toward Mirielle spoke of her frustration with the
irritable lady of Wroxley.
“If I continue to be so bored,” Alda fretted.
“I will soon develop wrinkles and gray hair.”
“Nonsense,” said Mirielle in a tone of fond
teasing that did not convey what she was actually thinking.
“Everyone who sees you remarks on your beauty and how fresh and
young you look. This dreary weather has put you out of sorts. Alda,
perhaps if you were to take over supervision of the meals you might
find the work would distract you from your boredom.”
“Certainly not. That is your task, Mirielle.
You must earn your keep if you are to remain here at Wroxley.” With
a long sigh Alda rolled off the bed and approached Donada. “Take
the length and then get out. You annoy me, Donada. You are always
too serious.”
Sighing repeatedly, Alda stood still while
Donada marked the bottom of the dress with a round piece of chalk.
Then she pulled off the garment and tossed it into Donada’s
arms.
“Go away and do not bother me again until the
gown is finished. Oh, how I wish it were time to go to court!”
As was often the case, Mirielle did not know
whether to dislike Alda for her selfishness or pity her for the
character flaw that kept her always and only concerned with her
personal comfort and her own needs. And as always in her dealings
with Alda, Mirielle was aware of an undercurrent of aversion
between them. Mirielle put it down to jealousy on Alda’s part over
the warmth that existed between Mirielle and Brice.
“Where is Brice?” Alda demanded, making
Mirielle wonder if the woman could read her thoughts.
“I believe he is with the captain of the
guard,” Mirielle replied.
“Find him. Tell him I want him to attend on
me at once.”
“I am sure Brice will come to you as soon as
he can.” The words were meant to calm Alda. Instead, they
aggravated her already testy mood.
“I did not say, as soon as he can!” she
shouted at Mirielle. “I want to see him now! Immediately! Do you
hear me?”
“I heard you, Alda. I will find Brice and
give him your message.” Having witnessed Alda’s tantrums in the
past, Mirielle knew the time had come to get out of the room as
fast as she could.
As Mirielle pulled the chamber door shut
behind her, Alda shrieked in rage and something hit the door. By
the cracking sound the object made and the seductive odor of roses
that began to drift upward through the narrow space between the
bottom of the door and the floor, Mirielle was sure the broken
object was the bottle of rosewater she had brought to Alda only
that morning. Undoubtedly, Alda would demand a new bottle of scent
once she had calmed herself.
“Let her wait,” Brice said after Mirielle
found him in the great hall and told him of Alda’s insistent
command.
“She is in a high temper,” Mirielle
warned.
“What do I care?” And off Brice went with
Captain Oliver by his side.
“If you are determined to play this dangerous
game with Alda, then you ought to care when she is angry,” Mirielle
muttered to his retreating back.
The tensions of the last few days were
wearing upon her spirit. Needing half an hour or so of quiet
reflection, Mirielle was about to flee to the privacy of her
workroom when she saw Hugh entering the hall. If he was looking for
her, he might well search in her workroom. She would have to find
another place in which to be alone, for Hugh was one of the people
whom she wanted to avoid. She was in no mood to fend off his subtle
questions.
There was only one place in the entire castle
where a mage was not likely to go. Since Wroxley lacked a resident
priest few people bothered to visit the chapel. To Mirielle it
seemed the ideal spot for solitude. Hugh had apparently not seen
her. Quickly she left the great hall, hurried across the entrance
hall, and descended the inside staircase to a narrow anteroom. From
this room one could enter the chapel or continue down the stairs to
the crypt below. Alda’s late
irritable lady of Wroxley.
“If I continue to be so bored,” Alda fretted.
“I will soon develop wrinkles and gray hair.”
“Nonsense,” said Mirielle in a tone of fond
teasing that did not convey what she was actually thinking.
“Everyone who sees you remarks on your beauty and how fresh and
young you look. This dreary weather has put you out of sorts. Alda,
perhaps if you were to take over supervision of the meals you might
find the work would distract you from your boredom.”
“Certainly not. That is your task, Mirielle.
You must earn your keep if you are to remain here at Wroxley.” With
a long sigh Alda rolled off the bed and approached Donada. “Take
the length and then get out. You annoy me, Donada. You are always
too serious.”
Sighing repeatedly, Alda stood still while
Donada marked the bottom of the dress with a round piece of chalk.
Then she pulled off the garment and tossed it into Donada’s
arms.
“Go away and do not bother me again until the
gown is finished. Oh, how I wish it were time to go to court!”
As was often the case, Mirielle did not know
whether to dislike Alda for her selfishness or pity her for the
character flaw that kept her always and only concerned with her
personal comfort and her own needs. And as always in her dealings
with Alda, Mirielle was aware of an undercurrent of aversion
between them. Mirielle put it down to jealousy on Alda’s part over
the warmth that existed between Mirielle and Brice.
“Where is Brice?” Alda demanded, making
Mirielle wonder if the woman could read her thoughts.
“I believe he is with the captain of the
guard,” Mirielle replied.
“Find him. Tell him I want him to attend on
me at once.”
“I am sure Brice will come to you as soon as
he can.” The words were meant to calm Alda. Instead, they
aggravated her already testy mood.
“I did not say, as soon as he can!” she
shouted at Mirielle. “I want to see him now! Immediately! Do you
hear me?”
“I heard you, Alda. I will find Brice and
give him your message.” Having witnessed Alda’s tantrums in the
past, Mirielle knew the time had come to get out of the room as
fast as she could.
As Mirielle pulled the chamber door shut
behind her, Alda shrieked in rage and something hit the door. By
the cracking sound the object made and the seductive odor of roses
that began to drift upward through the narrow space between the
bottom of the door and the floor, Mirielle was sure the broken
object was the bottle of rosewater she had brought to Alda only
that morning. Undoubtedly, Alda would demand a new bottle of scent
once she had calmed herself.
“Let her wait,” Brice said after Mirielle
found him in the great hall and told him of Alda’s insistent
command.
“She is in a high temper,” Mirielle
warned.
“What do I care?” And off Brice went with
Captain Oliver by his side.
“If you are determined to play this dangerous
game with Alda, then you ought to care when she is angry,” Mirielle
muttered to his retreating back.
The tensions of the last few days were
wearing upon her spirit. Needing half an hour or so of quiet
reflection, Mirielle was about to flee to the privacy of her
workroom when she saw Hugh entering the hall. If he was looking for
her, he might well search in her workroom. She would have to find
another place in which to be alone, for Hugh was one of the people
whom she wanted to avoid. She was in no mood to fend off his subtle
questions.
There was only one place in the entire castle
where a mage was not likely to go. Since Wroxley lacked a resident
priest few people bothered to visit the chapel. To Mirielle it
seemed the ideal spot for solitude. Hugh had apparently not seen
her. Quickly she left the great hall, hurried across the entrance
hall, and descended the inside staircase to a narrow anteroom. From
this room one could enter the chapel or continue down the stairs to
the crypt below. Alda’s late
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