“She does not leave the keep often, sir.”
“I think she will find an excuse to do as much and soon.”
Understanding dawned in Gaultier’s thoughts. “You think she will meet with the young knight.”
“I think she has made an agreement and must collect her price. We shall see whether he is fool enough to pay it.” Royce drained his cup of ale. “I wonder whether he is bold enough to enter this keep willingly again,” he mused. “Be sure you post a sentry to watch the windows of her chamber.”
“Of course, my lord.”
Friday, January 22, 1188
Feast Day of the martyr Saint Anastasius
Chapter Twelve
Finally, the snow had stopped.
And not an hour too soon. It was morning still. As the sky cleared, Marie’s hope rose that her goal would be achieved within hours. She stood at the window of her chamber and surveyed the village outside the gates of the keep. Smoke rose from the roofs of the houses that were still occupied, and she was relieved that the population of the village had not been diminished yet again.
Her relief was not selfless. She had need of the elderly apothecary. It would have been most inconvenient if he had not survived the storm.
She called for her heaviest boots and her thickest cloak, insisting that her maid Agnes search for the fur-lined gloves she had not worn yet this winter. The maids dressed quickly once Marie was garbed, knowing full well that she might leave them behind.
The trio descended the stairs, and Marie felt rather than saw that they were watched.
Of course, Royce was absurdly suspicious. She pivoted and sought him out deliberately, as if she was required to ask his permission for every step she took.
“My lord,” she murmured when she found him at his books. “I would beg your leave to visit the village this morn.”
She saw the gleam in his eye when he glanced up, though he quickly hid his satisfaction. “Why would you venture into the cold, my lady?”
“No ordeal is too much for me to bear, sir, in the pursuit of our common goal.”
He leaned back, surveying her. “Which goal might that be?”
“The conception of a son and heir, of course!” She gestured to the maids who stood demurely behind her. “Emma reminds me that an apothecary in her mother’s village had a potion to hasten conception, and I recalled that there is an old apothecary in your own village. I would beg his assistance this day, sir.”
“How strange that Emma recalls this incident only now.”
Marie laughed lightly. “Memory is a strange thing, my lord. We were talking during the storm of other such foul weather we had known, and Agnes recalled her aunt laboring to deliver a child in a snowstorm, when all feared the midwife would not arrive in time.” She stepped forward and lowered her voice, as if her words were for Royce alone. “Indeed, sir, that prompted me to confide my disappointment in my maids for the first time. It is not fitting for them to realize that we have any weaknesses, but in this instance, I think the confession may lead to good result.”
Royce sensed the deception, to be sure. He considered her for a long moment. “I thought you shared all with Agnes and Emma,” he murmured, speaking in English obviously in the hope that they might not understand.
More fool he, for both maids were fluent in French, English and German. Marie was glad once again to have her assets underappreciated.
“Only what is fitting, sir,” Marie lied. She pouted a little. “Surely you, too, would like to see this quest achieved.”
He smiled and waved at her. “Of course, my lady. I hope only that you will grace the board at midday.”
“Of course,” she agreed, smiling so that he would not note how she gritted her teeth. She turned back to her maids at his dismissal and marched to the hall, with them in quick pursuit. “After all,” she murmured under her breath. “Who would miss yet another meal of venison stew? Oh, what I would do for a measure of butter and honey spread on fresh bread!”
Butter and honey were the least of Marie’s ordeals at Haynesdale, however. There was but one way to secure her freedom, and that was with the son. She had not lied about her intention of seeking that particular potion from the apothecary.
But she planned to seek another, as well.
They were followed by Gaultier—discreetly, but not so discreetly that she was unaware of his presence—which proved the merit of her foresight.
Aye, she would have the encouragement to conception and the sleeping potion, too.
