A Whisper Of Rosemary (Medieval Herb Garden 3)

“What news of my bride have you?” demanded Bon, sitting straighter in his chair. “It has been a se’ennight since I left you in Langumont. ”

“My lord,” Edwin paused and swallowed. The news he bore would not be well-received. He looked about to see what might be within arms’ reach of his friend and could be flung at him.

But before he could speak, Bon shouted, “My lute, Agnes, fetch me my lute!”

A curvaceous young woman with a long purple scar on her face hurried to do his bidding. She brought the instrument forward and knelt at his feet, rubbing her head against his leg as a kitten.

“Ah, my lady love…” Bon sighed, his bleary eyes gazing into the distance. “How I pine for her! Edwin, by my troth, I cannot wait for much longer to have my hands on that delicious piece. ” He strummed a chord on the lute, his face taking on a mournful expression. “’Twas, at the first, her lands—my lands—that I wished to regain. But now” —another chord accompanied his wistful words— “’tis more than mere wealth. ”

There was silence as Bon slopped another long gulp of wine down his throat, nevertheless taking care not to spill any on the beautifully carved lute. He pulled the goblet away with a gusty sigh. “My lust for material goods has grown to full, mature love, Edwin,” Bon told him earnestly, his lips and tongue thick with drink, his gaze foggy. “I cannot live without her…. ”

Edwin rolled his eyes and finished off more ale. He might as well drink and relax, for the bad news would wait on the morrow.

Although, come to think of it, telling Bon that Lady Maris was to be wed to a man of Merle Lareux’s choice on the morrow when the man was recovering from tonight’s overindulgence could be painful.

Edwi

n looked up. God’s bones, his master was a pussy when he imbibed in too much wine. He would have to ask the castellan to stop importing that red wine from Bordeaux—it made Bon impossible to live with. He was glad English brewed ale did not affect his master in such a way.

“Do ye hear what I say, Edwin?” Bon’s words were hardly discernible and his hand flopped awkwardly on the table. “Listen you, I have written a song for my beloved. I shall play it for her on my wedding night. ”

Drunk as he was, Bon’s short fingers stumbled agilely over the strings of the lute and the resulting melody was surprisingly moving. He sang in a careful, off key voice, obviously making up the words as he went along:

O, Lady of the Fairest, I praise thy beauty…The clouds will cry for thee, for they see not such grace in heav’n…. Thy face, thy voice make my heart swell with joy, and on thy wedding day, thee shall have my love for’er more….

“She would make more than my heart swell,” Edwin mumbled into his ale. Fortunately, Bon didn’t hear him, for he was well into his second pitiful verse.

As Bon continued his tribute to his intended, the men-at-arms crept one by one from the hall. His verses became more and more redundant, and of the worst poetry, and Edwin was forced to be subjected to the poor musicality of his master. Once, he dared to rise from his seat, hoping to follow suit of the other cowards that had since left him alone in the room, but a look from Bon froze him in his tracks. Edwin sank onto a cushioned chair, and, refilling his ale cup yet again, prepared himself for a long night.

And an even longer morrow, when, with dawn, he must break the ill news to his master.

Merle strode across the parapets of Langumont Keep.

His breath blew like white smoke from the bristling hair that lined his mouth, and a winter breeze brushed his thinning hair. The men at arms that stood at the north and south ends of the roof of the keep stoked small fires to warm their hands, nodding to their lord as he walked past them.

A sliver of moon cut the deep blue sky, and hundreds of stars twinkled above. Merle stopped at the southeast corner of the parapet, looking into the darkness over the vast lands that he was blessed to rule. They stretched as far as one could see from this vantage point. Lands that he loved nearly as much as his daughter.

He drew in a deep breath that was so cold it hurt the deepest part of his lungs, then exhaled strongly. Somewhere, out in that darkness, was the great channel he’d crossed once to France. If he listened closely, he’d hear the crashing waves upon the cliffs. He stopped breathing, just to hear the sound.

A movement from the corner of his eye drew Merle’s attention. Turning, he found that Sir Dirick had come pell mell around the corner, then came to a stop when he caught sight of his host.

“My lord,” Dirick said, clearly uncomfortable.

“Nay, Dirick, you do not disturb me. Come. ” Merle smiled at a sudden thought. “Unless ’tis you who does not wish to be disturbed. ”

“Nay, my lord. ’Tis just that I did not expect to come upon you. I…wished…thought to be alone. I am glad for your company. ”

Merle beckoned him closer, gesturing out into the darkness. “See you here, Dirick…. See you all of the blessings that have been bestowed upon me. ”

Dirick looked out into the dark, though Merle knew he was unable to see far in the dim, starry night. “You’re worthy of them, my lord,” he said quietly.

“Listen and you can hear the sea…it has been the cause of the wealth that has come to me. My father’s grandfather was a Saxon thegn, betrothed to the daughter of a Norman lord in great favor with The Conqueror. My great grandfather’s land, here near the sea, was a most important fief. Since the day my great grandfather wed with Lord Humphrey’s daughter, Margaret, this keep and this fief have served the King of England with no regret, and no hesitation—even when Stephen of Blois ruled, and ruined, this land. ”

Merle was silent for a moment, aware that he’d thrust his pensive mood and meandering thoughts upon his companion. Then he gave a short, bitter laugh. “Forgive me, Dirick, but my solemnity comes from the knowledge that my beloved Maris will soon belong to another man…. and these lands will someday be ruled by another. ” He took a deep breath, shaking himself from his melancholy. His decision was good. It was the best he could wish for Maris.

Yet, of the man whom he’d come to know and respect, and one who was clearly a confidant of the king, Merle nevertheless felt compelled to ask, “What think you of my guests?”

“They seem pleasant dinner companions…full of much news…confident and brave. ” In the faulty light, Merle saw his companion’s hands close over the roughness of the stone half wall.