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“A jealous woman will go to any lengths to defeat her rival. Mayhap even risking harm to the babe in her womb, but of course you did spill the wine, didn’t you? You never had any intention of drinking it.”
Hastings leaned down to pet Gilbert the goat’s head. He was chewing on a leather strap that Hastings knew belonged to the armorer. She would have to tell him not to kill the goat. It was possible that she would need Gilbert’s milk for her child. The child Marjorie believed she could possibly risk harming? The thought made her utterly cold inside.
She looked up at Marjorie. “You know, Marjorie, it’s true. I am jealous of you. I do not like myself for it, but it is there, nonetheless. However, soon you will be gone. Soon Eloise’s lie will be shown for what it is—a lie by a child who happens to adore you. She sees that you want to take my place. She would do anything to help you, even deliver this lie. But attend me. You are not my rival. I am the Countess of Oxborough. You are not. Do you wish to be Severin’s leman? If so, that is all you will ever be. Can you be content with that?”
Marjorie laughed, a beautiful, clear laugh. Was there nothing ugly about the woman? Aye, her insides were in question.
“Hastings, Eloise is not the only one who adores me. She is not the only one to wish to make me happy. You believe I will truly go back to Sedgewick?”
“Aye, I do.”
“We will see, will we not? But that is not important. You are looking less old and pale today. Are you ready to resume your duties as mistress of Oxborough?”
“I already have, Marjorie.”
“Ah, here comes Severin’s mad old mother.”
“She is not mad. She is quite recovered now. Even the Healer does not know if it was really madness that afflicted her. It does not matter. Now she is well again.”
“No, she is not. You have not observed her as I have. There is wildness in her eyes. Her movements are clumsy, frenzied. She needs to be locked away.”
“Your insides are becoming clearer to me now, Marjorie. They are twisted and very black. Mayhap you poisoned my wine.”
For the first time, Marjorie looked as if she would like to strike Hastings. She was breathing hard, her beautiful white hands fists at her sides. “Does Severin tell you how much he loves you when he is deep inside you?” she asked. “Does he kiss your ear as he tells you how beautiful you are? Does he tell you how much he needs you, how much pleasure you give him?”
Hastings turned on her heel and walked toward Lady Moraine. She thought of the vial that sat behind her herb jars in their bedchamber. She would pour the love potion into Severin’s goblet at the evening meal.
“I hear that the silver-haired bitch has come out of the shadows and speaks quite openly to you now, Hastings.”
“Aye, she speaks her mind.”
“Did she promise that she would continue her efforts to murder you so she could marry Severin and take your place here at Oxborough?”
“Nay, the child Eloise accuses me of knocking over the wine goblet and poisoning Trist on purpose. Marjorie said I did it because I believed I would gain Severin’s pity.”
She leaned down to pat Gilbert the goat’s head. He had eaten nearly all the leather. “Hurry,” she said to him. “The armorer could come upon you at any time.”
She straightened, pushing the hair back from her forehead. The afternoon was cool, a clean breeze blowing from the sea. “I have decided to pour the potion into Severin’s wine goblet this evening.”
“Good. Odd, isn’t it, that I never knew of this passion Severin had for Marjorie? Of course, my husband kept me away from my boys, said he didn’t want them softened. That was before my brains curdled.”
“Your brains were never curdled. It was something else. But I pray the potion continues to work.”
Lady Moraine laughed and lightly slapped Hastings’s arm. “The Healer can do anything. You have always trusted her. Don’t cease now.”
But Hastings was shaking her head. “Nay, I won’t. Do you know that I don’t believe I will use the love potion just yet. Maybe not ever. What I’ve got to do is get Marjorie returned to Sedgewick.”
Hastings saw to her household duties, directing the servants to lime the jakes, which had grown particularly noxious with the wind blowing from the east. She oversaw the wool weaving by three women of excellent skill who had been trained by her mother so many years before; she spoke to MacDear of the meals they would have for the next several days; she pulled up weeds in her herb garden and tied up her columbine. The sun was bright and hot overhead. Her side hurt just a bit; she rose to stretch. MacDear, who scarce ever left the kitchen, was at her elbow, his huge bulk blocking out the sun. “The marten ate all the broth, but still I worry. He does not run as quickly as he used to. Is he all right, Hastings?”
She smiled up at him, feeling the pulling lessen in her side. “Aye, he grows stronger, even from this morning until now. He ate all of your broth, you saw that, and he ate a bit of Severin’s bread. Severin will not let him out of his sight. I believe he even practices with his javelin with Trist burrowed deep in his tunic. He will be racing again very soon.”
MacDear fidgeted a moment, leaning down to lightly touch his big fingers to some allium. “It is good to have you back, Hastings.”
“Aye. Did you not work well with Marjorie?”
MacDear sighed and clapped his palms over his chest. “Ah, that one is more glorious than the first evening star.”
Even you, MacDear, she thought, and wanted to cry.
