Hastings shook her head. She couldn’t speak, the tears were too full in her throat.
“I begged him to let me see you, but he refused. He said that if you knew I still lived, that he still lived with me, that you would not be able to keep the secret.”
“When he was dying, I wonder why he did not tell either of us,” Severin said, rubbing his chin.
“My husband was not palsied with scruples,” Hastings’s mother said. “So he is dead.”
“Aye, many months now. He made Severin his heir; we were married when he was dying. I’m sorry, Mother.”
Lady Janet said nothing for a very long time. She stared toward the small larch that grew in the middle of one of the gardens. “He wasn’t a bad man. I imagine I will miss him. I came to accept him, for I had no choice. But he loved his daughters-all of you-and he saw to it that no neighbor ever coveted Rosehaven. You say he never told you. Well, I doubt he wanted to face your recriminations on his deathbed, Hastings. Now, come into the keep. I will serve you some sweet wine and some cakes that my cook does very well.”
The great hall of Rosehaven wasn’t very grand. It was more like a manor house, not fashioned for war or siege. The walls were all the same pink stone with beautiful thick tapestries covering them. There were only four trestle tables, each cleaner than the next. There was a small fireplace that had no black soot on it. Fresh rushes were scattered on the stone floor. They smelled strongly of rosemary. It was a keep for a princess.
After they were served wine and cakes, Lady Janet said, “Your father had the tapestries sent from Flanders.”
“They are lovely,” Hastings said. “They must keep you warm in the winter.”
“Not really, but they are lovely to look at.”
Trist poked his head out of Severin’s tunic.
Matilda gasped and pointed. Mariette shouted, “Look, Lord Severin carries an animal in his tunic.”
Hastings looked at the line of girls. “You are all my sisters,” she said, still unable to take it all in, still distrusting her own eyes. Her mother lived and she had four more daughters. She got a hold on herself. “Ah, this is Trist. He is a marten. If you are gentle and you don’t yell too loudly, he will come out and play with you.”
Trist worked his way out of Severin’s tunic and jumped to a trestle table. He eyed each of the girls. He held out his paw to Normandy. She squealed. Trist mewled and turned onto his back, waving his thick tail at them.
“What is your mother’s name?” Severin asked quietly as he watched the girls sidle nearer and nearer to Trist, who was putting on a fine entertainment for them.
“Janet. Her father was the Earl of Monmouth. He died some two
*Uf If»
years before my father supposedly had her beaten for her faithlessness.”
“Ah, so he had no fear of retribution.”
“No, my mother’s younger brother became earl, but he was too young to seek retribution. I have never seen my uncle.”
Lady Janet handed Severin another goblet of wine. “I trust you will like this one. It isn’t so sweet as the first. Naturally it comes from Normandy, though I did not realize any grapes would grow in that northerly climate.”
“Father lied,” Hastings said, sipping the new wine. “The wine comes from Aquitaine. I faced him with it several years ago after speaking with a wine merchant.” She laughed. “Anything and everything from William
the Conqueror or Normandy, Father wanted to claim as his own. Just look at all our names.”
“It is a tradition of long standing,” Lady Janet said. “Mayhap it is written of somewhere at Oxborough and we will find it someday. It is time for dinner. I hope you will enjoy our cook’s food, Hastings. She isn’t MacDear, but I have taught her well.”
All the Oxborough men-at-arms were on their best behavior. There was no spitting into the rushes, no pummeling the dog, whose place was beside the fireplace, no belching. The meal was quite good. But conversation was difficult. Hastings was relieved when it was over.