Page 40 of The Daughters of Avalon
Dominique’s entire countenance brightened. If it were possible, she stood a little taller. Her eyes lit, and her aura brightened, but the maid’s remained dim, Elspeth noticed.
“Did you spin the wool yourself?” she asked the shy lady.
Alyss didn’t answer, so Dominique answered for her. “Alas, nay. Neither of us could ever produce a wool so fine. Fortunately, my brother is very generous. He ordered many, many ells for me to do as I wish. I fashioned a tunic for William and a dress or two for me because I like it far better than I do the samite.” She leaned forward to whisper, “I cannot abide the sound it makes when I walk.” But then she put a finger into the air, as though remembering something else. “Oh, but here… I made… this…” And she leaned forward again, grasping yet another garment. This one was a richly sewn tunic—also made with scarlet but fashioned for a man. There was a sigil on the front that Elspeth had come to recognize only too well—a golden two-headed falcon with a maxim that readAltium, citius, fortius. “For my lord Aldergh,” she said, touching the embroidery reverently, awistful smile lingering at the corners of her lovely lips, though without a trace of rancor.
“Oh… I’m so, so sorry.” Elspeth said at once, realizing she must have sewn the garment as a gift for her betrothed. “I did not know.”
“Are you not pleased?”
“Yes, of course. But?—”
Dominique gave her a sympathetic look and waved a hand in dismissal. “Speak no more, my darling friend! ’Tis a woman’s lot to serve her house,” she said, interrupting. “You need not ever be sorry. Indeed, I have long admired the King’s Enforcer, and I would have welcomed our union. But, alas, I could never begrudge the joy I saw so plainly in your lord’s eyes when he spoke of his lady.”
Elspeth blinked, lifting her gaze to meet Dominique’s.
Malcomwas theKing’s Enforcer?
Sweet fates!Cael d’Lucy shared this distinction. Enforcer was simply another name for assassin. So, then, Malcom was a member of the Rex Militum? She blinked again, realizing what it portended.What was he doing near Llanthony?
Oblivious to Elspeth’s thoughts, Dominque’s expression was filled with marvel, her eyes glistening with joy. “What a wonderful boon to be offered a love match—how fortunate you are!”
Love match?
But nay, nay… they barely knew one another.
“Come,” demanded Dominique, beckoning Elspeth. “Let us help you dress. I cannot wait to see your lord’s eyes when they feast upon you this evening.” She chattered on and on, buoyant and happy. “I warrant, no matter the state of his belly, he’ll have no more hunger for his meal.” And then she giggled, and before Elspeth could protest, the maid Alyss rushed forward to help Elspeth remove her dirty Llanthony tunic.
Together, they worked like a maelstrom, arms aflutter, tugging, lifting, removing, tossing garments aside, before helping Elspeth wash and dress. In all this time, Elspeth had little choice but to allow the ministrations, because neither gave her any choice. She did, however, very discreetly stuff the Llanthony tunic aside, hiding it from their scrutiny.
And even abashed though she might be over so much ado, she found herself enjoying the unexpected attention. It indulged a yearning she had for her sisters, even though she and her siblings had fended for themselves from the day they were born, sharing the same scratchy undyed wool gowns for years and years before earning the right to ask for another.
At home, Elspeth’s gowns had all been stained by earth and flora, and despite all their knowledge of simples, betimes they could not eradicate the stains from their clothes.
Far too easily, the scarlet wool slid over Elspeth’s bare skin like a lover’s caress, giving her gooseflesh. And once they were done dressing her, she wore the finest gown she’d ever beheld—finer yet than any Matilda had ever worn in her presence—with long flowing sleeves and a surcoat as rich as the color of blood. In contrast, the sendalchainsewas whiter than the palest shade of a new moon. And if that were not well enough alone, they brushed her hair, plaiting her tresses into braids that fell to either side of her face, with silver ribbons threading through.
At long last, when their work was completed, Alyss handed Elspeth a small handheld mirror, withdrawing it from the pocket of her apron, and Elspeth peered into the polished silver with gasp.
The girl who peered back at her now was hardly the same girl she’d faced in the gurgling brook this morn… or the one who’d fled the priory. This lady was freshly washed and pink-faced, with hair that reminded Elspeth of Matilda herself whenevershe’d returned from Germany as a widowed wife of the Emperor, with all her fine clothes and hair aglow with threads of gold.
“You are so beautiful,” said Alyss, reticently.
Dominique agreed, but so much more enthusiastically. “Twill not only be your lord husband whose eyes will turn this eve.” She laughed and clapped her hands. “My brother will think you lovely as a queen!”
The maid behind her flinched, and Dominique only belatedly seemed to realize what she’d said, and she flinched, leaving Elspeth to wonder over the exchange as Dominique put a hand to the maid’s shoulder, stroking gently, while still addressing Elspeth.
“Now, shall we see you belowstairs for the feast? Tonight we have called a troubadour and a jongleur, as well, and my brother has butchered a sow for the occasion. In truth, ’tis been some time since we’ve enjoyed a meal so grand—in honor of you, my lady, and your lord husband.”
A feast?In Elspeth’s behalf?
Suddenly, all coherent thought fled from her head. Gone was her momentary curiosity over Alyss’s discomfiture, vanished were any awkward questions over Malcom’s betrothal to Dominique, or his appointment to the king’s justice. Forgotten as well was the truth of why she’d come here after all… and just for the moment, or perhaps just the evening, she dared tobethe Lady of Aldergh.
Tomorrow would be soon enough to face the truth… that she was but a runaway daughter of a long dead king, whose own mother would rather see her suffer than be happy.
And Malcom… he wasn’t only the devoted servant of the man who’d stolen her sister’s crown; he was the King’s Enforcer—a mercenary, indeed, not so different from Cael d’Lucy, the man to whom her mother would have seen her betrothed.
So, it seemed, she’d leapt from the pot into the flames… and even so she found herself counting seconds before she could see Malcom again.
The wine wasas poor as Malcom remembered it was, still he reached for it all too easily, sipping as he watched the harpist seduce her strings. But at least the music was sweet.
