"Aunt?” Ellen called softly, almost afraid to disturb the woman's inner thoughts.
Margaret closed her eyes and let the vision of her husband fade, then turned to answer her niece's question. Her hesitation seemed more like a moment's contemplation of an answer, then it did the recall of a beloved memory. “You know there are few women fortunate to marry for love. Since time began, marriages have been made by parents to further a family's prosperity, or create alliances in times of war. A bride has nothing to say about her parents’ choice of husband for her. She can only make the best of the marriage. Everything she brings to the marriage belongs to her husband. She is expected to do her wifely duty, look after his home, and care for his children.
"You are fortunate your father will allow you to make your own choice. Even now, he sees you have good judgment.” Margaret looked to her niece and gave the young girl a tentative smile.
"Yes, I consider myself fortunate, but how would I know if I love?” Ellen continued her stare, as if looking at her aunt would somehow keep the woman from answering. Having asked the question, Ellen was not sure she wanted to hear the answer. What if her own suppositions were incorrect and her feelings misread? “Did you love your husband before you wed?"
Margaret laughed. “No, I did not. I first met Will a few years after our parents signed the betrothal contracts. I thought he was the most arrogant, pompous, boy I had ever met, and I was determined to find some escape from the contracts. My parents expected me to behave a certain way. Unfortunately, I was somewhat like you and your mother, but only to a small degree. Will believed I was spoiled and willful. In some ways, I suppose I was. We argued constantly, before and after the nuptials. You never heard two people argue as much as we did. I truly believed we were doomed.
"One day word a messenger arrived to tell me my parents had died of the sweating sickness. We were staying with Will's family and could not go back to my parents’ home because the illness was still rampant in the village. I wept for days and Will did his best to console me. It was then, we discovered just how much we did love. Not long after my parents’ deaths, Will was expected to go on crusade. That was nine -no ten—years ago. I received a few letters the first three years. There has been no word since."
Ellen stared at her aunt, wide eyed. “Do you truly think he is still alive?"
"Oh, yes, child. I know he is.” Margaret's face was lit with the assurance of one who knows a too long kept secret. “If you truly love someone, you would know in here, if they are lost to you.” She placed a delicate hand over her heart, emphasizing her point.
"If you believe, then why does the king insist you wed again?"
"He can insist all he pleases, but it will gain him nothing. If you truly love David, dear niece, you will know it.” Margaret frowned with dislike at the thought of being forced to wed again, then turned away from her needlework to stare out over the gardens. The king may believe I am widowed, but even a widow does not have to marry again if she chooses not to. Perhaps he expects me to pay a price to keep my freedom. Will's father still lives, so there can be no gain for a second husband, there. My family's property is under Hugh's guardianship, until Gordon reaches his majority. He is the closest male heir and it should all go to him.
Ellen put a few more stitches into her work then set it aside. She needed solitude to explore the direction these new feelings were taking, and decided to go up onto the wall walk. When she left the solar, her steps were slow and measured, while she considered her aunt's words. Ellen had ignored Gordon's and David's teasing ways the last few years, but they were slowly becoming a source of irritation. Only Gordon proved to be a buffer in her ongoing arguments with David, and her brother would not do that forever.
A gentle breeze blew across the moors and Ellen closed her eyes to it, enjoying the coolness. I have to get control of my feelings or David and Gordon will never cease their teasing. Maybe today was my fault. Maybe I should never have gone near the training yard, but David was wrong to shout at me as he did. Does he know how I feel? I would die if he thought me a foolish child. I do not know what to do. Ellen sighed.
There seemed to be no answers to her dilemma. Later, there would be plenty of time to contemplate what to do. Right now she had chores to attend to in the great hall, and it was best she got to them. She hurried down the winding staircase from wall walk to great hall. Her slippers slid against the smooth stone, almost sending her flying into the walls. She barely slowed her pace to avoid tumbling the rest of the way down. Ellen paused at the bottom of the staircase to catch her breath, then glided into the great hall, as if nothing of importance were on her mind.
Ellen joined her aunt, and kept herself busy seeing to preparations for the evening meal. With Margaret's guidance, she was learning to plan meals and direct the work. She kept the servants scurrying back and forth, bringing in baskets of bread and setting out trays of goblets to be filled later. Wine carafes were set on the head table, while flagons of ale were set out for the soldiers.
Her earlier talk with Lady Margaret gave her a fresh perspective of her situation, and had her asking herself many questions. Ellen's face flushed as she still felt rather humiliated by her behavior in the solar, and dreaded seeing David at supper. Had he added to her embarrassment and shared a good laugh with Gordon?
"Where have you been hiding?” Gordon asked, playfully tugging on her thick braid.
Ellen was startled by Gordon's voice near her ear. “I haven't been hiding. I have duties to see to.” She glanced around the hall, at the off duty soldiers coming in for supper. “Where is he?” she asked casually, hoping, but knowing she would not fool her brother. Gordon did not act as if David had told him about the pillow fight, at least not yet. David was probably waiting until the three of them were together. It would be a means to get back at her for the way she embarrassed him in the training yard. It did not matter she had not done it deliberately.
Her brother feigned innocence and gave her a bewildered look. “Who might ‘who’ be?” A wide grin told Ellen what he really thought.
Ellen sighed and took a deep breath. “David.” Her reply came out more sharply than she intended. Would she never be able to hide what she was thinking?
Gordon shook his head. “Have you not heard? His father has sent for David. There is trouble brewing in Scotland, and it seems they have been summoned to appear before their king. I do not know when David will return, or if he will."
Ellen bit her tongue and held back a response. So this is how he gets back at me—by leaving without so much as a ‘by your leave’ ... No one will ever know how much David's hasty departure hurts. “Good riddance,” she declared and held her head high as she went back to work. He is welcome to go to court and stay there for all I care. He can have his pick of those fancy court ladies. If he cares so little, then it is better he left without a word, but he will never ever hurt me again. She refused to let his sudden departure bother her, but knew she was only lying to herself. What a fool she had been to think he might care for her as someone more than just a friend, or a sprite. She said a little prayer she would never again hear his pet name for her.
CHAPTER TEN
Four years later...
Sixteen year old Ellen sat silently in the schoolroom, just as she had for the last ten years. Father Bernard had spent the better part of the last four years complaining about her silence. Since David and Gordon had completed their education, they had left the priest's tutelage for other things, leaving Ellen alone with the bothersome man.
"Ten years I have tolerated your silence, for your father's sake. I could not find it in myself to tell him his daughter is dimwitted and has learned nothing from me."
Ellen looked up from the parchment she had been staring at. “Oh, I have learned a great deal from you, Father, do not think I have not."
Bernard sat back in his chair, surprised. His wide girth barely fit between the chair's arms. “She speaks! She has a voice! Saints be praised.” He responded sarca
stically, and stared back at her.
"Do you truly believe my father knows nothing of what you think of me? My father is no fool."
"Then your father refuses to recognize the truth. You can not and will never learn anything. You are only able to do what God has purposed for you. Even in that, I have my doubts of your success. Any child of yours will undoubtedly prove to be as unteachable as you have been these many years. You are a daughter of Eve..."
"A daughter of Eve who is only capable of learning feminine wiles to lead good men astray. I have heard that sermon a thousand times. Fortunately, I still do not believe it. But for the sake of argument, Father Bernard, what is wrong with a man's tongue, that he can not say ‘no’ when a woman tries to lead him astray? How can it be, that men direct women's lives, but are suddenly innocent of sin when they are tempted by a weaker vessel?"
Bernard sputtered at Ellen's audacity, and ignored her questions. “You are no different than was your mother. She was wild and indifferent to her place."
Ellen's anger, usually slow to rise, showed itself quickly. She had learned to ignore the priest's diatribe over the years, but when he belittled her mother ... “You will not speak of my mother in that way. Lady Anne was a good woman. She was not wild, but enjoyed being a free spirit. She loved life, and her family, and treated her servants well. Never before have I heard anyone speak ill of her, and I will not tolerate your doing so. You will refrain from ever mentioning her name again."
Bernard sat back in his chair, a shocked look on his face. “You dare to speak that way to a man of God?"
"A man of God?” Ellen asked incredulously. “You've proven yourself a ‘man’ with daughters of Eve. Is that your way of convincing them to give up their sinful ways? Do you teach them it is a sin to feel pleasure while you indulge yourself? Do you think I do not know whom it was that ran to my father with false tales of Stephen Hunter having his way with me?” Ellen braced her hands on the small table and stood slowly. She stared at the priest with a look of disgust. “I have known for years what sort of man you are. You are a hypocrite of the worst sort. I am thankful I need not return here for further instruction from you."
Bernard slumped back in his chair and a sigh of relief escaped his lips.
Ellen gracefully stepped away from the table, then looked down at the scrolls lying before the priest. She reached down and picked up one of them, then took her time unrolling it. She examined the contents, a puzzled look across her features. She read the text aloud in flawless Latin. When she was finished, she glanced up at Bernard and was pleased to see his mouth hung open like a hooked fish, and the shocked look in his eyes.
She released one end of the scroll and let it roll up on itself, then casually dropped it on the table. “Who is dimwitted?” she asked smartly, then strolled out of the room.
* * * *
"Well done, sister."
Ellen's face turned a shade of pink as she halted in the corridor where her brother stood, applauding enthusiastically. “You heard that,” she asked, cautiously.
"I had not intended to, but could not resist. The one time you speak up to that pompous priest, and you put him in his place. I was surprised, Ellen, but proud of you. Bernard may think twice before belittling you again. But do not underestimate him. He will find a way to redeem himself, at least in his own eyes.” Gordon took his sister's hand and slipped it through his arm. “Pity David could not be here to witness your triumph."
"The man has been gone these last four years without a word. Why would you wish him here now?"
"Do I hear a note of bitterness in your voice, sister?” Gordon glanced at Ellen as they strolled along the short corridor to the staircase. He stopped and turned to look at her.
"'Tis your imagination, ‘brother',” she countered.
Gordon chuckled, and patted her hand. “Shall we find Papa and tell him of your victory?"
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ellen peered around the staircase into the great hall, trying to avoid being seen. “Is he gone?” she asked her maid, standing below her on the last step. Ellen scanned the faces of the guests, hoping she would not find one in particular.
"If you mean Lord Nicholas, my lady, I have not seen him. He may have gone with the others on the hunt."
"Lord Nicholas? Hunt?” Ellen scoffed, and narrowed her eyes at Muriel's own questioning expression. “He would do nothing to ruin his pretty clothes,” she finished -not as she had—again. She glanced down at the smudges on her gown, then looked up in time to catch Muriel's disapproving gaze, as it swept over the mussed clothing. Time and again, Ellen could see the maid's despair about her ever becoming a real lady. Ellen clung to her hoydenish ways, an affective method of discouraging her many suitors. She never forgot her last retort to David, and, although he had not returned in the last four years, her heart belonged to him. She sighed. He was probably married now, to some fine lady of the Scottish court. Perhaps the time had finally arrived, to stop dreaming of dark ‘gypsy’ features and laughing black eyes, and offer some encouragement to her persistent suitors.
She sighed again. In the last four years, she had received not a single word of apology or encouragement from the man she loved. Did he not care for her at all? Or did he still think of her as a little girl? Several times, Gordon had received notes from David, and Ellen held her breath every time, hoping there would be some word for her, some hint of hope for his return, only to be disappointed again.
She took the disappointment and turned it into determination, to be the best pupil Stephen had ever taught. The lessons helped distract her mind from what she wanted most, and as a result, her hunting and tracking skills could one day, rival those of her teacher.
Ellen spied her brother, and hoped to slip away to the garden before he saw her, but she hesitated a moment too long. Gordon's grin hinted at some devilment, as it often did of late, making her suspicious. “What have you been up to, Gordon?"
His grin grew wider, and his answer was cryptic, as usual. “Soon enough you will know, dear sister, but I do believe Lord Nicholas has been asking after you.” Gordon walked away chuckling.
Ellen pouted a moment. Whatever Gordon was hiding really had nothing to do with her. If it did, it could not be all that important, or he would have given her some sort of hint. If they were expecting more guests, then she would be told. She and Lady Margaret shared the responsibility of seeing to it their guests were quartered and provided for. Gordon was up to no good. She did, however, silently thank her brother for the warning about Nicholas, and slipped out of the great hall, into the garden, unnoticed by the guests.
Ellen spent the morning weeding her herb patch, and plucked a few herbs for the kitchen and her medicine box. She brushed back loose strands of hair, leaving a smudge of dirt on her cheek. She should have braided her hair before working in the garden, but she had not planned doing this particular chore today. She sat back on her heels for a moment. Nicholas had spotted her in the great hall and she barely eluded him, vanishing into the garden. It was unlike her to play the part of a coward, but her sharp tongue caused her more problems lately than she cared to think about. Nicholas, more than any other, made her tongue all the sharper. She hoped he would not find her here. One never knew what that man was about.
Footsteps crunched on the path behind her. Ellen sighed with disappointment she had been found out, but chose to ignore them. If she pretended she did not hear, perhaps the intruder would go away without disturbing her. At the moment, she did not care to speak with anyone, preferring to be alone with her thoughts. A deep voice startled her.
"I believe I owe my lady an apology."
Ellen froze, and stared ahead over the rows of herbs, her concentration broken. Had she wished so hard to hear him speak again, that her imagination had conjured him out of thin air? Her heart told her he had returned after a long absence, but her mind refused to accept it. She stood up slowly, afraid to face the newcomer, but turned to him in spite of herself. He stood there, more hand
some than ever. His dark hair was longer, and touched his shoulders. His black eyes held the same devilish look her brother had been sporting of late. The shoulders were broader than she remembered, and the voice more cultured. David had come home ... or had he? “An apology, my lord? Since I have not seen you here before, what could you possibly have to apologize for?” She was not sure what he referred to, and refused to hazard a guess.
"The braids are gone, as is the child. You have become a beautiful woman, Ellen.” David paused a moment and brushed the dirt from her cheek. “But your tongue is as sharp as ever.” He took her hand in his and kissed her fingers. “I was wrong to scold you that day in the training yard. I never meant to hurt you. It was a boy's callous response to a bruised ego. I would have begged your forgiveness then, but that pillow fight, drove all thoughts of apology out of my head. I must admit, it was the most fun I had had in a great while. Then my father's message demanded I return to Scotland immediately.
"Am I forgiven?” David winced, for the apology was anything but. He suddenly seemed tongue-tied around the young woman he had watched grow for several years.
"And you did not see fit to send a message? I will have to think about forgiving you, David. You broke my heart. I will not give you the opportunity to do so again.” Ellen drew herself to her full height. Her dark chestnut hair flowed freely down her back. Her gray eyes sparkled with delight to see him again, despite her words. Unthinking, she rubbed her hands against her skirts to free them of loose dirt, and managed to soil her gown even more. Ellen groaned.
To Every Love, There is a Season Page 8
