My small chamber was in a turn of the hall, a meeting place between the corridor of the Dames’ cells and the portion given to visitors and boarders. Lights shown dully about the frames of some of the latter doors, but only the night lamp was alive at the far end of the cell hallway. My quick breath slowed as I closed my door behind me, though I had as yet taken only the first and far lesser steps on the path I had chosen to walk this night.
I set spark to my own lamp on the small table and set down thereon the flask I had brought out of the still room. A tray—so-then the small horn cup always used for medicinal doses, a spoon—all laid out. Last of all—the dose! I poured with care-filling the smaller bottle from my cupboard with the colourless liquid out of the flask. This much, no more—then—into it drops—five, six—from another phial. I counted under my breath, watching the mixture and its changing colour, until it was a clear and refreshing green.
Now—to wait—And deep inside me grew a wonder as to how I could be so sure that this would be the way of it. My long suppression of my “power”, if that was the word one might apply to my strange bits of knowledge and feeling which warred against controls I kept on them, might that not now have led to deception, a self-confidence which could defeat me? I could not sit still, but stood by the narrow window looking out into the night and the snow. There were lights in the village, marking the inn where Lord Imgry’s escort now took their ease. Beyond that only the dull dark of the dale. North—the brides were riding north to the waste border—down Norsdale, and on past the Arm of Sparn, into Dimdale, and Casterbrook, and the Gorge of Ravens—well, off the map of our knowing—
Yet all the time my eyes watched the outer world my ears listened for sounds of the inner one, for I had carefully left my door ajar to better that hearing. And in me excitement bubbled and boiled.
The swish of a robe, the quick beat of slipper heels on uncarpeted stone—All that was in me wanted to rush to the door, throw it open to greet who came. But I kept control and at the scratch of nails on the wood, I moved with deliberation.
It was no surprise to front the Lady Sussia. Nor was she in turn amazed, I was sure, to find me still dressed as if I awaited a summons.
“Marimme—you are needed to tend her with your heal-craft, Gillan.” Her eyes swept past me to the table where waited the tray and its burden, and there was the faintest curve of smile to her lips as she glanced back to me. Again there were no words between us, but understanding. She nodded as if agreeing to some comment unheard by me.
“I wish you good fortune for what you do,” she said softly. But it was not of heal-craft that she spoke, and we both knew it.
I went down the hall, bearing the tray. As I came to the door of Marimme’s room I saw that it also stood ajar and there were voices to be heard. One was low, a murmur which seldom arose to intelligible speech. The sound of it stopped me, struck against the confidence which had been heady wine for my drinking all evening.
Abbess Yulianna! To govern any Abbey-stead was a task demanding wit and force of character which made any Abbess a formidable adversary. And Yulianna was not the least of those who had ruled here. To play my game before her required far more skill than any I thought would be demanded of me. Still I had long passed the point where withdrawal from battle-to-be was allowed.
“—maidish vapourings! Yes, Lady Abbess, this I will make allowance for. But time marches along the hills. We ride with the morn to keep our covenant. And she goes to the marriage made for her! Also she goes without wailing. I have heard you are skilled in heal-craft. Put down her some potion to end these mad humours she has treated us to this past hour. I would not take her gagged or tied in the saddle—but if that must be—so it will! We keep our bargain with those we have hand-sealed to the treaty.”
Not choleric was Lord Imgry—no—cold and as one stating facts which not even the winds and tempests of the heavens could nay-say. He was one who would be as unyielding as the earth and the stone bones of the Dales.
“Those who use heal-craft for ill are not among us, my lord.” As unyielding in turn was the Abbess. “It remains, do you wish to reach your trysting place with a girl out of her wits with fear? For this is what well may happen should you force this matter—”
“You enlarge upon this past all reason, Lady Abbess! She is startled, yes, and she had heard too many wild tales. Makes she any marriage she will do it to order and not to silly liking. We tryst within three days, so we ride in the dawn. By honour are we bound to give twelve and one brides into their lords’ care. Twelve and one we have under this roof tonight. We do not take fewer with us—”
I steadied the tray upon my right hand and scratched upon the door with my left during the small interval of silence which followed his cool statement, one which he certainly did not intend to be challenged.
There was an exclamation and the door was opened. Lord Imgry looked out and I dipped knee in curtsy, but as would an equal in blood.
“What’s to do?”
“The Lady Sussia says that heal-craft is needed,” I schooled my voice. I waited an answer, not from him, but from her who stood by the bed on which lay Marimme. Her veil was pushed a little back so that her face was in the light. On it, however, I could read no expression as Lord Imgry stepped back to allow me entrance.
“Come in then. Come in and be about your work—”
I think he paused then because he did not know just how to name me. Though my underrobe was drab of colour, I wore neither coif nor veil. Instead I had on a feasting tabard bright with stitchery. No crest for a nameless, landless one, of course, yet the fabric was richly stiff with an intricate design of my own wandering fancy.
But for now the Lord Imgry was not my concern. I continued to watch her who looked over his shoulder. And towards the Abbess Yulianna I launched the full force of what power of will I could summon, even as an archer on a field of grave doubt would loose the last of his shafts at the captain of the enemy. Though in this time and wise I did not wish to compel foe but one who might stand my friend,
“This is not your healer,” Imgry said sharply.
I waited then for the Abbess to nay-say me in agreement. But rather did she move a step or two aside and wave me to the bed.
“This is Gillan who is help-hand to our healer and lessoned in all such matters. You forget, my lord, it is past the Hour of Last Light. Those of the community must soon be in the Chapel for night prayer. Unless the need approaches great danger, the healer can not be summoned from such a service.”
He gave a bitten-off exclamation, but even his confidence could not prevail against the custom and usage under this roof. Now the Abbess spoke again:
“You had best withdraw now, my lord. Should Marimme awake from her swoon to find you here—then perhaps needs must we again have the wailing and crying which you so dislike—”
But he did not move. There was no scowl on his face ...only the lines of determination which I had marked at the table grew a fraction deeper. For a moment there was silence and then the Abbess spoke, and now her tone was that which I had heard now and again, infinitely remote and daunting.
“You are her guardian-by-rule-and-blood, my lord. We know well the law and will not move against your will, no matter how ill we think your decision. She shall not be spirited away in the night—how could she be? Nor is it necessary for us to give oath on such a point under this roof!”
He did then look a little ashamed, for it was plain she had read aright his thoughts. Yet at the same time her voice carried the conviction of one taking that oath she had denied the need for.
“My daughter,” again her eyes sought mine and held them. I could not read her thoughts. If she read mine, or guessed my intention, she did not reveal the fact. “You will heal as you can, and watch through the night, should that be needful.”