Wings of the Storm (12 page)

He turned on his heel and was out of the hall before she could find anything to throw at him.

Just as well she hadn't tried to kill him, she fumed after he was gone. The man was too dangerous to provoke physically. She would never, ever give him an excuse to touch her. Besides, she added, more angry at herself than the Welshman, she should have seen that coming.

It was just a joke, wasn't it? He wouldn't. . .want to . . . you know . . . bed me, as they say in these parts.

She had two months to find out. Two months. But it wasn't Sir Daffyd she should be worrying about.

Who knew how long it would be before Stephan returned? She had to have results by then.

She grabbed her cape and hurried to the village to talk to Switha.

10

As
Jane expected, she found Sibelle
in the bedroom, on her knees, head bent in deep prayer. Nei-ther Marguerite nor Alais had hassled her about com-ing into the bower this time. In fact, the women seemed happy to see her. After poking her head briefly into the bedroom to check on the girl, Jane drew the older women aside.

"Do you want your mistress to be happy?" she asked.

"Oh, yes," Alais answered fervently.

"More than anything!" Marguerite echoed her senti-ment with a decisive nod.

"Good. So do I."

"Why?" Marguerite asked suspiciously, very much the dragon ready to defend her young.

Jane knew she could just order the women back to Sturry if they balked at her plans. She'd rather have their help. They'd probably been with Sibelle all her life. She seemed fond of them and they of her. It would be much better to have them encouraging and support-ive over the next few months. There wasn't any overnight cure to Sibelle's problems. The more peo-ple she had around her to help, the easier it would be for her.

Jane sat down on the window bench and motioned the women to be seated on the long bench next to the disused loom. She tucked her hands in her sleeves and leaned forward. Speaking in a low, confidential voice, she said, "The sooner I can enter an abbey, the happier I will be."

Alais nodded sympathetically. "I do miss the life at Davington."

"As do I," Marguerite chimed in, but not quite so enthusiastically.

"But my duty is also to care for Passfair," Jane explained with wistful resignation. "And my dear, kind kinsman Stephan." The women's expressions got a bit dreamy at the mention of this paragon of chivalry.

"He deserves a good wife," Jane continued. "One who can serve him. One who can cheerfully make his life comfortable and pleasant and give him all a man desires. Since your lady will be his wife, her duty is to serve him as he wishes to be served."

"Of course," Alais agreed wholeheartedly.

Marguerite nodded.

"I think Sibelle will be happiest if she can serve him properly."

Marguerite's nod was thoughtful this time. "Yes. That only makes sense."

"It would be awful for her if she couldn't please him," Alais contributed. "She's a gentle thing. It would be dreadful for her to be beaten and locked away."

"And just because she doesn't really know how to please him." Jane shook her head sadly at the perfidy of the male race. "Sir Stephan is—rightly, of course— very demanding of his womenfolk. Very strict.

There's so much she needs to learn before she can truly satisfy him. So much I would like to teach her before the day comes when I can take my vows at a house of prayer."

"Oh, do you think you can help her?" Alais asked eagerly. "My poor lamb knows nothing of the world."

"Nothing of men," Marguerite added tartly. "The monsters."

Jane clasped her hands together fervently. "I so want to try. Will you help me? I can't change her ways unless I have the two of you—her loving and constant companions and confidantes—to help keep her on the path that will bring her whatever joy a woman can find in this life."

"Oh, of course. Lady Jehane!" Alais breathed rev-erently. "Anything!"

Marguerite's reply was more fatalistic. "The rule of an order, or the rule of a husband, neither is any dif-ferent as far as obeying goes. All a woman must do is give herself up to the command of her superiors, and pray for the strength to never waver."

"I knew you'd understand. Thank you," Jane said, rising from the bench. "We will have a long talk this afternoon. Then I will tell you what needs to be done. Now I must talk to Sibelle."

"Of course," Alais answered, dark eyes alight with fervor and affection. "Go in to her. Hurry. We'll await your commands."

Jane gave the women a grateful smile. She hoped her shoulders weren't shaking too much with sup-pressed laughter as she crossed the bower to the bed-room.

Sibelle was still praying, head bent and hands clasped tightly.

Jane considered her thoughtfully. The girl was fif-teen years old, and she'd seen how she looked at Stephan. There was more on her mind than God. Even if she didn't exactly know what it is. She said,

"Lady Sibelle."

The girl looked up immediately. "Lady Jehane." She crossed herself, then sprang up, agile despite her bulk. She stood uncertainly, all of five feet one, cov-ered in more layers of mismatched finery than Jane could count.

Jane studied the nervously waiting girl with a dressmaker's eye. .How much bulk was there, really?

Thirty pounds? Forty? Hard to say. She was fine-boned. Toning up a lot of unused muscle would help.

Spring or summer coloring. Strong pastels would look good on her. The shades from modern dyes in the

silks Jane had brought would suit Sibelle better than the natural fiber dyes of the period. But she wasn't going to worry about clothes yet. Attitude adjustment first, wardrobe later. A reward for good behavior.

"Let's sit and talk," Jane said. Most of the small bedroom was taken up by the wide bed. There was a big clothes chest at the foot of the bed, a narrow win-dow seat and a short bench near the door. Jane seated herself on the chest while Sibelle chose the bench.

"Word came from Sturry this morning," Sibelle said abruptly. "My father still lives, though he's coughing up great gouts of blood. I was praying for his recovery."

"We will all pray for it," Jane replied. "You're a dutiful child, Sibelle."

"My father's wish was for me to spend my life in prayer."

"I see. When did you enter Davington?" Sibelle's fingers twitched, as though she were using them to count the years. "I was seven." Her expression brightened with fond memory. "I was sent to keep my granny Rosamunde company. She was very old, and a very great lady. She had such wonder-ful stories to tell." She bent her head and sighed. "While she lived I was happy. Then there was nothing but prayer."

"Which you're very good at," Jane commended her. "Still . . ." Sibelle's head rose in curiosity. "Still,"

Jane went on. "You're not under your father's com-mand anymore."

"No." The idea seemed to take Sibelle by terrified surprise. Hand to veiled throat, she whispered hoarsely, "Sir Stephan . .."

Jane nodded. "You must please him in all things."

"I want to try!" The girl's big blue eyes were shin-ing with adoration.

"I know what he wishes you to do. How he wishes you to behave when he returns."

"You do?" The girl sprang up from her seat. Hold-ing her clasped hands out dramatically toward Jane, she vowed, "I will do anything you say!"

Maybe this was going to be easier than she had expected, Jane thought with relief. "Good." She patted the bench. Sibelle came and sat beside her. "What do you know of courtly love? Of the rules of chivalry in courts like Eleanor of Aquitaine's? Have you heard of the Courts of Love and the songs of the troubadours?"

"I know Granny didn't like Queen Eleanor," was Sibelle's answer.

Jane ignored the urge to ask why. "Sir Stephan has been tutored in the ways of the Courts of Love," she said. "He will have his wife trained in all things gentle and amusing. A court lady must be knowledgeable in all the arts of pleasure."

"Oh!" The girl's cheeks were covered in bright splashes of pink. Her naturally large eyes were so wide, Jane was afraid they were going to spill out of her head.

She continued despite the girl's shock. "Pleasure of the senses, my dear. Not just of the flesh. You must learn to take pleasure in music." She just hoped there was somebody who knew how to play a lute at Passfair. "In the needle and the table. You must leam to manage a household so that its master is

constant-ly at his ease. You must leam the pleasures of riding and the hunt. Can you use a bow? Can you ride a horse?"

Sibelle shook her head at both questions. "I can weave. A little."

"Good. I've been meaning to have the loom repaired. As to riding and archery, you can learn. Raoul DeCorte and I will begin your lessons this very day." Thank God for Girl Scout Camp and Mom and the Medievalist Society.

"But.. ."

"Can you read? ... No. Well, I don't think we have any books at Passfair anyway. I grew up listening to the great poets who came to the court of Jerusalem. I will tell you all about Arthur, and Tristan and Isolde, and the feats of Guillaume le Marechal."

"Granny had lots of stories about King Henry."

Good for her, thought Jane. "And in order to start your training in running the household, I wish to ask a favor of you."

"Yes?" Sibelle asked with eager fervor. "Whatever you wish."

"The lady of a manor should know about nursing the sick."

"Oh, yes," Sibelle agreed. "Easing the suffering of the ill is so important."

"I thought you might think so. That's how I need you to help me."

"To nurse the ill?"

"Oh, much more than that, my dear." Jane took the girl's hands in hers and pressed them affection-ately.

"Switha is very wise in the ways of herbs and cures and distilling medicines. She knows every heal-ing root and grass and flower in the area. Her apprentice died in last winter's fever. She needs someone to pass her knowledge on to. Who better to know the healing arts than the lady everyone must turn to for kindness and charity?"

"Me?" .

"You."

"Do you think I could learn to be a healer?"

She could certainly give it a shot. It would give the girl something useful to do with her life. A career rather than sitting home with an embroidery hoop while waiting for Stephan to put in an appearance.

More important, Switha had already agreed to run Sibelle's buns off over every inch of hill and dale in the neighborhood. Nice, healthy, hard exercise com-bined with a practical education.

"Of course you can do it," Jane enthused. "You must listen to Switha very carefully and do everything she tells you. Remember that she is your teacher and not just a peasant woman."

Sibelle blinked her big eyes in wonder. It seemed the idea of doing something besides praying her life

away was sinking pleasantly into her consciousness. "I will work very hard. I promise."

Jane patted the girl's hands again. "I know you will. Now," she went on briskly. "There is one more thing I wished to consult you about. It's Lent, you know."

"Of course."

"Since we have no priests to care for our souls, I thought we might try to observe the season a bit more strictly than usual. To make up for the lack of spiritu-al guidance, you see."

Sibelle nodded slowly. "That might be wise."

"I'm glad you agree. I'm not thinking so much about services, since we can't have them anyway. I was thinking perhaps those of us at the high table should serve as an example of piety to those below. That we would limit our meals to small amounts of simple fare. And fast at least one day a week as well, of course."

"Fasting?" The girl sighed.

"For the sake of all our souls, my lady. I know how important the state of our souls must be to you."

"Yes. Yes, of course. When we fasted at Davington, Marguerite and Alais would sneak food to me. I knew it wasn't right, but I was sad and lonely. I prayed and prayed for a vocation, but the days were just so tedious and long. I will fast now. With you," she declared. "It will please the priests when they will hear our confessions again."

"I've already spoken to your women," Jane said.

"They will help you with everything. Now"—she stood, keeping hold of one of the girl's plump hands—"come along." She gave Sibelle a coaxing smile. "It's time for your first riding lesson."

11

It had been thirty-five dayssince Sir Stephan had absented himself from Passfair, Jane thought as she leaned against the paddock fence. She breathed in the warm smell of sun-heated straw with satisfaction.

It was safe to say life at the castle had changed for the better in his absence. She chuckled. The kid didn't know what he was missing.

It was a beautiful day, a well and truly spring day. A groom was walking the horses she, Sibelle, and DeCorte had ridden in from the fields a few minutes before. She watched the animals' fluid movements with approval. Stephan certainly kept fine horseflesh. She was especially glad the sidesaddle hadn't been invented yet. Women could look forward to at least two hundred more years of riding astride when they got the chance to ride at all. The morning was getting on. She sup-posed she'd had enough of dallying in the shade of the stable and had better get herself off to her duties. It had been a good, brisk ride over the flowering countryside. The exhilaration of it left her full of energy for facing another busy day.

There were bluebells blossoming at the bottoms of the fenceposts. She plucked one, entranced by the beauty of the long row of tiny, purple-blue flowers as she walked through the outer bailey toward the guard's training area. Archery targets were set up at the far end of the grounds. A few apple trees in full bloom shaded the edge of the grounds. Marguerite was seated beneath one of the trees, her fingers busy

with a piece of embroidery. The freshly planted herb garden was nearby as well. Sibelle had worked very hard to help Switha transplant the seedlings from spots all over the estate. Switha was skeptical about taking the plants from their natural settings, but Sibelle's idea was to see which would be able to stand the transition from the wild. Sibelle, it seemed, when given half a chance, was just brimming with ideas.