Talis did not turn to look up at her in sympathy at the mere mention of her death as he usually did, so Alida knew it was time to try another tactic. “Perhaps if she troubles you too much and you cannot keep away from her, I should send her to her father.” At that Talis turned a face filled with horror toward her. “Although I would hate to do that. You have not seen what Gilbert Rasher is like. He is a brutal man; I fear for someone as delicate as your Callie to be under his rule.”
“No!” Talis burst out. “Do not send her to him. I will stay away from her. I will do anything to keep her here.” He turned his face away from her, not wanting anyone to see the look of desolation on his face.
Alida stroked his hair. “It will not be for much longer. I will be out of your life soon.”
Cupping his chin, she turned his face toward hers, then smiled at him. “Come and read to me. Do not be sad in these my last hours. Soon I will be under the cold ground and you will be happy then.”
Slowly, as though he were in pain, Talis got up and went to a shelf where Alida kept her precious books. As she looked at him in the sunlight, she knew how much she had come to love him, and she was glad she was going to be able to give him what she could. She was fading fast and her death was coming soon; she could feel it. But before she died she wanted to see Talis at court. How she’d like to see him with the queen. The queen would like him so much!
As Talis began to read to her, Alida stroked his hair. He’d soon forget the pale girl he thought he loved. In the glamour of the court, in the sunshine of the queen’s smile, Talis would forget everything that had happened in his past. He’d forget those rustic farmers he’d grown up with; he’d forget that girl who was not beautiful or rich enough for him.
Yes, Alida thought, everything would work out well: Her own sons would inherit the property she had brought to her marriage, and this glorious young man would go to court, would entice the queen with his exuberance and love of life—just as he’d seduced Alida into loving him.
Yes, she thought, it was time for everything to begin. She must send for Gilbert Rasher today.
“And what do you care what I do all day?” Callie spat at Talis, her eyes flashing at him as though they were on fire. “What business is it of yours?”
Watching them, Dorothy felt sick with the sight. Never in her life had she seen two people more in love than these two; they were the dream of every girl growing up. Talis thought only of Callie; Callie thought only of Talis. Yet why did they not see what everyone else at Hadley saw clearly?
Now, Callie was, as always, hoeing in her garden, and, as always, there were five young men offering to “help.” Two of the men were quite good-looking, and one of the others, the farrier’s son, had a homely face, but from the neck down he was quite a sight to see.
The only person who did not see all this pulchritude was Callie. These handsome young men came to her, hoping to win the hand of a nobleman’s daughter, yet all Callie saw was free labor.
But when Talis arrived, he saw his beloved surrounded by men, as though she were a queen with her courtiers.
The entire situation further convinced Dorothy that a woman should never love one man, at least not love him to the point where she could not even see the attentions of other men. Dorothy was sure that there could be a line between blind love and utter stupidity.
“You are under my care,” Talis said stiffly, looking at the broad back of the farrier’s son as he bent over a hoe. All of the men around Callie pretended they weren’t listening, but they were. The only person not
listening was Father Keris, who was, as usual, asleep under a tree. Even that made Talis fill with rage. Why did not the old man protect the two young women in his charge? And why did she always have to have that damned monkey clinging to her? Never mind that he had given it to her. It was just that…
“Under your care?” Callie said disdainfully, interrupting Talis’s thoughts. “And who made you my keeper? You are never here. You are always with her.”
It took Talis a moment to understand who Callie was referring to. Which of the many boring, ugly women who surrounded him was she jealous of? Not that he’d ever tell her, but there were times when he was so bored by their inconsequential talk that he thought he’d go mad. With Callie he could be himself; he could be lazy or sad or happy or silly or whatever he wanted to be. With these other women, he had to pretend to be what they wanted him to be. Always he had to be courteous and courtly and strong.
“My mother?” Talis asked, his eyes wide. “You are jealous of the time I spend with my mother?”
“Is she your mother?” Callie asked softly. “She doesn’t look like you.”
Talis was aware of the talk, but what did it matter whose mother she was? He could see that she was dying, could see that she was eaten with loneliness, and he knew that he was the only one to visit her voluntarily. He also knew that if he were allowed to marry Callie, he would probably do just what she feared and abandon her.
“She is—” Talis began, then cut himself off. He couldn’t tell Callie that Alida was dying.
“There is something you aren’t telling me,” Callie said, and he could tell she was on the point of tears. “We never used to have secrets from one another.”
How very much Talis wanted to tell Callie everything that he had sworn to keep secret. He did not understand why he could not tell Callie that he wanted to marry her. When he asked Alida why, all she said was that Talis would never look at her again if he made it known that he was to marry Callie. And then Alida would have to die alone. How could he turn down Alida’s last request? Wasn’t it a mortal sin to refuse a person’s dying request?
“Sometimes we can’t know all there is to know about a person,” Talis said, and even to himself he sounded pompous. He didn’t want to keep a secret from Callie. It was very hard not to tell her how, every day, he had been begging to be allowed to marry her. Keeping this vow was the most difficult of all the promises he’d made to Alida.
Except for vowing to leave Callie a virgin. That was the worst. He wanted her so much that he could hardly bear to touch her hand. If she got too near him he had to get away from her as fast as possible.
One day Hugh had seen Talis as he watched Callie walk across a courtyard, her hips swaying. Afterward, Talis had spent three hours in a blind frenzy of activity. As Talis was dripping sweat, drinking from a gourd, and trying to get the image of Callie out of his mind, Hugh stepped beside him and said, “Your honor is battling against the lips and thighs and breasts of Callie. Do you want to win?” It had been all Talis could do to keep from collapsing into tears at Hugh’s understanding—and at the provocative image of Callie’s lips and thighs and breasts.
Now, here she was standing in the midst of all these men and complaining that he was not constant in his love for her. She was the one who was not constant. If she loved him, she should believe in him. He was with the other women because he had to be. Lady Alida—he could not call her his mother even in his mind; Meg was his mother—said he had to be trained as a knight before he could marry Callie, the daughter of a man who was related to the queen. Part of his training was learning to dance and sing and play the lute and all the other things that took so much time and involved so many obsequious women.
That Callie did not understand these things without being told angered him. He had told her he loved her; what else could he do?
“I must leave you now,” he said abruptly. She was breaking his heart and she did not even know it.