Heart of Stars (20 page)

‘But, my lady!’ Fèlice cried, tears starting to her eyes.

Iseult narrowed her eyes. ‘Stay home and sew your sampler,’ she advised. ‘Ye, the poet. I’m sorry, but ye do no’ look strong enough for the job. Ye are a scholar, no’ a squire. We will be sailing fast, and the seas will be high. This blaygird laird has conjured up a tempest to try and
stop us. I need someone who can stay the course, and can fight if needed.’

As Landon drooped with disappointment, she turned to the last two, who stared at her pleadingly. She looked them over critically.

‘Cameron. I’ve heard o’ ye. The MacBrann said ye were a good lad, but I have doubts about your discretion. Flapping ears and a flapping tongue are no’ qualities I want in a squire.’

Cameron went red to the tips of his ears. There was no doubt he knew what Iseult was talking about. He wished he dared explain to the Dowager Banrìgh that the MacBrann had known him since he was a mere lad, and had quizzed him thoroughly about everything that had happened on his journey from Ravenscraig to Lucescere, keeping him answering questions for over an hour. The MacBrann was his lord and prionnsa; it had not even occurred to Cameron that he should not make as full a report as he could. Given the same circumstances, he would again.

Iseult had turned her attention to Rafferty. ‘Ye are the lad that ran messages for Lewen on Midsummer Eve, are ye no’?’

‘Aye, my lady,’ he answered eagerly.

‘I would’ve done it too, if Lewen had no’ asked me to help him search for the prionnsa
…
I mean, the Rìgh!’ Cameron said indignantly. ‘Oh, please, my lady, canna we both come? Ye’ll want someone on hand all day and all night!’

She looked them over critically. ‘Can ye ice-skate?’ she asked abruptly.

‘Och, aye, my lady, o’ course we can,’ Cameron said. ‘We come from the highlands o’ Ravenshaw! There’s naught else to do there in winter.’

Iseult sighed. ‘Very well. Both o’ ye can come. Ye’ll no’ have much time to prepare, though. Report to the mistress of the wardrobe, and she’ll give ye a surcoat and badge, and a sword. I’m presuming ye ken how to use one?’

‘Aye, my lady!’ the boys cried in great delight.

‘Ask her to fit ye for ice-skates. Auld ones o’ Owein and Donncan’s would probably do. Ye may need a change o’ clothes too. There’s no time for ye to go back to your own rooms, so ask the wardrobe to give ye aught ye need. Meet us down at the wharf in half an hour. Ye’ll have to run! We’re taking a river barge called the
Jessamine
. If ye are no’ there when I am, ye will be left behind. Is that clear?’

‘Aye, my lady!’

‘Get going then. I’ll see ye at the
Jessamine
.’

Joyously the two boys hurried out of the room, punching and jostling each other in their usual fashion. Scoured with bitter disappointment and hurt, Lewen bowed and then turned to go, Fèlice and Landon leading the way disconsolately.

‘Lewen,’ the Dowager Banrìgh said gently.

He turned back, barely able to see for the shameful tears that rose up in a mist before his eyes. Fèlice glanced back at him, her face pinched with misery, then went on with Landon, gently shutting the door behind them.

‘I’m sorry, I ken ye are disappointed,’ Iseult said. ‘Ye are o’ little use to me, though, with a broken head and ribs. Ye’re far better resting here, and recovering.’

Lewen put one hand up to the nasty bruise at his temple. ‘It’s just a bruise,’ he said defensively. ‘Owein’s given me worse bashing me over the head with a practice sword.’

‘They tell me ye were badly jarred and shaken up,’
Iseult said. ‘Ye lay unconscious for close on a day. The seas will be rough and nasty indeed. I do no’ want to risk hurting ye again.’

‘Please, my lady. Please.’

She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. Indeed, I think it for the best.’

Unable to speak, or even bow his head again, Lewen turned to go.

‘I am glad your thigearn lass managed to save Roden,’ Iseult said, with obvious difficulty. ‘And she almost had the laird by the heels, I heard. They’ve lost four or five men, did ye ken? She did well.’

‘She’s flown after them,’ Lewen said miserably, not turning around. ‘Over the sea. Blackthorn canna fly so far. They’ll never make it.’

‘She seems a canny lass,’ Iseult said after a moment. ‘I’m sure she will no’ risk her horse unnecessarily. And remember, Isabeau flew to the Pirate Isles in the shape o’ a swan. It can be done.’

Lewen turned back to her, hope lighting his features. ‘Isabeau did?’

‘Aye. When Margrit o’ Arran kidnapped Donncan and Neil, when they were but bairns. Isabeau flew after them and rescued them. That was when Margrit died. That is how her body comes to lie in the Pirate Isles. Ye have no’ heard that story?’

Lewen shook his head dumbly.

‘One day, when I have time, I will bid Dide to tell ye the tale. For now, do no’ worry so for your wild girl. If Isabeau can fly to the Fair Isles in the shape o’ a swan, so too can that winged horse.’

‘Except a swan is built for long-distance flying,’ Lewen said glumly. ‘A winged horse is no’.’

‘I’m sure she’ll be fine,’ Iseult said, trying not to sound
impatient. ‘Let us hope she catches up with them quickly, and saves my bairns for me! Then I’ll be grateful for your damned interference, Lewen.’

He managed a faint smile, bowed and left her, conscious only that once again he was being left behind.

As soon as the door shut behind them, Fèlice turned and seized Landon by the arm.

‘Come on!’ she cried.

‘Where are we going?’ Landon asked, bewildered, as she towed him hastily down the corridor.

‘Ye do no’ think I’m really going to just sit at home and sew my sampler, do ye?’ Fèlice was seething with indignation. ‘No, we have to get on that boat somehow. It’ll be tricky, no doubt o’ that. We’ll have to have one o’ those badges she was talking about.’

‘Ye want us to stow away?’ Landon was aghast.

Fèlice smiled at him. ‘If we can. If no’, we’ll have to pretend to be cabin boys or something. Come on! We havena time to go back to the Theurgia if the boat sails in half an hour. Have ye got your dagger on ye?’

Landon nodded dumbly, his hand going to his witch’s dagger which hung at his side as always.

‘Excellent,’ Fèlice said, and opened a door at random, dragging Landon behind her and banging the door shut behind them. ‘Give it to me.’

‘What are ye going to do?’ Landon asked, even as he unsheathed his knife and gave it to her.

‘Cut my hair, o’ course,’ she answered impatiently. She seized a hank of her silky brown hair in one hand and sliced it off just below her ear with the sharp edge of the knife. Landon gasped in horror as she dropped it and sliced off another hank.

‘Fèlice, no!’ he cried, even though it was too late.

‘I canna pretend to be a cabin boy with hair down to my knees,’ she answered impatiently. ‘Is there a mirror in here anywhere? I have to make sure it is even.’

She looked about the dim, quiet room. All the furniture was covered with dustsheets, and the hearth was clean and bare. Fèlice uncovered a tall mirror in the corner by the empty washstand.

‘I look perfectly horrid,’ she said in delight. ‘Look at me! If it wasna for the dress, ye’d think I was a snotty-nosed cabin boy for sure! Now, what are ye wearing beneath your robe, Landon?’

He crimsoned, and said in a rather stifled voice, ‘Just my shirt and breeches. It’s cold, ye ken, and I havena anything else to wear, so I
…
’

‘Excellent,’ Fèlice cried, not bothering to listen to the end of his sentence. ‘Strip them off, there’s a good lad.’

‘But why?’ He made no move to obey, shrinking away from her in mortification.

‘Unless ye want to be the one to go to the mistress o’ the wardrobe and get us a badge, like Rafferty and Cameron? No? I dinna think so! Much better if ye wait here and I go. Once I’m dressed in your clothes, no-one will guess I’m really a lass.’

‘Ye really mean to go ahead with this? It’s madness! We’ll be caught for sure.’

She shrugged. ‘Well, at least we would’ve tried. What can they do to us? Rake us over the coals, no doubt, but so what? Better than going home like good little bairns, while Cameron and Rafferty get to have all the fun. Come on, Landon! Stop arguing with me, and give me your clothes, else we’ll miss the boat and I’ll have cut my hair for naught.’

Shivering in the cold, Landon did as he was told,
hiding himself under the voluminous folds of his apprentice robe. Fèlice grabbed his clothes and retreated behind a screen to change. When she emerged, she looked entirely different. With her cropped hair and her slim body clad in the shabby, threadbare clothes of the young poet, she looked just like a rough country boy. She gave Landon a jerky bow and said, with the broad accent of the highlands, ‘’Scuse me, sir, but I was wondering if ye could be telling me the way to the docks?’

‘Amazing,’ Landon said.

‘I need to be a bit grubbier,’ Fèlice said critically and ran her finger over the mantelpiece, looking for dust. She frowned when her finger came up clean, and got down on her hands and knees to swipe under the dressing-table. Landon averted his eyes, blushing. Fèlice’s hand came up grey with dust, and she smeared it on her forehead and cheek, and then rubbed in a bit of spit to make it streaky. Eyes dancing, she curtsied to herself in the mirror, saying, ‘Oh la, Lady Fèlice, what a figure ye cut! I would never have recognised ye!’

‘Fèlice, dinna ye think
…
?’

‘Oh, shhh, Landon, stop worrying. I’ll be back in a jiffy. Huddle up under the dustsheets to keep warm, and I’ll be back afore ye ken it.’

Fèlice opened the door cautiously, looked up and down the corridor, then ducked back inside as a pair of serving-girls passed, their arms full of clean linen. They did not notice her, and Fèlice was able to sidle out and hurry along the corridor once they had passed.

Fèlice had never been inside Lucescere Palace before, but she had grown up at Ravenscraig, the royal court of the MacBrann clan, and so she knew the ways of a large castle well. She had no trouble finding her way to the wardrobe, which was always located near the solar, since
the ladies of the court were expected to help the seam-stresses with the enormous amount of sewing such a large establishment required.

As she had expected, the room was frantically busy, with clothes heaped everywhere, draped over the backs of chairs, hanging from rods or piled upon the floor. Women bustled around, sorting and packing away, or discussing the state of a pile of clothes to be mended. Others sat near the big windows, squinting as they threaded a needle, or chattering quietly among themselves as they expertly sewed together the seams of a new outfit. Several worked away at huge looms pushed against the walls, and several more were operating spinning wheels, the clatter and whirr of their machines almost drowning out the soft murmur of the women’s voices.

‘’Scuse me, ma’am, I’m looking for the mistress o’ the wardrobe,’ Fèlice said in a deep, gruff voice that she hoped sounded just like Rafferty.

‘What can I do for ye?’ one of the women asked, dropping the hem of the gown she was examining and coming forward with a frown. Fèlice was conscious of being raked with shrewd grey eyes. She gave a little bow, and said, ‘I was told to report to ye, ma’am. I’m to go to sea with the Dowager Banrìgh. She said to get a cloak, and a badge, and a sword, and anything else I’d need.’

‘Well, ye willna get a sword here, ye need to go to the armourer for that,’ the woman said. She measured Fèlice expertly. ‘Ye’re a bit small, aren’t ye, to be squiring? And I’ve already had two lads through here, asking for the same. Big, strapping lads, they were. I’m surprised at Her Highness. She doesna usually pick scrawny wee lads like ye to take into such danger.’

‘I’m to be a cabin boy,’ Fèlice said desperately, her voice coming out in a squeak. Dismayed, she cleared
her throat, and said again, in a much lower register, ‘Ken about boats, I do.’

The women all laughed, and the mistress of the wardrobe said, rather acerbically, ‘Well, ye willna be needing a sword then, lad. Last I heard, cabin boys were no’ armed like cavaliers!’

Fèlice bit her lip but, as the woman was rummaging about in a cupboard, said nothing, folding her arms, swinging one foot and trying to look as much like a boy as she could. The woman turned about with her arms full of clothes. ‘Here’s some good stout breeches for ye, lad,’ she said. ‘Those ones look a trifle threadbare. And some shirts. They’re no’ new, but better than what ye have. And a warm woollen jerkin, ’cause it’s cold about the Dowager Banrìgh, there’s no denying that.’

‘I need two o’ everything,’ Fèlice said, trying out a winning smile. ‘There’s two o’ us going.’

The woman’s smile faded, and she fixed Fèlice with a frowning stare. ‘Where’s this other lad then?’ she demanded.

‘Running messages,’ Fèlice answered. ‘For the Dowager Banrìgh. The boat leaves in less than half an hour, ye ken. There’s an awful lot to do.’

The woman’s suspicious look faded. ‘Too true,’ she replied with a sigh. ‘I do wish we’d been given some warning. My lady’s armour has been packed away for years, and I had a hard time laying my hands on it at such short notice. And ice-skates! Where was I meant to lay my hands on twelve dozen ice-skates! What on earth does the Dowager Banrìgh want with ice-skates on the high seas?’

‘I have no idea,’ Fèlice answered truthfully.

The wardrobe mistress sighed. ‘Well, happen she needs her squires to wear ice-skates since she turns everything
about her to ice and snow,’ she said. ‘Snowstorms in midsummer! And me with all the winter clothes packed away for the season! Topsy-turvy, my storeroom now. I’ll be lucky to be able to lay my hands on a thing.’

Fèlice waited politely.

‘So do ye need ice-skates too?’ the woman asked in a long-suffering tone.

‘I guess so,’ Fèlice answered, determined to have everything Cameron and Rafferty got, bizarre as it seemed. Indeed, she could not help wondering if the Dowager Banrìgh had run completely mad. None of her actions since her husband had died seemed entirely rational – the snowstorm, the calling of the dragon’s name to hunt down Rhiannon and drag her back to be hung without a trial, the fortnight of seclusion in her curtain-shrouded room, and then this sudden mad impulse to motion, with people scurrying everywhere looking for ice-skates and old-fashioned armour and maps to the Pirate Isles. Fèlice did not care. If it was taking her closer to Owein, the winged prionnsa whose smile Fèlice thought about every night before she drifted off to sleep, then that was all that mattered.