While Beauty Slept (19 page)

“My dear, this can’t go on,” she said gently.

Queen Lenore’s finger traced the pout of Rose’s lips. The baby’s mouth twitched in response and curved upward into a cheerful, gummy smile, her first. Queen Lenore caught her breath and looked up at me.

“Elise, did you see that? Did you see our Beauty’s smile?”

“Indeed, my lady,” I said, nodding happily.

The smiling must have been contagious, for Queen Lenore was soon laughing and clucking at Rose in delight. It moved me to see her as any other mother, delighting in her child rather than fearing for its every breath. She rose and proudly showed off the baby’s new trick to her ladies, then peered through the pane of rippled glass toward the garden below.

“How time passes,” she murmured. “Perhaps a walk outside would do us all good.”

I rushed to fetch her shawl before she changed her mind. The other ladies must have felt the same urgency, for they leapt from their seats and hovered near the door. By the time we emerged from the castle doors, you would have taken us for a merry band of adventurers, a dozen or so ladies and attendants who anticipated a walk in the garden as much as they once would have looked forward to a royal ball.

Flora drifted off from the group, and I followed, curious about the tucked-away beds she tended so carefully. My mother had grown some of the same plants in her vegetable garden throughout my childhood, and Flora smiled with satisfaction when I identified a few of the tiny shoots. Within her private domain, the shyness that shrouded her like a cloak gradually slipped away.

“Do all of these have medicinal uses?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said, her mass of hair bobbing as she nodded. Her voice, once unleashed, flowed quickly, even eagerly. “Most in combination with other tonics. Some ingredients are not so easy to come by.”

“It is a wonderful gift,” I said. “The power to heal.”

“Ah. You think it a gift?” For a sudden, disorienting moment, I was reminded of her sister, Millicent: the way she arched her eyebrows, regarding me with a look that seemed to bore into my most private thoughts. It is a troubling sensation, to feel yourself utterly without defense against another. But while Millicent’s attentions had always held an undercurrent of danger, I did not feel the same fear with Flora.
She is considering me,
I thought.
For what?

“There is no magic to my cures,” she said at last. “My mother taught me all I know, passing down what she had been taught by her own mother and grandmother. As I must teach it one day to another. It would be a great loss if this knowledge were to die with me.”

She focused her gray-green eyes upon mine. I understood the meaning behind her words but could not believe she would entrust me with such secrets.

“You are so very young, yet your devotion to the queen and the child is clear. We shall see. We shall see.”

Before I could respond, we were interrupted by the head gardener, who was showing Queen Lenore where he planned to plant new hedges. She was lost in the conversation, forgoing her usual fretting over Rose as her ladies-in-waiting rejoiced at the sunlight and the gentle breeze. By the time I turned back around, Flora had drifted off, as was her way. I was left both intrigued and apprehensive at the thought of serving as her apprentice. The ability to cure illness would be a wondrous power, yet the responsibility would weigh heavy as well. Perhaps it would be a fitting repentance for the many times I had done Millicent’s bidding.

The queen’s hold on Rose may have loosened, but the threat overhanging the child was never forgotten. Rose slept at her mother’s side until after her second birthday, when she was moved into what had previously been the queen’s workroom. I held her and played with her as often as her own two nursemaids did. As I watched her sound out her first words or cackle in triumph as she plodded her way on shaking legs, I was haunted by memories of my lost brothers. Time and again I had watched my younger siblings pass through these same stages, though in my family’s cottage the children were mostly ignored until they were able to work. I had tried so hard to avoid thoughts of my life before the castle, for dwelling on the losses I had suffered might have undone me completely. Yet I saw echoes of their faces in Rose, and at times, in the dark, I wept with regret for all the moments I had pushed them away or grumbled at having to share my food. Rose received more affection in one day than my brothers had in their entire lives.

I had tried to do right by my one surviving brother, Nairn, who remained on the farm with my father. Whenever I heard of a carriage traveling in the direction of my village, I would prepare a small package of food, with a coin or two wrapped inside, and ask that it be delivered to the farm. I would instruct that it be given to Nairn alone, not my father, but I did not know if these offerings were ever received. Nairn never sent word to me, though I told myself this was because he could not read or write. I allowed myself to imagine he was hiding the money away, saving up for the day when he could escape as I had done.

Millicent’s curse had left a permanent scar on Queen Lenore, who never again laughed with abandon or sat flushed with pleasure at a loom, as she had in the days before she bore Rose. The nights in particular were a torment to her, dark hours when she hovered over her sleeping daughter, listening for each intake of breath. I do not think the poor child ever enjoyed a full night’s rest, for her mother would shake her into wakefulness whenever her breathing grew too shallow, fearing that Millicent’s dark arts had triumphed over her husband’s precautions. But throughout those two years, as Rose thrived, Queen Lenore’s gentle smiles gradually returned and the sadness in her eyes lessened, though it never completely vanished. Spinning wheels were restored to the seamstresses’ rooms—though they were never again seen in the royal apartments—and noble visitors who passed through the kingdom were entertained at feasts in the Great Hall. Still, lavish entertainments remained rare, so it was cause for considerable rejoicing when the king and queen announced they would be reviving a tradition that went back to the time of the king’s grandparents: a midsummer tournament.

Preparations began weeks beforehand, with all the noblewomen in the castle fretting to replace their outdated clothes with more fashionable finery. Even the servants were caught up in the ferment, for the celebration was to extend into the Lower Hall on the final night, and Petra had made me promise I would come. Though always conscious of the strain caused by our differing stations, we had both done our part to rebuild our friendship, a process eased by our growing maturity. Petra’s abilities and charm had assured her rise among the serving staff, and she was now widely discussed as an eventual replacement for Mrs. Tewkes.

“The king is never stingy with the ale,” she assured me, her eyes sparkling. “If you’ve got your eye on someone, that will be the night to claim a kiss.”

I blushed, as she knew I would, for I could claim no special someone; I hadn’t as much as held hands with a man. Confusing, lustful feelings had coursed through my now seventeen-year-old body in the silence of night, as I lay on my pallet and remembered Petra’s tales of the servants’ quarters after dark. With so many young, unmarried people living together, there was a shifting pattern of couplings and uncouplings. But just as I slept apart from the other servants, I kept my distance from such goings-on. The only love affairs I indulged in were creations of my imagination. I had learned the lesson of my mother’s life all too well.

“And you?” I teased, anxious to take the attention off myself. “Who will you be batting your eyelashes at?”

“A certain young page may have caught my attention,” she said with a sly smile, daring me to guess.

The castle pages were a varied and often changing group, mostly young men of noble family sent to court to learn both battleworthy swordsmanship and elegant manners. Some came for a few months and left without distinguishing themselves; others remained for years, the best earning their way toward knighthoods and positions in the king’s service. I knew only a few by name.

“Go on,” I urged. “Tell me.”

“Dorian.”

I knew instantly of whom she spoke, for he was the son of the king’s chief counselor, Sir Walthur. His father’s rank gave him certain privileges; unlike other, less fortunate pages, he was not expected to act as a messenger or an errand boy but attended to the king’s most favored companions and was often brought on their hunting parties. To my surprise I felt a sudden stab of jealousy. Dorian was strikingly handsome and the subject of much interest among the queen’s younger ladies. Though his air of self-regard held little appeal for me, I could not help following him with my eyes when our paths crossed. Surely, I had assumed, such a man would never stoop to converse with a maid. Yet here was Petra, giggling in anticipation, unafraid to flirt with the best-looking youth in the castle. If only I were not so shy! While I might admire a young man from a distance, I did not know how to speak to one in any way that did not pertain to my duties.

“The pages will hardly forgo the Great Hall celebration for our humble servants’ fest,” Petra said, “but it does no harm to daydream, does it?”

“Of course not,” I said, smiling in relief. Dorian was a passing fancy, nothing more. I would not have to stand by, silent and uncomfortable, while my friend danced and whispered conspiratorially with a new beau. But I knew that day would come, by and by. Petra was too pretty and well liked to remain unmarried much longer. And when she met her mate, would jealousy embitter me to their happiness?

Perhaps it was because such thoughts lay heavy in my mind that a chance meeting the following day struck me with such force. I was returning to the queen’s rooms from the garden, where I had made my weekly excursion for flower cuttings, when I almost walked headlong into a short, rotund man who had stopped directly in my path outside the Great Hall.

“Miss Elise! What a pleasure, after all this time!”

It was Hannolt, the shoemaker, accompanied by a young man I might not have recognized had he passed me in town. Marcus had grown a good head taller since I saw him last, so that he now towered over his stout father, and I had to tilt my head upward to look at his face. His shoulders and arms had broadened somewhat, though his shirt still hung loose from his lean frame. Through the dark hair that partly obscured his face, I saw eyes framed by thick lashes and ruddy, healthy cheeks. Dressed in something other than a shopkeeper’s tunic, he could have passed for a man of quality.

Hannolt and I exchanged greetings, and Marcus bobbed his head.

“Say something for yourself, boy,” Hannolt urged. “You remember Elise, do you not?”

Marcus stumbled over his first words, a blunder that further endeared him to me.

“Um . . . it is . . . um, a pleasure to see you, Elise—that is, Miss . . .”

“Elise will do,” I said quickly. “It is my pleasure to see you as well.”

I might have been one of Queen Lenore’s ladies, conversing politely at a reception, yet my belly tightened with giddy anticipation. Marcus smiled, and it was enough to make my heart race, for his face reflected my own delight at our sudden reacquaintance. Warmth tingled through my body, unbidden and unexpected. I had never felt such a strong physical response to a young man’s attention, and I had to glance downward to hide the blush that burst across my cheeks.

Hannolt, as ever, was quick to launch into conversation.

“It seems every fine lady demands new shoes for the tournament,” he said, “and the castle shoemaker has been kind enough to spread word of my talents. I’ve been given a commission by Lady Wintermale herself!”

“You will find her a demanding patron,” I said.

“Nothing I have not been subjected to before. I imagine you must encounter Lady Wintermale a great deal in your service to the queen.” He lowered his voice as if he were discussing great matters of state. “Do you still attend on her?”

“Yes, I was just bringing these flowers to her chambers,” I said, indicating the bouquet in my hands.

“Oh, my dear, I hope I have not caused you to neglect your duties. If your mistress expects you, please do not linger on our account.”

Anxious that the encounter not be cut short, I allayed Hannolt’s concerns by fobbing off the flowers on a passing chambermaid. I was almost certain I saw Marcus’s shoulders soften with what could only be relief. Glancing about in search of a diversion, I offered to show them the Great Hall, where the servants, including Petra, were finishing up their preparations for the evening meal. I escorted my awestruck visitors around the edge of the room, explaining the intricate seating arrangements and describing some of the lavish dishes that had been served at the king’s feasts. Hannolt gaped as he took in the intricate tapestries and silver serving pieces. Marcus’s response was more measured. Was I flattering myself to think that his glance fell more often upon me than on the wondrous extravagances of the hall?

Nervously, I babbled on. The few questions Marcus asked were thoughtful and well considered, but for the most part he was content to listen, as if my words were important and worthy of consideration. In a court where everyone, even the servants, strove to be noticed and admired, I found his reserve strangely compelling. He did not preen or invite my attention; indeed he seemed somewhat cowed by the magnificence surrounding him. Yet when our eyes met, those shared, secret glances revealed an intensity of feeling out of all proportion to our brief acquaintance. He was curious about me, just as I was drawn to him for reasons I could not fully understand. As we passed through the doorway to the entrance hall, side by side, Marcus’s presence a mere handsbreadth away exerted a physical pull, tempting me to brush my fingertips against his. I could almost feel the spark of pleasure race up my arm.

I was quickly distracted from such thoughts by a commotion on the main stairs. In a flurry of footsteps and chattering voices, the king, the queen, and other members of court descended for their meal. I swiftly escorted Hannolt and Marcus aside, but not before catching Queen Lenore’s attention, and she stepped over to speak with us. I made hurried introductions, mortified to have been discovered dawdling rather than tending to her dress and hair. She did not appear displeased, however, and she smiled when Hannolt bowed so low that his forehead nearly scraped the floor.