Medieval 01 - Untamed

see?”
    â€œYou and your Glendruid ways,” Eadith said, shaking her head. “I will mark the passage of the sun with the church’s bells.”
    As though to emphasize the handmaiden’s words, the bells pealed again. Meg bowed her head and touched the silver cross that lay between her bare breasts.
    â€œM’lady?”
    Eadith waited for Meg’s attention. The handmaiden’s arms were overflowing with the unusual silver garment that Old Gwyn had brought out the day the king had decreed that Lady Margaret of Blackthorne would marry Dominic le Sabre. The dress wasn’t new. Lady Anna had been married in it, and Anna’s mother as well. Like the water remaining within the silver Glendruid bowl, the cloth shimmered subtly, as though infused with ancient moonlight.
    Meg looked at the dress and remembered what Gwyn had said: May you give birth to a son .
    Now Meg wondered if the wedding dress, like the clock, had been passed down from mother to daughter through all the years, and if each daughter had donned it hoping that she would be the one to give birth to a Glendruid son.
    Dearest God, grant us peace .
    â€œLady Margaret, we really must hurry.”
    Reluctantly Meg turned from watching the measured dripping of water from silver bowl to ebony basin.
    â€œThe priest is always slow,” she said absently. “He dresses more carefully than any bride.”
    â€œMore carefully than you, ’tis certain!”
    â€œDominic le Sabre is marrying Blackthorne Keep, not me. He would marry me if I arrived wearing sackcloth and ashes.”
    â€œEven so, you must look finer than that Norman whore.”
    Meg tore her mind away from the remorseless glide of water from silver to black, drops sliding into darkness as surely as Blackthorne Keep into war.
    â€œWhat?” she asked.
    â€œLa Marie,” Eadith muttered, giving the woman the nickname she had earned from the servants who were constantly attending her needs. “The men can’t look away from her, whether they be Norman swine or Saxon nobles.”
    â€œIf the men are like crows, captivated by all that flashes brightly, then let them go to the leman’s well.”
    â€œThey are dogs, not crows,” Eadith said bitterly. “A red-lipped smile, a wink, perfumed breath, a leg shown and then hidden as she climbs a stair…they follow her like dogs after a bitch in heat. And Duncan is at the head of the pack.”
    â€œIf he sickens from her much-used well,” Meg said calmly, “I have a tonic that will put him right once more.”
    Eadith said nothing.
    When Meg saw the unhappiness in her handmaiden’s face, she realized how deeply Eadith had counted on attracting Duncan’s eye.
    â€œâ€™Tis for the best,” Meg said, touching her handmaiden’s arm. “Your father was a thane. So was your husband. You deserve better in life than to be Duncan’s leman.”
    The sour curve of Eadith’s lips said she disagreed. With quick, strong hands she shook out the silver cloth.
    â€œWere it not for Duncan’s ambition, I would have been his wife ,” Eadith said bitterly. “But he was ever longing for land and I have neither wealth nor land to give him. So I will be a poor man’s wife. Pah. Better to be a rich man’s leman!”
    â€œBetter to be an untamed falcon, free of men and wealth alike.”
    â€œEasy for you to say,” Eadith retorted. “In yonder church stands a knight whose wealth in gems and gold is thrice your weight when you stand fully dressed. Before the bells ring the end of day, you will be one of the richest wives in all of England.”
    â€œâ€™Tis the first kind word I’ve heard leave your lips about Dominic le Sabre.”
    â€œIf one must be a Norman swine, then one should at least be a rich Norman swine. Then the priests will be well paid for the lies they will intone over Dominic le Sabre’s corpse. May it be an early grave and as deep as Hell itself.”
    The hate in Eadith’s voice made Meg flinch. Eadith had never forgiven the Normans who had slain her husband, father, brothers, and uncles, and taken their estates.
    Into the uncomfortable silence came the slow dripping of water. The sound made gooseflesh rise on Meg’s arms. She found herself holding her breath, counting, wanting to stem the relentless drops.
    Silence came.
    The silver bowl was dry.
    â€œQuickly,” Meg said,