Maris brushed past Dirick, and the scent of her, fresh and lemony, filled his nostrils as she stepped into the walkway. “Peter, good morrow to you. Hickory’s leg is near healed,” she said. “’Tis Sir Dirick de Arlande with me,” she explained as the stooped old man peered at Dirick over her shoulder. “Peter has been Langumont’s marshal for near three score years—and his sons and grandsons after him. ”
“Aye, I see—you have the same look as the young man who took Nick’s reins upon my arrival. He had a gentle touch with my stallion, a definite way with horses,” Dirick replied.
Peter nodded with pleasure. “Aye, my lord, ’twas my oldest grandson, Percival. I vow, ’e ’as ’orseblood in ’is own veins!”
Dirick chuckled, and his attention turned back to Maris when she knelt to show Peter the mare’s foreleg. By now the stable was fairly light, and the shades of grey had turned to muted color. The fat braid that roused his curiosity had been flipped back over her shoulder when she stooped and he nearly reached out to touch its glossy darkness. Chestnut hair. Chestnut hair and green and gold flecked eyes and full pink lips.
Dirick jerked his thoughts back from where they skittered into impropriety just as Maris stood. They were nearly on top of each other. Her nose almost bumped his chest when she turned quickly and he took a step back, crossing his arms over his chest.
She ignored him. Peter had her full attention and her eyes snapped golden while her cheeks flushed pink as she explained the healing process of Hickory’s leg as proudly as if the mare’s steps were her own child’s first ones.
When at last the marshal turned to go about his business, Maris turned to Dirick. “Well, sir, do you intend to stand there supporting the stable wall all the day? I assure you, my Papa would not allow any building on his lands to come to that state in which a well paid man should spend his time holding it up. ”
He couldn’t help but grin at her saucy tongue. “Nay, lady. I but wait for you to finish trilling with the marshal and leave to go about your business. ”
“Trilling, indeed. ” She stamped her foot indignantly, and even in the soft dirt floor he could hear the thud.
“God’s bones, lady, do you sound like my destrier when he seeks a mare in season. ” He cocked an eyebrow and widened his grin.
Maris turned in a swirl of cloak to stalk out of the stable. Dirick followed, hands clasped innocently behind his back. His long legs gave him the speed to catch up with her, and he stepped into her stride just as they came out of the stable. “Why do you nip at my heels like a starving pup?” she demanded.
“I am interested, ’tis all,” he said with all sincerity. “I was intrigued by your story this morrow about the cooper and his wife…and your gift of healing. ”
Maris stopped and turned to face him full in the bailey. A huge ball of the sun peered over the wall of the courtyard, and her resulting squint was most unladylike—yet endearing—as she looked up at him. “Interested, you say?” she asked.
“Aye. I know many noble ladies, and many well landed ones such as yourself, and I have yet to meet one who stays out till all hours of the night to midwife a cooper’s woman. ’Tis true, my lady mother will see to the ills of her people, aye, and I’ve met others that do the same—but, all too often, ’tis only at their convenience. ”
“People do not become ill to convenience their healers,” Maris said with disdain, those full lips flattening. “’Twas near the first thing I was taught—after which plant is deadly hemlock, of course,” she smiled at him. Her nose was red with cold and her cheeks soon to follow and she looked quite lovely as she jested with him.
He grinned down at her, suddenly light hearted for the first time since he heard the news of his father. “It was, I’m certain, an informative bit of knowledge. ”
“Aye, yet not as important as creating a draught to rid one of arrogant knights who tear down upon one like a demon in the dark of night,” she said dryly, turning away and pulling up her hood to cover her shiny reddish-brown hair.
“Aye, well, I would pay well the woman who could create a draught to whittle away the tartness of a particular Lady of Langumont. I vow, my mouth puckers less at the taste of a lemon than at her wit. ”
“You dare to speak of my mother in such a manner?” A little giggle escaped from her lips, and she looked up at him, her eyes dancing. “I should toss you out on your ear for taking such liberties!”
A thick strand of hair blew in her face and caught at the corner of her mouth. She brushed it away and sobered. “In truth, Sir Dirick, your sincere interest is unfamiliar to me. More oft than not, men of your ilk turn tail or the subject, rather than hear the extent of my duties at Langumont. ” She brushed her heavy cloak over her torso, “And, now, ’tis well past time for me to tend to those duties. I have kept you from your own work long enough. ”
“Nay, my lady, you have kept me from naught,” Dirick was quick to respond, tightening his hands deep in the warmth of his tunic. It was quite frigid on this side of the bailey, where the slightest breeze seemed to catch and swirl brazenly about.
Maris smiled. “Very well, sir. But I am off to Mass and then about my duties. ” She turned to make her way toward Langumont’s tiny chapel.
“My lady. ” He was in her footsteps as if pulled by a rope. She turned and he felt foolish. “Lady Maris, I do not know where the chapel is and I am in need of absolution,” he said.
She gestured him forward, “Come, then, to Mass and Father Abraham will see you after. ”
“Aye, my lady, and thank you. ”
Verna crept up the dim, cold steps that led to the upper chambers of the keep. The sounds of busyness from below drifted up to her keen ears. And though she listened for the sound of her mistress’s voice, she knew that Lady Maris was gone about her work in the village and would not return for several hours.
On the floor above the great hall, several chambers were set into the tall stone walls. There was Lady Allegra’s solar, where the seamstresses worked, the private chamber of the lord and lady, several smaller chambers for important guests, and, finally, Verna’s destination.
Lady Maris’s chamber was the last along the narrow, dimly lit hallway. Attached was an antechamber where Verna slept when she was not with a man, for Maris did not require that she attend her every night as Lady Allegra would.
Verna passed silently through the small antechamber, skirting the small pallet piled generously with three pillows and an array of blankets, and opened the heavy door into the main chamber.
A large bed sat in one corner, its curtains drawn back to show a thick fur coverlet and many more pillows than Verna’s meager pallet. To the left of the bed, along the wall, was the narrow slit of a window—just wide enough to pass a hand through. A second window was staggered at the other end of the room. Both slits were covered with heavy tapestries to keep the harsh winter from entering the chamber.