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“It is a good plan. There are still saddles, however.”
Lady Moraine gave a lusty sigh. “Aye, I know it. Gwent frets about it. I think you should consider poisoning the silver-haired bitch first.”
Hastings fetched her mother-in-law some ground daisies mixed in cold water. She was feeling a bit queasy and quickly mixed a bit of rosemary with honey. It tasted sweet and calmed her belly.
She found Marjorie in the great hall, seated in front of the empty fireplace, sewing a gown. Where had the material come from? Eloise was on the floor beside her, sewing on a small piece of white linen. She heard Marjorie say, “Those are fine stitches, Eloise. You are far more talented than I am.”
“Nay, Marjorie, you are perfect.”
Her laughter rang out. Several servants turned at the sound. Two of them were men. They looked utterly besotted.
“Flatter me not, sweeting, else I might grow ugly just to spite you.”
“Like that night your nose got all big and red?”
“That was something else, sweeting, something I ate that did not agree with me. Ah, Hastings, does Severin’s marten still survive?”
“Aye. Severin keeps Trist with him constantly. He is still weak, but he improves.”
“He is just a silly animal,” Eloise said.
“I thought you believed Trist to be beautiful,” Hastings said, her voice steady.
“I am grown older. I have changed my opinions.”
“Would you like to come riding with me, Eloise?” It was the last olive branch, Hastings thought. She had to try.
There was a leap of excitement in Eloise’s eyes, Hastings wasn’t mistaken about that. She twisted about to look up at Marjorie.
“I think that is an excellent idea, sweeting. Hastings can show you all the places she knew as a child.”
Severin walked into the great hall, drawing off his gauntlets, looking at Hastings. He nodded to Marjorie, but said to his wife, “Gwent just told me that the tablecloth with the spilled wine on it and the remaining wine from my goblet are missing. Whoever took them wasn’t seen.”
“Now we will never know,” Hastings said, as she looked directly at Marjorie. “It had to be poison, probably it was liquid of poppies. Just a touch of it masks pain. More than a touch brings death. Trist was very lucky.”
“It was you who saved him, Hastings. It was you who took him to the Healer.” There was a soft mewl from within Severin’s tunic. Severin smiled and patted the lump. “He ate MacDear’s broth this morning. He did not vomit it up.”
“I know. MacDear was so pleased he had to tell me himself.”
“He would not leave until he saw that Trist ate the broth.”
Trist mewled again. A paw appeared from between the laces of Severin’s tunic. Hastings laughed, lightly touching her fingertips to Trist’s paw.
“Eloise and I are going riding,” Hastings said.
“Nay, I have no wish to go now,” Eloise said. “My belly hurts.”
“Oh no, sweeting,” Marjorie said, immediately dropping her sewing. She lightly placed her palm on Eloise’s forehead. “What did you eat this morning?”
“Some of MacDear’s bread. It didn’t taste very good. It left my tongue sour.”
It was such an obvious lie that Hastings wanted to slap the child. “The bread tasted fine to me, Eloise. However, if your belly does hurt, then let me give you just a bit of—”
“I would not want to have anything you prepared,” Eloise said, and took a step back. Edgar the wolfhound
growled.
“Why not?” Hastings spoke calmly, slowly. What was going on here? Why had Eloise changed so utterly toward her? Eloise’s vicious words about her mother had been one thing, but this was going too far.
