her goblet.
It was her own doing, she reprimanded herself, for she had wanted to kiss him, and had known he wanted to kiss her when he helped to pull her to her feet. She’d welcomed the chance to see if kissing was any better now that she was older than when her father’s squire Raymond of Vermille had stolen a kiss from her years ago.
It was.
“ Daughter, are you ill?” her father asked suddenly, turning his attention to her, and startling her from her own thoughts. “You are no louder than a mouse this night.”
“ Nay, Papa,” she gave him a soft smile. “’Twas a long and wretched day, for I could not save the cooper’s wife.”
His face sobered. “Ah, aye, Father Abraham’s servant sent word to me.”
Maris pushed back the sadness that threatened to bring tears back to her eyes and replied, “There was naught I could do.”
He smoothed a comforting hand over her arm. “I know you did all you could, dearling.”
“ They had a leech in!” she said, her grief replaced by anger. “It was the cause of it, and still the villagers won’t listen.
He shook his head. “Maris, I know Venny taught you well, and he knows many things, but there are others—leeches—that know medicine as well. They are not always bad.”
“ I have yet to meet one that has not worsened the situation,” she told him defiantly.
Her father tsked, for they had had this conversation many times. Obviously knowing that neither of them would win the argument, he said, “I am sorry that she died. I will send three chickens to the cooper on the morrow, and visit on Justice Day. Is the smith’s daughter still wet nursing the babes?”
“ Aye. She will do a fine job, and mayhap the cooper and she will marry. She is of an age, and lost her own husband to the fever several moons ago.” She flickered a glance at Dirick, who was mooning over her mother’s slim hand, then looked back at her father. “I’ve brewed some fresh tea from the bearberry bush for you this night.” She patted his arm lightly. “I know you’re in need of it, for Mama told me this morn in Mass. The leaves are fresh and the tea is strong. I’ll have Verna bring it to your chamber when you retire.”
“ Thank you, dearling. Though I despise the taste of it, I cannot complain about the good your bearberry tea does for my pains. Have Verna bring it to me anon, and I vow I’ll drink it.”
“ Very well, Papa. I shall hold you to that vow,” Maris said as she stood. “I must see to Maisie’s daughter, for she’s not feeling well, and then I will brew your tea,” she explained, carefully avoiding any more than a brief glance at Dirick. “Good night, Sir Dirick, good night, Mama.” She bent over to kiss her father on his cheek, then she turned to walk from the hall.
Dirick watched her go. He’d spent the entire meal alternately cursing and congratulating himself for seizing the opportunity to taste those lovely lips. He was not an impulsive man when it came to women. He took his time, wooing and flattering, teasing and titillating a woman until she was like a ripe peach falling into his hand. There were plenty of willing women, ladies and whores alike, that made themselves available and giving him no cause to take chase. That was the way he preferred it.
Nevertheless, not only had he enjoyed his day at Maris’s side, but he knew he would kiss her again—betrothed or nay.
She had just disappeared into the kitchen and the hall was beginning to quiet down when the messenger made his appearance.
Most of the men-at-arms had retired from bawdy conversation and raucous story telling to the beds of whores, chess and dice games, or the night watch. Dirick himself was ready to find his own pallet when the seneschal approached Merle.
“ My lord, a messenger at the gate brings tidings to our guest, Sir Dirick de Arlande.” The man stood silently, waiting permission to call
It was her own doing, she reprimanded herself, for she had wanted to kiss him, and had known he wanted to kiss her when he helped to pull her to her feet. She’d welcomed the chance to see if kissing was any better now that she was older than when her father’s squire Raymond of Vermille had stolen a kiss from her years ago.
It was.
“ Daughter, are you ill?” her father asked suddenly, turning his attention to her, and startling her from her own thoughts. “You are no louder than a mouse this night.”
“ Nay, Papa,” she gave him a soft smile. “’Twas a long and wretched day, for I could not save the cooper’s wife.”
His face sobered. “Ah, aye, Father Abraham’s servant sent word to me.”
Maris pushed back the sadness that threatened to bring tears back to her eyes and replied, “There was naught I could do.”
He smoothed a comforting hand over her arm. “I know you did all you could, dearling.”
“ They had a leech in!” she said, her grief replaced by anger. “It was the cause of it, and still the villagers won’t listen.
He shook his head. “Maris, I know Venny taught you well, and he knows many things, but there are others—leeches—that know medicine as well. They are not always bad.”
“ I have yet to meet one that has not worsened the situation,” she told him defiantly.
Her father tsked, for they had had this conversation many times. Obviously knowing that neither of them would win the argument, he said, “I am sorry that she died. I will send three chickens to the cooper on the morrow, and visit on Justice Day. Is the smith’s daughter still wet nursing the babes?”
“ Aye. She will do a fine job, and mayhap the cooper and she will marry. She is of an age, and lost her own husband to the fever several moons ago.” She flickered a glance at Dirick, who was mooning over her mother’s slim hand, then looked back at her father. “I’ve brewed some fresh tea from the bearberry bush for you this night.” She patted his arm lightly. “I know you’re in need of it, for Mama told me this morn in Mass. The leaves are fresh and the tea is strong. I’ll have Verna bring it to your chamber when you retire.”
“ Thank you, dearling. Though I despise the taste of it, I cannot complain about the good your bearberry tea does for my pains. Have Verna bring it to me anon, and I vow I’ll drink it.”
“ Very well, Papa. I shall hold you to that vow,” Maris said as she stood. “I must see to Maisie’s daughter, for she’s not feeling well, and then I will brew your tea,” she explained, carefully avoiding any more than a brief glance at Dirick. “Good night, Sir Dirick, good night, Mama.” She bent over to kiss her father on his cheek, then she turned to walk from the hall.
Dirick watched her go. He’d spent the entire meal alternately cursing and congratulating himself for seizing the opportunity to taste those lovely lips. He was not an impulsive man when it came to women. He took his time, wooing and flattering, teasing and titillating a woman until she was like a ripe peach falling into his hand. There were plenty of willing women, ladies and whores alike, that made themselves available and giving him no cause to take chase. That was the way he preferred it.
Nevertheless, not only had he enjoyed his day at Maris’s side, but he knew he would kiss her again—betrothed or nay.
She had just disappeared into the kitchen and the hall was beginning to quiet down when the messenger made his appearance.
Most of the men-at-arms had retired from bawdy conversation and raucous story telling to the beds of whores, chess and dice games, or the night watch. Dirick himself was ready to find his own pallet when the seneschal approached Merle.
“ My lord, a messenger at the gate brings tidings to our guest, Sir Dirick de Arlande.” The man stood silently, waiting permission to call
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