Elf did not even notice her sister-in-law and the knight depart. She was staring, horrified, at her brother as he slept. Richard was practically a skeleton, and his skin tone was an unhealthy yellow gray. He had been a handsome man, but now his cheeks were sunken, his nose prominent, and his cheekbones quite visible. The skin was stretched tightly over his skull, and his once fine russet hair was so thin he was almost bald in places. Elf knelt by her brother’s cot, her eyes tear-filled. "Dickon," she said softly to him. "Dickon, I have come home to make you well again."
Richard de Montfort’s gray eyes opened slowly. A bony hand gripped her arm. "Who are you?" he rasped.
"It is I, Dickon. It is Elf," she said. "Your sister." Undoing the chin strap that held her wimple in place, she pulled the covering from her head so that he might see her hair. Then she smiled.
"Elf," he said softly. "Is it really you? You have grown."
"I would hope so, brother." She laughed. "It has been nine years since we last saw each other. I was but a little girl of five years, Dickon. I am now fourteen, and soon to take my vows, but Isleen sent for me, as you are gravely ill. I am the assistant infirmarian at the convent. Perhaps I can help you."
He smiled back at her. "I am dying, Elf, and there is no help for me," he said. "When I am gone, sister, Ashlin will be yours."
"But what of Isleen?" Elf asked him, astounded. "Isleen is your wife, Dickon. Ashlin should be hers, not mine."
"Isleen’s dower portion will be restored, and she will be returned to the de Warennes," he told Elf. "Ashlin, by law, is yours. You have not taken your final vows yet, Elf. If you decide to, you may take a husband instead. Ashlin is small, but it is a respectable dower portion. Allow St. Frideswide’s to have the dowry I paid them when you went there. It is only fair. They have cared for and educated you all these years."
"But I don't want a husband," Elf told her brother. "I am content to take my final vows, Dickon. Besides, I do not intend to allow you to die on me. I am an excellent herbalist. Tell me your symptoms. When did you begin to grow ill?"
"Well over a year ago," he replied. "At first it was just my belly. It would take offense at some food or other, but in a day or so I would be well. Then, however, I became sick more and more. My guts began to burn with an unquenchable fire. I began to have bouts of weakness. I could not walk, or ride, or even stand. Then the sickness would go, and I would recover only to grow ill again. Now I can keep nothing on my belly, and as you can see, my hair and teeth have begun to fall out. Even I can tell that I am dying, Elf. I do not believe that you can help me, little sister."
"I can try," she told him fervently. "I can try, Dickon!"
"I cannot feel worse than I already do," he said with a wry smile.
"Why do you have no children?" Elf asked him frankly.
"It is Isleen," he replied, "although I dare not tell her, for it would break her heart. I have two sons and a daughter among the serfs, but you must not say I told you so. She believes because I am ill, it is my fault, but it is not. You will keep my secret, Elf, will you not? I have confessed my fault to you, and are you not bound by your vocation to keep the knowledge of my sins to yourself? God will judge me." He smiled weakly at her.
She wondered why he had felt it necessary to seek among the serf girls. Still, it was not her business, she decided, pushing the thoughts from her head. "I will keep your secret, brother," she promised. "Now, you must sleep again while I ask Isleen to find me a place to set up my herbarium. If I am to help you, I cannot delay. Where is old Ida?"
"She has not spoken to me since the day I took you away, nor has she set foot in this house."
"I will find her," Elf told him, "and she will help me to get you well, Dickon." She arose from his side, and calling to a servant, asked, "Where is the lady of the manor?"
"She is in her gardens, lady," the servant answered.
"Take me to her," Elf said, "and then go find old Ida. Tell her I am home, and I need her aid."
Elf followed the servant to the manor garden, where the roses were already in bloom. The garden was not as well kept as it had been in her mother’s day, she noted. At first she did not see her sister-in-law, but then she spied Isleen with her cousin, their heads together, seated on a wooden bench at the far end of the garden. Elf called to her as the servant accompanying her hurried off in the opposite direction.
Isleen seemed to leap from her seat and, turning about, came toward Elf. "Gracious, you startled me, Eleanore," she said. Her cheeks were flushed, and the color made her look all the more beautiful.
"I do not mean to disturb you, sister, but I need a place where I may set up my little herbarium. I have seen Dickon now, and he is indeed seriously ill. I pray God I can help him."
"As do I, dear sister," Isleen said sweetly. "There is a small shed at the end of the garden that I believe would be perfect for your purposes. Come, and see it." She was pointedly ignoring Saer de Bude now as if he did not even exist. Isleen’s pale blue skirts swayed gracefully as she moved through the rosebushes.
The fragrance of the pink, white, and red blooms was heady. Large bumblebees floated about the flower heads, dipping into the blossoms to gather their nectar, the hum of their wings just barely audible. Elf followed in her sister-in-law’s perfumed wake to the edge of the garden, where a small, rather ramshackle building stood.
"Will this do?" Isleen inquired in dulcet tones.
"It will have to," Elf told her. "It’s really in the best place for my herbarium. Will you permit me to requisition some serfs to make any necessary repairs, Isleen?"
"Of course" came the reply. "This is, after all, your home." The last was said a bit tartly, and Elf heard the change in tone in her companion’s voice.
Isleen knows if Dickon dies that Ashlin is mine. She is bitter about it, Elf thought. "Thank you," she told Isleen.
Isleen shrugged. "I will leave you to your work, then, Eleanore," she said, and hurried back up the garden path.
"My baby! Is it really you?" An old woman hobbled into view.
"Ida!" Elf’s face broke into a smile, and she enfolded the elderly nursemaid in her embrace. "Oh, Ida! How good it is to see you once again. Dickon tells me you have not spoken to him since I went to St. Frideswide's. That was really very bad of you, and now my poor brother lies ill unto death, I fear. I need your help, Ida."
"Now that you are here, my baby, I will enter that house again, and make my peace with the lord Richard. I swore I would not do it until you returned, and I have kept my promise." The old lady’s jaw was set firmly with her resolve, and her hazel eyes were sharp.
"But what if I had not come home, Ida?" Elf gently said. "Surely you could not have allowed Dickon to go to his grave without your forgiveness?"
"How could I forgive him when he chose her over his own blood?" Ida said fiercely. "It was her duty as lady of the manor to raise her husband’s younger sister as your mother was dead, God as-soil the lady Adeliza’s good and pure soul! Great heiresses have gone into their husband’s homes and raised their younger brothers and sisters, and even their children from earlier marriages. But not that one!"
"You do not like her," Elf said quietly. "Why? Surely not just because Dickon sent me away, Ida?"
"It began with that," Ida told her former charge. "But then I have watched these nine years while she lorded it over your poor, benighted brother. He thinks the sun rises and sets on her, he does. When she came to this house, not a servant did she bring from her father’s house, though he could have easily afforded to give her several. We quickly learned why, my child. She is a bad-tempered mistress, though never before your brother does she show her evil nature. She beats the servants at the slightest provocation, or complains to the lord Richard of some fault or slight in a servant that brings punishment. She is a wicked creature, my lady Elf, and you must beware of her!"