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Marjorie drank it straight down, then turned white and held her stomach.
“Nay, do not retch, else you will have to drink it again. This will pass. Just think about your nose being small and white again. Aye, see it already passes.”
Marjorie’s nose returned to normal within the hour but she would not return to the great hall.
Hastings fetched Eloise from the great hall, then returned to her own bedchamber, smiling and humming.
I am truly wicked, she thought. But then again, so was her dear mother-in-law.
Hastings felt queasy. She pressed her palm against her stomach, wondering. She raised her hands and cupped her breasts, squeezing them. They were sore. She had not suffered her monthly flux in many weeks.
She was with child, Severin’s child.
She wondered if Marjorie would soon also carry Severin’s child.
She shook her head, raced from the keep to the stable, and asked Tuggle to saddle Marella.
When she pulled her palfrey up in front of the Healer’s small cottage, the woman was on her knees in front of her herb patch, whistling. Alfred was stretched out his full length in the sword of sun that shone through the thick branches of the sessile oak trees.
“Hastings,” the Healer said, sitting back on her heels. “Look at this. It is a new sort of daisy. I have worked it and worked it and now I am certain that when I pound the flowers into powder and mix them with wine, it will ensure that Lady Moraine stays well in her head.” The Healer paused, then grinned. “I believe it will also cure warts. I tried it already on two of the village boys. The warts were gone in three days. The boys will tell their mothers and sisters, and soon I will have more goods from the village than I will ever need. We live amongst a very warty people. And now I can remove them. I am the greatest healer in Britain. What think you of that?”
“I think I am carrying Severin’s child.”
The Healer rose slowly, wiping her hands on her skirts. She stepped to Hastings and merely looked at her. She reached out her hand and laid it on Hastings’s belly. She looked at her tongue. She lightly scratched the skin on the backs of Hastings’s hands, then looked at her fingernails.
Then she stepped back. Alfred stretched and rose. He meowed loudly and prepared to jump into Hastings’s arms.
“No,” the Healer said sharply. Alfred frowned at his mistress. Hastings had never before seen a cat frown, but Alfred did. He swished his tail and ran to the nearest sessile oak tree and was gone into the thick green leaves in but moments.
“Have you vomited?”
Hastings shook her head. “I do feel queasy sometimes. Not just at a certain time of the day, but it just comes and goes. I cannot predict it.”
“Aye, I would say you carry his child. He is a potent man. Most of the churls are potent, and thus women are cursed to have their wombs filled whether they wish it or not. Aye, men—the blight of our land. Would that I could poison all of them, but then again, women like you wouldn’t be pleased were your husband to crumble into dust.”
“I would not be too certain of that right now, Healer.”
“So he is acting more faithless, is he?” Then she grinned, showing very white, very even teeth. “Bring me this Marjorie and let me see what she is about.”
“She is always very nice to me,” Hastings said, so depressed she kicked her toe into a rock and gasped from the sharp pain. “She is also very beautiful except for last night when her nose swelled and turned red. I mixed a drink for her and it went away.”
“Perhaps you should have waited, Hastings. The swelling would have gone away by the next morning.”
“I know that, but I was weak. I didn’t let her suffer. However, I did add goat urine to the mixture. She drank it.”
The Healer laughed and patted her face. “Well done. You have turned into a fine woman, Hastings. Now, did I tell you what I learned from a monk who happened to visit me two d
ays ago? If I grind up columbine leaves and add saffron, it will cure jaundice. What do you think of that?”
Hastings was excited, she couldn’t help it. “Show me how to do it, Healer. I must know.”
The Healer laughed. “If you and your husband had been married for more than a year and your womb was still empty, I would give you the distilled water of wallflowers to drink twice a day for four weeks. Unfortunately, Lord Severin is like most men, he plows and plows and his seed sinks immediately into fertile ground. Such a pity. Come with me, Hastings, and I will give you just a bit of my special mixture—no, I will not tell you the ingredients. It will keep you smiling and your belly calm.”
• • •
Severin shoved the door inward. His skin felt tight, his loins were heavy, his wife hadn’t spoken to him for well onto three days, and he was furious.
Hastings was standing over a narrow table mixing some of her damnable herbs. She looked up, then immediately back down to the mixture in a wooden bowl. “Did I ever tell you that MacDear will gently shred columbine flowers onto the platters that hold the meat? He says it makes the food look more appetizing. He prefers the red columbine, he says it adds—”
