everything shall come out for the best.”
Beatrix looked doubtful, but finally she nodded, drying her tears on her sleeve.
“Go now,” Linnea instructed her, though to keep her sister close by was what she desired more than anything.
“I shall endeavor to be there, at the chapel this evening,” Beatrix whispered. “And I will pray the whole night through for you.” Then with a last kiss, she was gone, pushed away before Linnea could change her mind and beg her to stay.
Tears spilled down Linnea’s cheeks as she turned, heavyhearted, to her brother. If he so much as said a word of derision to the sister he mistook for herself, Linnea would never be able to control her righteous anger.
But St. Jude interceded once more on her behalf, as he had in small ways repeatedly this long and endless day. For Maynard had subsided into a fitful repose. While she checked his injuries, he tossed restlessly and muttered unintelligible snatches, but nothing of his sisters, God be praised.
When Frayne reappeared, a silent, guilty wraith in the shadows, Linnea was too drained to take him to task for his absence. Maynard was better. It seemed he might mend. Perhaps she should leave his care to her grandmother now, for she had troubles enough of her own.
“Dribble this medicine between his lips and make sure it goes down,” she warned Frayne, giving him the small stoppered vial of sundew. “Also this, for pain. Then try to give him at least a dipper full of water every hour or so. And call me should he grow feverish or restless.”
The boy nodded, staring at her with round eyes in a dirty face. “What if you are …” He faltered and looked away. “Beg pardon, my Lady Beatrix, but I have heard the tale that you and the new lord …”
When his curious gaze turned cautiously back to her, it was Linnea’s turn to look away. Everyone knew. Everyone’s hopes for a peaceful future of one sort or another resided on her—and on how well she performed her wifely duties this evening.
“Perhaps it would be more prudent for you to rouse my grandmother than to send for me,” she admitted in an embarrassed mutter.
“Lady Harriet?” His brows rose in consternation. “I was thinking, well, that your sister would be a better choice.”
“No! Not … not Linnea. She is gone from here now and never to be spoken of again. Do you mind my words, Frayne? You must never mention her again, not if you value your position!”
Abruptly she halted her speech, dismayed by her shrill tone and rising hysteria. She pressed her fingertips to her eyes and willed her trembling to cease. Only when she felt a modicum of control return did she speak again.
“Nothing of Maidenstone is as we have been accustomed to. Our lives have been turned upside down and now we must attempt as best we can to cope. My sister is lost to us. It would be better to pretend she had never existed.”
Chapter 6
D arkness rushed over the rolling lands of Wessex, heralded by a violent storm that lashed the castle, the village, and the fields beyond. The ancient ash forest that stood sentinel along the ridge bowed and swayed in fearful homage to the tempest. Sheep huddled beneath trees or in the lean-to sheds spotted around the valley. Wheat stalks lay down in the face of wind and rain, and nary a villager ventured outside the stucco walls and thatched roofs of their cottages.
Only in the castle did activity continue unabated, for the wedding would go forth, storm or no.
Linnea stood in the middle of the third floor solar, surrounded by three maids, as well as Norma and Ida. Her grandmother watched as they dressed her, scowling from her place in a tall chair cushioned with rugs and positioned beside the wall hearth. Though the blaze threw a commendable heat into the chamber, cold yet hung over the place. It was not caused by the storm.
“You have not forgotten my instructions,” Lady Harriet said. It was more statement than question.
“No, Grandmother. I have
Beatrix looked doubtful, but finally she nodded, drying her tears on her sleeve.
“Go now,” Linnea instructed her, though to keep her sister close by was what she desired more than anything.
“I shall endeavor to be there, at the chapel this evening,” Beatrix whispered. “And I will pray the whole night through for you.” Then with a last kiss, she was gone, pushed away before Linnea could change her mind and beg her to stay.
Tears spilled down Linnea’s cheeks as she turned, heavyhearted, to her brother. If he so much as said a word of derision to the sister he mistook for herself, Linnea would never be able to control her righteous anger.
But St. Jude interceded once more on her behalf, as he had in small ways repeatedly this long and endless day. For Maynard had subsided into a fitful repose. While she checked his injuries, he tossed restlessly and muttered unintelligible snatches, but nothing of his sisters, God be praised.
When Frayne reappeared, a silent, guilty wraith in the shadows, Linnea was too drained to take him to task for his absence. Maynard was better. It seemed he might mend. Perhaps she should leave his care to her grandmother now, for she had troubles enough of her own.
“Dribble this medicine between his lips and make sure it goes down,” she warned Frayne, giving him the small stoppered vial of sundew. “Also this, for pain. Then try to give him at least a dipper full of water every hour or so. And call me should he grow feverish or restless.”
The boy nodded, staring at her with round eyes in a dirty face. “What if you are …” He faltered and looked away. “Beg pardon, my Lady Beatrix, but I have heard the tale that you and the new lord …”
When his curious gaze turned cautiously back to her, it was Linnea’s turn to look away. Everyone knew. Everyone’s hopes for a peaceful future of one sort or another resided on her—and on how well she performed her wifely duties this evening.
“Perhaps it would be more prudent for you to rouse my grandmother than to send for me,” she admitted in an embarrassed mutter.
“Lady Harriet?” His brows rose in consternation. “I was thinking, well, that your sister would be a better choice.”
“No! Not … not Linnea. She is gone from here now and never to be spoken of again. Do you mind my words, Frayne? You must never mention her again, not if you value your position!”
Abruptly she halted her speech, dismayed by her shrill tone and rising hysteria. She pressed her fingertips to her eyes and willed her trembling to cease. Only when she felt a modicum of control return did she speak again.
“Nothing of Maidenstone is as we have been accustomed to. Our lives have been turned upside down and now we must attempt as best we can to cope. My sister is lost to us. It would be better to pretend she had never existed.”
Chapter 6
D arkness rushed over the rolling lands of Wessex, heralded by a violent storm that lashed the castle, the village, and the fields beyond. The ancient ash forest that stood sentinel along the ridge bowed and swayed in fearful homage to the tempest. Sheep huddled beneath trees or in the lean-to sheds spotted around the valley. Wheat stalks lay down in the face of wind and rain, and nary a villager ventured outside the stucco walls and thatched roofs of their cottages.
Only in the castle did activity continue unabated, for the wedding would go forth, storm or no.
Linnea stood in the middle of the third floor solar, surrounded by three maids, as well as Norma and Ida. Her grandmother watched as they dressed her, scowling from her place in a tall chair cushioned with rugs and positioned beside the wall hearth. Though the blaze threw a commendable heat into the chamber, cold yet hung over the place. It was not caused by the storm.
“You have not forgotten my instructions,” Lady Harriet said. It was more statement than question.
“No, Grandmother. I have
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