For a Song

by Kathleen Scarth

  “No matter, Jolan. I know what happened to her. She trusts me, it seems. Perhaps we could have your lesson in your chamber, where Hilda could listen.”

  The idea was pleasing, and Jolan hurried back to tell Hilda of the plan.

  The maiden’s eyes grew round. “I would be most happy to hear you sing, my lady, if your voice is as fine as your cousin’s.”

  “Oh, it’s not nearly as fine as Margarethe’s. She has true talent.”

  “Margarethe? I know no Margarethe. I was speaking of Lord Albert.”

  “Oh.” Jolan laughed. “I suppose his voice is fair. When did you hear him sing?”

  “Yesterday, on the ride from the village. He sang lullabies and other soothing melodies.”

  Jolan nodded and smoothed her skirts. “I remember hearing him sing to me when I was small. He treated like a little princess in those days. He always had time for me.”

  “And that is why you love him,” Hilda stated matter-of-factly.

  Jolan felt her eyes widen. “I love him because. . .well, because he is Albert. He’s a good and gallant man.”

  “Will you marry him then?” Hilda asked quietly.

  “Oh, no. Our family does not believe in cousins marrying. But he will make a fine husband—Margarethe’s, I hope.”

  “I thought she was a cousin, too.” Hilda was clearly puzzled.

  Jolan smiled. “It’s quite complicated, but I’ll try to explain. My father, Lord Einhard, is Margarethe’s mother’s brother. But Albert’s father, Lord Otto, is my mother’s brother. So, you see, Margarethe and I are cousins, but she and Albert are not.”

  Hilda blinked and put her hand to her head. “That will take some pondering.”

  “While you are pondering, I had best go to table before they decide I am not coming at all.” Jolan rose and patted Hilda’s hand. “And when I return, I’ll bring Willem with me, and we will make music. A merry heart is just the medicine you need.”

  ❧

  Margarethe was summoned to Lady Mechthild’s chamber shortly before dinner. “Sit down, Greta,” her aunt invited, holding a letter in her hands. “This is from Lady Edeltraud, suggesting you come at once. There is something of an emergency at Beroburg.”

  “Oh. I thought Jolan was coming here to visit,” Margarethe said, holding her breath. What if something had happened to Willem?

  “The plans have changed. Albert brought in a young maiden who had been violated by one of the enemy soldiers. She is in need of healing in body and in spirit. Jolan is caring for her, but Albert and Otto both felt you might be of some help.”

  Margarethe frowned. “I don’t like leaving you alone, Aunt, with only Friedrich and your maids,” she said, but it was Willem she was thinking of. How could she bear to be near him again, knowing they could never wed?

  “Don’t be concerned about me, my dear.” She waved one smooth hand. “I will be fine. I know you have been missing Jolan’s company. I wonder, though, if it would be painful—seeing Willem again.”

  How like Aunt Mechthild. Reading her like a book. Margarethe sighed. “It would be difficult. But we have agreed never to be alone, so that will help.”

  “Jolan knows nothing of your feelings for Willem, I hope.”

  Margarethe shook her head.

  “Then I trust you can keep your feelings to yourself.” Lady Mechthild gave a wry smile. “Even if she is my daughter, I will have to say that Jolan is not known for her discretion, and Edeltraud has enough on her mind without dealing with matters of the heart.”

  “Have no fear, Aunt. Jolan is also easy to distract.”

  “You’re right, my dear.” Lady Mechthild gave a little laugh, rose, and tapped the parchment against the palm of her hand. “Then I will write Edeltraud while you gather your things. Sir Johan will escort you. His ankle will not permit him to engage in battle, but he can ride with you. Is that suitable?”

  Margarethe rolled her eyes. “As long as he will promise not to taunt me with tales of his recent victories in chess!”

  ❧

  Jolan’s singing lesson went well, but Willem found himself frequently glancing in Hilda’s direction, fearful that she might be tiring of hearing the scales sung in a less than perfect pitch. Her eyes were closed much of the time, and he could not tell if she were asleep or listening.

  “One last song together, Lady Jolan,” Willem said, “and then it will be dinnertime.”

  Hearing a gasp, Willem turned toward the bed, where Maid Hilda was sitting upright.

  “What is it, Hilda?” Jolan asked, rushing over to comfort her.

  “Forgive me. But it can’t be time for dinner. You’ve only just begun to sing!”

  Jolan laughed and Willem chuckled gently. “I think that our guest likes music very much,” he said.

  “Oh, it would be my life,” she said, clasping her hands together. “But I have no training.”

  “Then, when you’re feeling better, you shall have some,” Willem promised.

  At that moment they heard a noise in the bailey, and Jolan went to the window to look out. “It’s the messenger back from Mutti. I hope it is the news I’ve been waiting for,” she said.

  They sang one last song, a cheerful song of spring that Willem had chosen especially for Hilda’s benefit. During the last verse and chorus, he noticed a page standing by the door.

  The lad waited for the song to end, then sprang forward. “Lady Jolan, Lady Edeltraud would have you know that your cousin is coming this afternoon, as she requested.”

  Jolan jumped to her feet, laughing in delight. “Margarethe! The answer to my prayers!”

  Willem stood, scarcely able to breathe. And to mine, he thought.

  eight

  Willem spoke little during dinner, to the disgust of his dining partner, who had chosen her place opposite him hoping to be the recipient of his renowned wit.

  But the only person on his mind was Margarethe. He had not expected to see her so soon after leaving Adlerschloss. He had thought there would be time to adjust to her absence. She was coming, of course, to help with Hilda, whose care was a little daunting for Jolan. Still, he wondered what the great God—He who arranges all things—must be thinking to allow them to meet again so soon.

  Sweet Margarethe. He knew her every feature, her every thought and feeling. She had hidden nothing from him in nearly two years, when they had first spoken openly of their love.

  Once Margarethe’s sense of humor had matured beyond childish pranks, she had developed a delightful ability to mimic various castle visitors with an artful expression or hand gesture discreetly rendered behind her veil. It was often all Willem could do to keep a straight face when she imitated some speaker who droned on past all endurance.

  Sometimes her mischief was turned on him. At such times, her teasing kept him both amused and embarrassed by turns. One hot day they had gone for a ride on horseback through the countryside, stopping by a creek to rest. Hoping to cool themselves, they had waded into the water. “I don’t suppose you would consent to going for a swim with me?” she had asked, her eyes demurely downcast.

  But when he had bent over to see if she might be truly serious, she had splashed him, giggling like the young girl he had known for so long.

  He chuckled in remembrance, drawing the curiosity of the woman seated across from him. “Were you daydreaming, sir?” she asked with a coy expression.

  “Do forgive me. I was merely thinking of going for a swim.”

  She dropped her mouth, baffled by his answer, and immediately left off any further questions for the remainder of the meal.

  ❧

  Margarethe wondered what it would be like to see Willem again. He had been in her heart constantly since their parting, and she looked forward to the moment. But it would be quite different, she knew. For one thing, he was no longer her music teacher. For another, she must treat him as she did any other gentleman, neither seeking him out nor paying him any special attention should they chance to meet. While they would be
able to carry on a conversation from time to time, she must take care not to be alone with him, lest her emotions run away with her. What agony—this forbidden love!

  It was amazing that now they would again be face to face—though not heart to heart or lip to lip. Never that. Never again.

  She wrenched her thoughts from what could never be to the task at hand. She would need to pack only a few clothes for herself. But on the chance that the miller’s daughter would need something to wear, having left her home so hurriedly, Margarethe added a few garments that had grown too short for her. Since there were instruments aplenty at Lord Otto’s, she would take only her lute.

  Jolan would be able to use some help in the use of herbs, so Margarethe also packed her precious copy of Causae et Curae, by Abbess Hildegard of Bingen. The book contained all sorts of useful information, and had been given to her by Father Bernard who had painstakingly transcribed the copy himself from a copy his sister had obtained at the very abbey in which Abbess Hildegard lived and worked a hundred and fifty years before.

  Finally, Margarethe put in a few dried herbs from the castle infirmary. What with treating battle wounds and injuries, no doubt such supplies would be scarce at Beroburg.

  On the road with Sir Johan and his squire, Margarethe saw that the daffodils were blooming at the edges of the woods. The sweet smell wafted to them on the breeze, the cheerful yellow heads bobbing in time to the music of the skylark. Though the birds of early spring were fewer in number than they would be in the merry month of May, their song seemed all the sweeter.

  So lovely was the day and so fragrant the flowers that before they reached Lord Otto’s castle, Margarethe asked her escorts to stop so that she might pick daffodils for Jolan and Lady Edeltraud. Pleading his sore ankle, Sir Johan remained on his horse. But his squire willingly dismounted to help gather armfuls of the flowers.

  Upon their arrival at the castle, Jolan was waiting to greet her, quickly followed by Lady Edeltraud and a swarm of maids and pages, who bustled about to carry in the trunks and bundles.

  “So the late snow did not kill them, after all,” observed Lady Edeltraud, burying her nose in the buttery yellow blossoms. “Come in, child. Have you dined? And you, sir,” she said to Johan and his squire, “you are both welcome at our table.”

  “Thank you, my lady, but we have eaten,” he said pointedly, directing his words to the young man whose countenance fell.

  Margarethe smiled up at him. “I thank you for bringing me here, Sir Johan. I hope your ankle heals quickly and that you will soon be able to go on to more interesting duties.”

  Still mounted on his horse, he bowed. “I shall miss our chess games. You are a worthy opponent, my lady.”

  “Oh, I intend to improve still more. I shall be practicing here with some truly great players. So the next time we meet, you’d best be on your guard.”

  He bowed again, reined his horse around, and rode away, his laughter trailing over his shoulder.

  In all the commotion, Margarethe had not yet laid eyes on Willem. She spotted him as she and Jolan, her arms laden with flowers for Hilda, were starting through the back of the great hall on the way to her chamber. He came straight over, offering to carry Margarethe’s lute.

  “So, you’ve come to visit then?” he asked, his eyes all merriment and love.

  She shrugged, trying for an indifferent attitude, and failing miserably. “Jolan needed me to help with that poor village girl, and so I came.”

  “That’s good. Jolan and I have found that the patient loves music, and she is quite wearing us out with her requests. Now you may take a turn.”

  “Willem, don’t be ridiculous,” Jolan chided. “She is hardly wearing us out. Margarethe, don’t listen to him.” Casting about, she gave a great sigh. “I need a large container for these flowers. Now where are all those lazy pages anyway?”

  “Ah, I think they are carrying Lady Margarethe’s things to her chamber, my lady,” Willem reminded her.

  Margarethe knew his thoughts, knew that he was repressing a big grin.

  “Well, I will just have to find one myself,” Jolan said, dumped the daffodils into Margarethe’s arms, and flounced off.

  “I know the way, my lady. I will take you there,” Willem said, his hand light on her back. He glanced around the hall, then lowered his voice. “It may not be wise to count on Jolan for escort. She is a flighty one.”

  Margarethe laughed lightly. “She has ever been so. But I cannot see around these flowers. Do not let me trip on anything on my way up the stairs.”

  “Then let me take them.” He slung the lute on its strap around to his back and held out his arms for the flowers, his hand grazing hers in the transfer.

  “Oh, Willem,” she breathed. “Will there be any time for us? Any time to make music as we once did?”

  His gaze was tender. “I’m sure of it.” Margarethe noticed that his tone was still measured and respectfully distant—as they had agreed—though it grieved her to hear it. “The people in this household love music. I will be playing every Lord’s Day and many other times as well. Perhaps there will even be an occasional day off when I can pursue my own pleasure.”

  Margarethe smiled over at him. “And what would you do with a day off, sir?”

  “I would write music and make new arrangements and catch up. . .”

  “Watch out!” Margarethe warned. “We are coming to the first step now.” She laughed as Willem groped blindly with his foot. “Do you perform all your silliness for Lord Otto’s house as you did at home?”

  “Of course. I even sang a duet with Gregor—your future husband—while he was in the bathtub.”

  Margarethe did not dare respond to such a remark, and rushed a few steps ahead, then turned to confront him. “Willem,” she said softly but sternly, “there are things you should not tease me about.”

  He gazed at her sadly. “You are right. Please forgive me, my lady.”

  “Of course, I forgive you,” she said, striving for a lighter tone. “And if you are agreeable, I will even join your musical group and help you out.”

  “Now that would be a boon indeed—a welcome change from some around here who aspire to make music, but do not possess your gifting.”

  Reaching the top of the stairs. Willem led Margarethe to a chamber door and paused outside. “Maid Hilda? It is Willem and Margarethe. May we come in?”

  “Enter,” came a small voice, whispery-soft.

  They entered the room, Willem partially obscured behind the mass of flowers in his arms, while Margarethe advanced toward the bed. She felt a rush of pity for the young woman lying there with that great bruise on her face, doubtless more hidden beneath the bed coverings, and untold bruises in her spirit.

  “I am Margarethe,” she introduced herself. “If I know Jolan, you have heard all about me.”

  “Greetings, my lady. I hope you had a pleasant journey.”

  “It was a fine day for a ride. And just look what we found along the way. Jolan has gone for a container.”

  “Lady Jolan has told me that you are very talented. . .in music. She and Willem have been so kind to let me listen to them practice.”

  Willem cleared his throat. “The three of us together are even better. And just wait until you hear Margarethe sing with Jolan. Even the angels stoop to listen.”

  Margarethe was laughing when Jolan burst into the room with a crockery jar for the flowers, took them from Willem and plopped them unceremoniously into the water, sloshing a bit of it onto the floor.

  Jolan stood back a little to admire the effect while Willem found a towel and mopped up the spill. “There, Hilda. Margarethe has brought the outdoors in.” Turning to Willem, she said, “Would you please step out for a minute? We ladies must talk.”

  He gave a little bow. “I’ll be right outside if you should need me.”

  “Yes, yes. I’ll call you. Now go.” She gave him a little push and turned to Hilda as soon as he had closed the door. “Now, Hilda, you have b
een in bed for some time. Do you need anything—perhaps to use the privy or take a bath?”

  “Oh, please. I would be so grateful. But the bath can wait as long as we can have music.”

  Margarethe and Jolan helped her out of bed to tend to the necessities. “You shall have music,” Jolan promised. “Then before supper, we will see about some other things to make you more comfortable.”

  When Hilda was settled back in bed, they called Willem in. This time, he brought in his lute and a leather bag of wind instruments. “I thought Maid Hilda might enjoy a small concert.”

  No comment was necessary. Her joy was reflected in her radiant face as she clasped her hands together in anticipation.

  “Is there anything special you would like to hear?” Margarethe asked.

  “Does anyone play the viel? It makes such a lovely sound.”

  “I will fetch a couple of viels from the music chamber,” Willem said. “Jolan can observe this time,” he added with a rueful grin.

  “I have inherited my mother’s lack of congeniality with the viel, I’m afraid. She is like Margarethe—she can play any instrument. Any instrument but the viel, that is.”

  “Jolan, we have not sung together in months,” Margarethe reminded her. “We should warm up while we wait for Willem. You start.”

  Jolan began one of their old favorites—a round with three verses. On the second, Margarethe spotted Willem waiting at the door. When Jolan began a new phrase, he took up the melody, then joined in the third verse to finish the exercise.

  There was laughter at the song’s conclusion except for Maid Hilda, who breathed, “Wunderbar!”

  Willem handed Margarethe a viel, and they tuned up. “What shall we play?”

  “I was playing “Dominus Vobiscum” with Aunt Mechthild and Father Bernard yesterday when a new song came to me in the same mode. Could we play the old song? Then I will play the new one, and you can join me the second time through.”