They giggled, and Juliette felt more normal in their eyes again. Vienna washed her mud-laden hair while Sybilla tried to scrub the mud stains from her heals.
“Where are the novices? Do you know?” Juliette asked between steaming jugs of water.
Neither of them went gently, knowing that if she’d survived the pull and roll of the waves, then a jug brimming with water would be naught over her head.
“And that is another thing,” Vienna added. “Somehow you saved yourself in that wilderness, but you also managed to rescue God’s own novices.”
Juliette shook her head, and water sprayed over them all. “Tam rescued the novices. Most of them, anyway. Do you know that one of them got eaten? There are grey wolves in that Caledonian Forest.”
Her sisters both stared, their mouths hanging. “No wonder the king considers you blessed. He says that the hand of the Almighty rests on your shoulder.”
She rolled her eyes. “The king also thinks that you have been blessed, Sybie. He thinks you cured a whole castle of ailing folk.”
Her sisters helped her from her bath and rubbed her down with drying cloths.
“We are to take you to the king now. He has special news for you.” Sybilla said with a smile.
“Special news?”
“We cannot say. We’ve been sworn to secrecy. But it is exciting. Father can barely contain himself.”
Juliette frowned. How could this be good? Whatever Father wanted usually sat in direct opposition to what she’d made up her mind to do.
~ ~ ~
Juliette sat in the king’s solar; her hands held delicately in her lap. She stared down at her fingers, no longer soft. Hardened bits of skin had grown over the cuts. How strange it felt to be sitting in this opulence with silk-threaded wall hangings and mats on the floor—mats made in far-off exotic lands.
She sipped sweet mead from her pewter mug and studied the platter placed before them. A richer feast was hard to imagine. The wooden plate spilled with nuts, cherries, and wedges of cheese. If that platter was not to her liking, then all she had to do was reach across and select a tartlet from the other tray. They’d been filled with a creamy mix of wild mushrooms and lamprey. She used to turn her nose up at lamprey, considering it too unsightly and distasteful to eat. Now, it was food and therefore something to be grateful for. Only, there was too much of it, far too much food for a small group of people. There was something wasteful about the delicacies before her, sinful, even.
In the past, she’d taken her privileged life for granted. Not anymore. If she was to enjoy a life filled with riches again, then, this time, she’d do what she could to help others with less. She could not stand by again, eating the most exotic foods and wearing the finest clothes while good people, people like Mariot, were given away.
Mariot was little older than a child when she’d been given to the church to cover taxes. Her father had no choice; he had starving mouths to feed. And there were many other families out there that were worse off. All you had to do was ask around, and people knew folk that had lost loved ones to starvation.
She looked down at the fine dress she wore. Her under-linens were of the highest quality, and her tunic was the purest silk the king’s weavers could make. On top of that, her robe had been embroidered and beaded, so she resembled an overly plumed exotic bird. Her hair was highly coiffured too. Tendrils hung down her back, and others were threaded with beaded ribbons.
She remembered back to her time in the forest. There’d been a strange freedom to stomping about in the wilderness and wearing whatever was on hand. Warmth and protection were the only sound reasons to dress in the morn. Was it necessary that she look so pretty? She would like another function other than being decorative.
Looking about the room, she smiled at her sisters. Both returned her gaze, but their eyes were clouded with concern. She’d changed, and they knew it. Once they adjusted to the fact, they’d realise that she’d changed for the better.
Tam was there too, discussing the Irish outlaws with the king. Her father sat in a huge cherrywood chair, looking smug. He’d long hated the north and the Northmen, but now all those utterings were forgotten. He kept bringing the conversation back to his ‘wise and wonderful’ daughters. It was tiring to hear.
“So, maiden Juliette,” the king said, beaming. “I have news to honour you.”
She raised her eyes.
“You sit at the right hand of our Lord. Even a blind man could see that you are blessed.”
“Sire,” she began, shaking her head. “My survival is down to luck and nothing more . . .”
Her father rushed to silence her. “Hush, Juliette, when the king speaks. Sire, all three of my daughters are special. Why, the very same blind man would not need his sight to see how . . . fetching they are.”
It was Pa’s way of saying they were all beautiful, but she wished he wouldn’t.
“Of course,” the king said, still in a magnanimous mood. “So here is my decision. I have kin in France. The particular young man I am thinking of is a member of my extended family. He is a prince. And your daughter deserves no less. He belongs to the French royal court. I believe it prudent he marry a Scots girl, a lass who holds special sway with the Almighty. You, my dear, are now an honorary Scotswoman. I have decided you shall wed a French prince.”
Vienna and Sybilla jumped up, clapped, and ran to her. Sybilla, beaming with pride, spoke first. “Juliette, you shall be a princess, a royal French princess. You are the luckiest girl on Earth.”
Juliette tried to arrange her features into a smile. Her father was laughing and swigging the king’s finest wine.
The king raised his goblet. “I propose a toast. Raise your mugs. To Juliette, the new Princess of France.”
They gulped and cheered and made much ruckus. She raised the goblet to her lips but found she had no thirst. Her gaze wandered to Tam. He was staring at the king, his face thunderstruck.
The king raised his hand for quiet. “My kin arrives from France first thing on the morrow. Today, we make wedding preparations. We have a fine gown at the ready. It will only need the tiniest alteration to fit your slender form. The wedding shall be held late on the morrow, aft the prince has rested. Juliette, you will meet your husband at the altar. Go now and rest.”
Juliette barely heard her sisters’ words of congratulations. They talked much of gowns and hair styles and French castles. As she trailed them down the stairwell leading to the sleeping chambers, she heard Tam’s voice ring out.
“Juliette, a word if you please.”
She faced her sisters. “You go on. We shall talk soon.” And she hurried after Tam before they had time to object.
Taking her firmly by the arm, he led her into a greeting room off the great hall. Tam slammed the door closed and then looked down at her with pain on his face. “I am wroth with the king. I told him yester-noon that I have arrived at my decision. That I wanted your hand. I want to wed you myself.”
“What?”
He stomped around the room. “I know, I know. I have made a huge mess of things.” Then he rushed back to her and scooped her into his arms. “I didn’t think I deserved another wife and another shot at happiness. I’d failed Helena and couldn’t bear the thought of failing another deserving woman. And then I promised God I would make amends for Helena’s death by remaining unwed.”
She looked up into his troubled eyes. “And what has changed? The fact that I am to belong to another?”
“What? Nay. I am not so shallow.”
How had things gone so awry? Tam wanted her, at last. But now she was promised to another.
“I’ll tell you what changed. I opened my eyes. I realised I was in love with you, and God wished me to take you as wife. Otherwise, he would not have thrown us together.”
It should have
been music she heard, but instead his sweet words tortured her soul. “Tell the king. You must tell the king.”
“I have tried. He says I no longer deserve you. You are too good for me. You deserve royalty and nothing less. The king insists you live in the utmost luxury with the title of princess.”
She pulled away from him. “A few moons ago, when I was still in my father’s manor lands, I would have relished such a marriage. But now, I want none of those things. I do not care to live in luxury. I do not want a pampered and wasteful life. I need to be useful. I want my life to have meaning.”
Tam made a sound like a wounded animal.
She continued, “I have heard of the carrying’s on in the French court. Husbands have no affection for their wives. Wives are merely vessels for bearing children. The husbands have lemans, and it is these court women who hold the men’s love and loyalty. It is their lemans they turn to when they are lonely. Fidelity is not prized or even expected, not even from the wives.”
“Run away. We will flee together.”
She shook her head. “We will not. You are to be made Laird of Ross soon, and I hear lands and a grand castle are coming your way. You will have a great many folk to care for and to fight for. Your life will have purpose. You shall be remembered for the great work you do.”
Tam’s face was murderous. “I shall be miserable without you.”
“You will recover. Anyway, highborn people like us are not meant to marry for love. We marry for duty.”
Tam scooped her up into his arms. “Behind all that duty talk, can I assume you love me too?”
She smiled through her watery eyes. “I will do as the king wishes. But you have my heart, Tam, and you always will. I will marry this silly French prince, but you have already stolen me. I shall never recover. I no longer own a warm heart to give a husband. Only duty, a lifetime of duty, tis all he shall get from me.”
Chapter 23
Vienna pulled back the barn door and slipped inside. Whenever she needed time to think, or wanted peace or time alone, she sought out the company of animals. Everyone was readying themselves for the feast this eve so she’d not be missed. She heard one of the stable boys mucking out a stall, and waved.
“Don’t mind me,” she said. “I’m just admiring the king’s horses.”
He waved back. “Aye, he’s quite a collection.”
She dawdled past a friendly palfrey, and, deciding that he was docile, leaned in and scratched his neck. “Well, my beauty, what shall I do about Juliette? She’s madly in love with Tam and yet the king is marrying her off to another man. Even worse, he’s sending her to France.” She dropped her hand and moved on. There was a ruckus at the end of the barn. Even from where she was, she could see a large cream stallion bucking and jumping. She bolted down to investigate and was almost at the stall before she noticed the man attempting to calm him. Form the cut of his cloth, he was no stableman.
“Woah, calmez-vous.” He offered the horse his hand. “Mon beau cheval.”
Vienna stepped forward. “He is indeed a beautiful horse. Is he yours?”
“If only! No, I am here for the wedding on the morrow. And then I shall return to Paris.”
Vienna studied his disarming features, so perfectly proportioned, and yes, so pretty. “I’m visiting too, but I’m not from France.”
He smirked. “You, with your peaches-and-cream skin, could only be from England.”
She nodded, aware of his French flattery but enjoying it all the same. The cream stallion was calmer now so she offered her hand. The horse sniffed and rolled his lips.
“Are you a friend of the bride?” he asked.
“The sister, actually. I’m Vienna, Juliette’s younger sister.”
“Augustus. Pleased to meet you.” He shook her hand. They stood companionably together in silence.
“You have a way with animals,” he said in his perfect English.
“You too.”
He nodded. “I’m afraid I’m better with animals than with people.”
Vienna turned to stare at him. “Me too. I love all animals. People are trickier.”
“Aren’t they just? Tell me, Vienna, what do you think of pigs?”
In her enthusiasm, she inched toward him. “I love pigs. They’re one of my favourite animals.”
He jolted backward. “Now you are jesting with me.”
“I am not. I once kept a piglet in my bed chamber until Nanny found out.”
He shrugged. “And what is wrong with keeping a pig in a bed? I’m a firm believer that pigs should be given houses all of their own. In France, our pigs run wild and get into all manner of bother. Just this morn, I persuaded King Alexander to build a piggery for his sows. His pigs enjoy the high life eating acorns in his oak forests and chestnuts in his chestnut groves. But sometimes they get into the serfs’ fields too.”
Vienna searched her purse for a carrot. “I think pigs enjoy running free. Tis much more fun than being penned in.”
“Of course, but we must think of the poor serfs. In France it is common for pigs to ransack villages and even attack people. And when damage is done, tis not the owner of the pig who is blamed, but the pig himself.”
Vienna broke off a bit of carrot and offered it to the stallion. “Pigs get into trouble in England too. A few moons back, a pig bit off a child’s ear.”
His words rushed out in enthusiasm. “Last year in a monastery in France, a man was killed by pigs. The French are a crazy race. Instead of blaming the pig farmer for not keeping his herd secure, the French courts accused the pigs of murder and sentenced them to death. Even worse, all the pigs that had watched on, who grunted and did nothing to help, were also sentenced to death. The court decided that the onlooking pigs approved of the assault and did nothing to stop the attack.”
Vienna paced the width of the barn. Strangely, she was too excited to stand still. “Why does everyone expect animals to live up to human standards?”
The Frenchman led Vienna to a seat on a hay bale. “Oh, that pig story of mine is mild. In France, we are capable of being so much crazier than everyone else. Did you know that, in one of our towns, the lord of the castle sent his rats a letter? He wrote asking them to please leave his building. He politely asked them to remain in the fields. Then he pinned his letter in the town square for the rats to read.”
Vienna laughed. “What literate rats you have in France. But that reminds me of a story I heard. It was also about France. Mayhap you could tell me if there is any truth to the story?”
“I shall try.”
“It’s about weevils. Supposedly, the folk from a town in France took the weevils to court for damaging their grape harvest. Have you ever heard such nonsense?”
“Tis a true story, I assure you. The town was St. Julien. The townsfolk saw reason and offered the weevils a compromise. The weevils were gifted a stretch of land and asked to leave the grapes alone. We are still waiting to see if the weevils are happy with our solution.”
She covered her mouth but the giggle escaped.
He studied her. “Is your sister as beautiful as you?”
Vienna felt herself blush. “Some say she is more beautiful.”
He shook his head. “Not possible. And does she love animals as much as you?”
“Not quite as much. Juliette is intent on helping people. Whereas my heart goes out to animals first.”
“And mine. I am the same.”
Vienna stood and stretched her back. “I’d better be off before someone notices me gone. I assume I’ll see you at the wedding on the morrow?”
“You will indeed. I cannot wait to speak again.”
She looked back at him knowing her eyes gave her away. ‘Twas not possible to hide the strange excitement she felt.
“Till tomorrow t
hen.” She bolted for the door.
Chapter 24
King Alexander swirled the claret around his mug. Aye, he’d always been fond of his nephew, Augustus. And the lad had improved with age. The young prince had some captivating ideas about farming. Animal Husbandry. That was the term Augustus used. The prince was keen to breed farm animals, healthier and fatter farm animals that produced more milk and wool and fed more folk. What a grand notion! Of course, he as King, should have the biggest animals of all. He had a mind to keep the young prince here, on Scottish soil. Aye, it was a grand idea. Prince Augustus could have his own castle and lands here in the Highlands and begin his new breeding program forthwith. His folk in Paris did not care about farming. All they cared about was bedding pretty women. Augustus was better than that.
The king jumped at the knock. His servant entered. “Laird Tam is here to see you.”
The king sighed. “Show him in then.” The words were barely out of his mouth before Tam was racing across the boards.
“Sire, I must insist—”
“Insist, Tam? Is it your place to insist on anything?”
Tam was agitated, and in more of a state than the king had seen in a while.
“Out with it then. What has upset you so?”
“You cannot give Juliette to your nephew.”
“And why not?”
“Because she belongs to me.”
The king raised his brows. “I gave you plenty of time. At any stage you could have offered the girl your hand in marriage.”
Tam paced again. “Forgive me, Sire. I am a fool. An idiot of the lowest order. I deserve to lose my princess. Only, I cannot bear the thought.” He turned to face his king. “I am here to broker a deal, Sire, a deal to secure Juliette’s hand.”
Thistles and Thieves Page 19
