Philippa by Bertrice Small Page B

was to prepare her for court, and her position as one of the queen of England’s maids of honor. And when she was fifteen she would be betrothed and married to the second son of an earl. Philippa’s life was exactly as she had wanted it. Until now.
    “You have weathered the storm, I see,” Maybel said, reentering the hall and coming to sit by Rosamund.
    “Barely,” Rosamund replied. “She is very angry. I have told her she will not go back to court until I see a change in her demeanor. She has replied she will go back even if she has to walk the whole way by herself. I do not ever remember being that headstrong, Maybel.”
    “You were,” Maybel responded, “but your passion was for Friarsgate, and those for whom you were responsible as its lady. Philippa has become selfish. Perhaps she always was selfish, and we did not notice it because she was a child. I fear for Friarsgate, for your eldest daughter has absolutely no interest in it at all. Her passion is for this court of hers, and for herself. If you could but see, but of course you will, how scornful she is of Bessie who loves the land so greatly.”
    “I must speak with Tom,” Rosamund said.
    “Not your husband?” Maybel was surprised.
    Rosamund shook her head. “Nay. Logan may be my husband, but he has never really understood me where Friarsgate is concerned. It is his one weakness.” She smiled. “Tom understands, and he will know what we are to do about Philippa. Logan would marry her off to the first suitable husband he could find, and devil take the hindmost. My husband will most certainly not put up with my daughter’s bad behavior. Nay, Tom must come quickly, for if I remain too long here right now Logan will come. He will not put up with Philippa’s haughty ways. As her stepfather he has the right to beat her, and I have no doubt he would take a hazel switch to her bottom should he feel she needed it. And though I would never admit it, I think she does.”
    “Surely the man would not beat his children,” Maybel said, horrified.
    “He’s a rough man, Maybel, and while he is not cruel, he has taken a switch to Alexander once or twice. And my wee Jamie as well. Rowdy laddies both, I fear. ’Tis his John who is the gentle lad. Nay, we must send for Tom right away.”
    “Edmund did, when he sent for you,” Maybel told Rosamund. “He should be here if not late today, tomorrow for certain, and Banon with him. Mistress Philippa will certainly have her nose put out of joint when she sees our Banon, for she is surely the most beautiful of your lasses. When she was young I thought she would resemble you as does Philippa, but she has grown into a mix of both you and lord Owein, may God assoil his good soul. With those blue eyes of hers you would think she was the laird’s child.”
    “My uncles have blue eyes,” Rosamund noted. “But aye, Banon is lovely even at thirteen. Imagine what two more years will do for her.”
    “Another one to find a husband for,” Maybel said almost grimly.
    “I am leaving that to Tom,” Rosamund replied. “She is his heiress. Let him choose the man who would husband Banon, and be the next lord of Otterly. It is not my concern, although I will want some small say in the matter, of course.”
    The evening meal was a grim one. Philippa hardly spoke a word except to criticize her little sister. And Elizabeth Meredith was not one to sit meekly with her hands folded and accept the unkind words her sister spoke. At first Rosamund attempted to keep the peace between her eldest and her youngest daughters, but finally she gave up.
    “Go to your beds, both of you! I am not of a mind to listen to your quarreling. If you cannot be civil to one another then I do not want you at my board.”
    The two sisters departed the hall, still quarreling angrily with one another.
    Rosamund sat back and closed her eyes for a long moment. Life had been so peaceful before Philippa arrived home. She was beginning to feel some strong