My Favorite Things

by Lynsay Sands

  “Michel. And no, thank you.”

  “Good night, then, Michel.” With a grimace, she whirled and set off after her aunt.

  MATILDA AND VLASTER were nowhere to be seen when Odel reached the bottom of the steps. Muttering under her breath, she waved away the men who immediately began moving in her direction. Perhaps Matilda and Vlaster were in the kitchens. She had nearly reached the door to the steamy room when a cold rush of air swept through the great hall, rustling the rushes. Pausing, she turned to see Matilda entering with Vlaster on her heels. Odel promptly changed direction and rushed toward them.

  “Where have you been? Where is Lord Cheshire? What have you done now?” Her words came out in a frenzy as she reached the pair.

  Matilda patted her arm soothingly. “Nothing, dear. He went . . . er . . . home.”

  “Home?”

  “Aye. He left.”

  “How?”

  Matilda scowled. “What do you mean, ‘how’? He—”

  “Did you turn him back or not?” Odel hissed. “You did not leave him a rat, did you?”

  “Oh.” Her aunt gave a little laugh. “Well, no. You needn’t worry about that, my dear. Lord Cheshire left here just as he came. Now, why don’t you go for a nice little walk with Lord Beasley? He mentioned earlier that—”

  “I do not wish to take a walk with Lord Beasley. I do not wish to walk with anyone,” Odel interrupted wearily, her shoulders slumping as the tension left her body. “I do, however, wish you would give up on my marrying one of these men. I really have no desire for a husband, Tildy!”

  Face softening with sympathy, Matilda reached out to briefly clasp Odel’s hand. “I know, my dear. But then if you did, I would not be needed here, would I?”

  Odel opened her mouth to try to convince the older woman to give up her quest and let her be, but instead closed it and shook her head in defeat. She did not have the energy to argue with the woman. She had been doing so for the last two days without result.

  “You look tired. Why do you not go to bed? I shall see to your guests.”

  “They are not my guests. You invited them here, and . . .” Odel began impatiently, then shook her head and turned away. “Oh, what is the use? You do not listen to me, anyway. I am going to bed.”

  Chapter Four

  You should go below and eat.”

  Michel let the fur drape fall back to cover the window and turned to find Eadsele sitting up in bed. The boy was still pale, but he looked a bit more alert than he had for the past week. “Are you feeling better?”

  Grimacing, his squire shook his head apologetically. “I am sorry, my lord. I am never sick. Really.”

  Leaving the window, Michel moved back to sit on the side of the bed. “Do not apologize. It is hardly your fault that you are ill.”

  “Aye. But ’tis only a week until Christmas, and I know you must be eager to return home.”

  “Do not worry about me. I am enjoying the rest.” He meant to assure the boy, but didn’t sound very convincing even to himself.

  Not wishing to overburden Lady Roswald’s maids when she already had so many guests, Michel had insisted on nursing the boy himself. He had spent the last week stuck here in this room, trying to bathe down Eadsele’s temperature when it was high, covering him with furs when he had the chills, and urging bowl after bowl of broth down the boy’s sore throat. To a man used to days filled with activity, this was becoming unbearable. And yet, the nights had almost made the week pass quickly.

  A smile curved Michel’s lips as he recalled the last several nights. While he had insisted on staying with Eadsele during the day, the Lady Odel had convinced him to let a maid take over his nighttime vigil so that he could spend his evenings below—and also get some rest. Since the first night, he had joined the table for supper, then fallen into the habit of chatting and playing chess with Odel.

  Odel. He smiled slightly now as he thought of the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed. He’d found himself regaling her with all the funny little stories he could recall. He also liked the way she blushed when he complimented her, so he found himself slipping them in, in order that he could enjoy the pink flush that covered her cheeks.

  Aye, Odel had helped to keep him from going mad this last week and he could hardly believe that the company of a woman affected him so. But he had come to know her quite well this last week, and what he had learned was that not all women were the greedy grasping creatures his mother had always seemed.

  At least, Odel wasn’t. She never seemed to take advantage of the servants around her as his mother did, ordering them to do this or that, and even, he suspected, making up things just to play the grand lady. Odel did most everything for herself.

  Murmuring that the servants were busy with their own tasks, she would fetch the beverages while they played chess each night. She even often threw logs on the fire and built it up herself rather than asking a servant. Odel also hadn’t worn a single jewel to adorn her gown this last week, though he was sure she must have many such items.

  Aye, she was different from his mother, and Michel liked her all the more for that. He could hardly believe his luck. With a keep full of wealthy, handsome men, he was surprised she gave him any time at all. But not only did she give him attention, she paid little if any attention to the rest of the guests.

  “You would do better did you not spend all of your time in here with me, my lord,” Eadsele suggested, interrupting his thoughts.

  His gaze focusing on the pale boy in the bed, Michel shrugged and smiled.

  “Someone has to stay with you.”

  “The maid who sits with me while you eat offered to sit with me during the day—should you wish to enjoy the holiday diversions Lady Roswald is supplying.”

  Eadsele’s voice seemed almost eager. Michel was pleased to see in the boy’s face the barest trace of color, too. His new squire had been an apple-cheeked lad when he had collected him, and had remained so through most of their journey. It had only been upon their arrival here that he had become so deathly pale, when he had been stricken by this illness. His pallid complexion since had been most worrisome. Now, the faintest flush of pink again touched his skin.

  “Lady Roswald is beautiful, do you not think, my lord?” At the sly words, Michel’s eyes narrowed on the boy. Lady Roswald had visited Eadsele’s sick room once or twice a day, sometimes staying to play a game with them to cheer the lad. She was very kind. And she was also beautiful, though he had not thought so at first. Hers was a loveliness that grew on you. Still, there was something about the boy’s tone of voice that made Michel suspect his motives.

  “Why do I get the feeling you would be eager to see me go?” he asked abruptly.

  The flush in the boy’s cheeks stained his face a bright red, and Michel’s eyes widened slightly. He recalled the way the boy had brightened every night when the maid, Maggie, arrived, and suddenly he understood. The boy had a crush on the little serving wench.

  Michel didn’t know why he had not picked up on the fact sooner, or why it so surprised him now. Eadsele was already fourteen.

  “So tell me about this maid,” Michel murmured, his lips twitching when Eadsele flushed even darker.

  “The maid? She tells me about the feasts and the celebrations,” he said as if it were of no consequence. At the sound of activity in the bailey below, the boy gave a relieved look and glanced toward the covered window. “What is that? Do you think they are going on a hunt?”

  Standing, Michel moved back to the window and peered out at the snow-covered bailey. “Nay. ’Tis just a wagonload of flour.”

  “Hmm.” Eadsele shifted restlessly. “From what Maggie says, there has been a grand feast every night.”

  “Aye,” Michel murmured, still looking down on the bailey.

  “I would think they should need to go hunting soon then, should they not? The larders should be running low by now. It has been a week since we arrived and there has been no hunting done at all.”

  Mich
el nodded at that, his mind suddenly fixing on the suggestion. He was tired of being caged indoors with Eadsele, but up until now he had felt it was his place to look after the boy. After all, the lad was his charge. But it seemed Eadsele had a more attractive nursemaid in mind. And now the squire had given him a good idea. He would enjoy a nice brisk ride right about now, and hunting game to make up for what he and Eadsele were eating was the perfect excuse. That would give him a chance to get outside without feeling he was neglecting his duties or overburdening the Roswald servants.

  “You are right,” he announced, letting the fur drape again fall into place to block out the bailey below. “A nice stag or boar should—” What he suspected was a trace of triumph in Eadsele’s eyes made him pause. He got the distinct impression he had been manipulated. Still, he decided, it didn’t matter. He wished to get out and about anyway. If Eadsele wished to gaze upon the little serving wench, let him.

  “GOOD MORNING, MY LADY.”

  Odel felt a shot of alarm run through her on finding Lord Suthtun seating himself next to her at the table. During the week since his arrival at Roswald, Michel had never once come below to break his fast.

  Which was a relief to her of course, she assured herself. After all, it lowered the risk of his coming upon Matilda and her magical moments. She hadn’t worried about that with the Roswald servants. Matilda had assigned the duck maids to serve in the great hall, which left the real maids to tend to the bedchambers and kitchens, safely away from the likelihood of seeing anything unusual. Odel also hadn’t had to worry about the men-at-arms witnessing anything. It turned out that they were all quite disgusted with the preening ways of the lords lounging about Roswald Hall, and did their best to avoid them. Her men still came into the hall for meals, but were quick about it and left as soon as they were finished.

  It was only Lord Suthtun Odel had to worry about. His decision to nurse his sick squire had been quite convenient if he were to stay at Roswald. It left her with only the evenings to worry that her odd aunt might suddenly pull out some fairy dust, or wave her cane in front of, or even worse at, him.

  Odel had done her best to keep him away from the woman. She sat between them at the dinner table, always keeping up a lively chatter so that he would have no reason to address the strange godmother. Then, once the meal was finished, she had taken to playing chess with him each night by the fire.

  The best thing about that was Odel had found Michel a worthy opponent. For every game she won, he won one as well. They were most evenly matched. Actually, she had enjoyed talking and playing with the man since his arrival, and she was suddenly aware that she would miss those companionable evenings when he left. Which was perhaps why the idea that the boy might be improving was presently upsetting her. Once Eadsele was better, there would be no excuse for Lord Suthtun to remain. And while she knew she should be relieved that his departure would vastly simplify her life, at the moment she was more concerned with the loss of a man who was quickly becoming a friend. Her first friend.

  “Is Eadsele all better, my lord?” she asked, putting aside her own confused feelings for a moment.

  “Nay, I fear not.”

  Odel felt relief rush through her and tried to stamp it down. She should be feeling disappointment. If she had any sense she would feel disappointed. Every minute he remained was risky. It appeared, however, that her good sense had abandoned her. “I am sure he will recover soon.”

  “Aye,” Lord Suthtun agreed, then cleared his throat. “Actually, Eadsele mentioned something I had not thought of.”

  “Oh?”

  Michel nodded. “He mentioned that no one had gone on a hunt since we had arrived and I wondered—”

  “Oh, what a marvelous idea!” Matilda crooned suddenly from behind them.

  Odel whirled to peer over her shoulder. She hadn’t heard the woman approach. Managing a smile, she then glanced back at Michel. “Aye, my lord. You are very considerate, but that is not necessary. We have plenty of meat.”

  “No, we don’t. In fact”—lifting her cane, Tildy swung it quickly toward the door to the kitchens, then set it down with a satisfied thump—“we are fresh out. I was going to suggest a hunt myself.”

  “Matilda,” Odel growled, glaring at the woman in warning, but her godmother blithely ignored her. Instead, she beamed briefly at Lord Suthtun, then turned her gaze over the whole of the room.

  “Everyone! Yoohoo!” She clapped her hands to gain the attention of the others in the room.

  Her suitors, Odel sighed inwardly at the thought. She was going mad with their ridiculous compliments, their sessions of preening in efforts to gain her attention, and their long, drawn-out dissertations on how handsome, wealthy, or clever they were. She had never known that noblemen could be so vapid; but then, Father had never really let her socialize. Gazing at her guests, she was almost grateful. Added to that, she was starting to find her appetite affected by their presence at the table. Odel had come to notice that they all had the oddest way of eating. First of all, they ate constantly—all day long from what she could tell. But it was the way that they ate that disturbed her most. They each brought their food up to their mouths with both hands, keeping their backs straight, heads up, and eyes alert as if watching for some thief who might steal it. It was the oddest thing she had ever seen, made stranger by the fact that they all seemed to do it. Only Lord Suthtun did not. Odel had mentioned it to Tildy, but the woman had laughed and claimed that those manners were all the rage at court these days. To Odel, it was creepy. It reminded her of something she couldn’t quite place.

  All of this had managed to make Odel extremely grateful that Lord Suthtun came below for the evening meals. It gave her an excuse to escape the other men. And his habit of staying below for an hour or so afterward allowed her to stay away from them.

  Nervous of what Matilda might do, Odel had urged him into a game of chess before the fire the second night after his arrival and every night since. She had used the claim that she was chilly as an excuse to rearrange the seats. Placing her own chair with its back to the fire had forced him to sit with his back to the great hall at large. His being unable to see what was going on in the rest of the room had allowed her to relax.

  Odel had actually enjoyed their games. Michel was a witty man and charming even, something she had not expected in a warrior. And he had not minded her beating him at chess; he even seemed mildly pleased by it. Which was very different than she was used to. Odel’s father had always claimed she cheated and knocked the board to the floor when she won against him. But Lord Suthtun merely cast her an admiring glance and complimented her strategy, a reaction Odel shared when the knight himself won. She had woken up today looking forward to the evening ahead.

  Now, she felt the beginnings of panic creeping up on her again. A whole day in the presence of Tildy and her magic. If Tildy should turn one of the men into a rat or perform some other magical act in front of Lord Suthtun . . . well, she doubted he would see a difference between a fairy godmother and a witch. Feeling helpless, she listened to Tildy outline her plan for a big hunting party. A feeling of doom was dropping around her shoulders even as she did.

  “THERE!”

  Odel glanced at Michel at his excited whisper. She had been busy looking over her shoulder at Tildy and the others. Her godmother rode on a small plump mare that Odel was sure did not belong to the Roswald stables, following several hundred yards behind Lord Suthtun and Odel. The other lords rode in a group behind her.

  Matilda was as stiff and tense on the animal as could be; she looked about as pleased to be on a horse again as Odel was to be on this hunt. Briefly, recalling that her godmother had died in a fall from her mount, Odel almost felt pity for her. Then her gaze fell on the pack of suitors bouncing around in their saddles behind her and Odel had felt all pity die. Good heavens! Not a one of them could ride. What sort of lords could not ride a horse?

  “Do you see it?”

  Turning away from the group trailing beh
ind them, Odel followed Michel’s pointing finger. Their horses slowed. A huge wild boar was rooting in the bushes ahead. Drawing her mount to a complete stop, she reached instinctively for her bow, feeling excitement and fear begin to course through her. Wild swine had become rarer the last couple of years; to chance upon one now was quite lucky. The thought made her pause and glance back toward Tildy, her eyes narrowed. Any good fortune was suspect.

  Expecting to see the others hanging back, Odel’s eyes widened as she saw that Tildy and the men hadn’t yet slowed. They were riding up at full speed, apparently unaware that she and Michel had come upon game—and dangerous game at that. Her hand jerking on her reins, Odel instinctively shouted out a warning.

  A curse from Lord Suthtun was followed quickly by an angry squeal. Odel whirled back to see what had happened. She realized at once that her shout must have startled Michel just as he had taken aim. An arrow now quivered in the boar’s hindquarters, and she was quite sure that he wouldn’t have aimed there. But there was little time to think of much more than that. Michel had feathered the beast’s posterior, and the boar wasn’t at all pleased.

  “Oh, dear,” she murmured, then tightened her fingers on her reins in alarm. Michel shouted a warning as the boar charged.

  The next few minutes became a swirl of chaos. Like a pack of dogs on the scent of blood, the suitors who had flanked Odel’s aunt now charged onto the scene. They swarmed around Odel and Michel, crowding them so much that there was no way to swerve or retreat as the boar came at them, squealing madly. The horses, smarter than their riders, began to whinny and snort, rearing back in terror. Odel managed to keep her seat, but the lords—lousy riders all—went tumbling to the ground. Their shouts were added to the chaos as they rolled and darted about, trying to avoid the feet of the horses off of which they had fallen.

  Given so many new targets, the boar suddenly stopped, apparently unsure who to attack first. After a brief hesitation, it headed after the nearest man. Shrieking, the lord in question charged for the nearest tree, the boar hot on his heels.