21

21

Aimee did end up sending word to Master Fulcher, though she had no intention of requesting a new particolored gown. Still, her husband had raised a good point about both Freda and Magnatrude’s wardrobes needing refurbishment. When she received an answer that the tailor would call at her house the following week on Wednesday, she relayed this news to Freda with perfect calm.

“Oh, but – er, will that be acceptable?” Freda started awkwardly. “That is – my cousin seemed to think ’twas you that stood in need of some particular garment.”

Aimee lifted her chin. “Freda, do you honestly think anything could induce me to wear another gown in his colors?” she asked hotly. “When you know how – how humiliated I felt that day?”

Freda’s eyes widened. “Is that the gown he wants made up?” she asked sounding bewildered. “Whatever happened to the one you already owned?” Aimee’s heightened color seemed to dissuade her from pursuing the subject. “I am sure none could blame you,” Freda quavered. “But Konrad can be so very difficult to dissuade when he gets an idea in his head.”

“Well I, too, have a stubborn streak,” Aimee said with resolve, and she wasn’t sure she didn’t toss her head. Poor Freda looked very alarmed. To distract her, Aimee suggested they walk to the Thursday market with Matthews for an escort. Freda brightened at this suggestion, and they ambled along the stalls arm-in-arm and had a very jolly time picking over the wares.

As Freda had no money of her own and refused to accept any, Aimee was forced to take Matthews to one side while Freda was distracted talking to a woman with two chubby babes. She pressed a purse into the burly manservant’s hand.

“Can you make sure you spend this on anything my cousin shows a particular interest in?” she murmured. “Discreetly?” He nodded and Aimee returned to Freda’s side, agreeing the children looked healthy and bonnie and did the woman credit. As they moved away, Aimee was pleased to see Matthews hand the proud mother a coin to treat the children in Freda’s name.

“The gods bless you, ma’am!” the woman called after an oblivious Freda.

“What lovely people you meet hereabouts,” Freda commented, nodding and smiling. “Do you know, Aimee, I blush to say this, but when we were travelling here, I had the most foolish misgivings about the south. It just goes to show, doesn’t it? I daresay I could be just as happy if I ne’er set foot in Vettel again.” She glanced about nervously as she said this, as though someone might spring out and denounce her for lack of loyalty to the north.

Aimee laughed. “We will make a southerner of you yet, cousin.”

Freda gave a nervous titter and promptly got lost in rhapsodies over some embellished head coverings. Aimee turned to give Matthews a significant look but found him already watching to see which ones Freda favored.

It wasn’t until the final row of stalls that Aimee was tempted to make a purchase for herself. She had been drifting along, wondering if the items she had requested from her father’s warehouse might yet have arrived, when her eye caught sight of the cheap looking trinkets scattered over a dark blanket and glittering in the sun.

“Let me just take a look at these, Freda,” she murmured as an unholy idea started forming in her head. Her husband had told her he looked forward to seeing how she would reward him for his continued presence in her bed, she remembered, stepping forward to look at the shiny tin and lead alloy tokens. Why not reward him each time with one of these?

They were fashioned in all sorts of fancy shapes: hearts, flowers, shields. She picked up one, which looked to be a pair of kissing cupid heads, and wondered what her husband would make of it.

“Oh!” muttered Freda. “I suppose they are rather pretty, though.” She coughed delicately. “I believe such things tarnish very quickly or get bent out of shape, for they are fashioned so thin.”

“How many designs do you have?” Aimee asked the stallholder who was picking his teeth with a twig.

“An ’undred,” he answered, casting a desultory look over them. Clearly, he had decided these ladies were unlikely to buy and wasting his time.

“I’ll take one of each,” Aimee said, reaching for the purse attached to her belt.

As soon as they reached home again, Aimee ran up the stairs gleefully with her two bags of lover’s tokens. Freda had been both horrified and astonished by her purchase. “Whatever will you do with them all, Aimee?” she had asked in hushed tones as the stallholder had sorted her selection. “Give them to servants, I suppose, but you don’t even have that many!”

Aimee had tried to imagine giving Golda or Ingrid such a token as thanks and failed. Both, she thought, would give her short shrift, infinitely preferring a ha’penny. Rather than explain her intent, she had distracted Freda by congratulating her on her own purchases, explaining what Matthews had been up to.

Freda had spent the entire walk home exclaiming tearfully that Aimee should not have done something so wildly extravagant. “You did not buy that beaded cap?” she demanded in failing accents of Matthews. He gave a nod, and Freda squeaked in dismay, covering her mouth with her thin hands. “Oh gracious! Whatever will I do with it? I am far too old to wear anything so pretty!”

“Nonsense!” Aimee disagreed. “You may wear whatever you like. There is no one to stop you. And besides, you are not old.”

“What about that carved wooden spoon?” Freda asked with misgiving. Matthews thought a moment, then gave another nod. Freda’s face fell. “Oh, but I had no purpose for it!” she gasped. “I was simply admiring the craftmanship.”

Aimee shrugged. “You could always give it to someone for a gift,” she suggested. “Ingrid maybe?”

Freda blinked. “You think she would like it?”

“She might.”

“Oh dear,” Freda fretted. “Aimee, I have no way of repaying your generosity.”

“And neither should you, for we are family now.”

By the time they had reached home, Freda’s dismay had turned to excitement, and she had been almost giddy as a girl when Matthews had handed over the sack of her wares to her. Aimee ran upstairs, reached into the first of the two bags, and pulled out a shiny badge which seemed to depict a hedgehog.

After stashing the rest of the tokens in her wedding chest, she slipped into Konrad’s room and placed it carefully on his pillow bearer. She almost hugged herself with glee, imagining his bewilderment on receiving it. Hurriedly, she sped back out of the room and rejoined Freda in the oaken parlor where they sat and went through the bag of Freda’s unwitting purchases.

They were still laughing over a pair of bright orange stockings when Magnatrude burst into the room and stood there shaking, her back to the door and her eyes full of tears.

“What is it, Trude?” Aimee asked with alarm, while Freda sat frozen and speechless. “Has something happened?”

Her sister-in-law stumbled into the room, wild-eyed. “I – that is – Queen Armenal has done me great honor,” she blurted and then burst into tears. Aimee sprang from her seat and drew Trude down onto a seat by the hearth.

“There, there,” Aimee murmured, chafing Magnatrude’s cold hands. “Freda,” she said calmly. “Could you call for someone to bring us some apple logs for the fire, for ’tis going off cold already. And if we could be fetched some wine and spiced biscuits.”

Freda ran from the room, sending a grateful glance over her shoulder. Aimee had realized by now that poor Freda tended to bring out the worst in Trude in moments of raised emotion.

“I don’t know why I’m acting like this,” Magnatrude sobbed. “It’s the single most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me.” She covered her face with her hands, and Aimee made soothing noises as her sister-in-law dissolved into a fit of uncontrolled weeping.

When Freda returned, she brought Ingrid and a threadbare mantle for Trude’s shoulders. At Aimee’s nod, she resumed her seat, and the three of them sat in silence as Ingrid kindled the fire. When Unwin soundlessly slipped into the room carrying three goblets and a flask of wine, Aimee bade him pour for them, and he did so quietly and efficiently, handing the cups around.

Magnatrude accepted her cup of wine with thanks and took a sip. She sighed and rested her head along the back of her seat. “The queen has asked me to become a formal part of her retinue,” she said with a gulp. “I am to be a Lady of the Bedchamber and to have my own room at the palace and an allowance made to me.” She moistened her lips. “I am to travel with her between the summer and winter palace, and it makes not one whit of difference to her that I am unwed. In fact,” she continued in awed tones, “it almost seems as though she prefers that I am not.”

She reached out a hand blindly, and Aimee grasped it. “But this is wonderful news, Trude,” she said warmly. “I am sure you are fully aware of the compliment she pays you.”

Trude nodded vigorously. “She is too good – too generous,” she said brokenly. “I do not deserve her condescension.” She pressed a hand to her brimming eyes, and Aimee found herself exchanging raised brows with Freda.

Ingrid gave a suppressed snort and straightened up from the fireplace, her creaky knees protesting. “Will that be all, milady?” she asked Aimee loudly.

“Thank you, Ingrid, yes.” The old servant stumped out of the room.

“You are happy to serve the southern queen, Trude?” Freda asked timorously.

“She is queen of all Karadok, Freda!” Magnatrude corrected her cousin with all the energy of a newly converted zealot. She took another sip of wine and let out a shuddering breath. “My only concern,” she said heavily, “is that you are not put out by this, Aimee.”

“Me?” Aimee exclaimed with surprise.

“After all,” Trude said heavily. “It is you that is Baroness Kentigern, not I.”

Aimee made haste to assure her that she could bear the disappointment, as Golda entered with a plate of marzipan cakes. “We’ve no spiced biscuits at present,” she said briskly, setting them down on a side table. “These will have to do. Mr. Stirling said he would make another batch directly.”

“Those are much more appropriate for a celebration in any case,” Aimee said. “Have you heard the felicitous news, Golda?”

“No,” Golda said, looking quizzically from Aimee to Trude’s tearstained countenance. “Old Ingrid never said owt.”

Privately, Aimee suspected it was because Ingrid was not impressed by the honor. Aloud, she said, “Mistress Magnatrude is to join the royal household as one of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting, no less.”

Golda gasped. A native of Caer Lyoness, she was a good deal more impressed. “You’ll need a page, Mistress Magnatrude, to take care of your errands and see your rooms is taken care of. Those palace maids are naught but slatterns,” she said scornfully, turning and motioning to Unwin who trotted dutifully forward to stand beside Trude’s chair. “Might I suggest you take this boy of mine with you. He’s a quick learner and – er – very discreet.”

Aimee was so surprised by Golda’s claiming ownership of Unwin that it took her a moment to notice how hopefully the boy’s gaze was fixed on Trude’s face. Magnatrude passed the boy a marzipan cake and nodded absently. “Yes, of course,” she murmured dazedly. “You make a good point, Golda. I will certainly have need of an attendant.”

“You would be happy to go to the palace, Unwin?” Aimee asked incredulously.

He nodded and lowered his marzipan cake. “Yuss, milady,” he whispered through a mouthful of crumbs.

Aimee gaped at him. She did not think she had even heard the lad speak before.

“You will need a haircut however,” Magnatrude said critically. “And a new suit.”

“Fulcher the tailor is coming to the house on Wednesday,” Aimee remembered. “He can measure Unwin then. You will also have need of new gowns, Trude. Indeed, you cannot join the queen’s retinue without them.”

Magnatrude accepted this as meekly as a lamb, and Golda bustled from the room, vowing the cook must be made aware that tonight’s meal was a celebratory affair. By the time Konrad joined them in the dining chamber a couple of hours later, everything seemed more or less settled. Aimee thought her husband was more surprised by his sister’s willingness to join the royal household than anything else.

“You’ve refused to leave the lodge for the last five years,” he pointed out critically. “Yet now you propose a permanent move down south?”

Magnatrude gazed back at him steadfastly. “Yes,” she said finally. “I do.”

“Well, if that is your will, sister, then so be it.” He lifted his goblet and toasted her silently.

Aimee thought her sister-in-law breathed a sigh of relief; certainly the atmosphere at table seemed to lighten. “Freda,” she said, turning to that lady. “You must take charge of the house next week in my absence. Trude will have far too many things to prepare for her move. You will have Matthews and Golda –” she broke off, a sudden thought occurring to her. “That is, do we take Golda with us to Beres Caple to wait on me?” she asked doubtfully of her husband who was carving up the meat. “How do these things work?”

“No,” he answered briefly. “We will take Jakeman who will be sufficient for both our needs.”

Aimee nodded and turned back to Freda. “You will have Golda, Matthews, Stirling, and Ingrid to instruct.”

“Yes, of course,” Freda answered, looking nervous. “Oh dear, I do hope I will not let you down.”

“Of course you will not,” Aimee replied bracingly.

“Did you invite Ankatel to dine with you yet?” Konrad asked, passing a plate of meat to his cousin.

Freda turned bright red.

“I’m afraid she has not yet had time,” Aimee interjected smoothly. “For we went to the marketplace this afternoon, did we not Freda?”

Fortunately, Trude interrupted at this point to tell her brother that she was the first prominent northerner to become a woman of the bedchamber, for though the Marchioness of Martindale was officially one of the queen’s circle, she was rarely in the south. Aimee and Freda covertly exchanged a look of relief that they were off the hook so easily.

Aimee’s gaze wandered to where Unwin stood behind Trude’s chair having already started his training as her sister-in-law’s page. She noticed with amusement that he was wearing the bright orange hose that Freda had purchased in the marketplace. It seemed already his transformation into a smart page was already beginning. Everyone seemed to be falling into their new roles with such ease, she thought with a sudden pang. Yet she still did not really feel a true baroness in any way.

No one had given her an update on Bartree Castle since the renovations had begun, not even her father. Certainly, her husband had not mentioned when they might be travelling north to visit his birthplace. In fact, she thought forlornly, the only reference he had made to it in her presence had been to tell her he considered himself master there, and her mistress here at the townhouse. She ran over the conversation in her memory and wondered if she had not attached the significance to this conversation at the time that she should have.

She was quiet for the rest of supper, not that she thought this would be remarked on, for Magnatrude was full of praise for the wit and vision of Queen Armenal. According to her sister-in-law, the queen was a woman ahead of her time. Trude was fulsome in her praise of a tapestry that had been completed that day to show the Countess of Twyford falling out of a balcony only to be caught in her husband’s arms below.

“Falling out of a balcony?” Freda repeated uncertainly. “That sounds an extremely dangerous manner of eloping. It is fortunate the countess was not hurt.”

“It was not her means of escape,” Trude corrected her impatiently. “But an incident that happened sometime later and demonstrated the sincere attachment of their union.”

Aimee frowned, wondering if the scene was a retelling of the stand collapse at Kellingford. If so, certain liberties had been taken with the facts. The earl had not, in fact, caught his wife or spared her from injury, but she did not voice this seeing that it would be an unwelcome interruption in Trude’s narrative. Privately, she wondered if the rest of the queen’s depictions played as fast and loose with the truth as this one.

After supper, Aimee visited the garderobe and was just walking along the passage back to the oaken parlor when Ingrid waylaid her. The old servant was brandishing the large carved spoon in one hand which Freda must have wasted no time in making her a present of.

“Us Oakdens have served the barons of Kentigern for near five generations,” she started belligerently, thrusting out her chin.

Aimee gazed back at her, feeling mystified. “I see,” she lied after a moment. “Do you have children, Ingrid?”

“Two sons,” Ingrid replied grudgingly. “They’s had to take on other work since Bartree Castle fell.”

“What are they doing now?” Aimee asked with interest. She had often wondered what became of the staff and retainers who must have lost their positions.

“Wylie works as a farm laborer, and Elton’s working for a cooper in Vettel.”

“Do they like their new roles? Or will they want to return once Bartree Castle is restored?”

Hope flared for a moment in Ingrid’s eyes. “The elder would be back like a shot,” she said quickly. “My younger son’s different. Settled into town life, he has. He likes delivering the cooper’s wares and he’s courting some maid, but Elton follows his father, the gods rest his soul. Farming ain’t in his blood.”

Aimee nodded. “Well, the gods willing, you will have six generations of Oakdens serving at Bartree,” she said, stepping around the old woman. “When the castle reopens, I am sure the previous servants will be reinstated there, if they wish it.”

“What about me?” Ingrid demanded whirling around. “And that worrisome old maid, Mistress Freda. What’s to become of us now? That’s what I want to know!”

Aimee looked back at her in exasperation. “I am very fond of Freda, and she will always have a home in my household. If you wish to remain serving Mistress Magnatrude, then you can accompany her to court, but should you wish to –”

“It’s the Baroness Kentigern I’s always served!” Ingrid burst out hotly.

“Very well, then,” Aimee responded calmly. “Long may you continue to.”

Ingrid opened and closed her mouth, then gave a brusque nod. “Milady,” she muttered and stomped off down the corridor. Aimee watched her a moment before swinging open the door to the oaken parlor. Freda was stood beside the fire, wringing her hands.

“Did you mean it, Aimee?” she asked tearfully as she entered the room, and Aimee realized she must have heard every word of the exchange, including the part where Ingrid had referred to her as an old maid. “About my always having a home with you, I mean?”

“Of course, Freda,” Aimee assured her, joining her before the fire and taking her hand. “You must not worry about that.”

Freda’s narrow shoulders drooped, and she touched a scarf to her reddened eyes. “Well, you see, my only usefulness was in attending Trude, and with her gone …”

“Nonsense!” Aimee said bracingly. “You are very useful to me, Freda. Did I not just tell you that you are to oversee the running of this house next week?”

“Yes,” Freda quavered, brightening. “You did, did you not?”

“And you are to make sure my father does not become too lonely in the meantime. Perhaps you could send word to my sister’s house, inviting her and Sir Renlow to supper one evening? He must be sufficiently recovered from his injury by now to welcome a change of scenery.”

Freda’s expression wavered between uncertainty and alarm. “Oh, I should not wish to do anything presumptuous!” she exclaimed. “The first time your sister visits your house should be under your direction, Aimee, not mine!”

Aimee brushed this aside, steering Freda into a chair. “There will be plenty of time for me to entertain Ursula when I return from Beres Caple. Now, let us sit together quietly this evening and –”

A loud knock at the door interrupted them before it was smartly flung open by Unwin, who announced in a high, boyish voice, “Mistress Magnatrude Bartree!” then stood to one side.

Trude sailed into the room. “Very good, Unwin,” she approved and then swept back out again. Unwin hurried after her, swinging the door shut behind him.

Aimee turned to look at Freda whose jaw had dropped open. They were still laughing when Konrad joined them moments later.

“I am glad to see you so merry,” he said dropping onto a seat. “When you were both so quiet at supper.”

Aimee saw the glint in his eye and had a sudden misgiving that he must have found the hedgehog token she had left in his room. She cleared her throat. “Well,” she said lightly. “I think we were just letting the momentous news sink in. Is that not so, Freda?”

“Yes, indeed,” Freda answered backing her up at once. “Such a very great honor for the family,” she murmured vaguely.

Konrad shot his cousin a sardonic look. “You do not aspire to join the queen’s retinue, Freda? I’m sure Trude could put in a good word for you.”

Poor Freda blanched.

“I am sure we could not be expected to spare two members of our household,” Aimee put in quickly. “The queen would not expect us to make such a sacrifice.”

Konrad snorted and crossed his ankles. Aimee saw Freda glance longingly toward the door before suppressing a sigh and drawing a gray garment of indeterminate age and purpose from her work bag. With her tongue stuck out of the side of her mouth, Freda started attempting to thread her needle.

Aimee shot another glance at her husband, but he seemed in no hurry to leave. Reluctantly, Aimee retrieved her long-neglected embroidery from behind a cushion. It looked no better now than it had the last time she had seen it.

The door opened behind them. “Mistress Magnatrude Bartree!” Unwin announced smartly, and Aimee swiveled in her seat to see her sister-in-law bend an approving nod on her new page.

“Ah,” Trude said stepping forward. “I am pleased to see you two are plying your needles.” She leaned over the back of the settle to inspect Aimee’s handiwork.

Instinctively, Aimee stiffened, and she felt herself grow hot and uneasy. Her sister-in-law’s needlework was exquisite whereas Aimee’s was abysmal. The fact that Magnatrude arched a brow but made no comment only served to make her feel worse.

Freda cleared her throat. “Could you light me a candle, Unwin?” she requested. “I am afraid I cannot see to thread this needle.”

Unwin rushed to oblige her, and seeing Magnatrude drift to the window, Aimee rose from her seat with as much dignity as she could muster and swiftly exited the room. She had no sooner closed the door behind her, then it opened again. Instead of glancing back, Aimee quickened her steps and rushed along the corridor to her bedchamber.

This time, she did not even attempt to close it behind her, for a bulky figure was following her to the doorway. Konrad shut the door behind them and then walked over to the bed, sitting on the edge of it.

“I hope you are packed for the morrow, wife,” he commented.

“I am!” Aimee replied tartly. “Are you?”

He snorted. “It does not take me long to throw my things into a pack. Besides, I am used to it.”

He held out a hand to her, and Aimee looked at it blankly. He nodded toward her own, and it was only at this point that she realized she was still clutching the embroidery in her hand. “Let me see.”

Swallowing her instinctive refusal, Aimee passed it over. “I am a very poor needlewoman,” she said bristling all over as he glanced over it. “And wield nothing like the skill your sister would deem necessary in a lady.”

A smile lurked at the corner of his mouth. “She did not actually comment on your work.”

“No,” Aimee acknowledged, firing up. “But she looked at it and lifted her brows in the most goading manner! Even my sister, who has the patience of a saint, would have been goaded into a passionate fury by the sight of it! I am convinced!”

Konrad laughed. “It’s rather an unusual looking hound to be sure –”

“It’s a horse!” Aimee burst forth wrathfully. “Your horse!”

He squinted at it again. “Well, the colors are somewhere near,” he conceded. “But Actaeon’s neck is definitely longer than this beast’s …”

Aimee rushed toward him, snatching it out of his hand. “Oh, never mind!” she burst out hotly.

He caught her about the waist as she whirled around to make her retreat, hauling her back against him so she was pulled down into his lap. “Don’t be a little shrew,” he breathed into her ear. “If it makes you any happier, I don’t give a damn about your proficiency with the needle.”

“It doesn’t!” Aimee huffed.

“And why not?” he demanded. “Is it not my good opinion you should seek above all others?” When she did not answer, he squeezed her waist. “Well?”

Because I don’t love you anymore, she thought mutinously, but did not dare voice. “You are easily pleased in a wife.” Aimee said in a brittle manner. “Ladies are more discerning and less easily appeased.”

“Not true,” he growled in her ear. “I am very hard to please. As you shall soon discover, wife.” He squeezed her again, and Aimee grew slightly breathless. Then he sighed, loosening his grip. “Though not tonight, as we leave early on the morrow and have a five-hour ride ahead of us.”

“Oh,” she responded, and even to her own ear, the faint disappointment was apparent. He gave a snort of laughter and reached into his tunic drawing forth a long rope of pearls.

“These are for you.”

Aimee stared. “For me?”

He nodded and dropped them into her lap. “Betrothal gift,” he said shortly.

Betrothal gift? “Oh,” Aimee breathed in astonishment, only just catching them before they spilled onto the floor. “They – they are beautiful, my lord.” She lifted the strand to look at the magnificent, lustrous pearls. “Were they part of the Bartree collection?” she asked in awed tones.

He shook his head. “No, I bought those for you from my winnings at the royal tournament.” He cleared his throat. “Mayhap they will make up for the wrong I did you there.”

Aimee felt the color drain from her face before it surged back, hot and shaming. It seemed Lord Kentigern had finally realized how much his actions had hurt her there. Jumping up from his lap, she hurried to the looking glass, holding the pearls up to her neck, though in truth she could see nothing through the sudden tears obscuring her vision. “What a shame I cannot take them with me to Beres Caple,” she heard herself say aloud.

“Why can you not?”

“Well, only think if they were to be stolen –” she began.

“You think anyone would dare to steal the pearls from my wife’s neck?” He sounded offended, annoyed even.

“I should wear them, then?” Aimee asked uncertainly, glancing back over her shoulder.

“Do what you like,” he said gruffly. He picked up the embroidery she had abandoned on the bed. “Will you finish this?” he asked holding it up.

“It is finished,” Aimee replied stiffly. “Whenever I try to improve it, I only succeed in making matters worse.”

He muttered something, which sounded remarkably like ‘I know how you feel’, though she was sure she must have misheard him.

“I shall leave you to your packing then, wife,” he said getting to his feet.

Aimee turned from the mirror and gave him an awkward curtsey. “I thank you for your generous gift, Lord Kentigern.”

He looked startled a moment before clearing his throat. “When I said ‘bedchamber’, I really just meant … in bed,” he said, and if it had been anyone else, she would have thought the slash of hot color along his unscarred cheek denoted blushing.

“Oh, I see,” she replied blankly, though of course, she really did not. At all.

The funny thing was that, after he had gone, she could not find her embroidery of Actaeon anywhere.