Sanctuary of Roses (Medieval Herb Garden 2)

Madelyne did not know whether 'twas the sudden heat of the water or the notion that Mal Verne was married that caused her to gasp, but she ignored the sudden, inexplicable sinking of her heart and lowered herself into the rose-scented tub.

She looked over at Peg, who was chatting on as she showed Tricky several gowns of brilliant, jewel colors. At the least, she thought wryly, Mal Verne provided well for his wife. Even from her perch in the tub, she could tell the quality of the cloth and the intricacy of the embroidery.

She wondered, suddenly, if Lady Mal Verne, at least, was able to soften the harshness in his face and demeanor.

"Methinks this blue for the undertunic," Tricky was saying as she eyed Madelyne and then the cloth, and back again.

"You are well thought," nodded Peg, her jowls jiggling. "With her hair of such dark color, and her eyes like a pale moon-aye, she makes me think of mine own sister, whose hair was so long and thick as mine is. And my own auntie, well, 'twas her pride and joy this hair of our family, and when she had the ague, she must had it cut and how she bewailed that fate for days!"

The two women huddled together for a moment, throwing occasional glances over their shoulders at Madelyne. Tricky's arms gesticulated wildly, punctuating her bobbing head, and Peg nodded and murmured, nodded and tsked, and expounded on her reactions with rambling sentences of family anecdotes.

Madelyne, a bit discomfited with what she deemed as a conspiracy against her, sank into the tub and attempted to block out the two women and their chatter. A faint, wry smile did curve her face as she succumbed to the realization that Tricky had found her mentor, and that she, Madelyne, would likely be the pawn in her learning game.

The scent of roses filled her nose, for the first time ever not related to the duties of making rose beads. And, as if she was smelling it for the first time, Madelyne inhaled and closed her eyes, enjoying the sweetness of the floral scent. The steaming water was heavenly, such that she paused for a moment-albeit a brief one-to thank God for her safe arrival, and to contemplate whether 'twas a sin that she should enjoy such an earthly pleasure. Baths, although available at the abbey, were only occasional and never this warm and sweet. Most often they were a dip in the nearby stream, or a few hands of lukewarm water.

Tricky dug soap scented with basil and rosemary from a small crock, using it to clean under Madelyne's fingernails and to wash the grime and sweat from all parts of her body. Even the black rose-petal stains had faded when she was finished.

The loosing of Madelyne's braid after two days relieved the tightness of her skull, and the pleasure-pain of it had her sighing in soft delight. How wonderful it felt when Peg began to pour warm water over her thick hair, and how much more like heaven on earth could it be when she used her strong fingers to massage her scalp!

It was not until she stood in front of the fire, wrapped in a soft blanket, that Madelyne remembered the clothing. She held out a hand to stop Tricky as she approached with the blue undergown.

"Nay, Tricky, I cannot wear such fine clothing. You of all know that I'm promised to our Lord God, and that I cannot in good conscience don flamboyant finery. Peg, 'tis not my place to use that which belongs to Lady Mal Verne. "

The two women exchanged glances, and Tricky nodded as if to give Peg permission to respond. "My lady, I am sorry, but your clothing has been taken to be washed. And, 'tis the lord's orders that you dress as befits your station, as the Lady of Tricourten. Wherever that land may be, certainly the women there do not see such simple gowns as flamboyant. " She gestured to the overtunic, which was pale blue, embroidered with gold and silver threads. "This is but a plain gown, my lady, by standards at court. And verily, you will wear aught that is more up to date when you join the king. "

Peg sighed, smoothing a hand over the embroidery that rimmed the edges of the overtunic, her eyes taking on a far-away look. "I remember that day when mine own baby Shirl went to care for one of the queen's ladies, and how she pored over the patterns and cloths and threads to be certain that she should dress in her finest, and that all that she brought with her for her lady was the most beautiful to be had from Lockswood, and even there at court 'twas as if she were naught but a country bumpkin. An' how my daughter worked to learn that new fashion, worked day and night, and. . . . " Her voice trailed off and a look of confusion passed over her face. She glanced at the cloth she held in her hand, then at Madelyne, and the light of understanding came back into her eyes. "Ah, well, aye, my lady. You must be dressed ere supper is served, and this is all that you have to wear. "

Madelyne's gaze strayed to the fine cloth, but she resolutely turned from it and walked over to the bed, where several other gowns lay strewn across it. "There must be something else that more befits a nun," she murmured, poring over the clothing. She paused at a pale yellow gown with little frippery. "I shall wear this, for 'tis more subdued and more suited to one of God's women. "

"Nay, my lady," Tricky said, resting a hand upon her arm. Madelyne turned to look at her, surprise causing her brows to rise at the formal address. "Lady," Tricky said again with such ease, as if she had always addressed her as her better, "with all respect, you are not a nun, as yet. . . and you are the Lady of Tricourten. 'Tis God's will that you are here, and God's will that you bear the mantle of your position. "

She showed Madelyne the blue undergown, the color of a brilliant sapphire, with delicate gold embroidery along the neckline and the laces of the tight sleeves. "That yellow will cause you to look aught but ill and sallow, whilst this blue will cause your eyes to take on its sheen. An' the cut of this is more flattering, as the sleeves will show the fine lines of your arms and draw attention to your height. "

Annoyed by Tricky's sudden fashion expertise, Madelyne pursed her lips and frowned. "But-"

"Come now, my lady," Peg insisted, gently taking the pale

yellow cloth from her fingers and urging her toward Tricky. "Though you are a bit taller than Lady Mal Verne, you are of a size. Now, 'tis not in our interest to anger Lord Mal Verne, either, so we shall fix you up rightly and send you down for supper anon. "

With a sigh of capitulation, Madelyne acquiesced to the new-found fussiness of her maid and her mentor.

Her hair was black.

"Good evening, my lady," Gavin said as he struggled to contain his shock at the transformation of Lady Madelyne. Out of her habit and veil, and garbed in clothing that he thought had belonged to Nicola, Lady Madelyne de Belgrume was barely recognizable. . . and looked not the least bit nunlike.

"My lord. " She gave a brief curtsey, bowing her head slightly, her thick, dark hair spilling over her shoulders and brushing the floor at his feet.

Some masterful person-Peg, he realized-had taken that thick, inky river, taming it into two thick braids that pulled back from his guest's temples. . . and left the rest of it to fall unencumbered down Lady Madelyne's back. When she raised her face and reached to place her fingers on his arm, he noticed a thin, gold chain that rested on her forehead and was woven into the darkness of her braids.

It was glorious hair.

With a start, Gavin realized he'd frozen, and she now waited for him to lead her to the dais upon which they would sup. "Come," he said abruptly, turning toward the high table and forcing his attention to matters at hand.

As the most high-ranking persons in the hall, he and Lady Madelyne were the only two seated at the high table. He took the lord's chair, the massive, walnut seat with a cushioned bench and without arms. She gathered her gown carefully, settling its folds over her legs, as she sat in Nicola's regular seat.

Gavin had just taken a sip from the excellent Bordeaux Mal Verne imported from Aquitaine when Lady Madelyne ruined his meal.

"I must thank your wife for allowing me to wear her clothing," she said, looking at him from behind her own wine glass. "Will she be joining us this evening?"