Hastings realized then that it was a love potion, probably made up of ground mandrake. How had the Healer found out so quickly about Lady Marjorie and Severin?
It was humiliating. She took the vial and slipped it into the pocket of her gown.
As Dame Agnes and Lady Moraine were leaving the bedchamber, Agnes S&îdtiiver her shoulder, “Remember what I said, Hastings. I would not use that vial as yet. I believe there will be no reason to.”
But what did Dame Agnes know of a pain that seemed to fill every nook in her body? What did she know about a woman whose hair was so silvery and shimmery that a man looked at her and his mouth was suddenly overflowing with a troubadour’s poetry? She shook the vial, watching the cloudy white liquid darken just a bit.
Was Dame Agnes possibly right? Was Severin simply seeing Marjorie through a boy’s eyes?
She went to see Father Carreg, who was reading in the corner of the great hall, Edgar the wolfhound’s head resting on his leather shoes. She merely nodded at him and sat at his feet next to Edgar.
200
Only Gwent was silent at the evening meal. Like Hastings, he was observing, eating steadily, but Hastings knew he was watching his master watch that glorious woman who seemed oblivious of Severin, all her attention focused on the child and on each dainty bite she took.
Trist was sprawled over Severin’s shoulder, looking to be asleep. Hastings had offered him some roasted pork, a special dish made just for him by MacDear. Trist had eaten two bites from her fingers, stretched, and mewled softly in his throat, and shoved her hand away with his paw.
He had made no more movements toward Eloise.
“I trust you like MacDear’s civet of hare,” she said to her husband, who was pushing the food about the thick pewter plate with his knife.
“Aye,” Severin said finally, “it is tasty. You had the rushes changed, Hastings. They are sweet-smelling.”
He had noticed something other than the glorious Marjorie, praise be to Saint Ethelbert’s knees.
“It is the rosemary you smell. Mixed with just a bit of ground roses, it fills the air with sweetness.”
What an utterly boring thing to say to a husband she wanted to kiss and caress and demand to love her and only her and not that other woman from his boy’s dreams.
She took a bite of chicken mixed with rice and almonds. It tasted like the rushes covering the cold stone floor. She thought about the vial in her pocket. It nestled there, ready for her to use, yet she hesitated. She didn’t want to drug her husband. She didn’t want the mandrake to make him turn back to her. No, she wanted him to do it of his own volition. She wanted him to want her as he had before he had laid eyes on Marjorie, who was still giving all her attention to Eloise.
Why could Marjorie not be a bitch?
Why could she not rub Hastings’s nose in her power?
Hastings sighed, leaned over, and lightly stroked her hand over
y
Trist’s head. He mewled loudly, raised his head, looked at her for a good long time, then laid one of his paws over her hand.
“Trist has mated, I am certain of it,” Severin said, his first unsolicited words to her.
“He seems content,” she said.
“He has mated, thus he will show no more real interest until his babes are born. Then he will journey back into the forest to see that they are raised properly.”
“Is that what you will do if I now carry your babe?”
He jumped. He stared at her face, then his eyes dropped to her belly. “Are you with child? Have you ceased your monthly flux?”
How to answer him? She had never known when her monthly flux would come. It had been many weeks, but she had no idea if his seed had made a babe in her womb.
“I do not know.” Perhaps she should have lied. Perhaps if he believed his babe was in her womb, he would turn back to her. He was honorableshe cursed.