Page 25

“I DON’T KNOW why you have to tend that woman,” Maloren muttered darkly as she watched Beatrice prepare some willow bark for Lady Celeste’s medicine in the castle kitchen three days later.

Beatrice stood at a small worktable at one end of the large chamber, while Maloren sat on a stool with her back against the wall. In the main part of the room, the cook and the servants busily prepared the evening meal.

“She’s rich,” Maloren grumbled. “Let her pay for a physician, or go to the holy sisters and have them take care of her.”

“She’s Ranulf’s guest, and fortunately not seriously ill. She should be well enough to travel in another day or two, and then she’ll be leaving.”

“Aye and good riddance to her! I see what she’s up to, the hussy!”

Beatrice slid Maloren a questioning glance. “And what is that?”

“You’re too sweet and innocent to see through her, my lamb,” Maloren declared, waggling her finger at Beatrice as if Beatrice were five years old.

“But I know exactly the sort of creature that woman is! Married for money and now that she’s got it, she thinks she can buy another husband for pleasure. ”

“I don’t think Sir Ranulf is for sale,” Beatrice answered, looking down at the bark she was grinding with her mortar and pestle.

“Well, if Lady Celeste was as ugly as a boar, I’d say you might be right, but she’s not. She’s a beauty and knows it, and how to use it, too. I’ll wager she’s had men wrapped about her little finger since she was twelve years old.”

“Perhaps once she had Sir Ranulf wrapped around her finger, but that was long ago.”

Maloren sniffed derisively. “You think that means he can’t be caught again? Of course he can, because she’ll remind him of his youth and seem to promise him another.”

Beatrice’s teeth clenched as she continued to grind the bark and other ingredients to ease the pain in Lady Celeste’s head. “I’m fairly certain Ranulf is too clever to fall into any traps Lady Celeste may set.”

Especially since he had come to care for her, just as she’d always hoped.

Unfortunately, since Hedyn and Gwenbritha’s murder, she’d seen very little of Ranulf.

He was late for the evening meal every night and looked so tired and frustrated when he did arrive, she didn’t want to pester him with questions.

Not only was she anxious about the murders, she was still waiting to learn what he’d planned to tell her the day after Wenna had given birth, and to hear him say he loved her.

He would tell her eventually, she was sure, and in the meantime, she was confident enough of his affection to wait patiently. Well, perhaps not patiently, she inwardly confessed, but to wait nonetheless.

“You seem very concerned for Sir Ranulf’s welfare,” Beatrice noted, hoping Maloren’s criticism of Celeste meant she was finally beginning to appreciate Ranulf.

“I hate to see any man the dupe of a rich widow. They’ve had their chance and ought to be content.

But no, they must seek another husband, although there’s women who can’t even get one.

But what’s that to them, the selfish creatures?

” Maloren sniffed with scorn. “Lady Celeste with her silks and brocades and perfumes, lying about pretending to be sick just so she can get her hooks into Sir Ranulf!”

Had she just learned a possible cause for Maloren’s disgust with men? Beatrice wondered. “Did you ever want to marry, Maloren?”

“No,” the maidservant snapped. “Let some oaf of a man order me about? Or try to sweet-talk me into doing whatever he wants?”

Beatrice refrained from pointing out that she had the right to order Maloren about, and she’d often resorted to sweet-talking her to get what she wanted. “Lady Celeste has no children,” she suggested. “Perhaps if she marries—”

“If she marries, it won’t be because she wants a baby,” Maloren retorted.

“It’ll be because she wants a man at her beck and call, and beholden to her, too.

She’ll have her marriage contract ironclad so she keeps control of the purse strings—you just watch and see.

She’s a greedy, selfish bitch in heat, that’s what she is. ”

Beatrice had to admit that in her own heart, her estimation of Lady Celeste was not far different from Maloren’s.

“Is that potion going to be ready before the sun goes down?” Maloren demanded.

“Just as soon as I add it to the wine,” Beatrice said, carefully doing so.

When the potion was ready, she said, “I don’t suppose you want to come with me when I take this medicine to her?”

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph, no! The perfume that woman wears makes my head ache. I’ll stay here and make sure Much doesn’t burn the meat.”

Beatrice felt a moment’s pity for Much, but under Maloren’s supervision, the food had definitely improved.

Covering the goblet holding the potion with a square of clean white linen, Beatrice made her way to the hall.

She regarded the servants’ work with a critical eye, but saw nothing amiss and much to praise with a quick word or smile.

She had some words of compliment for the soldiers who were not on duty, too, all of whom were busy tending to their armor, either seeing to small repairs themselves, or polishing it until it shone.

More than one of the soldiers blushed when the pretty young woman said something about their attention to their duty, or the zeal with which they polished.

When she reached Lady Celeste’s chamber, Beatrice took a deep breath before she knocked on the door and waited until Lady Celeste’s maidservant, Emma, opened it for her. Try though Beatrice might not to feel it, she was still a little intimidated by Celeste’s exotic beauty and superior manner.

Lady Celeste lay in her bed, one made with linens she, too, had brought from home.

They were finer and more expensive than those from Tregellas, and much better than those Beatrice had found in Penterwell.

There was also a thick silk coverlet on the bed and fine white candles in a large brass candle stand beside it.

Several small jars of unguents, perfumes and what Beatrice suspected were cosmetics, as well as a mirror, were on a collapsible table Lady Celeste must have brought from her home, along with the cushioned stool before it.

She had brought a considerable number of garments with her, too, for several wooden chests and boxes also crowded the room.

Even sitting in a bed and unwell, Lady Celeste seemed to have the grandeur of a queen, making Beatrice feel, yet again, that she was very young and unsophisticated.

She never felt that way in Ranulf’s presence, even when he told her she was innocent and naive. She always felt very much a woman when she was with him.

“Ah, Lady Beatrice,” Celeste said, raising herself slightly. “I don’t know what I would have done if you had not been here.”

“I dare say Ranulf would have sent for a physician,” Beatrice replied, handing her the potion. “This should ease your aching head.”

Celeste took a tiny sip and wrinkled her nose. “I hope so, for truly, the taste leaves something to be desired. It’s too bad your medicine has to spoil Ranulf’s fine wine.”

It was too bad she’d fallen ill and been allowed to stay, Beatrice thought, but she didn’t say it. Nor did she reveal that the wine had come from Tregellas.

Celeste glanced at her maidservant, standing expectantly in the corner. “Leave us, Emma. I want to talk to my benefactress alone.”

Beatrice would rather talk to the poorest pauper in Penterwell than Lady Celeste. Indeed, she had, when she’d given the poor legless man some alms. He was certainly far more grateful for the loaf of bread she’d given him than this fine lady was for the medicine that eased her suffering.

As her maid departed, Lady Celeste patted the bed beside her. “Sit here, my dear, where we can chat like old friends. I think it’s time I told you the history between Ranulf and me.”

Beatrice didn’t want to be her friend, but she couldn’t resist the chance to learn what had transpired between Ranulf and this woman.

“I believe you may be somewhat aware of what happened,” Celeste said as she continued to sip the wine.

“Enough to guess that a woman once broke Ranulf’s heart,” Beatrice answered honestly, “and that it was probably you.”

“Guessed all that, did you? What a perceptive girl you are!”

Beatrice didn’t appreciate being called a “girl” or patronized. “He never mentioned you by name until you came here.”

That revelation did not sit well with the lady. Nevertheless, she grudgingly agreed. “The relationship between us didn’t end well.”

Celeste set the goblet on the table beside the bed. “My dear, I am going to be very frank with you, because I believe you care about Ranulf as much as I do.”

Beatrice would have wagered a great deal that she cared more about Ranulf than this lady ever would, or could.

“When I was just a little older than you, I met Ranulf at court. Oh, you should have seen him then, my dear! So charming, so witty. And handsome! Half the girls at court were in love with him, I vow, which might explain…”

She hesitated, but Beatrice didn’t think that was from any sudden modest impulse. “Well, those were only rumors, after all, and I, for one, refuse to believe them, although I suppose it’s not surprising that a young and disappointed man would seek solace in another woman’s arms. Or more than one.”

Celeste was watching her keenly, and although this revelation dismayed her, Beatrice wasn’t going to give this woman the satisfaction of knowing she’d distressed her.

The lady seemed to realize no shocked queries would be forthcoming.

“Anyway, before that, I fell in love with Ranulf, and he with me. We met in a rose garden, and oh, my dear, it was like something out of a minstrel’s ballad!

I had caught my sleeve on a thorn and he freed it and then he kissed my hand and looked into my eyes with such a look!

I do believe we fell in love right then and there. ”