quite,â Meg said. âThere is more water, see?â
âYou and your Glendruid ways,â Eadith said, shaking her head. âI will mark the passage of the sun with the churchâs bells.â
As though to emphasize the handmaidenâs words, the bells pealed again. Meg bowed her head and touched the silver cross that lay between her bare breasts.
âMâlady?â
Eadith waited for Megâs attention. The handmaidenâs arms were overflowing with the unusual silver garment that Old Gwyn had brought out the day the king had decreed that Lady Margaret of Blackthorne would marry Dominic le Sabre. The dress wasnât new. Lady Anna had been married in it, and Annaâs mother as well. Like the water remaining within the silver Glendruid bowl, the cloth shimmered subtly, as though infused with ancient moonlight.
Meg looked at the dress and remembered what Gwyn had said: May you give birth to a son .
Now Meg wondered if the wedding dress, like the clock, had been passed down from mother to daughter through all the years, and if each daughter had donned it hoping that she would be the one to give birth to a Glendruid son.
Dearest God, grant us peace .
âLady Margaret, we really must hurry.â
Reluctantly Meg turned from watching the measured dripping of water from silver bowl to ebony basin.
âThe priest is always slow,â she said absently. âHe dresses more carefully than any bride.â
âMore carefully than you, âtis certain!â
âDominic le Sabre is marrying Blackthorne Keep, not me. He would marry me if I arrived wearing sackcloth and ashes.â
âEven so, you must look finer than that Norman whore.â
Meg tore her mind away from the remorseless glide of water from silver to black, drops sliding into darkness as surely as Blackthorne Keep into war.
âWhat?â she asked.
âLa Marie,â Eadith muttered, giving the woman the nickname she had earned from the servants who were constantly attending her needs. âThe men canât look away from her, whether they be Norman swine or Saxon nobles.â
âIf the men are like crows, captivated by all that flashes brightly, then let them go to the lemanâs well.â
âThey are dogs, not crows,â Eadith said bitterly. âA red-lipped smile, a wink, perfumed breath, a leg shown and then hidden as she climbs a stairâ¦they follow her like dogs after a bitch in heat. And Duncan is at the head of the pack.â
âIf he sickens from her much-used well,â Meg said calmly, âI have a tonic that will put him right once more.â
Eadith said nothing.
When Meg saw the unhappiness in her handmaidenâs face, she realized how deeply Eadith had counted on attracting Duncanâs eye.
ââTis for the best,â Meg said, touching her handmaidenâs arm. âYour father was a thane. So was your husband. You deserve better in life than to be Duncanâs leman.â
The sour curve of Eadithâs lips said she disagreed. With quick, strong hands she shook out the silver cloth.
âWere it not for Duncanâs ambition, I would have been his wife ,â Eadith said bitterly. âBut he was ever longing for land and I have neither wealth nor land to give him. So I will be a poor manâs wife. Pah. Better to be a rich manâs leman!â
âBetter to be an untamed falcon, free of men and wealth alike.â
âEasy for you to say,â Eadith retorted. âIn yonder church stands a knight whose wealth in gems and gold is thrice your weight when you stand fully dressed. Before the bells ring the end of day, you will be one of the richest wives in all of England.â
ââTis the first kind word Iâve heard leave your lips about Dominic le Sabre.â
âIf one must be a Norman swine, then one should at least be a rich Norman swine. Then the priests will be well paid for the lies they will
J.A. Konrath, Bernard Schaffer