your papa have a babe?"
"She brought her bratling with her when she came. Never had time for it though. Kept it swaddled all the time. I used to hide in the cupboard and sneak out to untie the fat little thing when she left it unattended. Used to drive her batty. She never could figure out how the creature wiggled its way out. She was blessed with beauty but no brains." Marlys slapped a comb in her hands. "Much like yourself."
Marlys crossed the chamber, her strides quick and sure. She swept back the linen covering a table, carelessly knocking a pine box to the floor. Rowena bent to retrieve it. Her finger traced the sloping wing of a bird carved into the pale wood, and she started to open it.
Marlys snatched the box from her hand. "Gareth spent days carving this for her when Father sent word he was bringing home a new mother for us."
"How did she die?"
Marlys lifted her gaze from the box. Her lips quirked in a strange smile. "She had a bad heart."
Rowena flinched as Marlys flung the box behind her. "Don't stand there gaping at me, Ro. We've work to do."
Rowena gave a secret smile, thinking how pleasant it was to be called Ro instead of Puppy and wondering what Marlys hoped to gain with her kindness.
Sir Blaine of Ardendonne conquered Caerleon without drawing a single sword. By nightfall, the castle was ablaze with light and laughter. Music rang from the rafters. The swallows darted into the night, seeking any surcease from the raucous merriment. Burly villeins with sleeves pushed up over hairy forearms dragged the furniture along the wall to make room for dancing. Dunnla shuffled in and out from the kitchens, bellowing commands that sent more than one lady into a genteel faint. Gridmore followed her commands by putting plates of cold partridge on the hearth and loads of firewood in ladies' laps. Blaine supervised the chaos with hands on hips and a proprietary smile. He single-handedly rescued a squealing midget from the oven where Gridmore had tossed him after mistaking him for the roast boar.
In a deserted chamber at the top of the keep, Rowena heard the faint piping of bells and a heated squealing as if a herd of pigs had laid siege to the feast below. She stared into a mirror of hammered silver. A stranger blinked back at her. Her chest rose and fell in shallow rhythm. She touched her cheek with two fingers. Her skin was as cold and foreign as the polished surface of the mirror.
Two brilliant slashes of crimson stained her cheeks, matching the lavish red of her lips. A thick line of kohl rimmed her eyes. With each blink, her eyelids clung, and she feared they would be stuck forever closed. Darkened with ashes and stiffened with oil, her lashes swept upward like rebellious spiders to meet the darkened arch of her brow. A golden crespine net confined her hair. A blue wimple flowed from it, hiding her sturdy neck in folds of plush velvet.
Count to one hundred. Then come down and join the feast.
Rowena began counting aloud as Marlys's words returned to her. She got as far as eight before forgetting the next number Marlys had taught her and being forced to start again. Her hands fumbled nervously with the exotic jars of ashes and berries spilling from the teak box to the table. "Fourteen," she mumbled. "Sixteen, forty-four, sixty-eight, twelve, one hundred."
She leaped out of the chair, tripping over the sleeves of the undertunic. By holding her arms at stiff angles in front of her, she maneuvered the door open. The golden girdle resting on her hips caught on the iron handle as she tried to slip through. She tugged herself free with a curse learned from Gareth and perfected by Marlys. If things proceeded in this alarming manner, Gareth would not fail to notice her. She would be the only lady in the hall laying flat on her face.
A sweet tenor drifted to Rowena's ears, followed by a nasal bray of laughter. Her steps slowed as she entered the open gallery leading to the stairs. Entranced by the flood of colors
"She brought her bratling with her when she came. Never had time for it though. Kept it swaddled all the time. I used to hide in the cupboard and sneak out to untie the fat little thing when she left it unattended. Used to drive her batty. She never could figure out how the creature wiggled its way out. She was blessed with beauty but no brains." Marlys slapped a comb in her hands. "Much like yourself."
Marlys crossed the chamber, her strides quick and sure. She swept back the linen covering a table, carelessly knocking a pine box to the floor. Rowena bent to retrieve it. Her finger traced the sloping wing of a bird carved into the pale wood, and she started to open it.
Marlys snatched the box from her hand. "Gareth spent days carving this for her when Father sent word he was bringing home a new mother for us."
"How did she die?"
Marlys lifted her gaze from the box. Her lips quirked in a strange smile. "She had a bad heart."
Rowena flinched as Marlys flung the box behind her. "Don't stand there gaping at me, Ro. We've work to do."
Rowena gave a secret smile, thinking how pleasant it was to be called Ro instead of Puppy and wondering what Marlys hoped to gain with her kindness.
Sir Blaine of Ardendonne conquered Caerleon without drawing a single sword. By nightfall, the castle was ablaze with light and laughter. Music rang from the rafters. The swallows darted into the night, seeking any surcease from the raucous merriment. Burly villeins with sleeves pushed up over hairy forearms dragged the furniture along the wall to make room for dancing. Dunnla shuffled in and out from the kitchens, bellowing commands that sent more than one lady into a genteel faint. Gridmore followed her commands by putting plates of cold partridge on the hearth and loads of firewood in ladies' laps. Blaine supervised the chaos with hands on hips and a proprietary smile. He single-handedly rescued a squealing midget from the oven where Gridmore had tossed him after mistaking him for the roast boar.
In a deserted chamber at the top of the keep, Rowena heard the faint piping of bells and a heated squealing as if a herd of pigs had laid siege to the feast below. She stared into a mirror of hammered silver. A stranger blinked back at her. Her chest rose and fell in shallow rhythm. She touched her cheek with two fingers. Her skin was as cold and foreign as the polished surface of the mirror.
Two brilliant slashes of crimson stained her cheeks, matching the lavish red of her lips. A thick line of kohl rimmed her eyes. With each blink, her eyelids clung, and she feared they would be stuck forever closed. Darkened with ashes and stiffened with oil, her lashes swept upward like rebellious spiders to meet the darkened arch of her brow. A golden crespine net confined her hair. A blue wimple flowed from it, hiding her sturdy neck in folds of plush velvet.
Count to one hundred. Then come down and join the feast.
Rowena began counting aloud as Marlys's words returned to her. She got as far as eight before forgetting the next number Marlys had taught her and being forced to start again. Her hands fumbled nervously with the exotic jars of ashes and berries spilling from the teak box to the table. "Fourteen," she mumbled. "Sixteen, forty-four, sixty-eight, twelve, one hundred."
She leaped out of the chair, tripping over the sleeves of the undertunic. By holding her arms at stiff angles in front of her, she maneuvered the door open. The golden girdle resting on her hips caught on the iron handle as she tried to slip through. She tugged herself free with a curse learned from Gareth and perfected by Marlys. If things proceeded in this alarming manner, Gareth would not fail to notice her. She would be the only lady in the hall laying flat on her face.
A sweet tenor drifted to Rowena's ears, followed by a nasal bray of laughter. Her steps slowed as she entered the open gallery leading to the stairs. Entranced by the flood of colors
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