Free Stealing Heaven by Marion Meade Page B

might have been pretty, like her daughter, but it was impossible to tell now.
    After a moment, Lady Marie said mechanically, "Well then. Alis will look after you."
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    For all its seeming gaiety, its seeming country normality, there were things about Saint-Gervais that puzzled Heloise. That evening, which was Christmas Eve, everyone in the castle rode over the hill to the village of Saint-Gervais, where they heard mass in the church. Afterward, while they were braiding their hair for the night, Heloise noticed a girl huddled on a pallet in the corner. With her petaled black eyes and tousled hair, she looked remarkably like a doll that had been hugged shapeless. When Heloise smiled at her, she stared back, and then it became evident that the child had a humor: her face shone with a waxy pallor and smudgy violet shadows ringed her eyes.
    "Greetings, friend," called Heloise, who was feeling merry from the wine and the mass. "Joyeux Noel!"
    But there was no answer from the dark damsel, not even a glint of expression in the eyes.
    Taken aback, Heloise nudged Alis. "What's wrong with her?" she whispered, motioning to the corner. "Is she deaf and dumb?"
    Alis barely glanced around. "Oh. Don't bother with her. She doesn't speak the langue d'oil." She was pulling off her shift. Her body glowed pink and soft-fleshed as a ripe peach. "She's from Castile."
    "Really? What a long way from home."
    Alis threw her a look of surprise. "Why, this is her home. She belongs to Thibaut. He bought her from a caravan of traders, a year ago Allhallows it must have been."
    In silence, Heloise crawled under the coverlet while trying to digest and assess this news. She had never heard of a Christian buying another human being. Only the paynim kept slaves, and they lived on the other side of the world. Entranced, she propped herself against a pillow and stared at the girl. "I've not seen her downstairs," she said to Alis finally.
    "Uncle forbids it. She's not to leave this chamber until you and Fulbert have returned to Paris." Alis crawled under the furs and huddled close to Heloise.
    "Why?"
    "She's breeding, didn't you notice? Six months or more." Alis laughed harshly. "Well, I guess she can't help it. She's only a whore."
    Heloise shivered. The Spanish damsel appeared to be about ten years of age, although obviously her true age must be older. Still, she looked like a child. Heloise studied the girl's smoky eyes and the delicate curve of her heart-shaped face, and as she stared, she tried to understand what it all meant. Just as she was on the point of comprehension, the thought splintered and slithered aimlessly into a gaping void.
    A servingwoman blew out the candle. In the darkness, Heloise twitched restlessly, her body bundled tightly between Alis and a second cousin. Their hospitality was all very fine, but she was accustomed to sleeping alone and felt miserably cramped. She wished that she were home again.
    Alis stroked her hair. 'Tell me something, cousin—how do you know when a man is in love with you? Oh, I wish somebody would fall in love with me, some handsome knight who plays the lute. But really I'll take anybody, so long as he's young. He wouldn't have to play anything." Breathing into Heloise's ear, her voice turned soft and tearful.
    Heloise, uninterested, said placidly, "It should be perfectly easy for you to marry. You're very pretty."
    "You don't know what you're saying!" wheezed Alis. "Thibaut—"
    An exasperated voice interrupted. "Shut up, Alis. You'll keep us up all night."
    "Shut up yourself." In ragged hisses, she whispered very fast into Heloise's ear. "If my sainted father hadn't been killed in the Holy Land, he would be lord of Saint-Gervais. And my lady mother would be mistress and we'd all have fine dowries."
    "But surely Uncle owes you dowries—"
    "Oh cousin, Thibaut is a pig. Didn't he marry Mabile to a man with one eye? And doesn't he keep threatening to send Claude to the convent of Sainte-Catherine?" She