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Authors: Rexanne Becnel
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fellow burst into the room. “What? What is it?”
“’Tis my wish to see my grandson. I would tend his wounds and pray over him. See you obtain an escort for me.”
The older guard scowled at her. “Sir Axton said ye are to stay put.”
“And verily I say that I have much to do this day. Say me this. Does he order his men to practice their superior fighting skills upon old women? Do you slay a one such as me should she choose to visit her dying grandchild?”
Linnea blinked and stared at her grandmother. Her voice still rang with authority, but she also managed to look older than ever—and completely harmless, despite her sarcasm. The guard muttered a moment to his compatriot. Then the younger man left and the remaining guard said, “If milord Axton says you may go, you may go. Otherwise you stay here.”
The young man was back in less than a minute. That must mean Axton de la Manse was nearby—probably ensconced in the lord’s chamber, immediately below this one. Linnea stared down at the well-worn floorboards. Such a very short distance away, sleeping in the bed she must soon share with him.
She swallowed hard and began nervously to finger comb her tangled hair. It had been her idea to marry him, she told herself. It was no more than most women put up with anyway: marriage to a man not of her own choosing, with no right to say no, no power to change her fate.
At least she had chosen to marry him, if this could be termed choosing. Still, that thought brought her no comfort at all.
“He says you may go. I’m to take you meself.”
Lady Harriet nodded like a gracious, though feeble, matriarch. “Come, Beatrix. Come, Norma and Ida … and Dorcas,” she said, using the name they’d given to the real Beatrix. “You too shall attend us.”
“Now hold a minute! You just said you,” the guard protested. “You didn’t say nothin’ about five of you!”
Lady Harriet fixed him with a benign smile. “The Lady Beatrix is healer here. You see in me merely an old woman who would pray over her grandchild. As for the others, had you been raised in a better household, you would know that a lady does not travel without several servants or retainers, even within her own household. Norma, Ida, and Dorcas we take to attend us.”
The fellow scratched his head a moment and frowned. “I dunno.”
“Well, then, why not send down to your master. Again,” Linnea threw in, hoping her voice did not carry too strong a note of hauteur, and hoping also that the man would not want to disturb his liege from his bed another time.
“I dunno,” the older man muttered once more. “What d’you think, Fergie?”
The younger man’s brows raised high. “If you want to ask him, you’ll have to do it. I’ll not be the one aknockin’ on his door again.”
Linnea stifled a smile. Even Lady Harriet seemed marginally pleased when the two men conferred a moment, then waved them forward.
“’Tis my wish to have the priest join with us as well,” Lady Harriet informed the much aggravated guard as they followed him single file down the two curving flights of stairs. “Have a boy fetch Father Martin. Most likely will he be in his quarters next the chapel at this hour, preparing for morning mass.”
There was no conversation after that, only a few indecipherable mutters from the unshaven fellow, and the soft pad of their leather-soled feet on the cold stone steps. Lady Harriet led the way with the real Beatrix close on her heels. Then came Ida, with Linnea and Norma behind. When they passed the second floor, the others hurried by. Not one of them, even Lady Harriet, wished an encounter with Axton de la Manse. Only Linnea paused, just long enough to peek beyond the dim antechamber toward the solid door that gave the lord’s chamber privacy.
He was in there, whether alone or with some poor woman unlucky enough to catch his eye, she could not say. Soon enough, however, she would be the unlucky woman—
“Move along,
“’Tis my wish to see my grandson. I would tend his wounds and pray over him. See you obtain an escort for me.”
The older guard scowled at her. “Sir Axton said ye are to stay put.”
“And verily I say that I have much to do this day. Say me this. Does he order his men to practice their superior fighting skills upon old women? Do you slay a one such as me should she choose to visit her dying grandchild?”
Linnea blinked and stared at her grandmother. Her voice still rang with authority, but she also managed to look older than ever—and completely harmless, despite her sarcasm. The guard muttered a moment to his compatriot. Then the younger man left and the remaining guard said, “If milord Axton says you may go, you may go. Otherwise you stay here.”
The young man was back in less than a minute. That must mean Axton de la Manse was nearby—probably ensconced in the lord’s chamber, immediately below this one. Linnea stared down at the well-worn floorboards. Such a very short distance away, sleeping in the bed she must soon share with him.
She swallowed hard and began nervously to finger comb her tangled hair. It had been her idea to marry him, she told herself. It was no more than most women put up with anyway: marriage to a man not of her own choosing, with no right to say no, no power to change her fate.
At least she had chosen to marry him, if this could be termed choosing. Still, that thought brought her no comfort at all.
“He says you may go. I’m to take you meself.”
Lady Harriet nodded like a gracious, though feeble, matriarch. “Come, Beatrix. Come, Norma and Ida … and Dorcas,” she said, using the name they’d given to the real Beatrix. “You too shall attend us.”
“Now hold a minute! You just said you,” the guard protested. “You didn’t say nothin’ about five of you!”
Lady Harriet fixed him with a benign smile. “The Lady Beatrix is healer here. You see in me merely an old woman who would pray over her grandchild. As for the others, had you been raised in a better household, you would know that a lady does not travel without several servants or retainers, even within her own household. Norma, Ida, and Dorcas we take to attend us.”
The fellow scratched his head a moment and frowned. “I dunno.”
“Well, then, why not send down to your master. Again,” Linnea threw in, hoping her voice did not carry too strong a note of hauteur, and hoping also that the man would not want to disturb his liege from his bed another time.
“I dunno,” the older man muttered once more. “What d’you think, Fergie?”
The younger man’s brows raised high. “If you want to ask him, you’ll have to do it. I’ll not be the one aknockin’ on his door again.”
Linnea stifled a smile. Even Lady Harriet seemed marginally pleased when the two men conferred a moment, then waved them forward.
“’Tis my wish to have the priest join with us as well,” Lady Harriet informed the much aggravated guard as they followed him single file down the two curving flights of stairs. “Have a boy fetch Father Martin. Most likely will he be in his quarters next the chapel at this hour, preparing for morning mass.”
There was no conversation after that, only a few indecipherable mutters from the unshaven fellow, and the soft pad of their leather-soled feet on the cold stone steps. Lady Harriet led the way with the real Beatrix close on her heels. Then came Ida, with Linnea and Norma behind. When they passed the second floor, the others hurried by. Not one of them, even Lady Harriet, wished an encounter with Axton de la Manse. Only Linnea paused, just long enough to peek beyond the dim antechamber toward the solid door that gave the lord’s chamber privacy.
He was in there, whether alone or with some poor woman unlucky enough to catch his eye, she could not say. Soon enough, however, she would be the unlucky woman—
“Move along,
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