The Lady Series (56 page)

On the return to Graceton Cecily sat behind Belle in the saddle, the heat of an additional body making the day's cold far more tolerable. As they reached the stables two lads darted out to take the horses. The lad who came toward Belle started as he saw the woman seated behind her, his face whitening. He crossed his fingers and began to back away from the horse.

Belle frowned at him. Now that she knew Cecily, his reaction seemed all the more unfair. No matter how strange the woman's eyes, a few moments' conversation with her would convince anyone she was no witch.

“Come hold your lady's horse, you fool,” Jamie barked at the lad as he dismounted.

The fear of losing his position was greater than the lad’s fear of Cecily. He crept close to Belle's horse and caught its bridle. Still, he turned his back so he didn’t have to look upon the woman he believed to be a witch.

Cecily dropped her sack then slid to the ground. Belle followed in a flurry of skirt and petticoat. Shoulders hunched against the wind, Jamie strode for the gate. Cecily picked up her sack and followed. Belle kept pace, linking her arm with the healer's as they walked.

“What reason have they for thinking you evil?” she asked, the wind brisk enough to rip the words from her lips.

“It was my mother,” Cecily replied, leaning her head near Belle’s so the gentlewoman could hear her. “Her need for solitude drove her as far away from the village as she could go and still survive.”

Amusement flashed through the woman’s strange eyes. “Our home, my home, was once a hunting hut for one of Graceton's lords, abandoned long before Nick’s grandsire took his title. My mother believed no man cared that she’d claimed the place when in truth Graceton's huntsmen avoided it because of her. They feared her and her companions.”

At Belle's questioning look, Cecily smiled. “My mother healed injured forest creatures, keeping most of them as pets. They were dearer to her than I ever was.”

Belle shot the woman a startled look. “She kept wild creatures?”

“She not only kept them,” Cecily said, “she spoke to them. There were more than a few in the village who called them her familiars. All that kept her from the hangman's noose was her uncanny ability to cure those most horribly injured, folk like Nick.” There was a catch in her voice as she spoke his name.

They entered the castle’s gate and the battering of the wind abated for the moment. In this respite both women paused to catch their breaths. Jamie was already in the inner yard.

“Well, that explains why they might accuse your mother of witchcraft,” Belle said. After the wind’s roar, her comment rang like a shout in the gateway's quiet. “What did you do to win that accusation?”

“You mean beyond the color of my eyes?” Cecily shifted her sack from one shoulder to the other then smiled, the lift of her lips bitter. “It's the man who sired me on my mother,” she said, starting for the gate's opposite end.

“That’s an odd way to speak of your father,” Belle said, hurrying to keep pace.

“It might be, if I knew who he was,” Cecily replied. “All I know is that he took my mother by force when he made me.”

“Nay!” Belle cried, the word echoing about them.

“Aye,” Cecily said. “When the villagers learned my mother was with child they sent the bailiff to wring my father's identity from her in the hopes of forcing a marriage and relieving them of spending community funds to support a bastard. As if my mother would ever have taken their coins,” she added in a quiet and bitter aside.

“To this day I don’t know if she meant to conceal the man's identity, or if his misuse left her more addled than she’d been before my begetting. What she told the bailiff was that my sire had evaporated with the morning's mist.

“Then I was born with these eyes.” The lift of her hand indicated her yellow irises. Cecily shrugged. “After that, there weren’t many who didn’t think me the devil's spawn.”

“That would be enough,” Belle agreed with a nod, a little more unnerved by the tale than she wished to reveal. “What of the village minister? Hasn’t he ever offered to question you, in order to prove or disprove what is suspected?”

“Him?” Cecily spat out. “He hasn't the spine to stand against the bailiff and his family. Nor does he like the fact that Nick pays my fine for not attending his church.”

They paused at the opposite end of the gateway. Ahead of them Jamie was bulling his way across the yard, his head lowered against the wind. Belle watched him then glanced at Cecily.

“About Master Wyatt. I didn’t mean to offer the confidence I did.” She followed this with a nervous shrug.

Again, Cecily laughed. “If you're asking me to keep your secret, I will. Who am I to spill it, married in secret as I am?”

Smiling, Belle gave the woman's arm a grateful pat. “Well then my sister-wife, brace yourself. We’re back into the wind.”

Locking their arms, they lowered their heads and drove out into the yard. The air battered at them. By the time they reached the entrance to the hall they were gasping in exertion and shivering with the cold. As Cecily started to walk on for the farther tower door, Belle pulled her close again, the pressure of her grip keeping Cecily at her side as the wind swept them up the steps and through the doorway. It was dark enough in the passage that Belle nearly ran into Jamie before she saw him waiting in the shadows.

“My lady, it might be better if you let Cecily enter by the tower door,” Jamie said, his voice strained and cautious.

“Why?” Belle replied in astonishment. “We’re here. She’s not going back out into that, not when we’re so close to the warmth of our fire.

“Come, Cecily,” Belle said, her hold on the healer’s arm insisting that the woman keep pace with her.

Together, they entered through the screen's opening. It was the dinner hour and servants filled the many tables, their heads bent over their trenchers as they ate, their conversation muted. However invisible Graceton’s master might be, his illness had thrown a pall over those who served him. At the nearest table scullery lads looked up, their eyes wide as they recognized Cecily. One crossed his fingers.

Belle felt Cecily’s flinch beneath her hand on the healer’s arm. So this was why Jamie had suggested the tower door. But somehow and in less than an hour, Cecily Elwyn had joined those few Belle accorded as family; no one was going to hurt one she already considered dear.

Belle laid a protective arm across the woman’s back. “Come, Cecily,” she said, forcing Nick’s reluctant wife deeper into the room.

With each step they took more folk turned to watch. Someone whispered the healer’s name, then another and another until it was a harsh murmur, a warning being called forward, table by table. If some stared boldly, others turned their heads so as not to see her. Still others lifted crossed fingers to ward off the devil's eye.

At the room's highest table, Mistress Miller came to her feet. With her gnarled fingers braced upon the table's top to steady her, the housekeeper shot her usual challenging look at Belle before turning a vicious glare onto Cecily.

“What is this?” the old woman called out, her voice echoing about the quiet room.

“What it is, Mistress Miller, is none of your business,” Jamie called back, his voice raised and hard.

The crone gave the steward her customary dismissive sniff. “You’ll not bring that creature into my hall. Out with you,” she commanded, waving at Cecily as if she could sweep the woman from the hall with the movement of her fingers. There was something in her manner that suggested she believed the hall her sole domain now that Graceton’s squire ailed.

An instant and complete silence claimed the watching servants. Every soul in the room looked to their steward to see how he'd react to such blatant insubordination. They were looking at the wrong person.

Releasing Cecily, Belle strode to the high table and stopped before the old woman, her fists braced on her hips. “Do you dare speak so boldly before me?” Belle demanded, her voice ringing up into Graceton's ornate rafters. “This is not your hall to rule, and you do not have the right to say who comes or goes from it.”

The crone eyed the gentlewoman before her, then gave another, quieter sniff as if Belle wasn’t worthy of her best scorn. “Lady you might be, but you’re an outsider here. You know nothing of this woman. It’s her who made Lord Nicholas ill, doing it because he chose to wed you instead of her. She's poisoned him.”

If the old woman had believed what she’d said, Belle might have forgiven her. Instead, what glowed in the biddy's eyes was the certainty that her invented accusation would swing the servants into supporting her over one who should have been their rightful lady.

What Belle could not do for herself when she first arrived, she did now for Cecily who was weaker and even less protected than she had been those few weeks ago.

“That’s a vicious lie,” Belle retorted. “Do you know, I believe I’ve had enough of you. Not only are you a liar, but you’re insufferably rude. I'll have no servant under my roof who dares to argue with me. Your employment here is ended.” Never mind that Belle was certain her title was Mistress Wyatt and, as such, she had no right to issue such an order.

Confident outrage filled Mistress Miller's gaze. “You’re mistaken if you think you can oust me. I have my position from the old lord, himself.”

“Spew another word and you'll rue this moment for what remains of your life,” Belle warned, her voice raised so all could hear. And they did. Save for the crackle of the fire, her words were the only sound within these four walls. “Have you any kin in the village?”

The old woman’s sneer slipped a little. With a haughty lift of her chin, the housekeeper refused her lady the requested information.

“She has grandchildren.” This came from Graceton's cook, whose rank was high enough that he shared this table with the housekeeper. The old woman gasped as she was betrayed by one she’d counted on as a supporter.

“Good,” Belle said with a nod. “I won’t have it said that I threw an ancient from her home with no place to seek shelter in this storm.” Turning, the woman who wasn’t Graceton’s rightful lady faced those who believed she was.

“You there, Watt and John,” Belle called to the two men she knew best and liked most among the footmen. “Will you help Mistress Miller remove her belongings to her kinsman’s house in the village?”

“Aye, my lady,” Watt said as he made a fine show of leaping to his feet. “That we will.”

“Nay,” the housekeeper cried out, new panic creeping into her quavering voice. “You’ve no right to do this to me. My tenure here is guaranteed by the old lord’s will.”

“What you say is true,” Jamie called out. “However, Lord Graceton's will also set aside an endowment to be given to you on the day you choose to leave the household. As it seems you’ve made that choice this day, you’ll leave here with coin enough to see you comfortably settled.”

As Jamie spoke he strode forward until he stood at Belle’s side. He glanced at her. She felt his approval like a caress. He turned his gaze to the rest of Graceton’s servants gathered at their meat. “Those who give Graceton their care are cared for by Graceton,” he told them.

Belle almost smiled. He couldn’t have done it more neatly. Such a promise made it unlikely any dissension would arise over the housekeeper’s public dismissal. Nor was there any hostility on the faces of those within the room, or in their voices as they conferred with their neighbors over this unexpected turn of events.

Proud of herself, Belle returned to Cecily. “Come, Mistress Elwyn,” she called out for all to hear as she caught the healer's arm. “Come help me tend my husband with all the skill I know you own.”

With Jamie at their heels, they strode into the parlor.

Here, the dining table filled the small room's center. That it was set for the meal meant Lucy hadn’t yet eaten.

Belle paused and Cecily released her lady's arm. “I'll go see to Nick,” she said, swiftly crossing to the stairs.

“My maid's with him now,” Belle called after her. “Will you tell her to send my daughter down for the meal?”

“I will.” Cecily's agreement floated down from the gallery.

The door to Nick's apartment opened and closed before Belle turned to face Jamie. A smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

“For what?” she asked.

“Why, for bringing Cecily to Graceton when I couldn’t. For protecting a woman you barely know and, most of all, for ridding the hall of that crone. I can’t believe you've done it. She's behaved as if she were the lady here since her youth when she was old Lord Graceton's mistress.”

“She wasn’t!” Belle cried in laughing surprise even though she didn't doubt him. No wonder the old woman thought of this house as her own.

“She was,” Jamie replied with a laugh. “But that’s no less astonishing than you. I had no idea you were so commanding.”

Pleased that she’d surprised him, Belle lifted her chin in fine mimicry of her lady mother’s arrogance. “Best you remember that. There’s only so much I can bear before I get angry,” she said.

“I shall take the warning to heart, my lady,” he replied, offering her a flowery bow.

They laughed as he straightened, their amusement dying at the same instant. The need to prolong this moment ached in Belle. He took a step back.

She let her words fall from her lips when she had no idea what she might say. “Since you’re thinking so kindly on me just now, would you consider sharing the meal with me and mine?”

“I'd be delighted,” he replied, the desire to do more than share a table with her filling his gaze.

Before Belle knew what she was about, she'd lifted her face to him in a different sort of invitation. His head lowered, just a little as he accepted. In the gallery above them a door flew open and Lucy's voice rang out.

Belle leapt back from Jamie in disappointment. Their moment of privacy was over with no hope of another in the near future.