Love Above All (33 page)

Where was she? Who would – or could – indulge
in the incredible luxury of glass windows? Except for small stained
glass windows in churches, every other window Fionna had ever seen
was simply an opening in a wall, with wooden shutters to close
during bad weather.

Then she remembered she was at Wortham
Castle. She looked around curiously, moving her head with caution
because she felt oddly light, as if she’d float right off the
pillow if she wasn’t careful. The sensation was a bit unsettling,
though it was lovely to be so warm and comfortable, to feel no fear
or urgency.

Slowly Fionna took in the details of her
surroundings. The walls of the room where she lay were plastered
and painted in a deep shade of blue. Braziers on either side of the
bed warmed the room and bed hangings of fine blue wool were drawn
back to allow the heat to reach her.

The quiet voices continued. Fionna turned her
head to see who was talking. Janet and Lady Catherine were side by
side on a wooden chest that had a pillow on top of it to make a
comfortable seat. Janet was wearing a greenish-blue wool gown and
her red curls were tied back with a matching ribbon. She looked
happy.

Fionna couldn’t believe her eyes. Then Janet
laughed. Fionna couldn’t credit what she was hearing. She stared at
her sister in astonishment. She must have made a movement that
caught the attention of the two young women, for both of them
looked at her.

“Ah, you are awake at last,” said Lady
Catherine. She came to the bed to lay a cool hand on Fionna’s
cheeks and forehead. “As I promised, Janet, the fever is completely
gone.”

“Fionna. Oh, my dear.” Janet flung herself
onto her sister’s body, embracing her with great enthusiasm.

“Be careful of her injured arm,” Catherine
warned.

“Yes, I will. I’m sorry, Fionna. Did I hurt
you? I’m just so happy to see you awake.”

“How long have I been asleep?” Fionna
asked.

“Four days,” Janet answered. “At first, I
feared you’d die, but Catherine promised you would live, and she
was right.”

“Four days?” Fionna repeated. “So long?”

“You weren’t asleep all of that time,”
Catherine said, “though I don’t expect you to remember the wakeful
hours. You were very sick.”

“But Catherine saved you,” Janet said. “She
has taught me so much about caring for sick or injured people.
Yesterday, I assisted while she sewed up a man-at-arms who had cut
himself with his own sword.”

“Thank you,” Fionna said to Catherine. “Not
just for nursing me, but for being kind to my sister, too.”

“Janet and I have become friends,” Catherine
said. “She has been a great help to me. Now, are you hungry?”

“Not really. It’s so pleasant just to lie
here and do nothing. I know it’s sinful to be lazy, but I don’t
want to move.”

“You are still feeling the aftereffects of
the poppy syrup,” Catherine explained. “It will wear off now that
you are awake. Some people crave the syrup even when they don’t
need it any longer. I tried to give you the smallest possible dose,
so we will hope you can escape that unpleasantness. Tell me, does
your arm hurt?”

“Just a little.” Fionna moved her arm,
testing it. “It’s stiff, but not as painful as I remember.”

“That’s because the swelling has gone down.
I’m sure the two of you have much to say to each other, so I’ll
leave you and Janet to your privacy. One of the maids will bring
bread and broth, and I expect you to eat everything on the
tray.”

“She is the most amazing girl,” Janet said
when they were alone. “Catherine manages the entire castle for her
father. She is so good, and kind and funny, too. She saved your
life when I was certain you would die.” Janet paused on a sound
that was rather like a suppressed sob.

“I’m glad you have a friend,” Fionna
said.

“Wait until you see this castle!” Janet
cried, quickly recovering herself, as if her worry over Fionna was
fading into the past. “The tapestries in the great hall! The huge
barracks for the men-at-arms! So many horses in the stables! And,
oh, Fionna, the wonderful food!”

“Glazed windows instead of shutters,” Fionna
murmured, adding to Janet’s list the marvel she had already
noticed.

“Braziers in every room!” Janet continued.
“The lowliest servant here at Wortham is warmer and better fed than
you and I ever were at Dungalash – or I ever was at Abercorn. When
I think of the chilblains I endured each winter, I want to
cry.”

Janet’s excited account of the wonders of
Wortham Castle was interrupted by the arrival of a maidservant with
the tray Catherine had promised. Fionna discovered to her surprise
that she was hungry, after all. She ate a large bowl of soup and a
chunk of fresh bread. Then she fell asleep again, with Janet
sitting on the bed, holding her hand.

It was dark when Fionna wakened. Janet was
gone, and Catherine stood by the bed with a cup in her hand.

“There is no poppy syrup in this,” Catherine
said, handing over the cup. “It’s only water and wine. I thought
you might be thirsty. You may get out of bed tomorrow if you like.
But expect to be weak at first.”

“Is Lord Royce at home?” Fionna asked. “I
ought to thank him, as well as you. I owe both of you so much.”

“My father isn’t here.” Catherine regarded
her patient steadily. Though the faint hint of a smile lurked in
her eyes, nothing else in her manner suggested that she knew Fionna
yearned for information about anyone other than Royce. “Father and
Quentin went to court together. Quentin’s men-at-arms who were here
have left, too.”

“They’ve all gone.” It wasn’t a question.
Fionna heaved sigh.

“Quentin, at least, is bound to return to
Wortham before too long,” Catherine said. The smile in her eyes
finally reached her lips. “He left his favorite horse stabled here,
and I know he’ll want it back. I’m sorry to say I can’t provide any
information about the other men who came at the same time you did.
They were only here for the one night, and I scarcely noticed them.
I didn’t even join them in the great hall while they were
eating.”

“Because you were busy taking care of me,”
Fionna said, wondering if it was only the horse that would draw
Quentin back to Wortham.

She did feel much stronger the following day,
so with Janet’s help she dressed in a simple blue wool gown that
Catherine provided, and the two sisters went to the great hall for
the midday meal.

Despite that tell-tale glazed window in her
room, Fionna expected Wortham to be similar to Carlisle Castle. She
quickly saw that Janet’s rapturous descriptions were the
understated truth. How poor and barren Dungalash was in contrast to
the comfort and luxury of Wortham! Even Carlisle, pleasant as it
was, could not compare to Royce’s home. Gorgeous tapestries covered
the walls of the great hall. Gold and silver plate was displayed on
beautifully carved wooden chests set around the room. Clean rushes
and sweet-scented herbs were strewn over the floors. There was a
notable absence of dogs roaming about, and Fionna could detect no
smell of rotting bones or of other discarded food.

All of the people Fionna saw were nicely
clothed and well nourished. No wonder they were eating so heartily;
it was impossible to resist the delicious food.

“If you want my opinion,” Janet whispered to
Fionna, “after seeing Wortham, I can understand why King Alexander
welcomes Normans into Scotland. I’ll wager he wants the Scots to
become used to this kind of luxury, so they will stop protesting
against the Normans.”

“Men like our brothers will never stop
protesting as long as they live,” Fionna said, “They despise
luxury. They’d rather live in poverty, freezing in winter and
eating oatcakes, than bend the slightest bit to accommodate the
king’s Norman friends.”

“The truth is, I like the Normans,” Janet
said. “I always hated being cold and poorly dressed and ill fed.
Though I’m sure not all Normans live this way.”

Fionna let Janet talk on, grateful that she
wasn’t complaining or criticizing, and amused to hear her sister
sounding so happy. Janet’s taste for comfort and luxury, starved
during her years at Abercorn, was in full bloom now.

Fionna wasn’t immune to the pleasures of life
at Wortham, either, but she knew it couldn’t last. She would not
allow herself, or Janet, to become a burden to Royce. She was going
to have to find some other place to live. There weren’t many
possibilities. Without dowries, neither sister could hope to
marry.

They could enter a convent but, again,
without a dowry they’d have no position. They’d be relegated to
servants’ status and spend their days scrubbing floors or in the
laundry room. Fionna thought she could bear that life for herself,
but she wanted better for Janet.

She knew women sometimes earned a living by
brewing ale, but she was without funds to purchase a brewery, or to
begin one. She wasn’t very nimble at a loom, so she couldn’t set
herself up as a weaver and sell the cloth she made. Nor did she own
a house with rooms she might rent.

The problem preyed on her mind, dampening her
appetite and slowing her recovery. For several nights she slept
poorly, instead lying awake to worry about the future.

And then one morning she rose from her bed to
the realization that her monthly courses had resumed for the first
time since shortly before she had left Dungalash. She should have
been relieved to see proof that she wasn’t with child by Quentin.
She wasn’t going to have to find a place to hide in order to escape
the disgrace of unwed motherhood, nor was she going to have to face
Janet’s disapproval.

Instead of being glad, she felt as if her
last tie with Quentin was gone. She wept several times that day.
When Catherine remarked that a woman’s courses sometimes resulted
in a day or two of low spirits, Fionna seized on the excuse. As far
as she could tell, Janet believed it.

But she couldn’t fool herself. The brief
happiness she had experienced with Quentin was over and if she had
any pride left, she’d hide her grief and begin to make a new life
without him.

It took Quentin and his companions a week to
reach Windsor, and they arrived only to learn that King Henry
wasn’t there. He had moved on to St. Albans, where he was to remain
for at least a month, until after the Feast of the Epiphany. The
next day they mounted their horses again and, in weary obedience to
duty, rode on to St. Albans. There Royce used his influence to
procure a single room for four of them in the crowded abbey
guesthouse and a very limited space in the stable for their
retainers and the horses. Quentin and Royce immediately applied for
a private interview with the king. Then they waited five days until
the royal summons came.

“You would think he’d be eager to hear what
his ambassador has to say,” Cadwallon grumbled, using his fingers
to comb his hair in preparation for facing the king.

“He wants to see all of us together,” Quentin
complained. He knew the way he jerked his belt tight around his
narrow waist indicted just how irritated he was, but he didn’t
care. “I need to speak to Henry alone, man to man.”

“Tell him so,” Royce advised. “He may grant
your request. Henry is busy, but not unreasonable.”

“I don’t understand why he wants to see me,”
Braedon said, looking more worried than puzzled. “The squires I
have spoken to here act as if they know a secret about me. Can the
king be intending to cancel my appointment to his household?”

“He’s a fool if he does,” said Cadwallon in a
bracing tone that made even Braedon smile.

King Henry received them in a small audience
chamber. The only other person in the room was one of Henry’s
ever-present clerics, who was ensconced at a table in the corner,
ready with quill and inkpot to write down whatever the king
commanded. As an odd addition to the clerical materials, a sword
with a plain, leather-wrapped hilt and an unornamented scabbard lay
on one side of the table next to a couple of rolled-up parchment
documents.

King Henry I of England, the third son of
William the Conqueror, was a tall, powerfully built man, with thick
black hair that was beginning to turn grey. When he chose to do so,
he exerted a charm that easily bound men to him in friendship – and
lured many women to the royal bed. His queen, the half-Saxon older
sister of the king of the Scots, knew about and patiently accepted
his numerous affairs. Henry’s admiration and respect for his wife
was unfeigned, for the gentle lady whom the commoners called Good
Queen Maud had devoted herself to promoting peace between Saxons
and Normans in England. She had provided Henry with two healthy
male heirs, and he had married off their daughter, Matilda, to the
Holy Roman Emperor, thus cementing important friendships on the
continent. No king could ask more of his queen.

Part of Henry’s charm lay in his easy manners
with his nobles. He did not stand on ceremony, but came forward to
greet the four men who entered the audience chamber.

“Royce, it’s good to see you again,” Henry
exclaimed, clasping his old friend’s hand. “Quentin, I want to hear
all about the mission to Scotland now, before you make your formal
report to my full council. Sir Cadwallon, I’m sure you have some
interesting tales to tell of your adventures beyond the border.
Squire Braedon, how are you?”

“Very well, thank you, Sire,” Braedon
responded, a little stiffly.

“My lord,” Quentin said, choosing to deal
immediately with official matters, “here is my report on the
information I gathered while I stayed at the Scottish court. I have
included a second, private version, meant for your eyes only. Also
in the package is the agreement King Alexander signed, that I
sealed in your name, as you commanded me. I’m sure you will want to
read the documents before the council meeting takes place. Despite
some recent skirmishes along the border, I have Alexander’s
personal word of honor that he fully intends to adhere to the terms
of the agreement and to continue his peaceful relations with
England.” Quentin handed over the heavy, cloth-wrapped package of
parchment sheets.