With Isabel beside her again, Jenny found it impossible to keep her eyes from the empty place at the second table, reserved for the young knights who attached themselves to her father’s house. This space, directly opposite Isabel’s, was always empty now. No one would sit there. It had been Bleddri’s. Again and again, Jenny looked up expecting to see Bleddri as he was all last winter, his handsome blue eyes fixed on Isabel. His attentions were so blatant, Jenny was amazed no one else had seemed to notice.
Bleddri was unlike the other knights who attached themselves to her father’s household. Isabel had been drawn to his courtly manners, and he captivated her with his stories, for he had travelled the world. He told her of his childhood at the court of the Duke of Aquitaine, the father of Eleanor, who was now queen of England. When Eleanor became queen of France, he had gone with her retinue to Paris and later journeyed to the Holy Land on a Crusade to Jerusalem.
Every night, after supper, sitting around the fire, Bleddri found a place by Isabel’s side and beguiled her with his tales. Jenny listened too, but silently. From the beginning, she had known his words were for Isabel alone. “Let me tell you, my lady, about the Hall of Lost Footsteps in Poitiers.” he would begin. While the rest of the household sang songs, told stories and played riddling games, Isabel and Bleddri made a little world of their own. He told her of his own lands in Languedoc, “Where grapes grow on every vine.” But he had used his land to fund his journey to the Holy Land. He was only a lad at the time, but his father had already died, leaving him in charge of his own fortunes. The crusaders had been promised riches beyond telling, but the Crusade failed and Bleddri’s lands were forfeit, so he became nothing more than a wandering knight.
Jenny held her breath all winter, wondering if Bleddri would seek her sister’s hand. Isabel might want him, but their father would not. Seeing the past in the light of Brother Bertrand’s words, Jenny now realized her father should have protected Isabel from Bleddri. Instead, it seemed to Jenny that their father had used Isabel as a lure to keep the promising young knight in his household.
That February, the weather was too wet for hunting, and everyone was sick of being trapped inside. One day, Bleddri found Jenny alone in the stable, grooming La Rose out of sheer boredom.
“Will you ride with me, Lady Jeanette?” he asked.
“I do not ride in wet weather.” This was a lie, and she was fairly sure he knew it, but it was out before she could stop to think. Something about his manner bothered her. Was he standing too close? Was his smile too familiar? She only remembered her discomfort now.
She thought she saw a spark of anger flare in his eyes, but he recovered himself so quickly it was hard to be sure. He glanced around to make sure they were alone. “Then we shall speak here. Your sister has no suitors?”
Jenny knew why Bleddri was asking. She also knew her father would never consider this landless knight a suitable match for Isabel, even if she loved Bleddri. Jenny wished she could lie again but the truth could not be hidden. She echoed his words with reluctance. “My sister has no suitors.”
He smiled. “I mean to ask your father for her hand. He seems to like me well enough. How do you think my suit will go?”
Jenny spoke the truth, hoping to discourage him. “My father means to make a good marriage for my sister, and you have no land.”
Her blunt words brought such a dark look that Jenny’s heart began to pound. Now, she realized that she had seen him for himself in that one instant. But he quickly became the polite courtier he had always been with Isabel.
“Alas, my rank is the only wealth I possess. But it was so for your father once. He may smile on me yet.” And he left her.
A burst of laughter wrenched Jenny back to the present. Her father was joking with the men more urgently now. Neither she nor Isabel had spoken during the meal. Her father was growing desperate to maintain the pretense of happiness. If he failed, Jenny was afraid his anger would turn on Isabel again. She saw Cospatric, the harper, slip into the doorway of the hall. “Oh, Papa, is the harper going to play by the fire tonight?” Jenny said. She rushed on without thinking. “Perhaps Isabel will sing.” She immediately knew she had said the wrong thing. Isabel looked shocked. But the knights took up the cry, “A song from the lady!” “Aye a song!” Jenny was appalled.
Galiene often said the knights were more trouble than a pack of dogs, and it was true. They came and went too often to keep track of. There might be eight or ten one day, as few as two or three the next. They were dirty and lazy, did no work beyond hunting, had terrible manners, and few could be trusted alone with a woman. Yet her father loved them, for in their eyes he was a great lord.
The trestle tables were quickly put away and everyone went to the fire, which was set on the stone floor behind the high table. The fire was placed here to make the high table the warmest in the hall. In fact, the smoke hole in the roof let the wind in as often as it let the smoke out. Tonight, though, the spring air was mild and still, so for once the fire did indeed give off a pleasant heat.
Everyone sat on benches moved from the dining area, on stools, or on the floor, except Jenny’s father, who sat in the only chair, a mark of honour. Without waiting to be asked, Cospatric struck up a lively tune that set everyone’s toes to tapping. His playing seemed to spare Isabel, but when he finished, the knights began to chant “A song from the lady” again and would not stop.
Jenny half expected Isabel to run from the room. Instead she turned to the harper. “Do you know ‘L’Anneau D’Or’?” she asked.
The harper shook his head. “I have much to learn about the Norman songs, my lady. But I will follow your lead.”
So Isabel began. Her voice was breathtaking, clear, agile, each note true. After the first verse, the harper came in quietly, hitting chords so original they surprised Jenny, though they suited the music perfectly. The song, “The Gold Ring,” was about a young man who drowns while diving for a ring lost by a young woman. Like most of the old songs, the story was sketchy. As children, Isabel, Jenny and Eudo had spent hours discussing the meanings of these songs, so Jenny knew that Isabel thought the girl in the song had thrown her betrothal ring into the sea to rid herself of an unwanted fiancé.
This was the first time Isabel had sung since the night she disappeared with Bleddri. Jenny could not shake the feeling he was in the room, standing just behind her.
She remembered sitting at the fire that last night. Because of the conversation in the stable, Jenny had watched Bleddri and her sister more closely. Isabel had not sung “L’Anneau D’Or” then. All her songs had told of love. Her eyes had shone. Even to Jenny, her voice and face had never looked more beautiful. All the men seemed intoxicated by her, and Jenny’s father had boasted, “See what a jewel my daughter is.”
When Isabel had finished singing, Bleddri said, “Let me tell you a story, my lady.” As the winter wore on, his tales had changed. He no longer spoke of himself. Now, his stories were all about knights who faithfully loved ladies they could never have, stories he claimed were popular in the courts of France. This evening, he told of a knight who stayed faithful to his lady even after she married a man of greater rank and wealth. Later, the faithful knight threw himself in front of a charging boar to save the lady’s life, dying in her arms. Jenny thought it a poor story, but Isabel was deeply affected, wiping tears from her eyes when Bleddri finished.
After weeks of wet and cloudy weather, the sky had suddenly cleared that very night. Someone suggested a moonlight ride. It was really too early for such an outing, but the bored men seized on the plan eagerly. “Off you go, then,” the vicomte said. “I am too old for such frivolity.” Jenny was tired, but was afraid to leave Isabel alone with Bleddri.
When she remembered it now, that night had the quality of a nightmare in which something terrible is about to happen, and the dreamer knows it but can only watch helplessly. Jenny tried to keep close to Isabel, but the other knights surrounded her, demanding attention. It was as if Isabe
l had made them all hungry for the company of women. It was innocent enough, but Jenny could not escape them. Soon after they reached the forest, Isabel and Bleddri disappeared. Patches of white snow shone under the dark trees, almost glowing in the moonlight, but Jenny could see no couple in the woods.
Now Jenny knew their father should never have left his daughters unchaperoned, but at the time, it seemed to Jenny to be her fault, somehow. She had vowed she would warn Isabel about Bleddri as soon as they were in bed. If Isabel would not listen, Jenny told herself, she would speak to their father. She never had the chance.
When Jenny returned to the family bower, Isabel was still missing. Jenny could not bring herself to raise the alarm. Isabel’s virtue would suffer if the household were alerted to search for her with Bleddri. So Jenny went to bed alone, her fitful sleep punctuated by bad dreams.
Some time in the night, she drifted out of sleep thinking she heard Isabel return, but when dawn came she was still alone. By the time Isabel and Bleddri were discovered missing the next morning, the late winter rains had returned, making it impossible for the hounds to track the couple. Six days later, just when Jenny was sure her sister was gone for good, Isabel returned alone, leading two horses.
Silence brought Jenny back to the present. Isabel’s song was finished. As usual, her voice had cast a spell over the listeners. No one moved or spoke for a long moment.
“Sing us another,” a knight said. “Sing ‘Blanche Comme La Neige.’”
But Isabel shook her head. A poor choice, Jenny thought. A cruel choice if the man had thought, for how could Isabel sing a song about a girl who pretended to be dead and was placed in a tomb for three days rather than lose her honour to the knights who had carried her away?
The harper turned to her father. “Your daughter sings like an angel, my lord.”
The vicomte sighed. “As did her mother before her. Sing another, Isabel.”
Isabel thought for a moment. “La Triste Noce,” she said at last.
“The Tragic Wedding.” By the end of this song, Jenny recalled, the bride, the groom and the groom’s beloved were all dead. The bride kills the beloved in a fit of jealousy, then the groom slays his bride and falls on his own sword. Jenny knew the servants sang the same song in English. “Lord Thomas and the Fair Annette,” they called it, and the tune was different, but the story was just the same. No happy songs for Isabel tonight. But at least she seemed more like herself.
When it was time for bed, the harper caught Jenny’s eye. No one in the family had thought to thank him for his skilful playing. She could at least do that.
“A voice like that would make any harp sound sweet, my lady,” he said in reply to her praise. “Your sister sings just as they said she would.”
Jenny looked at him, puzzled. “Who said she would?”
He blushed. “The folk on the other side of the forest. When I heard the stories, I thought your household might welcome some music now.”
Jenny winced. She wished she were strong enough to walk away without asking, but she had to know. “What else do they say about my sister?” she asked. “Do they speak of her disgrace?”
He looked startled. “My lady, do you not know? To the common folk, she is a heroine. They even sing a song about her.”
Chapter Seven
“Now, you see how many barrels of oats are left, and how many of wheat and barley flour. This year’s crops will not be reaped until after Lammastide. You know who gets wheaten bread, and who does not. How can you divide this much to feed everyone without running out?”
Jenny groaned. “Oh, Isabel, how do you manage this?”
“It comes with practice, Jenny.” Isabel almost smiled.
The distant oaks had greened with May, but Jenny resisted their call. Instead, she stayed close to Isabel, helping to ease her into this world again. Had Brother Bertrand known that forcing Isabel back into her life would restore her like this? Jenny wondered. She was still a pale shadow of the sister Jenny loved, but she was more like herself in many ways. It had been Isabel’s idea to teach Jenny how to manage the household. They both knew these responsibilities would soon fall to Jenny, for Isabel seemed fated for the priory in Coldstream.
As they worked together, Jenny wished Isabel would speak of what had happened after she had left with Bleddri. Jenny knew no more of this part of the story than any stranger might. If Isabel could tell her, she might finally understand what her sister had been through. Then, perhaps, Jenny would find a way to tell Isabel what Cospatric has said. The thought that some might think Isabel a heroine had been hard to understand at first, but Jenny was gradually coming to see how that might be. The freebooters and the folk who secretly helped them had a very different way of looking at things. But Isabel’s newfound peace of mind seemed too fragile to disturb just yet, so Jenny kept these thoughts to herself. The unaccustomed secrets reminded her she now had a secret of her own.
Setting up the loom or supervising the washing of linens, Jenny would suddenly remember the scent of the woods, the flight of the falcons, and Tam Lin. She had told no one of this meeting, which now seemed almost like a dream. The sensible knight she had encountered in the forest was nothing like the madman everyone gossiped about, but Jenny had to admit the memory was touched with something like magic. Not only because of the way time had scrambled when she was with him, but in the tingle she felt even now as she remembered his arms around her.
“She must be away with the wee folk,” Galiene joked to Isabel. Jenny realized Galiene had asked a question she had not heard. She pulled herself back to the task of taking inventory.
“Do you suppose they would want me?” Jenny joked back. But after that, she put her secret thoughts aside and tried to focus on her work.
That afternoon, Jenny and Isabel oversaw the weeding of the kitchen garden while Isabel made sure Jenny knew the uses of the herbs. As the shadows grew long, Jenny looked up to see the boy Alric hobbling toward them. “Your lord father says come greet the noble family,” he said.
When Jenny rounded the corner of the stable, she found a couple wearing the broad-brimmed hats and plain garb of pilgrims. But the humble clothing did nothing to disguise the man’s noble bearing. The couple looked unaccustomed to travelling by foot, especially the wife, who was stout and red-faced. Before Jenny could greet them, four strong servants arrived, bearing an open litter. The wife rushed over to tend the child they carried.
Isabel hung back.
“Come meet Thane Ethenan mac Askil,” their father said to Jenny in English. She gave the man her hand, wondering if she dared to ask what would bring a thane to their hall. The Scottish nobles loyal to the king were not unfriendly, but they held themselves apart from the Normans.
Thane Ethenan seemed to expect her curiosity.
“You must wonder what brings us to your gate.” He gestured to the litter. “Avece, my youngest, has been taken with a wasting illness. When the king kept court at our household during Lent, his chaplain told us of Saint Coninia’s well: My lady, Bethoc, pledged then we would make this pilgrimage south to Broomfield Abbey as soon as the weather was mild enough. We sailed to Berwick to spare the child and made our way from there. When we stayed at the hospital at Rowanwald, the almoner, Brother Bertrand, told us we might seek your charity for a night.”
The child was about four, lying pale and listless on the cushions of the litter. Her blond hair was plastered to her head with sweat. Her eyes were glassy and unseeing. Lady Bethoc was urging her to take a little water.
“You shall stay in our family bower,” Jenny said, without stopping to consider what anyone else might think. This was unheard of. Travellers, even nobility, always bedded down on the floor of the great hall with the rest of the household.
Lady Bethoc took her daughter in her arms and came to her husband’s side. “You must be Lady Jeanette,” she said. “Brother Bertrand speaks well of you indeed, and I see he is not mistaken. You are generous and kind.” She exchanged a look with he
r husband that made Jenny blush to the roots of her hair.
Jenny’s father looked pleased. “You are welcome in our bower. Come to the hall for refreshment while the servants prepare beds.” He glanced over his shoulder as they left. “Isabel, see to the servants.” It was the first time anyone had spoken to her.
Jenny realized her father was acting out of embarrassment. Gossip of Isabel had probably reached the thane’s ears at Rowanwald, or even before. But this abruptness seemed too cruel. She stayed behind while he left with the visitors.
“Isabel, I wish he would treat you more kindly.”
Isabel gave her a sad smile. “The thane is a powerful man, and our father has his pride. In any case, you are the one who caught their fancy. I would not be surprised if they have an older son in need of a wife.”
Jenny flushed. “Can I help with the servants?”
“No. Go be lady of the house for the thane and his wife. The child seems gravely ill, and you are the one they wish to see. And Jenny,” Isabel said as she turned to go, “I hope the son has his father’s graces.”
In the great hall, panic swirled around the visitors as the servants struggled to produce hospitality worthy of the thane’s rank with no warning. But Thane Ethenan and Lady Bethoc saw none of this. They were focused on the child, who squirmed and cried in her mother’s arms. Jenny did not know what to do. She jumped when Cospatric spoke at her ear.
“Lady Isabel told me I might be needed, my lady,” he said. “Shall I play for the guests?”
Jenny sighed with relief. “Aye, Cospatric. Do you know any lullabies?”
The harper only nodded. He seated himself at a respectful distance and began to play. The sick child grew less fretful with the first gentle note and was sleeping peacefully with her thumb in her mouth by the time the tune ended. Cospatric immediately began another.
When the harp fell silent, Thane Ethenan leaned toward the harper and said something quietly in Gaelic that made Cospatric smile. Then he turned to Jenny’s father. “That’s a gold coin for your harper, Sir Philippe,” he said. “My daughter has not slept so sound in many days.”
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