve only seen her twice since her arrival. Christian keeps her closed up in her chamber. He and his father fight about her all of the time; Christian wants her sent home and Lord Jeffrey refuses.”

Now Rory’s confusion was turning to outrage. “Are you kidding me?” she exclaimed. “He keeps that woman locked up and won’t let anyone talk to her?”

Margaret nodded, somewhat intimidated by Rory’s sudden angst. “She is not a woman,” she said. “She is only thirteen years old.”

“What?” Rory shot to her feet. “She’s a little girl, for God’s sake. And she’s been kept locked up for months?”

“Aye, Lady Hage,” Margaret replied, completely fearful of the woman’s reaction.

Rory opened her mouth to vent her outrage but looking at Lady Margaret’s frightened expression stilled her.  The woman looked like she was about to faint dead away.  So she visibly cooled, although her mind was racing.

“Well,” she forced herself to take a deep breath. “I will have to ask my husband about that. It doesn’t seem right to me.”

Margaret was greatly relieved that Lady Hage was calming.  She rocked the baby in her lap. “It is Sir Christian’s wish,” she replied.

Rory cast her a long look. “We’ll see about that,” she muttered. A thought suddenly came to her. “You said she’s downstairs, directly below us?”

“Aye, my lady.”

Clever, if not disobedient thoughts, came to Rory’s head. “I haven’t been shown the keep,” she said, almost innocently. “Would you mind showing me around?”

Margaret stood up, looking somewhat fearful. “My husband instructed me to stay here with you. We are not allowed to leave our rooms, my lady.”

Rory was going to be a very bad girl. “You can just show me this floor and the floor below. We won’t leave the keep. That’s what they’re most concerned with, isn’t it? That we don’t leave the keep?”

Margaret was distressed, growing more distressed as Rory moved to the door with the apparent intention of leaving.

“Nay, my lady,” she ran to the door, bouncing poor Eleanor around. “We must not leave. They would become very angry with us.”