The Norman's Heart. Margaret Moore

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      “If he can’t drink well, he shouldn’t drink at all,” Roger remarked grimly.

      “Not everyone has your capacity, Roger.”

      “Then he should have gone to bed, like you.”

      “What do you suppose the bride is doing?”

      “What does it matter, as long as she’s at the blessing on time.”

      Albert cleared his throat deferentially. “What are you going to do about Hilda? It’s well known that you two have been rather intimate.”

      “So what of that?”

      “So you’re getting married today. I don’t think your bride will appreciate the knowledge.”

      “I don’t care what she thinks. Besides, it’s finished.”

      “Perhaps it would be better if you were to send Hilda to one of your smaller estates, at least for the time being.”

      Roger gave Albert a disgruntled look. “I think I’m capable of making my own decisions.”

      “Very well,” Albert said with a shrug. “Do as you wish.”

      “I intend to.” Roger eyed his friend. “For a man who has never married, you seem to be quite adept at dispensing advice to the prospective groom.”

      When Roger saw the torment in his friend’s eyes, he regretted his hasty words. He knew the sad story of Albert’s youth and the reason he looked far older than he actually was, and he realized he had been cruel to speak to Albert in such a way.

      Rather than admit he had acted cruelly, however, he said, “If the weather doesn’t clear, we’ll have the ceremony in the hall. It can be decorated early, I suppose.”

      “Would you like me to tell Dudley?” Albert offered, and Roger was relieved to see that apparently all was forgiven.

      “No. Let’s wait awhile. In the meantime, I’ll make sure the guests’ men and animals are being well treated.”

      “As long as you’re not late for the wedding,” Albert said.

      Although Albert’s tone was innocuous enough, Roger slanted him a suspicious look. “I won’t be,” he said firmly before he marched from the hall.

      

      When Hilda and Aldys, one of the older and more experienced maidservants, arrived to help Mina dress for the wedding, they were surprised to see the bride sitting serenely in the small chair. She was already attired in a lovely gown of rich, dark green velvet girdled with a supple belt of bronze links and delicately embroidered about the neck and long dangling cuffs with fine gold thread. Beneath the gown she wore an undertunic of thin golden silk. Her thick, wavy hair was brushed and ornamented with a slender circlet of gold. In her hands she held a fine coverlet of embroidered linen.

      Hilda and Aldys glanced uncertainly at each other, wondering if they were going to be chastised for being tardy.

      “This should go to my lord’s bedchamber,” Lady Mina announced, nodding at the coverlet. She pointed at a silver carafe standing on the table nearby. “And that wine, too. They are marriage gifts from my relatives.”

      “My lady,” Hilda said, “forgive us for not coming sooner.” She bit her lip and wiped her perspiring palms on her homespun gown, for she knew, despite Sir Roger’s guarantee, that she should still be wary of Sir Roger’s wife. “We were busy with the preparations below and did not know you were waiting for us, and—”

      Lady Mina held up her slender hand, and Hilda was quite taken aback to see how work worn it was. Why, this fine lady had hands like a scullery maid. She was no pampered, spoiled person, Hilda thought, impressed, and Lady Mina’s next words confirmed her estimation of her new mistress. “I prefer to dress myself, not being used to maidservants. Is Lord Chilcott well enough to attend the blessing?”

      “Yes, my lady,” Hilda answered softly and with true respect, taking the coverlet. It was very soft and she resisted the urge to rub her cheek on it.

      “Good. Go now, and fetch me when it’s time for the ceremony.”

      “If you’re sure you don’t need any help...”

      “I am quite sure I have everything prepared,” Lady Chilcott answered, her eyes on the carafe that Aldys hurried to pick up.

      When Hilda and Aldys left the chamber, they paused and looked at each other. “What do you make of her?” Aldys asked. “She didn’t look angry.”

      “No, she didn’t,” Hilda replied thoughtfully. “She’s a deep one, she is. Did you see her hands?”

      “She’s done some work with them, that’s for sure, and not just sewing,” Aldys said solemnly.

      “I think I’m going to like her.”

      “She hasn’t had you sent away yet, at least.”

      “Why should she?” Hilda demanded with more bravado than she felt.

      Aldys gave her friend a skeptical frown as they went up the spiral stairs to the tower bedchamber. “You know why.”

      “She needn’t know about that. Besides, those days are done with,” Hilda replied.

      “I wouldn’t want her angry at me,” Aldys remarked forcefully.

      “Sir Roger rules here, not her,” Hilda said as she pushed open the door of Sir Roger’s large bedchamber and quickly laid the coverlet where Lady Mina had directed, a slight sigh escaping her lips. The linen didn’t reach all the way across the plump feather bed.

      Aldys, who had never been in the room before, moved much slower and took her time looking around.

      The walls were plain, undressed stone. There were no tapestries, although there were hooks, indicating that tapestries might be hung there in the colder weather. A huge chest with a painting depicting Daniel in the lion’s den stood in one corner, a bronze brazier was in the other, and in the middle of the room was a round table and one heavy carved chair. There was only one other item of furniture in the room, and that was the immense bed, with tall posts carved to look like trees covered in vines, and thick bed curtains surrounding it.

      “Come,” Hilda said, giving the coverlet a final look. “Dudley will be having seven fits if we’re not back soon.”

      Aldys, still overwhelmed by the size of the bed, only nodded in response.

      

      Several minutes later, Reginald Chilcott knocked softly on the door to Mina’s bedchamber. The bride herself opened it, attired in the wedding finery that he had given her as part of his wedding gift. If Mina had her way, she probably would have worn any old rag, despite the presence of numerous noble guests and Baron DeGuerre. Her hair, loose and adorned with the thin circlet, framed her unusual face in a most becoming manner.

      He noticed as СКАЧАТЬ