Read Online To Defy a King by Elizabeth Chadwick - Free Book Online
Authors: Elizabeth Chadwick
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working on a bolster case to put in her wedding chest.
Knowing how skilled her future mother-in-law was at embroidery, she was trying to make a neat job of the delicate whitework. Each time she set the needle into the fabric, she was reminded of how swiftly time was passing.
Three months ago she had begun her fluxes. The flowers they were called, because, like a flower, her body had begun to produce seed and thus she was capable of conceiving a child, if not yet possessing the pelvic width to successfully birth one. Mahelt had been both proud and apprehensive at the appearance of the monthly blood because it marked her transition into womanhood, and brought her marriage a step closer. No one had raised the subject beyond a few teasing smiles and general talk while they worked on her trousseau, but she knew that what had been a distant speck on the horizon had moved significantly closer.
She raised her head towards the open window as she heard the sound of a horn blowing to announce her father's arrival and, with a quickening of relief, put her sewing aside.
Her mother left her own needlework and issued brisk orders to build up the fire. 'They'll be soaked to the skin,' she said, glancing at the teeming rain.
Mahelt leaped to her feet, already reaching for her cloak. 'I'll go down!' She flurried from the room, eager to be the first to greet her father and have him to herself for however brief a moment. Her soft goatskin shoes were no barrier to the bailey puddles, but she paid no heed nor to the water soaking upwards from the hem of her gown. As her father rode through the gateway, her excitement soared. For an instant she was a little girl in Normandy again, overjoyed at his return, demanding to be taken up on his saddle. That memory drove her forward now. Wearing a smile as wide as the sun, she reached his stirrup, half hoping he would remember old times too and reach down to her.
He had been hunched over his pommel, but he made an effort to sit up.
'Matty.' His voice emerged as a hoarse croak. 'Matty, where's your mother?'
Mahelt's dazzle of excitement became a plummet of fear. His eyes were glittering and opaque at the same time, like polished but scratched stones.
His cheeks wore a scarlet flush. 'In the keep, instructing the women--'
'Fetch her then, sweetheart . . .' He dismounted but clung to the horse as his knees almost buckled. Mahelt felt the heat emanating from him like a brazier. 'Go, child . . . do not come too close, there's a good girl. I'm tired from the journey; I wouldn't want to fall on you.'
Mahelt heard him trying to make light of his difficulty and not succeeding.
An attendant came to support him as the horse was led away. Mahelt raced back to the keep, splashing through the puddles. Her mother was in the hall, becloaked and on her way to greet her returning husband. Mahelt grabbed her arm. 'Come quickly! Papa's sick. He's got a fever and he can't stand up!'
Her mother gave her a horrified look and took to her heels. By the time she and Mahelt arrived in the lower ward, he was being supported towards the keep, his knight Jean D'Earley on one side and a sturdy groom on the other.
After a single exclamation, Isabelle tightened her lips and hurried to help.
Mahelt would have joined her, but Isabelle ordered her to go and see that the bed was prepared and extra blankets and bolsters fetched. Mahelt sped to the task, snapping at the women to make haste. She plumped and shook the pillows herself, expending some of her frightened energy on them. When her father arrived, staggering badly, she ran to him, but he fended her off. 'Let the men tend me, Matty. They are just as wet as I am. I'll be all right by and by.'
Her mother sent her to deal with matters in the hall and liaise with the chamberlain and steward to see to the needs of the returning knights. Mahelt didn't want to go, but someone had to, and it obviously couldn't be her mother. The rest of the family was sent from the room
Knowing how skilled her future mother-in-law was at embroidery, she was trying to make a neat job of the delicate whitework. Each time she set the needle into the fabric, she was reminded of how swiftly time was passing.
Three months ago she had begun her fluxes. The flowers they were called, because, like a flower, her body had begun to produce seed and thus she was capable of conceiving a child, if not yet possessing the pelvic width to successfully birth one. Mahelt had been both proud and apprehensive at the appearance of the monthly blood because it marked her transition into womanhood, and brought her marriage a step closer. No one had raised the subject beyond a few teasing smiles and general talk while they worked on her trousseau, but she knew that what had been a distant speck on the horizon had moved significantly closer.
She raised her head towards the open window as she heard the sound of a horn blowing to announce her father's arrival and, with a quickening of relief, put her sewing aside.
Her mother left her own needlework and issued brisk orders to build up the fire. 'They'll be soaked to the skin,' she said, glancing at the teeming rain.
Mahelt leaped to her feet, already reaching for her cloak. 'I'll go down!' She flurried from the room, eager to be the first to greet her father and have him to herself for however brief a moment. Her soft goatskin shoes were no barrier to the bailey puddles, but she paid no heed nor to the water soaking upwards from the hem of her gown. As her father rode through the gateway, her excitement soared. For an instant she was a little girl in Normandy again, overjoyed at his return, demanding to be taken up on his saddle. That memory drove her forward now. Wearing a smile as wide as the sun, she reached his stirrup, half hoping he would remember old times too and reach down to her.
He had been hunched over his pommel, but he made an effort to sit up.
'Matty.' His voice emerged as a hoarse croak. 'Matty, where's your mother?'
Mahelt's dazzle of excitement became a plummet of fear. His eyes were glittering and opaque at the same time, like polished but scratched stones.
His cheeks wore a scarlet flush. 'In the keep, instructing the women--'
'Fetch her then, sweetheart . . .' He dismounted but clung to the horse as his knees almost buckled. Mahelt felt the heat emanating from him like a brazier. 'Go, child . . . do not come too close, there's a good girl. I'm tired from the journey; I wouldn't want to fall on you.'
Mahelt heard him trying to make light of his difficulty and not succeeding.
An attendant came to support him as the horse was led away. Mahelt raced back to the keep, splashing through the puddles. Her mother was in the hall, becloaked and on her way to greet her returning husband. Mahelt grabbed her arm. 'Come quickly! Papa's sick. He's got a fever and he can't stand up!'
Her mother gave her a horrified look and took to her heels. By the time she and Mahelt arrived in the lower ward, he was being supported towards the keep, his knight Jean D'Earley on one side and a sturdy groom on the other.
After a single exclamation, Isabelle tightened her lips and hurried to help.
Mahelt would have joined her, but Isabelle ordered her to go and see that the bed was prepared and extra blankets and bolsters fetched. Mahelt sped to the task, snapping at the women to make haste. She plumped and shook the pillows herself, expending some of her frightened energy on them. When her father arrived, staggering badly, she ran to him, but he fended her off. 'Let the men tend me, Matty. They are just as wet as I am. I'll be all right by and by.'
Her mother sent her to deal with matters in the hall and liaise with the chamberlain and steward to see to the needs of the returning knights. Mahelt didn't want to go, but someone had to, and it obviously couldn't be her mother. The rest of the family was sent from the room
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