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Authors: Barbara Samuel
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Mary's strange distance two nights ago, she only patted the bench beside her.
Mary sat. "Alice is coming. Michael Barley stopped her to ask some cure for his wife, but she said she would be along anon." She clasped her hands around one knee, crossed over the other, and inclined her head. "What have you there?"
Lyssa held up a wad of raw wool. "'Tis time Isobel learned to spin."
Mary grinned at the girl, who rolled her eyes. "Your hands will be soft as clouds. Think on that."
"Come here, Isobel," Lyssa said, taking a wooden spindle from a basket. Deft with long practice, she spun a thread between her thumb and forefinger, and anchored it to the spindle. "This will be no trial. It has a rhythm, and once you find it, the thread grows smoothly and easily between your hands. 'Tis soothing."
"I am in no need of soothing," Isobel returned with a glare. But she accepted the spindle and wool, and tried to imitate her stepmother.
It mattered little how the thread emerged this first time. Lyssa expected it to be lumpy. But she did wish to see Isobel learn to hold the wool and spindle in a way that would stand by her in the years ahead. "Good," she said and minutely adjusted Isobel's hold. "Now a little more. Very good."
Against her will, Isobel was pleased. Lyssa saw the reluctant pleasure on her face. Her nature was sparked by competition, and she had only come to realize she would be a poor chatelaine to a great lord's house if she could not even weave.
Mary, too, picked up a spindle. "I will sit with her. I know you must ache to go to your loom."
Gratefully, she smiled. "I do." She settled on the bench and simply embraced the feeling of sitting here, where she had so longed to be these many, many months. The sight of the women, their heads bent peacefully over their tasks, gave her a sense of deep contentment. Bright morning sunlight flooded the room from four embrasures, unshuttered to allow the breeze and light free entry. Over the top of her loom Lyssa could see a tableaux of treetops and sky and a hazy line of hills, all blues and greens in a dozen hues.
It was that view that had inspired her to weave the tapestry on her loom now, a hunt seen in the richest shades she had been able to procure. With a happy sigh, she picked up the shuttle and bent over the work.
"I hear Robert got 'is comeuppance last night at Dark Thomas's hand," Nurse said.
Mary lifted her head curiously. "Did he?"
Lyssa grinned in memory. "He did. I thought he might faint of fright before he was hauled away to clean the stables." She threaded the shuttle through the warp, and chuckled. "Did you not think he would faint, Isobel?"
"Who would not faint with so great a beast hovering over like the dark angel himself?"
"Is this the same maid who vowed breathlessly that ballads were written for the likes of such a man?" Lyssa asked incredulously. "What can have changed your heart in a few short hours?"
Isobel scowled. "The smell of my brother!"
All of the women laughed, and in the midst of it, Alice came in, bringing with her a scent of herbs and sunlight. Her hair was hidden under a simple white scarf, and again Lyssa was struck with the extraordinary beauty of her huge, dark eyes. "I linger to hear a complaint, and miss a joke," she said.
"They were laughing at me," Isobel said sullenly. "Or rather my brother, who smelled of dung when he returned last night."
"Ah." Alice smiled, and Lyssa saw one tooth was gone. Not in front, but off a little to the side. It did not mar her appearance. "I've heard a bit o' the boy's tongue meself. He would have been strapped soundly at Roxburgh."
"At least I made no fool of myself over the lord as some did," Isobel said, and with exaggerated gestures, blinked her eyes and put her hands beside her face. "Oooh, my lord, you are so clever! Oooh, sir, what big
thighs
you have! Oooh, sir, such lovely lips to kiss me with. Oooh, my lord, I'll let you win if you bed me quick."
Lyssa's face flamed. "No more."
But
Mary sat. "Alice is coming. Michael Barley stopped her to ask some cure for his wife, but she said she would be along anon." She clasped her hands around one knee, crossed over the other, and inclined her head. "What have you there?"
Lyssa held up a wad of raw wool. "'Tis time Isobel learned to spin."
Mary grinned at the girl, who rolled her eyes. "Your hands will be soft as clouds. Think on that."
"Come here, Isobel," Lyssa said, taking a wooden spindle from a basket. Deft with long practice, she spun a thread between her thumb and forefinger, and anchored it to the spindle. "This will be no trial. It has a rhythm, and once you find it, the thread grows smoothly and easily between your hands. 'Tis soothing."
"I am in no need of soothing," Isobel returned with a glare. But she accepted the spindle and wool, and tried to imitate her stepmother.
It mattered little how the thread emerged this first time. Lyssa expected it to be lumpy. But she did wish to see Isobel learn to hold the wool and spindle in a way that would stand by her in the years ahead. "Good," she said and minutely adjusted Isobel's hold. "Now a little more. Very good."
Against her will, Isobel was pleased. Lyssa saw the reluctant pleasure on her face. Her nature was sparked by competition, and she had only come to realize she would be a poor chatelaine to a great lord's house if she could not even weave.
Mary, too, picked up a spindle. "I will sit with her. I know you must ache to go to your loom."
Gratefully, she smiled. "I do." She settled on the bench and simply embraced the feeling of sitting here, where she had so longed to be these many, many months. The sight of the women, their heads bent peacefully over their tasks, gave her a sense of deep contentment. Bright morning sunlight flooded the room from four embrasures, unshuttered to allow the breeze and light free entry. Over the top of her loom Lyssa could see a tableaux of treetops and sky and a hazy line of hills, all blues and greens in a dozen hues.
It was that view that had inspired her to weave the tapestry on her loom now, a hunt seen in the richest shades she had been able to procure. With a happy sigh, she picked up the shuttle and bent over the work.
"I hear Robert got 'is comeuppance last night at Dark Thomas's hand," Nurse said.
Mary lifted her head curiously. "Did he?"
Lyssa grinned in memory. "He did. I thought he might faint of fright before he was hauled away to clean the stables." She threaded the shuttle through the warp, and chuckled. "Did you not think he would faint, Isobel?"
"Who would not faint with so great a beast hovering over like the dark angel himself?"
"Is this the same maid who vowed breathlessly that ballads were written for the likes of such a man?" Lyssa asked incredulously. "What can have changed your heart in a few short hours?"
Isobel scowled. "The smell of my brother!"
All of the women laughed, and in the midst of it, Alice came in, bringing with her a scent of herbs and sunlight. Her hair was hidden under a simple white scarf, and again Lyssa was struck with the extraordinary beauty of her huge, dark eyes. "I linger to hear a complaint, and miss a joke," she said.
"They were laughing at me," Isobel said sullenly. "Or rather my brother, who smelled of dung when he returned last night."
"Ah." Alice smiled, and Lyssa saw one tooth was gone. Not in front, but off a little to the side. It did not mar her appearance. "I've heard a bit o' the boy's tongue meself. He would have been strapped soundly at Roxburgh."
"At least I made no fool of myself over the lord as some did," Isobel said, and with exaggerated gestures, blinked her eyes and put her hands beside her face. "Oooh, my lord, you are so clever! Oooh, sir, what big
thighs
you have! Oooh, sir, such lovely lips to kiss me with. Oooh, my lord, I'll let you win if you bed me quick."
Lyssa's face flamed. "No more."
But
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