Read Online In Pursuit of the Green Lion by Judith Merkle Riley - Free Book Online Page B

little box with the needles, all pressed flat, was a tiny pair of baby’s shoes, all made out of some very thin leather, as soft as silk, with holes worn through the little quilted soles. This one lived, I thought, and she loved it best, so she saved the shoes.
    “Mama, doll clothes! Can we have them?”
    “We need them, Mama, Martha is naked!” The girls tried to pull the box out of the chest. Broad Wat retreated to take another drink.
    “They’re not yours,” I said, removing their hands and shutting the big chest tight. But the girls hadn’t even time to whine before they were entirely distracted by a dreadful commotion on the stairs.
    “Who poured ale on me? I’ll thrash him to death!” Furious shouts were echoing up the stairway. It was Damien, the squire. He and Robert had been hard at work in the courtyard, hot in mock combat, when Damien had stopped to lean against the wall, with unfortunate results. The girls jumped up and ran to hide beneath the big bed, giggling.
    “It was you then! I tell you, I’ll paddle you properly! Get out from under there, you little devils!” He grabbed a protruding arm from beneath the bed, and pulled hard. He had Cecily half out, when she bit his finger and he let go suddenly. She scuttled back under the bed, and he sat on the floor, sucking on his sore finger and trying to spy the glitter of her eyes in the dark. Suddenly he saw the humor of it, and started to laugh. He was just sixteen, a year younger than Robert, the other squire, and he looked charming, sitting there and laughing. His cheerful blond curls were all wet and matted, but the new beard on his chin shone like gold. He had not a prospect in the world, except that everybody liked him, and that’s worth something. And he was used to children; I’d heard him say once that he had eight living younger brothers and sisters eating his father out of his living. He was the hope of his whole impoverished tribe, and they’d somehow scraped up enough to get him nourished as a page in the Sieur de Vilers’s house, back when there was still a Lady de Vilers.
    “I hate you,” he said to the shadow beneath the bed.
    “I hate you too,” Cecily’s voice came out from under the bed.
    “Me too,” said Alison, from where she hid behind her sister.
    It was love.
    From then on, the girls were as orderly as is possible for them. If Damien asked anything, it was as good as done. They followed him about until he was entirely distracted, begging to carry his things for him, or run his errands. Even the villagers laughed at it. Of course, the girls still fought.
    “When I’m big, I’m going to marry Damien.”
    “No you’re not, he’ll marry me!”
    “No, he’s going to go away, and get rich in France, and then he’ll come back and take me away on his horse—ow! Quit kicking! Mama, Alison kicked me!”
    “I didn’t. Besides, she made an ugly face, Mama. Tell her it will stick that way!”
    “Nya, nya, it won’t.”
    “It will so! You’ll be all wrinkled up that way forever, and then he’ll marry me!”

CHAPTER THREE
    I T WAS MORE THAN A MONTH FROM THE time we’d married. March was nearly over, and the first green points of April’s daffodils could be seen poking up through the mud. And yet I’d seen less of Gregory alone than before the priest had raised his hand in benediction. I began to wonder whether he really liked me at all; I felt as if I had just been taken for granted, like a new piece of furniture that one has got used to. And not only that, let me tell you that for sheer irritation, there’s hardly anything worse than being the sole source of novelty and amusement in a household of strangers.
    “You’ll be wantin’ that kirtle cleaned up, won’t you, mistress, as well as the surcoat, now?” Cis grinned as she held up the muddy garments to the light. “Mmm. Nice embroidery on that.”
    “Just sponge the mud off, and then soak it in cold water. I don’t want the colors to run. Remember now;