“Aye, they are,” Aglette was thrilled that she was getting a response. “In the warmth of summer, it will make it much cooler for you.”
“But everyone will see the scar on my arm.”
Aglette hadn’t thought of that. “Not much, my lady. Not unless they look closely.”
“It is healing quite nicely. Garren did a remarkable job tending it.”
“Aye, he did.”
The fan stopped. “Where do you suppose he went, Aglette?”
Aglette lowered the dress. This was as much conversation as she had gotten out of Derica in a week and she wanted to tread carefully. “I do not know. Perhaps back to Chateroy.”
Derica clasped the fan against her breast and sat up. Her shoulders and forehead glistened in the moist weather. “Do you suppose… if I had Uncle Hoyt write to him, that he would write back?”
“I do not know, my lady. But you can certainly try.”
“Father would not permit it, I am sure.”
“Then perhaps we could sneak a missive out somehow.”
Derica fell back against the couch once more, closing her eyes in anguish. “He said he would not forget me. But I shall wager that he has. What would he want to remember about this horrid place and the horrible way he was treated?”
Aglette didn’t want to argue with her, and she did not want her mistress to fall deeper into despair with the present line of conversation. She laid the blue dress aside.
“I am going down to the kitchens to fetch some cool water. A sponge bath will do you a world of good. Then we shall try on this dress.”
Derica didn’t reply and the fan lay still against her chest. Aglette quit the chamber and descended to the second floor where she took the steps into the ward. The kitchens were located towards the rear of Framlingham’s bailey. Her thoughts centered on Derica as she commandeered two kitchen servants to help her carry the water buckets up to her mistresses’ room. Before she left the area, however, she collected a plate of bread and cheese, hoping to coerce Derica into eating something. With the bath and dress, perhaps she would feel better. One could only try.
She sent the servants bearing water on ahead as she collected one last bit of fruit for her mistress’ plate, some small green grapes. The cook also gave her some boiled fruit juice flavored with cloves and honey. As Aglette crossed the ward towards the western tower, a sharp whistle pierced her ears. Then the sound came again. Thinking it was one of the soldiers on the wall walk above, she ignored it until she passed near the kiln and saw a figure bundling bunches of straw for the kiln fire.
“Mistress,” the man was on his knees, his face half-obscured by a dirty cloak. “Mistress!”
Aglette was used to aggressive men; it happened quite often. “Go about your business. I have no interest in you.”
“I have been waiting here the better part of a week, waiting for the chance to speak with you,” the man hissed. “You’re Lady Derica’s servant.”
Aglette didn’t answer; she kept walking. The man stood up, a bundle in his hands.
“How has your mistress been feeling this past week?” he asked.
Aglette paused, looking at him pointedly. “I do not know who you are or what you want, but if you do not leave me alone, I shall send the soldiers after you.”
Aglette continued walking. After two steps she had forgotten about the conversation until she heard the man’s voice behind her once again.
“Aglette,” he said slowly. “I bring your lady a message from Garren.”
Aglette came to a dead halt. She turned, eyeing the man with the bucked teeth and bright blue eyes. “What… what do you mean a message?”
Fergus could see the fear in her eyes. “Garren said you are someone to be trusted.”
Aglette was shaken. “I… I serve my lady faithfully.” She lowered her voice. “Who are you?”
Fergus knew their time would be short. He glanced around, seeing that their conversation was going unnoticed for the moment.
“I am Sir Fergus de Edwin, a friend of Sir Garren’s,” he said quietly. “He has asked me to come on his behalf.”
“You are a knight?”
