Page 37

B erengaria stood near the abbey’s infirmary, as near as she could come, of course, being a woman in a man’s kingdom, and watched with interest the goings-on there.

Nemain apparently had no compunction about going where she pleased.

And judging by the look on the abbey’s infirmarian, she would continue to be allowed to trample heedlessly over whatever rules and monks she found in her way.

The poor man she faced didn’t look as if he’d ever come across anything like her.

Berengaria eased closer to listen. The saints only knew what Nemain was choosing to torment the man about today.

Likely something that would see them all merrily on their way immediately if her tongue wagged freely enough.

“Haven’t seen any nightshade in your garden,” Nemain said sharply. “How can you brew a proper potion without a bit of nightshade to perk it up?”

“Ah,” the monk said, his hand moving nervously to his throat.

“Horehound aplenty, but what good is that if you want the victim to bleed to death?”

“Um ...” Both hands were now at his throat, as if he intended to protect it from whatever Nemain was brewing.

“And all these bloody roses,” she groused. “As if any of you had need of a brew to woo a woman to your beds!”

The man began to look about him—for aid, no doubt. Berengaria took a step forward, hoping to stop Nemain’s complaints before they grew too horrifying for the poor monk to tolerate.

Nemain sighed with apparent disgust. “I can see your garden’s of no use to me.” She fixed him suddenly with an intent stare. “But what of the woods hereabouts? What’s in ’em?”

“In them?” the monk asked faintly. “Good woman, I know of nothing in them save trees and grasses and the like.”

Nemain snorted. “I’m not talking of flora and fauna, you silly lad. I’m inquiring about things of substance. Faeries. Bogles. The odd sorcerer with both thumb-bones still on ’im.”

The monk looked at her; his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell to the ground like a small tree after the axe had taken its final, fatal swing.

Nemain turned and looked at Berengaria with a scowl. “No spine, these lads. That’s the second one who’s fainted on me today.”

Berengaria only smiled, gave Nemain a commiserating pat on the shoulder, then left her companion staring down at the fallen man of the cloth, shaking her head in disappointment.

She could only hope the monastery would survive their visit.

The hall was full of the usual souls, namely the lady Sybil guarded by her three handmaids, with young Peter of Berkhamshire kneeling at her feet, no doubt reassuring her that all would be well.

Unless he was, of course, reassuring her that he would find a way to free her from his brother’s clutches.

Berengaria shook her head at that. The lad was nigh onto taking his priestly vows, but he looked more like a lovesick suitor. Perhaps that would be a better finish to Sybil’s tale, given that Colin’s former betrothed was certainly hale and hearty enough to be his bride.

She made her way out of the gates and walked down the lane, enjoying the sunshine and the smells of summer.

Her girlhood had been passed in country such as this, and the fragrances she hadn’t enjoyed in decades brought back pleasing memories of time spent in her grandfather’s care, learning his trade.

Which, she had to admit, he had never been all that skilled at. All manner of brews for hurts and discomforts, aye. But anything else?

That had been her gift alone, she supposed.

She stopped along the lane and rested her elbows on the rickety fence there.

The entertainment in a very muddy, no doubt formerly quite fruitful, portion of a field was such that she couldn’t not pause and watch.

She wished somehow that she might preserve the sight for generations to come.

Surely some grandbabe would enjoy watching his grandfather and grandmother hacking at each other with swords.

Actually, Colin was doing the hacking. Ali looked to be just endeavoring to stay on her feet.

But even to Berengaria’s eye, her progress was clear. The lass had courage, to be sure, and determination. And a goodly mind, if her cleverness in remaining hidden so long told the tale true.

Now if Colin could merely remove the scales from his own eyes and see what stood right before him, the tale might finish up as it should.

Berengaria watched until she began to feel the need to find somewhere to sit.

It was, fortunately for her aching feet, at that precise moment that Colin put up his sword, clapped a friendly hand on Aliénore’s shoulder, then led her from the field.

Berengaria met them at the gate and received a scowl from Colin.

“Come to bludgeon me with more advice?” he demanded.

“The saints forbid,” Berengaria said with a smile. “I’ve said my piece with you.”

He grunted at her, then looked at Aliénore.

“Be careful what you listen to,” he advised.

“And even more careful what you drink, though I daresay Mistress Berengaria’s brews wouldn’t hurt you.

And that Magda’s you can smell from fifty paces.

The other one, though,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “Dangerous.”

“I wouldn’t brew our young one here anything foul,” Berengaria promised. “Only things to heal his aches, that he might train even more diligently on the morrow.”

Predictably, Colin was for anything that might lengthen any stay in his makeshift lists, so he nodded in approval, then looked at Henri.

“Come with me and take your rest,” he said. “We’ll be at it again after lunch. I cannot bear being in that hall longer than needful.”

“Of course, my lord,” Aliénore said, nodding.

“Might I have at the lad for a moment or two?” Berengaria asked. “Just to see if there might be a particular ache he needs seeing to?”

Colin frowned. “I don’t like leaving him alone—”

“I can keep him safe,” Berengaria assured him. “We won’t be far behind you. Nothing untoward could happen between here and the guest hall.”

“You would be surprised,” Colin grumbled. “Very well, Mistress Berengaria. I assume if Sir Etienne comes near, you can spell him into leaving Henri be?”

Berengaria only smiled pleasantly, but that was apparently enough for Colin. He looked at Henri. “Do not wander. Follow behind me quickly. Keep your sword loose in its sheath.”

“Of course, my lord,” Aliénore said, with a nod.

Colin looked at Berengaria. “Perhaps you can brew the lad something to make him sound more like a man. Think you?”

“That might be,” Berengaria said dryly, “a bit beyond my art. But I’ll try.”

Colin cast a final warning look at Aliénore, then turned and strode off toward the hall. He didn’t stride as quickly as he might have another time, though. Berengaria watched him for a moment, then looked at Aliénore.

“He guards you well.”

“For all the good it does me,” Aliénore whispered. “Things simply could not be worse. Sir Etienne stole my coin, the monks think when I ask about nearby convents that I’ve rapine on my mind, and Colin intends to make me over in his image.”

“Poor girl,” Berengaria said, putting her arm around Aliénore’s shoulders and walking slowly back toward the abbey. “Is there nothing I can do for you?”

“Tell me where the nearest priory is and provide me with false proof of a dowry,” Aliénore said with a sigh. “Not that Colin would approve of such lying.”

“And neither would you,” Berengaria said.

“At this point, my lady, I’m desperate enough to do almost anything.”

Berengaria stopped and turned Aliénore toward her. “Then why don’t you try the truth?” she asked quietly. “Give Lord Colin the tale.”

“You and Jason have the same poor ideas,” Aliénore said grimly. “I would tell Colin who I am only to have him immediately remove my head from my shoulders.”

“I daresay he wouldn’t.”

“He vowed he would.”

“I think,” Berengaria said slowly, with a smile, “that his tender feelings were bruised.”

Aliénore snorted in disbelief. “Tender feelings? There is nothing at all tender about the man.”

“Well, you were the only one who merely bolted,” Berengaria pointed out. “The rest at least gave some sort of excuse.”

Aliénore paused. “They did?”

“Oh, aye,” Berengaria said. “Issuance of blood from every orifice, symptoms of plague, sudden madness that rendered them unfit to say their vows.” She smiled. “Some have been quite inventive.”

“I don’t know why I grieved him, then,” she said darkly. “Surely he’s accustomed to it.”

“Aye, he unfortunately is,” Berengaria said. “Can you imagine how it troubles him?”

Aliénore looked down and remained silent.

“He is gruff and fiercesome, true, but I daresay underneath he has a tender heart. If a girl had the courage to look for it.”

“If a girl had the chance to look for it before he cleaved her skull in twain,” Aliénore returned.

Berengaria smiled. “I would trust him, no matter what he’d threatened in the past.”

Aliénore pursed her lips, but said nothing as she walked beside her. Berengaria breathed deeply of the pungent air.

“A lovely day, is it not?”

Aliénore sighed. “I wish I could enjoy it. I’ve too many things to fear, namely Sir Etienne.”

“Sir Etienne will meet his own sorry end in time,” Berengaria said. “Though I daresay he will cause you much grief beforehand.”

“Does your sight tell you anything else?”

“Just that you cannot forever hide behind your sword,” Berengaria said gently. “You can trust the truth. Lord Colin certainly does.”

“He’s fierce enough to weather the consequences.”

“So are you, my dear. So are you.”

“If only that were true,” Aliénore murmured, then bowed her head and watched her feet as they walked.

Berengaria kept her own thoughts to herself, though she surely would have loved to have given voice to them.

Aliénore would have to find her own path, though, and that path to the place where she would have enough courage to reveal herself would not be an easy one.

A pity, though, she couldn’t have seen the end from the beginning.

Ah, well, such was her own gift, and she supposed it was both a blessing and a curse.

But, for herself, she stole a glance at the future and was well satisfied with what she saw.

Did Aliénore but survive what was to come first.