A pitiful meow broke her out of her reverie as Thor, her gray cat with golden eyes, rubbed against her skirts, voicing his displeasure at the wind ruffling his fur. He was very particular about his fur.
“Come on, let’s go inside. No sense fretting about the things we can’t change.”
Thor blinked up at her, then darted through the door just as a young guardsman stepped out onto the battlements, nodding respectfully.
“Good morn to you, my lady.”
“And to you,” she replied, unable to recall his name. He was new, a mere boy sent far from his family to foster at Blackford.
Her heart ached at the thought of her own sons, Jason, and Peter, whom she would have to send away to foster with another family when the time came. It had been hard enough to entrust their care to wet nurses and nannies, but Lucy had attempted to fit in with the time and customs, only changing things that would improve their lives here at Blackford, things she didn’t think would make a difference if she kept them inside the castle walls, like fried chicken and cookies. At least she hoped her actions thus far hadn’t rippled through time.
As to changing the current views people had regarding women, childcare, medicine, and so forth and so on, Lucy decided baby steps were the best way to accomplish change without bringing down any unwanted suspicion on her head.
William cautioned her to be careful, to fit in, and to be wary of the villagers who were a superstitious lot.
Surely, improving hygiene practices wouldn’t alter history too drastically? Especially with what was coming. Sickness and plague. Simple handwashing and cleanliness would go a long way to helping people stay healthy.
Some days, contemplating the potential consequences of her actions gave her a headache.
Why was she so melancholy today? It wasn’t uncommon for William to be gone for a few days, either attending to someminor skirmish or being called to court, so it wasn’t because he was gone, currently attending on the king.
He had taken Albin with him. The boy she’d met when she first arrived was now twelve. He’d been a part of her personal guard until Lucy saw how much he watched William.
After she talked to her husband, she told Albin she wished him to watch out for Lord Blackford, to be his squire so she could rest easy when they were away. The young man made her laugh so hard sometimes her sides ached. The castle had been quieter with him gone, but he was in his element and she wanted him to do well in life.
Inside Blackford, Lucy strolled along torch lit stone walls, adorned with vibrant tapestries that depicted tales of chivalry and battles. Her fingers brushed against the rough wood of the heavy furniture, an anchor to the past she had been thrust into when she first arrived here in 1307.
A smile touched her lips as she remembered the chaise that Norbert, the castle carpenter, had built for her to put in her cozy tower room, where she crocheted and spent a bit of time by herself.
Everyone needed a room of their own. At least that’s what Aunt Pittypat and her sisters always said.
William admired her chaise so much that she had one made for him, complete with a down-stuffed cushion, which she’d placed in the solar. Norbert had built two more after one of William’s friends complained about her husband reclining in the chaise while he had to sit on an ordinary stool by the fire.
The flickering flames from the torches cast dancing shadows down the stone corridors, and the scent of burning wood filled the air, sending a sharp pain through her chest as the smell brought to mind the Halloween celebrations she and her sisters had cherished growing up.
Aunt Pittypat spared no effort in decorating their beach cottage, making it the most popular one on the street.
On Friday nights, Lucy, Melinda, and Charlotte were allowed to stay up late and hang out with their aunt’s friends.
Here in medieval England, people would accuse her aunt of being a witch. Aunt Pittypat believed in ghosts, and Lucy remembered her talking to Lucy’s parents every day after their deaths, telling them the latest news about Lucy and her sisters, and the gossip around their small town.
Her aunt was a new age hippie with impeccable southern manners who would dance naked under the full moon and then serve snacks afterward on china that was over two hundred years old.
Lucy’s fingers brushed the dark green velvet surcoat she wore, grateful for the warmth it offered. Over the years, she had grown accustomed to the layers of clothing. The chemise was made of linen with beautiful flowers and leaves embroidered on the straps and neckline in gold, brown, and rust.
Next came the kirtle, typically made of wool or silk. Today, hers was a dark green wool and had gold embroidery all along the hem and neckline of leaves and stags. Over that went the surcoat. She wore velvet in the winter and silk in the summer. Though sometimes she left the surcoat off if she was testing out a recipe, as the long flowing sleeves got in the way in the kitchens. And last was her apron, great for keeping her clothes clean longer, not to mention it had pockets which came in quite handy.
The cook and others had grown accustomed to her desire to try new dishes, even though it made them all nervous. Sometimes the food came out great, like the fried chicken, while other times, like when she’d tried to make pancakes, it was a disaster.
The result was a hard disc that the kids tossed to the animals in the yard. William’s steward had complained at the cost, but her husband had said not to worry, for he knew that while she was happy here, she still missed her family back home.
Even though William was extremely wealthy, Lucy was careful with the provisions on hand, especially with winter coming. It wasn’t like she could get in the car and drive to the store if they ran out of flour or milk.
Her soft brown leather shoes were quiet on the stone floors as she made her way to the solar. Thor dashed ahead of her, no doubt headed to the kitchen to beg for scraps.
It seemed like only yesterday she’d been worried about passing the test for her driver’s license. Lucy would never forget the feeling of driving over the bridge that connected the beach to the mainland to meet her friends for lunch and shopping. It was funny how an hour could last a day, yet years passed by in the blink of an eye.
Of course, it was usually warm enough to wear shorts at Halloween at the beach, not cold like here. Shorts and t-shirts were another thing Lucy missed, though a tunic and hose were nice when she worked in the gardens.
