The Dragon of Throxenby, Part 4
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Because Sir Guy was doing so well, it was no longer seemly for Quenilda and her maid to sleep in the same room with him. Finding Humphrey and Godfrey, Quenilda ordered them to serve Guy and to bring him whatever he asked for.
"M'lady," they mumbled, nodding, and went off. Quenilda went her way, as well, but in the night, as she lay awake next to Isolda, she couldn't help worrying about her patient. More than once, she wondered if he weren't going to try to sneak away in the night and make her dream come true.
But Sir Guy was still there the next morning when Quenilda knocked on the door to check, and she was surprised at how relieved she was to see him roll over in the bed and sit up.
"Don't get up yet, Sir Guy," she told him. "Humphrey, fetch him some breakfast. Godfrey, come with me. We're just going to look for some clothes for you to wear, Sir Guy."
The two servants shuffled reluctantly to the door, and Quenilda led Godfrey to her grandfather's chamber. Thurstan was already dressed except for his boots, which he was just tugging on as they entered. He looked up, squinting in her direction, and Quenilda said, "Good morning, Grandfather!"
"Quenilda," he said with a smile, standing up and reaching out for her embrace. She gave him a strong squeeze.
"I've hardly seen you since we sent you to the dragon," Thurstan said, not relinquishing her immediately. "How are you?"
"Nicely uneaten, but not for lack of trying on the dragon's part," she said. "And quite well otherwise, too. How are you?"
"Isolda says you've been tending another kind of dragon, a Sir Guy of Gisborne?" he asked, sidestepping the question of his own health. He let go of her at last and stepped back, looking down into her face with his weak eyes.
"He's not a dragon!" Quenilda exclaimed with a laugh. "But yes, I've been tending him. He was quite ill after that beast bit him. And that reminds me why I've come. I want to raid your chest for clothing. Sir Guy needs something fresh to wear."
"Clothing? That's a new excuse for visiting me. I must say, I like it much better than Isolda's excuse."
Quenilda grinned. "Oh? And what's her excuse?"
"First she asks if I've slept well, then she asks if I've had any dreams, and then she asks if I've seen anything of Robin Hood," Thurstan recounted. "Although yesterday she asked if I'd dreamed of her getting married."
"And have you?" Quenilda asked.
"I dreamed recently that she was surrounded by children – six, at least," Thurstan said. "She was quite put out when I couldn't name her husband, though, or tell her whether he carried a sword or a bow."
Quenilda took her grandfather's hand in both of hers. "I'm sorry about Isolda, grandfather. I think she's listened to Ivo sing too much about Robin Hood and has fallen in love with a man who exists only in songs."
"It's part of being young," her grandfather said with a tolerant smile. "I loved listening to songs, too, when I was her age. Oh, how I wanted to be a knight of the Round Table and have my own Queen Guinevere! But if Sir Guy truly does choose Isolda, she'll have to grow up very soon."
"Yes," Quenilda agreed. "However, Sir Guy's still recovering, and won't be in any condition to marry anybody for several days at least. And that brings me back to the question of clothes, Grandfather. You're about his size, and although I know how much you value the new things that my mother commissioned for you at Eastertime, I was wondering if you could spare them for the day?"
Thurstan threw back his head and laughed. "You're asking because you know exactly how much I hate them, you mean! All those twiddly laces! Yes, Quenilda, by all means, let Sir Guy wear them. If he looks halfway presentable, I'll even let him keep them."
"I'm sure it will be a huge sacrifice," Quenilda replied, laughing as well. She crossed the room to the chest and sorted out the carefully folded trousers, shirt, and overtunic, then laid them into Godfrey's arms, and topped it all off with an older fur-lined cloak. "Take these to Sir Guy, and help him get dressed if he needs it. But don't let him go out until I'm there."
Godfrey heaved one of his usual sighs and went off, and Quenilda took her grandfather's arm. "I'll take you down to breakfast, if I may?"
He patted her hand with his own. "You may indeed."
On their way down the stairs, Thurstan said, "You'll have a difficult life if you marry him, you know."
"I might have a difficult life if I don't," Quenilda replied. "Or even if I marry somebody else."
"True enough," Thurstan agreed, and then he sighed. "Your father, Alfward, told me once that he had a very difficult marriage with Isolda's mother."
"And then she died," Quenilda said.
"And he married your mother," Thurstan continued. "Well. Difficult times don't always last forever."
"I hope you're not thinking that any difficult times I might have will soon be over because I'll die young," Quenilda said, laughing.
"Actually, I was thinking of Sir Guy," Thurstan said, quite seriously, but then he smiled. "But here you are, not even married yet, and he might well choose Isolda."
Quenilda made quick work of her breakfast, then left the high table and skipped up the steps to see how Sir Guy was getting on. He'd already eaten and dressed, and was just pulling his boots on when she arrived.
"Ready to go out, Sir Guy?" Quenilda asked, and he straightened up. He looked so different than the first time she'd seen him; his new clothes fit well enough, despite being just a bit short in the arms and legs, and the dark blue suited his complexion perfectly. Quenilda smiled to see him looking so healthy, and even handsome, but he didn't smile back.
"My lady," he said dutifully, and strode towards her. She watched his legs for any trembling or weakness, and was gratified to see none. It was only when he had reached the door and extended his arm to her that she realized he wasn't wearing the cloak.
"Wait, we've forgotten something," she said, dashing over to the chest. The cloak was on top, still folded, and she lifted it up and shook it out in one motion. Sir Guy scowled, but let her place it over his shoulders.
Outside, Quenilda glanced around. "I asked Humphrey to bring out a bench for you to sit on – oh, there he comes now."
Humphrey manhandled the bench into the best position on the south side of the keep, where the sunlight would reach it most of the day, but Sir Guy resisted Quenilda's attempts to lead him there.
"One of the servants said he thought you had my horse in his stables," Sir Guy said. "Show me."
"Of course, Sir Guy," Quenilda replied, and they turned in that direction. A passing stable lad pointed out the black horse in one of the boxes, and Sir Guy took the lead, strolling energetically towards it. By the time she caught up with him, Quenilda didn't even have to ask if the horse belonged to him; he was running his hand down its neck and softly apologizing for not having any carrots.
"What's his name?" Quenilda asked, after craning her neck to see that it was a splendid stallion.
"Roland," Sir Guy said.
"A strong name for a strong horse."
Sir Guy made a noise of assent. From behind them, the stable lad asked, "Would my lord like to ride out on him? He needs some exercise."
"Later," Sir Guy said, just as Quenilda opened her mouth to say "No." She was relieved that she didn't have to forbid him, and watched as he gave the horse's nose a final caress, then turned away. From the stables, Sir Guy walked around the courtyard, staring out at the town and the landscape beyond.
"The healing spring is in that direction," Quenilda said, pointing south. "I wouldn't recommend that you go there to-day, though. It's more than a mile from here, and there's no point. Eva's been bringing spring water up for you all the time since you were ill, and you've made a wonderful recovery."
Sir Guy grunted again, then turned to the east, where the ocean was visible as a shimmering strip on the horizon.
"Have you ever been to the sea, Sir Guy?" Quenilda asked.
"Yes," Sir Guy snapped, in a tone of voice that indicated he did not care for the sea and did not want to talk about the experience. Quenilda said, "No, I wouldn't like being seasick, either. It must be much worse than being bounced along in a fast carriage on a bad road."
"You've never sailed?" Sir Guy asked, and Quenilda shook her head. "No. I've been to Scarborough twice, though, and I've seen the waves."
Without answering, Sir Guy reached up and slipped his cloak from his shoulders. Quenilda gave him a hard look. "Sir Guy, put that back on before you catch a chill!"
"It's much too hot," he grumbled, folding the cloak over his arm. "I'm sweating under all this fur!"
Frowning, Quenilda took off her own cloak and extended it to him. "Here. Mine is lighter, try it."
It was too short, of course, and just barely wide enough across Sir Guy's chest, but at least it was the right weight. Quenilda received the fur-lined cloak in return, but didn't put it on, because she wasn't ill, and Sir Guy was correct. It was much too warm for the mild day.
Sir Guy walked around the keep a second time, and Quenilda had to trot to keep up. Either he had regained his strength much faster than she had expected, or he was pushing himself too hard and would collapse soon. She drew up alongside and searched his face for signs of exhaustion, but he seemed to be doing all right so far, and smirked when he saw her looking at him.
When they came around to the south side of the keep again, Quenilda saw that Isolda and Ivo had seated themselves on opposite ends of the bench. There was a seemly distance between them, but they had turned to face each other, which made the distance appear less somehow. Ivo had his lute out, ready to play, but before he could pluck the first note, Quenilda caught his attention by calling out.
"Ivo, Isolda, will you not perform something for Sir Guy?" Turning to look up at him, Quenilda said, "Sir Guy, come, sit here and listen to my sister sing."
Isolda and Ivo jumped up from the bench as one and stared at Sir Guy in alarm. By the expressions on their faces, Quenilda thought, they obviously expected him to charge forward and cause them both grievous bodily harm, despite the fact that he was wearing neither sword nor dagger. Sir Guy scowled, his eyes flicking from one to the other and back again. Then, without speaking, he swept by them and strode to the steps that led back into the keep.
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That night at dinner, however, Guy was forced to listen to Isolda sing while Ivo played. He suspected that Quenilda had had a hand in choosing the song; instead of any love ballad or gossipy new ditty, Isolda sang an abbreviated version of the Song of Roland. The two musicians had positioned themselves in front of the high table, barely as far apart as was appropriate, and Isolda kept her eyes on the Earl the entire time. Although Guy had to admit that she was quite a good singer, he could tell that there were feelings between her and the minstrel. It reminded him so much of Marian and Hood that Guy began to find Isolda's voice and even her beauty increasingly repulsive. Because there was no escape from the performance, however, he signalled the nearest servant for more wine, and by the time the song had finished, he was very close to being drunk.
Everybody clapped when the minstrel played his last note. Sensing the Earl's eye upon him, Guy brought his hands together a few times as well, then hastily stopped as soon as the Earl turned back to his daughter.
"Well sung, my daughter, " the Earl said, beaming happily. As an afterthought, he added, "Well played, Ivo."
"I haven't heard that one for ages," Quenilda's grandfather, Thurstan, said. He was supposed to be blind, but when Quenilda had introduced him to Guy, the older man had stared directly into his eyes.
"Not since it was new, eh, father?" Quenilda's mother teased, and Thurstan laughed. Guy covered his own smile by raising his cup to his lips. When he put it down again, he saw that Quenilda was watching him, looking worried, or perhaps disapproving. Did she think he was drinking too much? The thought made him irritable, and he reacted by demanding yet more wine.
"You have such a beautiful voice, Isolda," Quenilda's mother went on. "I could listen to you all night – but we should give others a turn. Will you sing a song for us, Ivo?"
"Gladly, if my lady will tell me what she'd like to hear?" Ivo replied.
"If you've finished it in the meantime, and if Sir Guy wouldn't mind, I would like to hear the song about him defeating the dragon of Throxenby and saving my daughters," Quenilda's mother said.
Ivo bowed, but said, "Certainly, my lady, but which ending would you prefer? I have written two of them."
"Two of them?" Quenilda's mother exclaimed.
"Yes, my lady, one where he marries Lady Quenilda, and one where he marries Lady Isolda." Was it just Sir Guy's imagination or did the young man's voice quaver a little when he spoke the second name? Lady Isolda certainly shot the bard an unhappy look, and his smile seemed forced as he continued, "Or perhaps Sir Guy can tell us which ending I should sing?"
They all turned to Guy, obviously wondering if he would announce his selection then and there. Having been caught in the middle of swallowing, Guy stopped, then deliberately made them wait while he drained his goblet yet again and slowly put it down. Scowling, he was just about to announce that he had no plans to marry anybody, ever, when Quenilda stood up suddenly.
"My lord, my lady, I must beg your forgiveness. Sir Guy has been hiding it well, but he is quite fatigued after this long day, and must return to bed or he will suffer a relapse. Humphrey – I mean, Godfrey, you're closer, help me take Sir Guy to his chamber."
"No forgiveness is necessary, my daughter," the Earl said, and Quenilda hurried around the back of the high table while Godfrey came at Guy from the side.
"I'm not fatigued," Guy announced with a sneer, scorning the very word as he got to his feet. He was, however, somewhat dizzy, and found that he had to hold onto the table for just a moment.
"No, my lord, you're drunk," Quenilda told him quietly. "And I won't allow you to stay here if I must be afraid the entire time that you will insult my sister or even Ivo."
Godfrey took Guy by the arm, and Guy tried to shrug him off. When Godfrey merely gripped him tighter, Guy balled his free hand to a fist and swung at him. Godfrey dodged with the ease of much practice, but Guy's fist connected anyway with the person who happened to be standing next to him – Quenilda. The force of the blow propelled her into the table and from there, she slumped bonelessly to the floor.
Guy froze, horrified, seeing Marian for a moment, and not Quenilda. He was aware of horrified cries, of movement, of the Countess jumping up and racing to her daughter's side, of the Earl getting out of his chair and coming towards him. The pleasant numbing effect of the wine had disappeared abruptly, and he was all too sober now, but he could not move or speak. Was she dead? Had he killed her, too?
Then Quenilda groaned and shifted on the floor, putting a hand to her face, and Guy exhaled in relief.
"Quenilda?" the Earl asked gently, and in a small, pained voice, Quenilda murmured, "Father?"
"Come, my girl, let's get you upstairs," the Countess said, motioning for Eva to come and help. Between them, they lifted Quenilda carefully to her feet, but then the Earl said, "Wait. Let her sit for a moment."
As they settled Quenilda into the nearest chair, the Earl turned his attention back to Guy. "Sir Guy. You've deliberately hurt a member of my family, you will receive double the same hurt in return. Godfrey, Humphrey, hold him."
Guy made no effort to escape the servants as they clasped his arms and held him tightly; he simply stood there, hating himself for his actions. Although he'd thought he was used to being humiliated, as he endured a steady stream of it from the Sheriff of Nottingham, he found that he hated the thought of being humiliated in front of Quenilda, and wished fervently that the Earl had let her go upstairs. Then the Earl hit him in the jaw, and if Humphrey and Godfrey had not been holding him, Guy would have gone sprawling to the floor. They checked his fall and pulled him upright again, and the Earl waited until he was more or less steady on his feet before raising his fist a second time.
It took longer for Guy to shake off the stars that danced around the edge of his vision, longer for his legs to stand firm again, but eventually, he managed. Spitting out a mouthful of blood, he probed his teeth with his tongue; some were loose, but thankfully, none had been knocked out.
"Apologize to Quenilda now, Sir Guy," the Earl commanded. The servants let go of his arms and he corrected his balance, then finally dared glance over at Quenilda. She was watching him with one hand pressed against her cheek, and when he hesitated, she motioned for him to come closer. He took two steps in her direction, then stopped and opened his mouth. "I –"
Why was it so hard? He tried again, forcing his lips to form the right words. "I apologize, Lady Quenilda. I did not mean to hurt you."
She reached out one hand, and Guy forced himself to take another step forward before kneeling down, taking her hand in his, and kissing it briefly. He heard gasps of surprise or perhaps even outrage from various people in the hall, which made him wonder what he'd done wrong, but Quenilda said, "It's all right, Sir Guy, I know it was an accident."
His duty discharged, Guy let go of her hand, then got to his feet. He had vague thoughts of taking his leave and retreating to his chamber, but the Earl advanced on him, his arms opening wide. Expecting another kind of physical blow, Guy froze in surprise as the Earl hugged him, kissed him on each cheek, and said, "Punishment over, Sir Guy. You're forgiven, and it's forgotten now."
When he let go, Guy staggered, staring at him in astonishment. Forgiven? The concept was a foreign language to him, something he might have heard of, but certainly couldn't understand. If there was such a thing as forgiveness, then it was surely for other people, not for him. He could never be forgiven, not after all that he'd done, not as long as he was what he was.
"Come, Quenilda, let's get you upstairs where you can rest," the Countess said, helping her daughter to stand. The Earl gave Quenilda a quick kiss on the forehead, then ran his hand down her hair and said, "Good night, my daughter."
He turned away and called out, "Ivo! Play something to give Quenilda good dreams!"
Ivo plucked the tune of a lullaby that Guy recognized from his own childhood, and after a moment, Isolda began to quietly sing the words. Nearby, Eva yawned, then clapped her hand over her mouth, and giggled. "Don't worry, my lady, I won't fall asleep before you do."
Guy watched as Quenilda smiled back, wincing only a little at the bruised muscles in her face, then saw her glance from Eva to him.
"Sir Guy, come upstairs with me, and I will put some comfrey salve on your bruises," Quenilda said.
"My lady," Guy replied, and took the opportunity to follow them out of the hall. Up in the chamber where Quenilda was now sleeping, he remained just inside the open door, watching Eva fuss over her mistress. She insisted that Quenilda sit on the bed and refused to let her apply the salve herself, pulling the pot away from Quenilda's outstretched hand and giving her a threatening glare.
"I'm not dying, Eva," Quenilda scolded her, but there was a loving undertone to her words, and a smile in her eyes. "It doesn't even hurt all that much any more."
"Hmph," Eva replied, smearing the salve liberally over Quenilda's cheek. Quenilda leaned her head back a little, but as soon as Eva had finished, she quickly and carefully took the pot from her servant's hand in a movement worthy of any pickpocket.
"My lady!" Eva huffed, but it was Quenilda's turn to give her a threatening glare. Then she stood up and approached Guy, digging her fingers into the salve and extending her hand. He bent down so that she could reach his face more easily, and she worked the medicine into his bruised skin from his eye down to his jawbone. Her touch was as gentle as she could make it, and Guy closed his eyes and leaned into her hand, then realized what he was doing, and scolded himself. What was he thinking? He didn't want any more contact with women!
Without removing her fingers from his cheek, Quenilda stood up suddenly on tiptoe and kissed him on the forehead.
"You really are forgiven, Sir Guy," she said, and when he straightened up and looked down at her, she smiled.
Part 5
Because Sir Guy was doing so well, it was no longer seemly for Quenilda and her maid to sleep in the same room with him. Finding Humphrey and Godfrey, Quenilda ordered them to serve Guy and to bring him whatever he asked for.
"M'lady," they mumbled, nodding, and went off. Quenilda went her way, as well, but in the night, as she lay awake next to Isolda, she couldn't help worrying about her patient. More than once, she wondered if he weren't going to try to sneak away in the night and make her dream come true.
But Sir Guy was still there the next morning when Quenilda knocked on the door to check, and she was surprised at how relieved she was to see him roll over in the bed and sit up.
"Don't get up yet, Sir Guy," she told him. "Humphrey, fetch him some breakfast. Godfrey, come with me. We're just going to look for some clothes for you to wear, Sir Guy."
The two servants shuffled reluctantly to the door, and Quenilda led Godfrey to her grandfather's chamber. Thurstan was already dressed except for his boots, which he was just tugging on as they entered. He looked up, squinting in her direction, and Quenilda said, "Good morning, Grandfather!"
"Quenilda," he said with a smile, standing up and reaching out for her embrace. She gave him a strong squeeze.
"I've hardly seen you since we sent you to the dragon," Thurstan said, not relinquishing her immediately. "How are you?"
"Nicely uneaten, but not for lack of trying on the dragon's part," she said. "And quite well otherwise, too. How are you?"
"Isolda says you've been tending another kind of dragon, a Sir Guy of Gisborne?" he asked, sidestepping the question of his own health. He let go of her at last and stepped back, looking down into her face with his weak eyes.
"He's not a dragon!" Quenilda exclaimed with a laugh. "But yes, I've been tending him. He was quite ill after that beast bit him. And that reminds me why I've come. I want to raid your chest for clothing. Sir Guy needs something fresh to wear."
"Clothing? That's a new excuse for visiting me. I must say, I like it much better than Isolda's excuse."
Quenilda grinned. "Oh? And what's her excuse?"
"First she asks if I've slept well, then she asks if I've had any dreams, and then she asks if I've seen anything of Robin Hood," Thurstan recounted. "Although yesterday she asked if I'd dreamed of her getting married."
"And have you?" Quenilda asked.
"I dreamed recently that she was surrounded by children – six, at least," Thurstan said. "She was quite put out when I couldn't name her husband, though, or tell her whether he carried a sword or a bow."
Quenilda took her grandfather's hand in both of hers. "I'm sorry about Isolda, grandfather. I think she's listened to Ivo sing too much about Robin Hood and has fallen in love with a man who exists only in songs."
"It's part of being young," her grandfather said with a tolerant smile. "I loved listening to songs, too, when I was her age. Oh, how I wanted to be a knight of the Round Table and have my own Queen Guinevere! But if Sir Guy truly does choose Isolda, she'll have to grow up very soon."
"Yes," Quenilda agreed. "However, Sir Guy's still recovering, and won't be in any condition to marry anybody for several days at least. And that brings me back to the question of clothes, Grandfather. You're about his size, and although I know how much you value the new things that my mother commissioned for you at Eastertime, I was wondering if you could spare them for the day?"
Thurstan threw back his head and laughed. "You're asking because you know exactly how much I hate them, you mean! All those twiddly laces! Yes, Quenilda, by all means, let Sir Guy wear them. If he looks halfway presentable, I'll even let him keep them."
"I'm sure it will be a huge sacrifice," Quenilda replied, laughing as well. She crossed the room to the chest and sorted out the carefully folded trousers, shirt, and overtunic, then laid them into Godfrey's arms, and topped it all off with an older fur-lined cloak. "Take these to Sir Guy, and help him get dressed if he needs it. But don't let him go out until I'm there."
Godfrey heaved one of his usual sighs and went off, and Quenilda took her grandfather's arm. "I'll take you down to breakfast, if I may?"
He patted her hand with his own. "You may indeed."
On their way down the stairs, Thurstan said, "You'll have a difficult life if you marry him, you know."
"I might have a difficult life if I don't," Quenilda replied. "Or even if I marry somebody else."
"True enough," Thurstan agreed, and then he sighed. "Your father, Alfward, told me once that he had a very difficult marriage with Isolda's mother."
"And then she died," Quenilda said.
"And he married your mother," Thurstan continued. "Well. Difficult times don't always last forever."
"I hope you're not thinking that any difficult times I might have will soon be over because I'll die young," Quenilda said, laughing.
"Actually, I was thinking of Sir Guy," Thurstan said, quite seriously, but then he smiled. "But here you are, not even married yet, and he might well choose Isolda."
Quenilda made quick work of her breakfast, then left the high table and skipped up the steps to see how Sir Guy was getting on. He'd already eaten and dressed, and was just pulling his boots on when she arrived.
"Ready to go out, Sir Guy?" Quenilda asked, and he straightened up. He looked so different than the first time she'd seen him; his new clothes fit well enough, despite being just a bit short in the arms and legs, and the dark blue suited his complexion perfectly. Quenilda smiled to see him looking so healthy, and even handsome, but he didn't smile back.
"My lady," he said dutifully, and strode towards her. She watched his legs for any trembling or weakness, and was gratified to see none. It was only when he had reached the door and extended his arm to her that she realized he wasn't wearing the cloak.
"Wait, we've forgotten something," she said, dashing over to the chest. The cloak was on top, still folded, and she lifted it up and shook it out in one motion. Sir Guy scowled, but let her place it over his shoulders.
Outside, Quenilda glanced around. "I asked Humphrey to bring out a bench for you to sit on – oh, there he comes now."
Humphrey manhandled the bench into the best position on the south side of the keep, where the sunlight would reach it most of the day, but Sir Guy resisted Quenilda's attempts to lead him there.
"One of the servants said he thought you had my horse in his stables," Sir Guy said. "Show me."
"Of course, Sir Guy," Quenilda replied, and they turned in that direction. A passing stable lad pointed out the black horse in one of the boxes, and Sir Guy took the lead, strolling energetically towards it. By the time she caught up with him, Quenilda didn't even have to ask if the horse belonged to him; he was running his hand down its neck and softly apologizing for not having any carrots.
"What's his name?" Quenilda asked, after craning her neck to see that it was a splendid stallion.
"Roland," Sir Guy said.
"A strong name for a strong horse."
Sir Guy made a noise of assent. From behind them, the stable lad asked, "Would my lord like to ride out on him? He needs some exercise."
"Later," Sir Guy said, just as Quenilda opened her mouth to say "No." She was relieved that she didn't have to forbid him, and watched as he gave the horse's nose a final caress, then turned away. From the stables, Sir Guy walked around the courtyard, staring out at the town and the landscape beyond.
"The healing spring is in that direction," Quenilda said, pointing south. "I wouldn't recommend that you go there to-day, though. It's more than a mile from here, and there's no point. Eva's been bringing spring water up for you all the time since you were ill, and you've made a wonderful recovery."
Sir Guy grunted again, then turned to the east, where the ocean was visible as a shimmering strip on the horizon.
"Have you ever been to the sea, Sir Guy?" Quenilda asked.
"Yes," Sir Guy snapped, in a tone of voice that indicated he did not care for the sea and did not want to talk about the experience. Quenilda said, "No, I wouldn't like being seasick, either. It must be much worse than being bounced along in a fast carriage on a bad road."
"You've never sailed?" Sir Guy asked, and Quenilda shook her head. "No. I've been to Scarborough twice, though, and I've seen the waves."
Without answering, Sir Guy reached up and slipped his cloak from his shoulders. Quenilda gave him a hard look. "Sir Guy, put that back on before you catch a chill!"
"It's much too hot," he grumbled, folding the cloak over his arm. "I'm sweating under all this fur!"
Frowning, Quenilda took off her own cloak and extended it to him. "Here. Mine is lighter, try it."
It was too short, of course, and just barely wide enough across Sir Guy's chest, but at least it was the right weight. Quenilda received the fur-lined cloak in return, but didn't put it on, because she wasn't ill, and Sir Guy was correct. It was much too warm for the mild day.
Sir Guy walked around the keep a second time, and Quenilda had to trot to keep up. Either he had regained his strength much faster than she had expected, or he was pushing himself too hard and would collapse soon. She drew up alongside and searched his face for signs of exhaustion, but he seemed to be doing all right so far, and smirked when he saw her looking at him.
When they came around to the south side of the keep again, Quenilda saw that Isolda and Ivo had seated themselves on opposite ends of the bench. There was a seemly distance between them, but they had turned to face each other, which made the distance appear less somehow. Ivo had his lute out, ready to play, but before he could pluck the first note, Quenilda caught his attention by calling out.
"Ivo, Isolda, will you not perform something for Sir Guy?" Turning to look up at him, Quenilda said, "Sir Guy, come, sit here and listen to my sister sing."
Isolda and Ivo jumped up from the bench as one and stared at Sir Guy in alarm. By the expressions on their faces, Quenilda thought, they obviously expected him to charge forward and cause them both grievous bodily harm, despite the fact that he was wearing neither sword nor dagger. Sir Guy scowled, his eyes flicking from one to the other and back again. Then, without speaking, he swept by them and strode to the steps that led back into the keep.
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That night at dinner, however, Guy was forced to listen to Isolda sing while Ivo played. He suspected that Quenilda had had a hand in choosing the song; instead of any love ballad or gossipy new ditty, Isolda sang an abbreviated version of the Song of Roland. The two musicians had positioned themselves in front of the high table, barely as far apart as was appropriate, and Isolda kept her eyes on the Earl the entire time. Although Guy had to admit that she was quite a good singer, he could tell that there were feelings between her and the minstrel. It reminded him so much of Marian and Hood that Guy began to find Isolda's voice and even her beauty increasingly repulsive. Because there was no escape from the performance, however, he signalled the nearest servant for more wine, and by the time the song had finished, he was very close to being drunk.
Everybody clapped when the minstrel played his last note. Sensing the Earl's eye upon him, Guy brought his hands together a few times as well, then hastily stopped as soon as the Earl turned back to his daughter.
"Well sung, my daughter, " the Earl said, beaming happily. As an afterthought, he added, "Well played, Ivo."
"I haven't heard that one for ages," Quenilda's grandfather, Thurstan, said. He was supposed to be blind, but when Quenilda had introduced him to Guy, the older man had stared directly into his eyes.
"Not since it was new, eh, father?" Quenilda's mother teased, and Thurstan laughed. Guy covered his own smile by raising his cup to his lips. When he put it down again, he saw that Quenilda was watching him, looking worried, or perhaps disapproving. Did she think he was drinking too much? The thought made him irritable, and he reacted by demanding yet more wine.
"You have such a beautiful voice, Isolda," Quenilda's mother went on. "I could listen to you all night – but we should give others a turn. Will you sing a song for us, Ivo?"
"Gladly, if my lady will tell me what she'd like to hear?" Ivo replied.
"If you've finished it in the meantime, and if Sir Guy wouldn't mind, I would like to hear the song about him defeating the dragon of Throxenby and saving my daughters," Quenilda's mother said.
Ivo bowed, but said, "Certainly, my lady, but which ending would you prefer? I have written two of them."
"Two of them?" Quenilda's mother exclaimed.
"Yes, my lady, one where he marries Lady Quenilda, and one where he marries Lady Isolda." Was it just Sir Guy's imagination or did the young man's voice quaver a little when he spoke the second name? Lady Isolda certainly shot the bard an unhappy look, and his smile seemed forced as he continued, "Or perhaps Sir Guy can tell us which ending I should sing?"
They all turned to Guy, obviously wondering if he would announce his selection then and there. Having been caught in the middle of swallowing, Guy stopped, then deliberately made them wait while he drained his goblet yet again and slowly put it down. Scowling, he was just about to announce that he had no plans to marry anybody, ever, when Quenilda stood up suddenly.
"My lord, my lady, I must beg your forgiveness. Sir Guy has been hiding it well, but he is quite fatigued after this long day, and must return to bed or he will suffer a relapse. Humphrey – I mean, Godfrey, you're closer, help me take Sir Guy to his chamber."
"No forgiveness is necessary, my daughter," the Earl said, and Quenilda hurried around the back of the high table while Godfrey came at Guy from the side.
"I'm not fatigued," Guy announced with a sneer, scorning the very word as he got to his feet. He was, however, somewhat dizzy, and found that he had to hold onto the table for just a moment.
"No, my lord, you're drunk," Quenilda told him quietly. "And I won't allow you to stay here if I must be afraid the entire time that you will insult my sister or even Ivo."
Godfrey took Guy by the arm, and Guy tried to shrug him off. When Godfrey merely gripped him tighter, Guy balled his free hand to a fist and swung at him. Godfrey dodged with the ease of much practice, but Guy's fist connected anyway with the person who happened to be standing next to him – Quenilda. The force of the blow propelled her into the table and from there, she slumped bonelessly to the floor.
Guy froze, horrified, seeing Marian for a moment, and not Quenilda. He was aware of horrified cries, of movement, of the Countess jumping up and racing to her daughter's side, of the Earl getting out of his chair and coming towards him. The pleasant numbing effect of the wine had disappeared abruptly, and he was all too sober now, but he could not move or speak. Was she dead? Had he killed her, too?
Then Quenilda groaned and shifted on the floor, putting a hand to her face, and Guy exhaled in relief.
"Quenilda?" the Earl asked gently, and in a small, pained voice, Quenilda murmured, "Father?"
"Come, my girl, let's get you upstairs," the Countess said, motioning for Eva to come and help. Between them, they lifted Quenilda carefully to her feet, but then the Earl said, "Wait. Let her sit for a moment."
As they settled Quenilda into the nearest chair, the Earl turned his attention back to Guy. "Sir Guy. You've deliberately hurt a member of my family, you will receive double the same hurt in return. Godfrey, Humphrey, hold him."
Guy made no effort to escape the servants as they clasped his arms and held him tightly; he simply stood there, hating himself for his actions. Although he'd thought he was used to being humiliated, as he endured a steady stream of it from the Sheriff of Nottingham, he found that he hated the thought of being humiliated in front of Quenilda, and wished fervently that the Earl had let her go upstairs. Then the Earl hit him in the jaw, and if Humphrey and Godfrey had not been holding him, Guy would have gone sprawling to the floor. They checked his fall and pulled him upright again, and the Earl waited until he was more or less steady on his feet before raising his fist a second time.
It took longer for Guy to shake off the stars that danced around the edge of his vision, longer for his legs to stand firm again, but eventually, he managed. Spitting out a mouthful of blood, he probed his teeth with his tongue; some were loose, but thankfully, none had been knocked out.
"Apologize to Quenilda now, Sir Guy," the Earl commanded. The servants let go of his arms and he corrected his balance, then finally dared glance over at Quenilda. She was watching him with one hand pressed against her cheek, and when he hesitated, she motioned for him to come closer. He took two steps in her direction, then stopped and opened his mouth. "I –"
Why was it so hard? He tried again, forcing his lips to form the right words. "I apologize, Lady Quenilda. I did not mean to hurt you."
She reached out one hand, and Guy forced himself to take another step forward before kneeling down, taking her hand in his, and kissing it briefly. He heard gasps of surprise or perhaps even outrage from various people in the hall, which made him wonder what he'd done wrong, but Quenilda said, "It's all right, Sir Guy, I know it was an accident."
His duty discharged, Guy let go of her hand, then got to his feet. He had vague thoughts of taking his leave and retreating to his chamber, but the Earl advanced on him, his arms opening wide. Expecting another kind of physical blow, Guy froze in surprise as the Earl hugged him, kissed him on each cheek, and said, "Punishment over, Sir Guy. You're forgiven, and it's forgotten now."
When he let go, Guy staggered, staring at him in astonishment. Forgiven? The concept was a foreign language to him, something he might have heard of, but certainly couldn't understand. If there was such a thing as forgiveness, then it was surely for other people, not for him. He could never be forgiven, not after all that he'd done, not as long as he was what he was.
"Come, Quenilda, let's get you upstairs where you can rest," the Countess said, helping her daughter to stand. The Earl gave Quenilda a quick kiss on the forehead, then ran his hand down her hair and said, "Good night, my daughter."
He turned away and called out, "Ivo! Play something to give Quenilda good dreams!"
Ivo plucked the tune of a lullaby that Guy recognized from his own childhood, and after a moment, Isolda began to quietly sing the words. Nearby, Eva yawned, then clapped her hand over her mouth, and giggled. "Don't worry, my lady, I won't fall asleep before you do."
Guy watched as Quenilda smiled back, wincing only a little at the bruised muscles in her face, then saw her glance from Eva to him.
"Sir Guy, come upstairs with me, and I will put some comfrey salve on your bruises," Quenilda said.
"My lady," Guy replied, and took the opportunity to follow them out of the hall. Up in the chamber where Quenilda was now sleeping, he remained just inside the open door, watching Eva fuss over her mistress. She insisted that Quenilda sit on the bed and refused to let her apply the salve herself, pulling the pot away from Quenilda's outstretched hand and giving her a threatening glare.
"I'm not dying, Eva," Quenilda scolded her, but there was a loving undertone to her words, and a smile in her eyes. "It doesn't even hurt all that much any more."
"Hmph," Eva replied, smearing the salve liberally over Quenilda's cheek. Quenilda leaned her head back a little, but as soon as Eva had finished, she quickly and carefully took the pot from her servant's hand in a movement worthy of any pickpocket.
"My lady!" Eva huffed, but it was Quenilda's turn to give her a threatening glare. Then she stood up and approached Guy, digging her fingers into the salve and extending her hand. He bent down so that she could reach his face more easily, and she worked the medicine into his bruised skin from his eye down to his jawbone. Her touch was as gentle as she could make it, and Guy closed his eyes and leaned into her hand, then realized what he was doing, and scolded himself. What was he thinking? He didn't want any more contact with women!
Without removing her fingers from his cheek, Quenilda stood up suddenly on tiptoe and kissed him on the forehead.
"You really are forgiven, Sir Guy," she said, and when he straightened up and looked down at her, she smiled.
Part 5