“Where did you get this dagger?” he asked again, controlled but still intent upon the small weapon.
“I’ve told you—’twas my papa’s. I found it in a trunk when I packed to come to court,” Maris explained. Still wary of his sudden temper, she sidled along the wall.
“Do not fear, I’ll not harm you again,” he told her wearily. Then he looked at her with that intensity again. “If I replace it for you, may I keep this?”
She shook her head. “Nay, please do not ask that of me. It’s one of few things I have left from Papa. ” She knew that he would keep it if he liked, so when he handed it back to her, she breathed a sigh of relief.
“I did not ever express my sorrow at your father’s death,” Dirick said, his face grave. “He was a good man. He reminded me of my own father. ”
Maris nodded, sudden tears choking her throat. She’d become adept at stopping the tears of grief, now, more than three moons since Papa’s death…but the pain had not lessened. “I miss him terribly,” she admitted.
“As I do my father. ”
“I did not know you’ve lost your father as well,” she said. It struck her at that moment that she knew nothing of his family or of whence he came. Only that the king seemed to place great trust in him.
“A knife such as this,” Dirick said, “the workmanship of which I’ve never seen before or since, was found at the scene of a murder…and that murder scene was identical to the one at which my father was found. ” Dirick’s eyes held a sober pain. “At the king’s command, I’m searching for the man who has now killed seven people, leaving behind three scenes of the most senseless slaughter in England. ”
“I’ve heard naught of such killings,” she told him.
He nodded. “And I trow you’ll hear little else. Do you not speak of this to anyone until the man is found…I do not wish him to know that I am on his trail. Come,” he was suddenly abrupt, “I will take you to your chamber. ”
Ignoring Victor’s cloak, which still lay in its ignoble heap on the cold floor, Maris turned, sweeping her skirts, and without further conversation, allowed him to return her to her chamber.
CHAPTER EIGHTTEEN
“Lady Maris, her majesty requests that you attend her. ” A page stood in the doorway of the ladies’ solar, giving a slight bow. “She asks that you bring your bag of herbal medicines, for she is in need of your skills. ”
Maris sprang to her feet, at once nervous that she would be asked to personally attend the queen, and grateful that she would have something to do other than embroidering in a room filled with chattering women. Judith had been smart enough to beg off from sewing tasks today in favor of taking he
r gyrfalcon for a brief hunt, leaving Maris with the idea that mayhap she would acquire herself a hunting falcon.
“Please tell her majesty that I will be at her service anon,” she told the page.
He gave another bow and remained at the door. “I will take you to her, lady. ”
With a quick smile to the other women, who looked on with interest, Maris dropped her embroidery in a heap on a stool next to her chair, hoping to not see it again before the day was over. “I shall meet you at supper,” she told Madelyne, who was busily stitching a surcoat for Lord Gavin. Without waiting for a reply, she swept from the room and directed the page to her chamber.
Within, she unlocked one of the trunks she’d brought from Langumont, retrieving a well worn leather sack with dried herbs packed in wrappings of linen, wool, or leather. Digging deeper, she pulled a wooden box, tied shut with a silken tie, from the bottom of the trunk. The box held a mortar and pestle, tinctures and oils, knives and spoons and small wooden bowls for mixing. Though it was likely that the queen already had such tools available to her, Maris felt more comfortable with her own equipment and was determined to be prepared for any request Eleanor should make.
The trip to the queen’s presence was not long, but it was complicated, and Maris soon lost her way. Not for the first time did she wonder that a young boy could find his way with such ease. At last, they reached a large oaken door with heavy metal slats bracing it, and ornate carvings on the wood framing the doorway.
The page knocked on the heavy oak, then, although Maris heard nothing from within, bowed yet again, and gestured for her to enter.
She opened the door and stepped in.
Eleanor sat in a large, well cushioned chair lodged in a far corner. A small table next to her held a pitcher, two goblets, and a silver platter loaded with cheese and bread. The fireplace, near enough the chair to cast shadows from its flames but far enough that there was no danger of skirts catching afire, contained a crackling blaze. Another chair, positioned to face that which the queen used, was not so well cushioned; though the pillow on its seat was generous enough. A thick, heavy tapestry covered the floor, Maris noted in surprise, having never seen such a luxury before, and more tapestries hung from the walls and over the arrow slits in the stone.
“Come in, Lady Maris,” came the mellow voice of the queen.
Maris did as she was urged, closing the door in her wake, and taking in more of the room. A large, curtained bed hugged another wall, and was warmed by its own fireplace—it, too, filled with a roaring fire. A table littered with parchments, quills, and a pot of ink sat near the two chairs, and trunks bursting with gowns, cloaks, cups, plates, cloths, leather bags, and all types of trinkets lined the walls throughout.
“Your majesty. ” Maris curtsied when she reached the edge of the luxurious floor covering.
Eleanor waved a graceful hand to an empty chair next to the table. “Sit. ”
Maris’s quick glance about the room revealed that she was alone with the queen, and she wondered whether her grace’s affliction was that of a private nature. Placing her leather sack and wooden box on the floor, she did as ordered and sat, waiting.
“You may pour some wine, Lady Maris. ”