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“He’ll be back.”
She wasn’t getting anything out of this discussion, and besides, she could almost hear those clothes calling her. Trudging back to he tent, she tried not to look too eager. After all, she had worn fine clothes before. She’d been the wife of a duke and an earl. But oh, how she had missed the silks, the thin wools, the bright colors! It was odd how new clothes gave her such pleasure. She would have to consult Lady Corliss about her excessive vanity.
When she emerged from the tent, she wore the green striped gown the nuns had refused to let her wear on her wedding day. She liked it, symbol of easy virtue or not. Her hair was tucked into a net crispinette at the nape of her neck. She’d owned several before her eviction from Robin’s castle, and she missed the convenience of confining her hair. Now she had three crispinettes as well as various headgear of all shapes and sizes.
Wharton and the shy youth who had peeked at her sat on camp stools set in the sunlight, and it seemed Wharton was instructing the young man in the art of hose repair.
Edlyn approved. She liked a man who could care for himself.
They didn’t seem to see her, but without looking up, Wharton demanded, “Where are ye going? ”
She stumbled slightly on the too-long her. “I’m going to the dispensary.”
“Why?”
She dumped the bag of old possessions at his feet, then showed him the bag he’ brought her new clothes in. “I have to gather some herbs for my travels and provide guidance to whoever is taking my…” In disgust, she exclaimed, “Oh, why am I explaining myself to you?”
“Because th’ master told me t’ keep an eye on ye an’ keep ye out o’ trouble. That’s why I couldn’t ride with th’ men.” Wharton’s voice rose. “I’m playin’ nursemaid t’ th’ master’ wife.”
“Oh.” Clearly, he’d wanted to ride with the men. She looked at the youth. “Are you here to watch me, too?”
The youth scrambled to his feet. “Nay, my lady. I’m here to guard the tents against thieves.”
He was taller and thinner than she’d realized, and she smiled in a gust of amusement. Just so her sons would appear in a few years. “What’s your name?” she asked.
“Wynkyn of Covney.”
“You’re a long way from home,” she observed.
His face twisted in that pained expression young men used for a smile. “Nay, my lady, this is my home.”
A pang struck her, and she looked at the tents. “Mine, too, I suppose.”
Sensing criticism, Wynkyn rushed into speech. “The men are kind, my lady, and the lord has the finest of everything.”
Wharton lifted the black tube he held. “An’ I’ll show ye how t’ darn hose if ye’re nice t’ me, m’ lady.”
“My thanks, Wharton, but I already know how to do that.” Wharton made to hand her the hose, and she jumped back. “I trust in your skill completely.”
Rapidly she turned toward the abbey, and Wharton called, “’Tis yer husband’s.”
“And you know how he likes them,” she called back, grinning at the rude word he used in reply.
She approached the dispensary tentatively, already feeling alienated from this place where she had been poor, chaste, and struggling for resignation. all the windows were open and the door gaped wide, and she could hear someone muttering. She tapped on the sill, and the muttering stopped.
“Aye?” the strong, impatient voice identified the speaker at once.
Edlyn stepped over the threshold. She smelled the black, disgusting odor of wet charcoal and saw the boxes and herbs that cluttered the tables. “Lady Neville, what are you doing?”
The widowed countess pulled her head out of the oven and glared. “I’m trying to start a fire; what does it look like I’m doing?”
“Did it burn out?” Edlyn went and peered in the little door. “Why don’t you have your servant start it?”
“Because when it burned out, you used to start it, so I thought, ‘How hard can it be?’”
Lady Neville’s obvious exasperation made Edlyn burst into laughter. “It took me months to learn to do it, and believe me, if I’d a servant, I would have given the job to her. The main thing I learned was never to let it go out.” Peering inside at the firebox, she scraped out the ashes, then crumpled a handful of punk. “Decayed wood works best as tinder,” she explained. “I can never get it started with aught else.” Taking the steel from Lady Neville’s limp hands, she struck it against the flint until it sparked, sparked again, and finally caught the tinder. Carefully she blew on the flame, then fed it slivers of wood until it burned enthusiastically.
Lady Neville snatched the firesteel and the flint from beside Edlyn and put them on the table. “I can do the rest,” she snapped.
