It was not until Mal Verne shouted a greeting that rang in her ear that Madelyne's eyes flew open and she found that they had attained a more horizontal position. They'd covered the space between the two mountainous hills in such a short time that she was thankful anew that she hadn't watched as they hurtled past trees and down the slope.
"A Mal Verne!" she heard the men on the stone wall cry in response to their lord's hail. The party of knights was close enough to the castle wall that she could see their gold and black tunics, emblazoned with the now-familiar standard, and the sleeves of their chain hauberks glinting in the sun.
Mal Verne slowed the party to a trot as they reached the edge of the village, and Madelyne watched with interest as the peasants and tradespeople came to crowd the sides of the thoroughfare, waving at their lord. They were not fearful at all, even of the great destriers that pranced impatiently down the street-although Madelyne noted that the mothers took care that their children did not get too close to the horses.
Vague memories of riding through the town at Tricourten stirred in her mind, and the images were of naught but empty streets and shuttered homes. 'Twas clear that Lord Mal Verne was, if not well-liked, at the least not feared by the villeins who farmed his rich lands.
She felt movements behind her, him brushing against her back and causing her to sit further forward, as he nodded and gestured to the peasants. Though he did not stop to speak with any of them at length, he did call to several by name. She felt the weight of curious stares on her as they jounced along, and realized how odd it must seem for a nun to be sharing the saddle with their lord.
When they reached the portcullis, it lifted quickly and noiselessly-bespeaking of the care and maintenance that obviously went into its upkeep. Although Madelyne knew little of the ways of war, she was well-educated in the management of a household, for all of the sisters shared in the tasks at Lock Rose Abbey. She knew the value of a gate that raised and lowered without hesitation.
Then, before she had time to muse further, the party entered the bailey and rode to the massive stone keep that sat on the far end of the huge, enclosed yard. Marshals and men-at-arms swarmed the travelers and horses, accepting reins as the knights dismounted.
Madelyne waited as Mal Verne dismounted gracefully from behind her, then stepped around to the side of the saddle over which her legs were positioned. Instead of assisting her to dismount immediately, he gathered up Rule's reins and turned to speak with a stocky, black-haired man who looked to be perhaps a decade older than he.
"Robert! By the looks of it, you're fare better than the last I saw you, after that incident with the shield. Glad to see you aren't so black and blue. This woman is Lady Madelyne de Belgrume," he announced. "She is to be treated as a guest, but not allowed without the keep unescorted. " Pointing a finger at a tall, blond man with a crooked nose, he commanded, "Jube, you shall be responsible for the lady's well-being in my absence. "
Madelyne watched silently as her accommodations were discussed as if she weren't present. So this is how it would be in a man's world.
Mal Verne stood near enough to her that she could reach forward and touch the darkness of his shaggy hair. The sleeves of his mail hauberk shifted, jangling quietly as he gestured with his arm. He had not shaven for some time, and dark stubble grew over his cheeks and chin, adding sharpness to the planes of his face.
He turned to her without warning, his stone-gray eyes locking onto her gaze for a brief moment, causing her breath to heavy. Madelyne quickly looked away, down, and found her attention focused on his booted feet. Then all at once, strong hands spanned her waist, and she was lifted up and down from the saddle with a smoothness that indicated the ease with which he handled her weight.
Upon the ground, Madelyne staggered slightly before she gained her footing, swaying against his broad chest for the briefest of moments before she stepped back. He glanced at her as she steadied herself, and she managed a weak smile. Patricka, who, likewise had been assisted down from her mount, came to stand by her side, looking as lost and uncertain as Madelyne herself felt.
Mal Verne turned his attention to the stocky man named Robert and, as they began to speak in low tones, they started toward the large oaken door that led to the keep.
Madelyne and Patricka hesitated, but when the man called Jube gestured for them to follow, they linked arms and walked toward the massive entrance. Jube and a cluster of other men-at-arms traced their footsteps, while others melted away, most likely to return to their duties.
Inside the keep, Madelyne found herself dwarfed by the high-ceilinged Great Hall and the lines of crude, log-hewn tables that filled it. For a brief moment, a shiver of remembrance flitted through her mind, bringing with it the image of the smoke- and laughter-filled hall at Tricourten on the night she and her mother had escaped. Casting a sidewise glance at the dais where the lord and his guests would sup, Madelyne almost expected to see her father sitting there with his cronies as he played the lute and sang with the voice of an angel. Her apprehension settled when she saw that the table was empty, and she silently berated herself for her nervousness.
As long as she was in the king's care, Fantin could not hurt her. Thus Madelyne would do whatever she must in order to remain under the king's protection.
Still ignored by Mal Verne and his men, she took the opportunity to study the tapestries that hung on the walls, stretching to such a height that she had to strain her neck in order to see the top of the images, and then to look around at the people scurrying about their business. The rushes beneath her feet rustled, and although she saw one mouse dashing away when his slumber was disturbed, she noted that the keep seemed as well-kept as the bailey and stone wall.
Then, suddenly, she was aware that all were staring at her. She looked at Mal Verne, whose voice speaking her name had caused her to look up, and saw that he was giving her an impatient look.
"My lady, do you not wish for a bath and a change of clothing before supper?"
"Oh, aye," she gave him a grateful smile, and was rewarded as his stone-face seemed to falter for a moment.
Then, as if that flinch had not occurred, Mal Verne gestured with a graceful hand to very short, very round woman standing to one side. She had brilliant red hair pulled into a tight braid, with a wide yellow-white streak from her left temple along the length of the braid, which was wound into a bun. "Then y
ou and your maid may follow Peg abovestairs. "
Peg was at least two score years and had a motherly attitude that cloaked her like a comfortable cape. She gave a brief curtsey and waved the women behind her.
At the top of the stone steps was a balcony over which Madelyne could look down and see into the hall, and she paused for a short moment to do so. Then, gathering the skirt of her habit, she hurried to catch up with Peg and Tricky.
"My lady, this shall be your chamber whilst you are here. " Peg threw open a door that led to a small but well-appointed room. "My lord sent a messenger on to announce your presence, an' we all hastened to make ready for you, just as we did the time his lordship's cousin came to visit when the leaves were ust turning gold and brown. . . or, alack, was it my lord's mother's sister that time?. . . now I shall have to ask Robena on that, for I fear my memory gets a bit slow now and again. " Her rambling commentary was as welcome as the small fire that warmed the room, chill even in the midst of summer, and the large wooden tub that sat next to the hearth.
Madelyne stepped into the room just in time to avoid being sloshed by a pail of steaming water carried by a serf. She stood back and watched as a line of servants brought more and more pails, filling the tub, and leaving several more pails filled with hot and cold water to adjust the temperature.
Peg bustled over to the tub and, opening a small jar, poured dried flowers and herbs into the water. Then, she stood expectantly, her pudgy hands folded, and with a start, Madelyne realized she was waiting to assist her in disrobing. "Oh, nay, I do not-"
"We shall help you to bathe, my lady," Patricka said firmly, nodding at Peg. 'Twas as though some private message had passed between them, and before Madelyne could allow her modesty to rule, they advanced upon her and began to assist her out of her habit.
"Lord Mal Verne sent some of Lady Mal Verne's clothing for you to wear," Peg explained as Madelyne stepped into the tub. "Packed as 'twere in those oaken trunks, I shook out the wrinkles when I heard that you'd be in need of them. 'Twill be quite a relief from this plain gown and veil of yours, my lady, if you don't mind my saying so. "