Free A Whisper of Rosemary by Colleen Gleason Page B

catch up with her, and he stepped into her stride just as they came out of the stable. “Why do you nip at my heels like a starving pup?” she demanded.
     
    “ I am interested, ’tis all,” he said with all sincerity. “I was intrigued by your story this morrow about the cooper and his wife…and your gift of healing.”
     
    Maris stopped and turned to face him full in the bailey. A huge ball of the sun peered over the wall of the courtyard, and her resulting squint was most unladylike—yet endearing—as she looked up at him. “Interested, you say?” she asked.
     
    “ Aye. I know many noble ladies, and many well landed ones such as yourself, and I have yet to meet one who stays out till all hours of the night to midwife a cooper’s woman. ’Tis true, my lady mother will see to the ills of her people, aye, and I’ve met others that do the same—but, all too often, ’tis only at their convenience.”
     
    “ People do not become ill to convenience their healers,” Maris said with disdain, those full lips flattening. “’Twas near the first thing I was taught—after which plant is deadly hemlock, of course,” she smiled at him. Her nose was red with cold and her cheeks soon to follow and she looked quite lovely as she jested with him.
     
    He grinned down at her, suddenly light hearted for the first time since he heard the news of his father. “It was, I’m certain, an informative bit of knowledge.”
     
    “ Aye, yet not as important as creating a draught to rid one of arrogant knights who tear down upon one like a demon in the dark of night,” she said dryly, turning away and pulling up her hood to cover her shiny reddish-brown hair.
     
    “ Aye, well, I would pay well the woman who could create a draught to whittle away the tartness of a particular Lady of Langumont. I vow, my mouth puckers less at the taste of a lemon than at her wit.”
     
    “ You dare to speak of my mother in such a manner?” A little giggle escaped from her lips, and she looked up at him, her eyes dancing. “I should toss you out on your ear for taking such liberties!”
     
    A thick strand of hair blew in her face and caught at the corner of her mouth. She brushed it away and sobered. “In truth, Sir Dirick, your sincere interest is unfamiliar to me. More oft than not, men of your ilk turn tail or the subject, rather than hear the extent of my duties at Langumont.” She brushed her heavy cloak over her torso, “And, now, ’tis well past time for me to tend to those duties. I have kept you from your own work long enough.”
     
    “ Nay, my lady, you have kept me from naught,” Dirick was quick to respond, tightening his hands deep in the warmth of his tunic. It was quite frigid on this side of the bailey, where the slightest breeze seemed to catch and swirl brazenly about.
     
    Maris smiled. “Very well, sir. But I am off to Mass and then about my duties.” She turned to make her way toward Langumont’s tiny chapel.
     
    “ My lady.” He was in her footsteps as if pulled by a rope. She turned and he felt foolish. “Lady Maris, I do not know where the chapel is and I am in need of absolution,” he said.
     
    She gestured him forward, “Come, then, to Mass and Father Abraham will see you after.”
     
    “ Aye, my lady, and thank you.”
     
    ~*~
     
    Verna crept up the dim, cold steps that led to the upper chambers of the keep. The sounds of busyness from below drifted up to her keen ears. And though she listened for the sound of her mistress’s voice, she knew that Lady Maris was gone about her work in the village and would not return for several hours.
     
    On the floor above the great hall, several chambers were set into the tall stone walls. There was Lady Allegra’s solar, where the seamstresses worked, the private chamber of the lord and lady, several smaller chambers for important guests, and, finally, Verna’s destination.
     
    Lady Maris’s chamber was the last along the narrow, dimly lit