Lady Moraine laughed and lightly slapped Hastings’s arm. “The Healer can do anything. You have always trusted her. Don’t cease now.”
But Hastings was shaking her head. “Nay, I won’t. Do you know that I don’t believe I will use the love potion just yet. Maybe not ever. What I’ve got to do is get Marjorie returned to Sedgewick.”
Hastings saw to her household duties, directing the servants to lime the jakes, which had grown particularly noxious with the wind blowing from the east. She oversaw the wool weaving by three women of excellent skill who had been trained by her mother so many years before; she spoke to MacDear of the meals they would have for the next several days; she pulled up weeds in her herb garden and tied up her columbine. The sun was bright and hot overhead. Her side hurt just a bit; she rose to stretch. MacDear, who scarce ever left the kitchen, was at her elbow, his huge bulk blocking out the sun. “The marten ate all the broth, but still I worry. He does not run as quickly as he used to. Is he all right, Hastings?”
She smiled up at him, feeling the pulling lessen in her side. “Aye, he grows stronger, even from this morning until now. He ate all of your broth, you saw that, and he ate a bit of Severin’s bread. Severin will not let him out of his sight. I believe he even practices with his javelin with Trist burrowed deep in his tunic. He will be racing again very soon.”
MacDear fidgeted a moment, leaning down to lightly touch his big fingers to some allium. “It is good to have you back, Hastings.”
“Aye. Did you not work well with Marjorie?”
MacDear sighed and clapped his palms over his chest. “Ah, that one is more glorious than the first evening star.”
Even you, MacDear, she thought, and wanted to cry.
“But you know, Hastings, she is cold, that one. She plots and schemes and smiles that beautiful smile all the while.” He leaned closer, but not that much closer because his belly was so big. “Watch her, Hastings. All know of the poisoned wine. Many believe she put the poison in your goblet, despite her beauty.”
“I don’t want to watch her. I want her to leave.”
MacDear shrugged, turned, and yelled at one of the kitchen boys who
!H
t
was coming toward him, carrying a loaf of bread, “Hugh, you cocky little maggot, did you burn that bread? ” He said to Hastings in a much lower voice, “Then send her back. Do it, Hastings. Do it today.”
As she walked back into the great hall, her head bowed, deep in thought, she realized she wanted Severin to love her, regardless of Marjorie or any other glorious creature who just might cross his path. She wanted him to see only her. And she didn’t want to use a damned love potion to bring that about.
Her side still hurt. Too much bending and stretching in her garden. She hugged herself as she walked up the solar stairs to her bedchamber. Two more days and the Healer would cut out the black stitches. Then Severin would punish her for running away from Oxborough. Perhaps then too he would come back to her bed.
Severin sat in his high-backed chair. He looked imperious. He looked cold and stern. Normally when he dealt with Eloise, he came down on his haunches to be at her eye level; he softened his voice. Not this time.
He said, “Come here, Eloise. Don’t dawdle. I have not much time to spend with you.”
He said nothing more, merely began to tap his fingertips against the arms of his chair. Hastings sat beside him, her hands in her lap. She saw Marjorie in the shadows of the great hall just beyond the mammoth fireplace. Severin had told her that he wanted to speak to Eloise alone.
She had merely nodded, not arguing with him.
Hastings waited.
Eloise crept several feet closer, her head down. She was twisting her fingers together. Severin did not appear to be moved by the child’s obvious distress.