Rosehaven (Medieval Song 5)

“The babe is resting comfortably. Worry not. Men never worry about the babes in their wives’ wombs. They care only when a boy is produced. All this worry—it might be a girl, my lord, then you would have wasted all this concern.”

“You are wrong, Healer,” he said. He leaned down and straightened Hastings’s shift and gown. He offered her his hand. “Come, let us go home.”

When Severin was ready to lift her onto Marella’s back, Hastings said, “Oh, I am sorry. I must ask the Healer a question. I will return shortly, Severin.”

He waited for her outside the cottage, staring at Alfred, who was sitting in the center of a pool of sunlight, lazily bathing himself.

“Healer, it was the woman Marjorie who gave Severin the potion. She drank of it, then handed it to him, and he drank as well, all the while they were looking at each other.”

“You have ruined this royally, Hastings. By Saint Ethelbert’s teeth, you have just given your husband to another woman.”

“You are certain that the potion will result in their loving each other?”

“Naturally I am certain. Ah, Hastings, I should strangle you for your carelessness. She stole the potion, didn’t she? Nay, don’t bother to make excuses. Well, it is over for you. Even when you get her back at Sedgewick, he will follow her there. He will be unable not to. I am sorry, Hastings.” She turned away from Hastings, shaking her head even as she began to stir the pot over the fire.

“What did you want from the Healer?” Severin asked.

Hastings didn’t realize that tears were pooling in her eyes.

“You are very pale, Hastings. Damnation, you are crying. What is wrong? Is it the babe?”

She couldn’t speak. She shook her head, letting him help her onto Marella’s back. “It is nothing, Severin. Nothing at all.”

It was late that afternoon when Marjorie found her. She hadn’t truly been hiding from her, but the spinning shed had become her refuge in but two short days.

“Hastings, aye, I see you are here. Many wonder where you are. I simply said that you were still embarrassed from your humiliation the past two evenings. Everyone understood that. All hope you are duly chastised.” She laughed as she lightly stroked her fingers over some newly spun wool, a coarse gray to be sewn into tunics and gowns for the castle servants.

“What do you want, Marjorie?”

“Nothing, really. Did you see Severin? He and I took some bread and cheese and wine to the beach. It is a lovely day, the sun bright, the sea a vivid blue. We much enjoyed ourselves, but you knew that would happen.”

Hastings felt a bolt of pain in her belly.

“I will not be returning to Sedgewick, Hastings.”

It was too much. Hastings rose slowly from her stool, handing the spindle back to Mara the spinner. She left the weaving shed, Marjorie behind her.

“Such a coward you are, Hastings. You are like a whipped dog. You slink away.”

Hastings knew in that instant that she wouldn’t have stopped herself even if she thought about it for a long year. She whirled about and threw herself at Marjorie, grabbing her glorious silvery hair and pulling with all her strength. “Bitch! You damnable bitch!”

Marjorie wasn’t a weakling. Soon the women were rolling in the dirt, shrieking at each other, poking each other, but it was Hastings who did not release Marjorie’s hair. She scratched Hastings’s face, kicked her in the belly, managed to roll over on top of her, all the while trying to get her hair free of Hastings’s fist.

Severin couldn’t believe his eyes. None of the men could. Severin cursed even as he ran to them, waving Gwent back. He clamped his hands under Marjorie’s armpits and lifted her off Hastings. Still Hastings didn’t let go of her hair. Marjorie shrieked in pain and kicked out, hitting Hastings in the belly again.

“Let her go, Hastings! Damnation, don’t hurt the babe.”

Hastings saw her husband over her, holding Marjorie, and without a word she released the hair. She was left with a good-sized tangle in her hand. That pleased her.

Severin set Marjorie on her feet.

“What is happening here?”

Slowly Hastings rose. Her sleeve was torn free from her gown. She was filthy, but on the other hand, so was Marjorie.

She felt the small rivulets of blood streaking down her left cheek. It was nothing. She had a fistful of Marjorie’s hair. She smiled at the woman and tossed the wad of hair into a mud puddle beside her.

She said in a voice bright as the sun overhead, “Why, my lord, Marjorie wants to return to Sedgewick. She is unhappy here. When I told her that I wanted her to remain, that you as well wished her to stay, she became angry. She values her independence; she values caring for Eloise by herself. She wants to leave.”