A Lily on the Heath (Medieval Herb Garden 4)

In this black frame of mind, Nevril stalked through the bailey, wondering if he might go by the kitchen and beg a bit of cheese or ham from the cooks there. He was walking too quickly and came around the corner of the mews at such a rapid pace that he nearly bowled over a slight figure.

To his shock, and then cautious delight, he realized the woman he’d nearly trampled was none other than the impudent Tabatha. He was just about to make a pointed comment about rabbit stew, designed to infuriate her in an effort to prolong their meeting, when he noted her expression. Rather than defiant or irritated—as she was whenever she laid eyes on him—she was clearly in distress.

“What has befallen you, maid Tabatha?” he asked, taking her arm when she would have slipped past him. “What is it?”

She pulled from his grip, but at the least she did not run off. “’Tis naught of your concern. I was trying to find Sir Holbert, in hopes that he could find Lord Ludingdon and mayhap Lady Maris. ”

Nevril might have said aught about rabbit stew at that point, but then he noticed the red rims of her eyes and the weariness in her face. “I will help you. Warwick will surely know where Ludingdon is about. ”

Tabatha shook her head impatiently, and to his surprise, tears threatened her eyes. “Nay, I have already learned. Ludingdon and his wife have gone to Canterbury on a journey for the king. They will not return for two days or more. ”

“Whatever you are in need of Ludingdon for, I am certain Warwick will help. Come with me,” Nevril said, then hesitated. Normally, he would not have a concern whether Lord Malcolm would have the patience and care to speak with a lowly maid. But his mood as of late….

“Come,” Nevril said again, making the decision. At the very least, it would allow him an excuse to walk with Tabatha. And mayhap he would take his time finding the lord. He looked at the maid as she fell into step with him.

Nay. He would not dally. From the looks of her, the matter was urgent.

Malcolm dumped a bucketful of water over his head, snorting to blow it out of his nose and mouth. The deluge was icy cold and refreshing after an intense bout of training beneath the warm sun. He’d taken on Rike for a time, and then Castendown, d’Allemande, and de Rigonier in turn. Now his muscles sang and his mind was clear. And he was hungry.

He dunked the bucket in the water trough once more and upended it again, mostly over shoulders and torso to cool and cleanse his sweaty skin. When he emerged from the torrent, he opened his eyes to find Nevril standing in front of him.

Mal recognized the woman with his master-at-arms as Lady Judith’s maid. He whipped his head, flinging the sopping hair from his face, and reached for the sherte he’d left hanging on the gate during the training.

“My lord, Tabatha begs a moment of your time,” Nevril said. There was an unusual tone in his voice—one almost of warning, and he looked at his master warily.

“What is it?” Mal asked, attempting to keep his voice neutral. But the sight of the maid, of course, reminded him of her mistress. And that was a consideration he’d found best left alone as of late.

“My lord,” said Tabatha, curtsying in the dust of the training yard. “I come to you at your man’s suggestion” —with this, she gave a quick, almost accusing glance at Nevril— “and because I have no other to whom I can speak. I wished to find Lady Maris of Ludingdon, for mayhap she would know what to do, but…is it true she is gone? With Lord Dirick? And they shall not return for some days?”

Mal felt a niggling in the pit of his belly, but he subdued it. “What is the problem?”

“My lady…she…. ” Tabatha’s voice trailed off and she stepped back.

“Speak up, wench,” Mal commanded, then saw Nevril glaring at him as he moved nearer, as if to protect the maid from his terrible master. This in turn told Mal that his own expression had become dark and forbidding, possibly terrifying the maid.

“Is aught wrong with your lady? Is she ill?” With effort, he kept his tones even. Yet already he knew he did not wish to hear the rest of the maid’s story.

Let the king see to his woman’s needs.

“My lady Judith…she is in the chapel. She has been there for hours, and she will not leave. The queen has sent for her, but my lady will not answer the summons. I fear…I fear for her mind and body, I fear what the queen will do if she does not come…and I bethought Lady Maris would help. I do not know what else to do. ”

“The queen has sent for her?” Mal repeated, pulling on the dry sherte over his wet torso. Something unpleasant prickled in the back of his mind. But surely Judith was not that much of a coward. A cuckold, aye. But a coward, to disobey the queen and refuse to face the woman she betrayed?

Tabatha shifted from one foot to the other. “Aye. The queen…. ” He waited, but the maid would say no more. She merely shook her head miserably, looking up at him and then at Nevril.

“Where is your lady now?”

“In the small chapel. ’Tis abovestairs in the square east tower. But she will not come away. And on the last I went to beg her to leave, she slapped me and ordered me to go. She has not slept for days, and hardly eaten. I am fair worried for her, and I bethought Lady Maris would speak to her. At the least, my lady won’t hit her,” she added tartly, but genuine fear and desperation lingered in her voice.

“I will see to your mistress,” he said, a sense of inevitability settling over him. At the least, she will not slap me. And if she does,’twill be naught more than I deserve, involving myself in this black stew.

Mal took a moment to put on a clean tunic and get out of his chausses; they were dirty and he did not want to be clinking and rattling about in mail in the chapel. And, at the last minute—remembering what Tabatha had said—he procured a skin of watered-down wine and a packet of bread and cheese and tucked them into his belt. Then, with a foreboding he could neither explain nor dismiss, he set about finding the small holy place.

When he reached the chamber—which was out of the way and not easy to locate—he didn’t see Judith at first. The space was small and dim, lit only by offering candles on a small altar that was hardly large enough for the paten and chalice. Four benches lined the windowless chamber, and to the side was a crude alcove containing a painting of the Blessed Mother.

There he found Judith, kneeling on the bare floor in front of the shrine, swathed in shadow.

He hadn’t seen more than a glimpse of her since dinner the night he returned from the brigand hunt, for he’d made certain not to be in the hall when she might be about. But even now, in the dim light, the sight of her made his heart thump unpleasantly. Warmth, and at the same time, something sharp settled in his belly.