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At least Marjorie wasn’t wearing another of her gowns. She had finally laundered one of her own? Hastings was truly supposed to be patient? She was tempted to ride after them, but she did not. There were duties that awaited her. Real duties, not trysts with a lover. She also wanted to speak to Gwent.
When she found Gwent, he said, “Severin has already questioned the men who were at the leatherer’s shop that day. None saw anything. It was an accident, there is no other possibility.”
“You, Gwent, were not the one struck down by that saddle.”
“Aye, ’tis true enough,” he said, then turned to wave to Alice. “But the facts remain the same, Hastings. Forget about it.”
Hastings spent the next hour with Lady Moraine. Edgar the wolfhound lay with his head and wide, scored paws on Lady Moraine’s feet.
“I am making you a gown, Hastings,” she said. “It is the softest green. You will look rather lovely in it. Severin was right last evening. You should not wear the red cream on your mouth or smear it on your cheeks. Your features are too fine. Do you like the gown? It will be finished by tomorrow afternoon.”
“Forgive me, Lady Moraine, but I heard Lord Severin tell Marjorie that the gown would be hers.”
It was Eloise, standing off to one side, obviously listening to their conversation.
“Did you really, Eloise?” Lady Moraine said before Hastings could open her mouth. “When did my son say this?”
“I believe it was this morning, madam. He said the material would make her look like a goddess. She is a goddess and so very beautiful. She deserves to have splendid clothing.” Eloise stared at Hastings.
“Well, no matter what you heard, Eloise,” Lady Moraine said brusquely. “The gown is for Hastings. Now, child, would you like to sit with us and sew?”
But Eloise just shook her head and skipped away.
“How very odd,” Lady Moraine said, staring after the child. “I did not pull out this material until this afternoon. The child lied. Why would she do that?”
“She loves Marjorie very much. Perhaps she sees that Marjorie wants to take my place and is thus very willing to assist her.”
“Venom from a child is unpleasant, worse than from a grown man or woman. I will think about this. Ah, I must see the Healer today. My potion is nearly gone.”
That evening, garbed in a lovely gown Hastings had never seen before, Lady Marjorie came into the great hall, greeting everyone graciously, smiling, her white hands fluttering. Her hair was loose silver waves down her back, held back from her forehead with a gold band. Severin stared at her.
It happened midway through the long meal. Marjorie’s nose began to swell and turn red.
Hastings blinked, not believing her eyes. She opened her mouth, felt meanness flow through her, and shut it.
Marjorie’s nose swelled to an even greater size and turned a brighter red. Soon people were staring at her, talking behind their hands. As for Severin, he had been feeding Trist. When finally he looked past Hastings to Marjorie, he gasped. Then he threw back his head and laughed aloud.
Soon the entire great hall was laughing and pointing.
Eloise burst into tears. Slowly, the hall quieted. And into that silence, everyone heard Marjorie ask, “Sweeting, why are you crying? What is wrong, Eloise?”
“Everyone is laughing at you, Marjorie. It’s your nose.”
Marjorie’s hand flew to her nose. She felt it, horror nearly crossing her beautiful blue eyes. “Oh no, what is wrong?”
“It is swelled and very red,” Hastings said. “Perhaps you would like to come with me, Marjorie. I will mix some herbs that will reduce the swelling and take away the redness.”
Hastings had never seen Marjorie move so quickly. There was no talk, no laughter. It seemed that everyone understood that the exquisite Lady Marjorie was humiliated.
“What could bring this on?” Marjorie asked, seated on a low stool while Hastings mixed mugwort and primrose with three spoonfuls of vinegar. She had looked into the small mirror Hastings’s father had given his wife many years before. She hadn’t shrieked, just stared at herself and lightly touched her fingertips to her nose.
Hastings knew very well what had brought this on, but she just shook her head. “It is very likely a poisoning from some food that your body does not like. This drink will cure it quickly, you will see.”
“But what food? I have never had this happen before.”
Hastings shrugged and mixed, keeping her head down. She poured in just a bit of goat urine, said to be very efficacious in matters of swelling. She felt wicked, but at least she would cure Marjorie. She wasn’t that mean. Sometimes it was difficult being a healer. “Mayhap it is some herb MacDear uses that no other cook knows about. Mayhap it is not wise for you to continue to eat his food.”
She handed her the small cup filled with thick liquid. “Drink it quickly, Marjorie.”
