Rosehaven (Medieval Song 5)

She was sitting on the bed. She didn’t look at him, just shook her head.

“You will come willingly or I will carry you. This is your final night. Anger me not.”

“Nay. I cannot bear it. I will not willingly let you tie me to Edgar again. I will not do it.”

His eyes darkened as he walked quickly to her. He picked her up in his arms and carried her down the solar stairs. “Now,” he said close to her ear, “do you wish everyone to see you being hauled here or will you walk to the hearth and accept your punishment?”

She swallowed. “I will walk.”

He set her down, watched her straighten the old gown, and walk, head high, to the hearth. Edgar the wolfhound looked up and barked, his huge tail wagging.

She heard Marjorie laugh. She heard Eloise giggle.

“Sit down, Hastings.”

She sat, not moving even after he had once again tied the rope about her ankle and the other end around Edgar’s thick neck. “Take care Edgar doesn’t steal your dinner tonight.”

Then he was gone, striding to the high table where Alice stood beside his chair, holding a large platter piled high with boar steaks.

When Alice brought her trencher, she whispered, “Only tonight, Hastings, then it will be over. Everyone is angry about it, but none know what to do. Gwent said he would have knocked his axe along Severin’s head if he had called him a liar. Then he added that you had kicked Severin in his manhood. That, he said, was worthy of your punishment. That and you ran away from Oxborough and stabbed yourself with that knife. Gwent tasted your food and sipped your wine. It is fine. Eat, Hastings, and soon this will be over.”

But she didn’t. She didn’t look toward the tables. She knew Marjorie would turn and wave to her or just look at her. She heard her bright laughter, knew she was speaking to Severin. Finally, she couldn’t help herself. She looked up to see Marjorie leaning across Hastings’s empty chair. She was holding up her wine goblet. She heard her say to Severin, “My lord, do taste my wine. I had it brought from Sedgewick. Perhaps you will enjoy it.”

It was in that instant that Hastings knew that Marjorie had stolen the vial. She had poured the Healer’s love potion into the goblet, drunk from it, and was now giving it to Severin. If he drank it, then he would love Marjorie.

She leapt to her feet, only to have Edgar leap to his also, barking loudly, believing it a game.

She watched Severin bring the goblet to his mouth. She saw Marjorie’s white fingers on his sleeve, tugging at him. He drank the wine even as he was looking at her.

Hastings sat back down. Edgar put his massive head in her lap. She looked up to see Trist running through the rushes to get to her. He ran right up Edgar’s back and sprawled on top of the wolfhound’s head.

She reached out to pet him. Edgar slobbered on her hand. “It is too late, Trist. She has won.” She leaned down and laid her head next to Edgar’s. She felt Trist drape himself over her shoulders.

She awoke the following morning to see Severin standing, fully dressed, by the bed. Trist was on his shoulder, licking his whiskers. He still looked thin, his stomach caved in, but he was fast improving.

“I carried you up last night,” Severin said. “You never awoke. Dress yourself, I am taking you to see the Healer. She said she could cut out the stitches today.”

He looked just the same. Of course, she had yet to see him with Marjorie. She was certain he would gaze upon Marjorie and look besotted.

“I do not need you with me, Severin. Surely you have many important things to do. The stitches are nothing.”

“Dress yourself, Hastings. I will not tell you again.”

Why did he care? She pulled back the covers only to realize that she was quite naked. Her eyes flew to his. She grabbed the covers and jerked them to her neck.

He sighed and turned on his heel, saying over his shoulder, “I will see you in the hall. You will break your fast before we leave.”

Why would he take off her clothes if he was besotted now with Marjorie?

The Healer lightly pres

sed her fingertips against the wound. Her head was back, her eyes closed.

“Well?” Severin said.

“Oh, you are still here, my lord?” The Healer turned and gave him a sour look. “I do not like you in my cottage. You are too big. Like most men, you take up too much room. My poor Alfred must remain outside whilst you are here. Now, take Hastings home. She is fit. The wound has healed very nicely. If it pleases her, you can play your games with her again. As I have told Hastings, these games are not to my liking, but she is young and does not know better. Aye, take her away from here.”

“The babe is well?”