lose it forever when she entered the convent. She supposed the pair in the storeroom val-ued privacy as well, and they got less of it than she did. She waited tensely on the edge of the bed, indeci-sive. She put the dagger away. She expected sounds of lovemaking to follow the man's undressing, but nothing but silence came from the outer room.
She crossed her arms and frowned in puzzlement. How could she throw somebody out on his ear for fooling around with her maid when he wasn't fooling around? Maybe they just wanted to cuddle up togeth-er and sleep. Rather sweet, she thought, and lay back down.
Must be nice to have someone to cuddle up with, she thought. Nice not to be alone in the dark.
Some-one warm and comforting to just be with, never mind the rest. Though the rest would be nice, her wistful, lonely thoughts ran on. She'd never really been in love. There had been too much to leam, too much to do. She had given all her energy to the excitement of research, hadn't thought about love at all.
Not the share-your-life-with-someone-forever kind of love, at least. She had thought there'd be time later. Dammit, she was getting maudlin. It was just sleep deprivation making her depressed. Life was so fleeting, though. So often wasted.
To get her mind off melancholy speculation of might-have-beens, she searched her thoughts for another subject to consider.
The cook wanted fresh eels. Bleah. Could they fish for them in the Stour? Perhaps she should point out to him that she was from the Middle East, where the trendy delicacy was sheep's eyeballs. No, it was better not to give him any ideas. She didn't want him trying to impress Lady Sibelle with his artistry. That girl did not need to be impressed with anybody's cuisine.
The girl needed a strict diet and plenty of exercise. And ...
Jane sat up straight in her bed. She could almost see the light bulb—or blazing flambeau—going on over her head. "The girl needs . . ."
She settled back down slowly, her mind suddenly buzzing with ideas. What did Sibelle need? Well, a husband, for one thing. She wanted Stephan. What girl wouldn't? He was handsome and brave and charming and nice. Well, he was nice to everybody but Sibelle. Poor kid. What could she do to change that? Jane wondered.
Should she? She wasn't supposed to change any-thing. There was nothing she could do.
Why not?
Don't give me "why not,"she argued with herself. History. She couldn't do anything to change history.
What if Sibelle and Stephan were supposed to loathe each other throughout their lives? What if they were supposed to be childless?
But, just by living here in the Middle Ages, Jane was altering history. A boy had died, because she had ordered him to fix a roof. The course of events had been changed. Well, if she could change things for the bad, maybe she could change them for the good as well. She hadn't been able to help the boy.
"Maybe I can help the girl," she whispered into her pillow. Without revealing any secrets of my great technological age. Sibelle didn't need to know how to work a computer. She needed a little help with her socialization, some skills training. Surely Jane could manage that much without making any great changes.
She rolled onto her back and laced her fingers together across her stomach. Staring into the darkness, she considered just how to deal with the situa-tion. Though not for long. Now that she'd made up her mind to do something, she finally drifted off to sleep, before she could figure out exactly what it was she was going to do.
She woke up with a cunning plan.
She also woke up because she heard Berthild moving around in the outer room. The door opened. The dogs jumped down and followed the servant out. Jane sighed happily, waiting in bed for Berthild to bring back a couple of buckets of warm water for her to bathe in. She'd asked her to do that the night before.
She was stiff all over; a bath would do her a world of good. She checked the window. The dark-ness was
She crossed her arms and frowned in puzzlement. How could she throw somebody out on his ear for fooling around with her maid when he wasn't fooling around? Maybe they just wanted to cuddle up togeth-er and sleep. Rather sweet, she thought, and lay back down.
Must be nice to have someone to cuddle up with, she thought. Nice not to be alone in the dark.
Some-one warm and comforting to just be with, never mind the rest. Though the rest would be nice, her wistful, lonely thoughts ran on. She'd never really been in love. There had been too much to leam, too much to do. She had given all her energy to the excitement of research, hadn't thought about love at all.
Not the share-your-life-with-someone-forever kind of love, at least. She had thought there'd be time later. Dammit, she was getting maudlin. It was just sleep deprivation making her depressed. Life was so fleeting, though. So often wasted.
To get her mind off melancholy speculation of might-have-beens, she searched her thoughts for another subject to consider.
The cook wanted fresh eels. Bleah. Could they fish for them in the Stour? Perhaps she should point out to him that she was from the Middle East, where the trendy delicacy was sheep's eyeballs. No, it was better not to give him any ideas. She didn't want him trying to impress Lady Sibelle with his artistry. That girl did not need to be impressed with anybody's cuisine.
The girl needed a strict diet and plenty of exercise. And ...
Jane sat up straight in her bed. She could almost see the light bulb—or blazing flambeau—going on over her head. "The girl needs . . ."
She settled back down slowly, her mind suddenly buzzing with ideas. What did Sibelle need? Well, a husband, for one thing. She wanted Stephan. What girl wouldn't? He was handsome and brave and charming and nice. Well, he was nice to everybody but Sibelle. Poor kid. What could she do to change that? Jane wondered.
Should she? She wasn't supposed to change any-thing. There was nothing she could do.
Why not?
Don't give me "why not,"she argued with herself. History. She couldn't do anything to change history.
What if Sibelle and Stephan were supposed to loathe each other throughout their lives? What if they were supposed to be childless?
But, just by living here in the Middle Ages, Jane was altering history. A boy had died, because she had ordered him to fix a roof. The course of events had been changed. Well, if she could change things for the bad, maybe she could change them for the good as well. She hadn't been able to help the boy.
"Maybe I can help the girl," she whispered into her pillow. Without revealing any secrets of my great technological age. Sibelle didn't need to know how to work a computer. She needed a little help with her socialization, some skills training. Surely Jane could manage that much without making any great changes.
She rolled onto her back and laced her fingers together across her stomach. Staring into the darkness, she considered just how to deal with the situa-tion. Though not for long. Now that she'd made up her mind to do something, she finally drifted off to sleep, before she could figure out exactly what it was she was going to do.
She woke up with a cunning plan.
She also woke up because she heard Berthild moving around in the outer room. The door opened. The dogs jumped down and followed the servant out. Jane sighed happily, waiting in bed for Berthild to bring back a couple of buckets of warm water for her to bathe in. She'd asked her to do that the night before.
She was stiff all over; a bath would do her a world of good. She checked the window. The dark-ness was
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