A Whisper Of Rosemary (Medieval Herb Garden 3)

The frail woman had just entered the hall, likely having been drawn from her solar at the arrival of the honored guests. She glided across the rush strewn floor.

Merle reached out for her hand and drew her into the circle of men around the fire as she looked up. “Wife, do you meet Sir Victor d’Arcy and his father, Lord Michael of Gladwythe. ”

Dirick’s attention was on Allegra as she curtsied and nodded to her future son by law. She turned to Michael, and Dirick saw her eyes go wide, her mouth open in a silent gasp, and he watched as she crumpled slowly to the floor.

Instantly, the room was astir. Merle leapt to his feet, bellowing, staring down helplessly at the small heap at his feet. Michael’s face had registered no shock, and, in fact, Dirick noticed that he was the calmest of the bunch, leaning forward to ease Allegra by loosening the ties of her bliaut.

By the time Dirick had taken in these jumbled facts, Widow Maggie and Maella had scurried to their mistress’s side. The healer waved a small bouquet of herbs in front of Allegra’s nose, and Dirick was gratified to see her stir.

Allegra’s eyes fluttered open and her gaze rested upon the face that was nearest hers, one that was bent over her in concern.

Her lips moved and although he couldn’t hear the syllables, Dirick read the word on her lips. Michael.

Michael D’Arcy’s name. Dirick felt a prickle of interest and foreboding, and glanced at Merle. But the elder man’s face showed only concern as he assisted Lady Allegra to her feet.

“Allegra, are you ill? Is there aught can be done?” he was saying solicitously.

“Nay,” she replied. “Nay, my lord, I—’twas just a spell of dizziness. ” She drew a shuddering breath and pulled herself to her full height, stiltedly keeping her eyes from Lord Michael.

The maid, Maella, had a stricken look on her face, and Widow Maggie was pressing a steaming draught upon her lady. “Shall I call for Lady Maris to attend our guests?” asked Maella.

“Nay. Nay,” Allegra forced herself to sound calm, forced the spots that danced before her eyes to disappear. She could not bring Maris into this mess until she thought how to handle it. “Maris is in the Village,” she explained, “And the ache in my head has gone. ” She made a smile of her lips, and bravely turned to look at Michael.

Oh, God, it’s Michael. After so many years, how have You delivered him to me?

“May I offer my lord to bathe?” she said, trying not to sound too eager. “You are likely weary from your long journey. ”

“Aye, a bath would be more than I could hope for!”

Allegra remembered their other guest and turned to the younger man. “I cannot attend thee myself, Sir Victor, but a bath will be prepared for you as well. ”

“’Twould be most welcome. Mayhaps Lady Maris could attend me,” Victor suggested.

Merle spoke. “Maris is in the village, tending to the sick. I’ve sent a man at arms to fetch her, but likely she will not return until the evening meal. ”

“Very well,” Victor replied, his disappointment obvious.

But Allegra gave little care to young man’s discomfort. One of the maids could see to him; there were plenty who would do. She had only one thought in her mind, and that was of Michael.

Here. Now.

Praying that her face didn’t show the high color that heated it, and that her husband had noticed nothing untoward, she led their guest out of the great hall to one of the large guest chambers.

Moments later, they were alone except for the serfs, bringing buckets upon buckets of steaming water for his bath.

Allegra could not stop her fingers from shaking as she unlaced Michael’s cross garters. She had to force her attention to the task, else her fingers would travel up the curve of his calves to relearn their strength.

To touch him.

How can this be? How can this be? Her mind chanted the phrase, echoing the incredulity that swept through her each time she looked at the man she had pined for, fantasized about, and begged God for since marrying Lord Merle more than seventeen years ago. How could he come here, be here…and plan to marry his son to his own daughter?

Allegra tamped back the panic and instead centered her thoughts on the fact that he had finally come to her. That he was here.

For of course. Michael did not know that Maris was his daughter. She’d tell him and then all would be well. And then, mayhap she could find some way to suggest Bon as a husband…. Nay. That she could not do. There would be another solution.

Michael would see to it.

A maidservant bustled about the small chamber, laying out a tunic and hose from Merle’s trunks to clothe Michael after his bath. Boys from the kitchen came and went with buckets of steaming water. Maella sprinkled dried lavender over the filling tub. The room was busy and crowded, so much so that it played upon Allegra’s nerves and it was all she could do to keep from screaming at them all to leave…to leave her alone with Michael.