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“My lady, this shall be your chamber whilst you are here.” Peg threw open a door that led to a small but well-appointed room. “My lord sent a messenger on to announce your presence, an’ we all hastened to make ready for you, just as we did the time his lordship’s cousin came to visit when the leaves were ust turning gold and brown…or, alack, was it my lord’s mother’s sister that time?…now I shall have to ask Robena on that, for I fear my memory gets a bit slow now and again.” Her rambling commentary was as welcome as the small fire that warmed the room, chill even in the midst of summer, and the large wooden tub that sat next to the hearth.

Madelyne stepped into the room just in time to avoid being sloshed by a pail of steaming water carried by a serf. She stood back and watched as a line of servants brought more and more pails, filling the tub, and leaving several more pails filled with hot and cold water to adjust the temperature.

Peg bustled over to the tub and, opening a small jar, poured dried flowers and herbs into the water. Then, she stood expectantly, her pudgy hands folded, and with a start, Madelyne realized she was waiting to assist her in disrobing. “Oh, nay, I do not—”

“We shall help you to bathe, my lady,” Patricka said firmly, nodding at Peg. ’Twas as though some private message had passed between them, and before Madelyne could allow her modesty to rule, they advanced upon her and began to assist her out of her habit.

“Lord Mal Verne sent some of Lady Mal Verne’s clothing for you to wear,” Peg explained as Madelyne stepped into the tub. “Packed as ’twere in those oaken trunks, I shook out the wrinkles when I heard that you’d be in need of them. ’Twill be quite a relief from this plain gown and veil of yours, my lady, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

Madelyne did not know whether ’twas the sudden heat of the water or the notion that Mal Verne was married that caused her to gasp, but she ignored the sudden, inexplicable sinking of her heart and lowered herself into the rose-scented tub.

She looked over at Peg, who was chatting on as she showed Tricky several gowns of brilliant, jewel colors. At the least, she thought wryly, Mal Verne provided well for his wife. Even from her perch in the tub, she could tell the quality of the cloth and the intricacy of the embroidery.

She wondered, suddenly, if Lady Mal Verne, at least, was able to soften the harshness in his face and demeanor.

“Methinks this blue for the undertunic,” Tricky was saying as she eyed Madelyne and then the cloth, and back again.

“You are well thought,” nodded Peg, her jowls jiggling. “With her hair of such dark color, and her eyes like a pale moon—aye, she makes me think of mine own sister, whose hair was so long and thick as mine is. And my own auntie, well, ’twas her pride and joy this hair of our family, and when she had the ague, she must had it cut and how she bewailed that fate for days!”

The two women huddled together for a moment, throwing occasional glances over their shoulders at Madelyne. Tricky’s arms gesticulated wildly, punctuating her bobbing head, and Peg nodded and murmured, nodded and tsked, and expounded on her reactions with rambling sentences of family anecdotes.

Madelyne, a bit discomfited with what she deemed as a conspiracy against her, sank into the tub and attempted to block out the two women and their chatter. A faint, wry smile did curve her face as she succumbed to the realization that Tricky had found her mentor, and that she, Madelyne, would likely be the pawn in her learning game.

The scent of roses filled her nose, for the first time ever not related to the duties of making rose beads. And, as if she was smelling it for the first time, Madelyne inhaled and closed her eyes, enjoying the sweetness of the floral scent. The steaming water was heavenly, such that she paused for a moment—albeit a brief one—to thank God for her safe arrival, and to contemplate whether ’twas a sin that she should enjoy such an earthly pleasure. Baths, although available at the abbey, were only occasional and never this warm and sweet. Most often they were a dip in the nearby stream, or a few hands of lukewarm water.

Tricky dug soap scented with basil and rosemary from a small crock, using it to clean under Madelyne’s fingernails and to wash the grime and sweat from all parts of her body. Even the black rose-petal stains had faded when she was finished.

The loosing of Madelyne’s braid after two days relieved the tightness of her skull, and the pleasure-pain of it had her sighing in soft delight. How wonderful it felt when Peg began to pour warm water over her thick hair, and how much more like heaven on earth could it be when she used her strong fingers to massage her scalp!

It was not until she stood in front of the fire, wrapped in a soft blanket, that Madelyne remembered the clothing. She held out a hand to stop Tricky as she approached with the blue undergown.

“Nay, Tricky, I cannot wear such fine clothing. You of all know that I’m promised to our Lord God, and that I cannot in good conscience don flamboyant finery. Peg, ’tis not my place to use that which belongs to Lady Mal Verne.”

The two women exchanged glances, and Tricky nodded as if to give Peg permission to respond. “My lady, I am sorry, but your clothing has been taken to be washed. And, ’tis the lord’s orders that you dress as befits your station, as the Lady of Tricourten. Wherever that land may be, certainly the women there do not see such simple gowns as flamboyant.” She gestured to the overtunic, which was pale blue, embroidered with gold and silver threads. “This is but a plain gown, my lady, by standards at court. And verily, you will wear aught that is more up to date when you join the king.”

Peg sighed, smoothing a hand over the embroidery that rimmed the edges of the overtunic, her eyes taking on a far-away look. “I remember that day when mine own baby Shirl went to care for one of the queen’s ladies, and how she pored over the patterns and cloths and threads to be certain that she should dress in her finest, and that all that she brought with her for her lady was the most beautiful to be had from Lockswood, and even there at court ’twas as if she were naught but a country bumpkin. An’ how my daughter worked to learn that new fashion, worked day and night, and… ” Her voice trailed off and a look of confusion passed over her face. She glanced at the cloth she held in her hand, then at Madelyne, and the light of understanding came back into her eyes. “Ah, well, aye, my lady. You must be dressed ere supper is served, and this is all that you have to wear.”

Madelyne’s gaze strayed to the fine cloth, but she resolutely turned from it and walked over to the bed, where several other gowns lay strewn across it. “There must be something else that more befits a nun,” she murmured, poring over the clothing. She paused at a pale yellow gown with little frippery. “I shall wear this, for ’tis more subdued and more suited to one of God’s women.”

“Nay, my lady,” Tricky said, resting a hand upon her arm. Madelyne turned to look at her, surprise causing her brows to rise at the formal address. “Lady,” Tricky said again with such ease, as if she had always addressed her as her better, “with all respect, you are not a nun, as yet…and you are the Lady of Tricourten. ’Tis God’s will that you are here, and God’s will that you bear the mantle of your position.”

She showed Madelyne the blue undergown, the color of a brilliant sapphire, with delicate gold embroidery along the neckline and the laces of the tight sleeves. “That yellow will cause you to look aught but ill and sallow, whilst this blue will cause your eyes to take on its sheen. An’ the cut of this is more flattering, as the sleeves will show the fine lines of your arms and draw attention to your height.”

Annoyed by Tricky’s sudden fashion expertise, Madelyne pursed her lips and frowned. “But—”

“Come now, my lady,” Peg insisted, gently taking the pale yellow cloth from her fingers and urging her toward Tricky. “Though you are a bit taller than Lady Mal Verne, you are of a size. Now, ’tis not in our interest to anger Lord Mal Verne, either, so we shall fix you up rightly and send you down for supper anon.”