Free Sanctuary of Roses by Colleen Gleason Page B

the intricacy of the embroidery.
    She wondered, suddenly, if Lady Mal Verne,
at least, was able to soften the harshness in his face and
demeanor.
    “Methinks this blue for the undertunic,”
Tricky was saying as she eyed Madelyne and then the cloth, and back
again.
    “You are well thought,” nodded Peg, her
jowls jiggling. “With her hair of such dark color, and her eyes
like a pale moon—aye, she makes me think of mine own sister, whose
hair was so long and thick as mine is. And my own auntie, well,
’twas her pride and joy this hair of our family, and when she had
the ague, she must had it cut and how she bewailed that fate for
days!”
    The two women huddled together for a moment,
throwing occasional glances over their shoulders at Madelyne.
Tricky’s arms gesticulated wildly, punctuating her bobbing head,
and Peg nodded and murmured, nodded and tsked, and expounded on her
reactions with rambling sentences of family anecdotes.
    Madelyne, a bit discomfited with what she
deemed as a conspiracy against her, sank into the tub and attempted
to block out the two women and their chatter. A faint, wry smile
did curve her face as she succumbed to the realization that Tricky
had found her mentor, and that she, Madelyne, would likely be the
pawn in her learning game.
    The scent of roses filled her nose, for the
first time ever not related to the duties of making rose beads.
And, as if she was smelling it for the first time, Madelyne inhaled
and closed her eyes, enjoying the sweetness of the floral scent.
The steaming water was heavenly, such that she paused for a
moment—albeit a brief one—to thank God for her safe arrival, and to
contemplate whether ’twas a sin that she should enjoy such an
earthly pleasure. Baths, although available at the abbey, were only
occasional and never this warm and sweet. Most often they were a
dip in the nearby stream, or a few hands of lukewarm water.
    Tricky dug soap scented with basil and
rosemary from a small crock, using it to clean under Madelyne’s
fingernails and to wash the grime and sweat from all parts of her
body. Even the black rose-petal stains had faded when she was
finished.
    The loosing of Madelyne’s braid after two
days relieved the tightness of her skull, and the pleasure-pain of
it had her sighing in soft delight. How wonderful it felt when Peg
began to pour warm water over her thick hair, and how much more
like heaven on earth could it be when she used her strong fingers
to massage her scalp!
    It was not until she stood in front of the
fire, wrapped in a soft blanket, that Madelyne remembered the
clothing. She held out a hand to stop Tricky as she approached with
the blue undergown.
    “Nay, Tricky, I cannot wear such fine
clothing. You of all know that I’m promised to our Lord God, and
that I cannot in good conscience don flamboyant finery. Peg, ’tis
not my place to use that which belongs to Lady Mal Verne.”
    The two women exchanged glances, and Tricky
nodded as if to give Peg permission to respond. “My lady, I am
sorry, but your clothing has been taken to be washed. And, ’tis the
lord’s orders that you dress as befits your station, as the Lady of
Tricourten. Wherever that land may be, certainly the women there do
not see such simple gowns as flamboyant.” She gestured to the
overtunic, which was pale blue, embroidered with gold and silver
threads. “This is but a plain gown, my lady, by standards at court.
And verily, you will wear aught that is more up to date when you
join the king.”
    Peg sighed, smoothing a hand over the
embroidery that rimmed the edges of the overtunic, her eyes taking
on a far-away look. “I remember that day when mine own baby Shirl
went to care for one of the queen’s ladies, and how she pored over
the patterns and cloths and threads to be certain that she should
dress in her finest, and that all that she brought with her for her
lady was the most beautiful to be had from Lockswood, and even
there at court ’twas as if she