Adrienne Basso (9 page)

Feeling better prepared to face the others, Fiona turned to Alice. “We might not understand these people, but that is no excuse for neglecting our devotions. I shall attend Mass this morning and pray for the safety of the earl and his men.”

Alice’s mouth pressed into a thin, disapproving line. “Prayers for the earl are all well and good, but I think it would be wise if you asked the good Lord for some help for yourself, Lady Fiona. I fear you’re the one who’ll be needing it more.”

The church was filled when Fiona entered, nearly every bench packed tight. Spying a space near the front, she tried sliding into place as unobtrusively as possible. But it was near impossible to remain unseen, as the whispers of her presence spread through the chapel like wildfire.

Pay them no mind, she told herself. She carefully adjusted the skirt of her gown, then glanced beneath her lashes to see who sat beside her. ’Twas Hamish, the castle steward. She offered him a shy smile. Hamish grunted, his expression leaving little doubt that he was displeased with her seat choice, but at least he had the good manners to stay in the pew. Fiona was sure any of the women seated so piously around her would have made a scene and stomped away.

It was difficult to concentrate on the service with so many resentful glares trained upon her back. Fiona could almost hear the snickers when nerves made her stumble over the words of a familiar prayer, but she refused to bow her head. Her pride demanded she stay, but more importantly, she needed the familiar comfort of the Mass to calm her nerves.

Plus, she assumed the castle squires would be required to attend the Mass, which meant she would have a chance to see Spencer and hopefully speak with him. Though it had been only a day, she missed him terribly and wanted to see for herself how he was fairing in this strange new environment.

It was a pleasant surprise to look up and find Father Niall upon the altar, assisting the castle priest. The two men worked together in harmony, their common faith overcoming any political differences. Of course, the fact that Father Niall was half Scots didn’t hurt either, Fiona thought, as she knelt on the hard wooden floor.

Fiona had a much better view of the inside of the chapel from her kneeling position. She felt a shiver of joy when she spied a pew filled with young squires, Spencer among them. Contented, Fiona folded her hands together, not taking her eyes off Spencer for a moment. His face was paler, but his back straight. The lad beside him leaned close and whispered something in Spencer’s ear, causing him to break into a wide grin. Fiona’s spirits lifted. Spencer seemed to be adjusting to his new position.

When the Mass ended, Fiona waited outside the church, ignoring the stares of the people who walked past by refusing to meet their suspicious gazes. But then Spencer appeared and Fiona’s heart lightened.

“Spencer! Good morning.”

At the sound of her voice he turned, then gave her a bow. “Good morning, my lady.”

Fiona bit her lip. She had taught him proper manners from the time he was a small boy, but never expected to be on the receiving end of such formality.

She wanted to push the other lads aside and wrap him in a tight embrace. Unsure, she controlled the impulse, knowing how mortified he would be at so public a display of affection, especially in front of the other squires.

“May I have a word?” she asked.

Spencer shifted his gaze, not meeting her eyes. “I have duties,” he replied.

Her heart tugged with longing for the young boy who had always been eager to be in her company. She knew things would change once they arrived at the castle, but she hadn’t expected it to happen so quickly. Nor for it to hurt so much.

“I shall only keep you a few moments,” Fiona said.

Spencer shrugged his shoulder. Hardly the response Fiona desired, but she seized her chance and gently guided him away from the other boys so they could have a moment of privacy.

“How are you faring? Do you have enough to eat? Is it warm enough where you sleep?”

The questions rolled off Fiona’s tongue faster than Spencer could nod his rather sullen answers. She could not help but notice how often, and anxiously, he turned toward the other boys. Not having his full attention for these few precious minutes was maddening. Spencer turned his head yet again and that’s when Fiona noticed the yellow and blue bruise on his cheek.

“You’ve been injured!”

Fiona reached up to touch the wound, but Spencer swatted her hand away. “Mother, please.”

Fiona’s hand fell to her side. Unused to such an awkward exchange, she tried a different approach. “Tell me about the other squires. Who is the young man in the red tunic?” Fiona asked, picking the boy she had seen earlier in church standing beside Spencer.

Spencer immediately perked up. “That’s Travis. He’s teaching me how to fight.”

“Is he?” Fiona struggled to keep her tone casual. “Is that how you got that fine bruise on your cheek?”

Spencer gave her a lopsided grin. “I was slow to duck. Angus says it’s good practice to have my wits scrambled every now and again. It will make me a more agile fighter when I’ve got a sword in my hand.”

“Oh?”

Spencer nodded. “And Travis showed me that sometimes it’s better to strike with the heel of your hand instead of a closed fist. Especially if you can swing upward and catch your opponent square in the nose.”

“I was unaware of that tactic,” Fiona said faintly.

As she listened to Spencer, the impact of what she had done fully hit her. She was training him for battle, for war, perhaps even his death. The realization shook her. Doubts crept into her head. Would it have been better to listen to the advice of her brother and send him to the priesthood, where he would be safe?

“Violence for violence sake alone is not a wise attitude,” Fiona lectured. “Just because you have the means to kill a man, doesn’t mean that you should.”

Spencer paused. “Even if he is your enemy?”

“It all depends. If he threatens your life, or the lives of those you are sworn to protect, then you must act. Swiftly. Decidedly. But there are other ways to resolve your differences. A good knight knows how to skillfully wield a sword. But a great knight knows how to use his brains as well as his weapons.”

It was a good speech and Fiona was proud of it. Unfortunately, Spencer paid her little notice. He was shifting his weight from one foot to the other and staring at the group of squires.

Fiona gazed at them, too. The infamous Travis was motioning for Spencer to join them, yet when he realized he had been caught by Fiona, Travis’s eyes widened in feigned innocence.

A shiver of alarm ran through Fiona. Was he Spencer’s friend or foe?

“I have to hurry or else I’ll be late,” Spencer announced suddenly. “Angus gets mad when we are late.”

“Best run along,” Fiona replied. Then not caring one wit who was watching, she leaned down and kissed Spencer on the forehead. “Stay safe, my dearest.”

Gulping back his groan, Spencer scurried off, his limp seeming even more pronounced. Heart heavy, she stood alone in the bailey, watching Spencer until he disappeared from view.

Unaware of how long she remained in that spot, Fiona suddenly sensed the presence of someone near her. Startled, she glanced down and found one of the castle hounds sitting at her feet. It was a large, unattractive-looking beast with an enormous head and fawn-colored fur that was long and mangy and none too clean.

His chest was wide, the muscles strong and defined. He would have been a terrifying beast, if not for his wide, brown, trusting eyes.

“I’ve no scraps or treats to give you,” Fiona said, expecting him to hurry away.

The animal seemed to consider her words for a moment, then nudged Fiona’s hand in an insistent manner, demanding to be petted. With a rueful smile, she stroked the beast’s ears, surprised at their softness. The hound’s tail thumped happily on the dirt, pleased at the attention.

After one final rub, Fiona turned to leave, and the dog trotted along beside her. He stayed by her side when she entered the great hall. Tensing at the sight of several unfriendly faces, Fiona halted.

The beast stopped, too. He nudged her side. She didn’t budge. Then, almost as if sensing her distress, he comfortingly licked her palm with his large tongue.

Fiona could not hold back her smile. The uncertainty of the morning fell away, the anxiety of her decision to come here faded.

It appeared that she had at long last found a friend.

 

 

Fiona stood at one end of the great hall and stared at the circle of women gathered near the fireplace. It had been five days since Gavin had so abruptly departed and there was still no word on when he and his men might return.

Well, no word that had been shared with her. Though she had asked. Every morning. And at each of the noon meals. Then again at the evening meal and once more before she retired for the night.

She bade Alice to inquire also. And Father Niall. But the answer was always the same—no one knew.

Fiona didn’t believe it. Just last night, from the small window of her bedchamber, she had seen a young soldier return to the bailey, obviously bringing news. She had hastily thrown her cloak over her nightgown and rushed to the great hall. But the messenger was nowhere to be seen, and when she had asked, several of the servants had denied he even existed.

Fiona’s spirits were momentarily buoyed at the thought. Time had hung heavy these last few days, mainly because she had little to keep her occupied. The earl’s castle was a stark, unfriendly place. Her brief encounters with Spencer had been unsettling, for it was obvious he preferred to converse with the other squires. She was glad that he had so quickly adjusted, but seeing Spencer’s easy acceptance of this new life made her even more lonely.

If not for the large hound who had befriended her at Mass, there would be none but Alice and Father Niall to greet her with a smile. For whenever she came across the hound, Fiona could swear he was grinning, with his tongue hanging out of his mouth and his tail wagging so fast and furiously his entire back end shook.

It was a momentary bit of joy in an otherwise dull day. Fiona had not been foolish enough to expect any overtures of friendship she extended would be welcomed by the castle folk, but she had thought she could at least work alongside them.

The women studied her with the sharpness of a hawk, yet whenever she met their gaze with a hesitant smile, their hard stares passed coldly over her. Gossip was rampant throughout the castle, spreading out to the village. Fiona tried hard not to imagine what horrid tales were being told about the earl’s English mistress, but so much idle time led to far too much thinking.

It was starting to become depressing. Knowing her position in the household was rather . . . uhm . . . unique, Fiona had kept to her chamber after Mass that first day. Making her bed, sweeping the floor, tidying the small chamber, then darning every article of clothing she possessed had taken half the morning. But when she was finished, she quickly became bored.

Knowing her idle hands would make the hours hang heavy, Fiona had boldly entered the earl’s chamber. It was large and well appointed, and above all masculine. Feeling like an intruder, she worried at the reaction if she was discovered.
Probably be thrown into the damp dungeons and left there until the earl returned.

But the monotony and boredom of being idle soon overtook her fears. Cautiously she lifted the top of a wooden chest, slightly disappointed to find it was filled with the earl’s clothing. Curious, she unfolded the top piece, a deep blue tunic, edged with gold thread. The center medallion was a gold falcon, with bright red eyes that had clearly taken someone many hours to create.

Running her hand slowly over the intricate embroidery, Fiona discovered several loose stitches, along with a tear of the fabric on the shoulder. Resolved, she placed the garment on the floor and reached for the next piece. It was a fine linen shirt, dyed an unusual shade of light green. That too sported a large tear, acquired perhaps when yanked off the body carelessly and too quickly.

By the time she had gone through every garment, Fiona had a substantial pile that needed repair. Enthused at having something to occupy her time, she gathered the pile in her arms and returned to her small chamber.

Alice nearly accosted her when she entered. “Is that the laundry, Lady Fiona? How dare those Scottish crows make you carry it!”

“Be calm, Alice. It’s not the laundry. These are the earl’s garments, sorely in need of repair.”

“Why do you have them?”

“I intend to make the repairs. Fetch my sewing kit, please.”

The maid’s eyes flashed. “What about the earl’s squire? He should be attending to this mess. ’Tis his job to keep his master’s clothes in good order.”

“I suspect the poor lad has been hiding these things. They require a delicate hand to be properly mended. A talent I’m sure the squire lacks.”

“Well, there are plenty of others to do that sort of work. No need to soil your delicate hands.” Alice tilted her head and sniffed. “You are a lady.”

“I am. And as such will showcase my skills with a needle. Now fetch my kit.”

“But—”

“Alice, fetch my kit and that’s the end of it.”

The maid did not bother to disguise her groan of disapproval, but she obeyed. “The light in here is dismal,” Alice complained. “You’ll go blind doing all this sewing.”

“Yes, it is rather dim,” Fiona agreed, but she would not be deterred. “Please pull back the window covering to allow in the light.”

With another heavy sigh, Alice followed the order. A sharp ray of sunshine filled the room, followed by a burst of fresh air. Experiencing both uplifted Fiona’s spirits. Keeping busy was also a boon, making the afternoon pass quickly. But by midmorning of the next day, she had finished all the work and been unable to uncover anything else to do.

In the days that followed, Fiona’s numerous attempts to be helpful at other castle tasks had been met with a resounding no, followed by a stony wall of silence. Fiona knew they saw her as an enemy, yet that logic did not prevent the hurt from squeezing her chest.