"Not false Miss. Undesired perhaps but never false, remember that. Please take this. It is yours, no charge."
Guinevere stared down at the clasp. It was undeniably beautiful. Smooth metal lines flowed into one and other to make up the rays of a setting sun. The bronze itself gleamed dully in the light pouring through the roof of the tent-
-"No, thank you." She stalked out of the tent and a cold wind seemed to blow-up from nowhere. The dark clouds on the horizon blew across the sun and rain started to fall in hot fast drops. Without waiting for Ylsa or the others Guinevere turned and ran home...Chapter VII: A New Life
Lately if Arthur left for more than a few days he always returned with some little gift for her. Gwen felt a stirring of excitement as she eyed the bundle in his hand, she was getting used to these little presents. The silk itself was beautiful a long length of luxurious bright red, gleaming in the late afternoon sunlight begging to be touched. She took it from him and felt the softness of the material and the hard metal it concealed. Gwen eyed him curiously before unwrapping the silk to reveal a bronze hair clasp.
The sun dropping below or perhaps climbing above the horizon had been carved in exquisite detail, rays bending and curving, blossoming like a rare black flower.
"It's beautiful Arthur."...Chapter XII: Her Own Woman
TW: ethnic slurs, see A/N for specifics
The Exile
-Part II, Jenafere Alone-
Chapter XXXV: A Gift Lost, A Gift Found
On her second day Gwen met the twenty-three patients living in the patient had his or her own bed with heavy red drapes that could be closed for privacy. Each bed served as a station with two chairs for a physician or visitors. Her nose was now used enough to the ubiquitous fragrance of clove and watermint that she almost took no notice of the scent hanging over the floor as she met each of the patients.
There was the unfortunate with the gangrenous wound in his leg, which stank and had to be cleaned every three hours. An older woman with a deep cough in her chest who had been found wandering the streets. She could not remember her name or the names of any family, and seemed to speak only of things that happened when she was a new bride almost forty-years ago. Every day she remembered less and less. All the hospice staff wondered which would kill her first the worsening chest cough or the day she simply forgot how to breathe.
There were lepers who might or might not get well, a young woman who'd had a terrible accident with a cart and broken both legs. She had a family to go to, but was in too much pain to make the return trip to the countryside. Her brother now resided at the church and mainly took care of her. She'd be at the hospice for about two or three weeks.
Pradeep spoke with each patient every day after breakfast. For those who simply needed to be kept clean, fed, and exercised while they healed the conversations were pleasant and cheerful. For others, the talk was thoughtful, serious, as they awaited death. Father Flaejer visited with the latter often.
Mrs. Sabina, the volunteer of whom Owena had spoken so well, had a special interest in these patients. She spent her time soothing them, praying with them, telling them stories, and even bringing them little gifts.
Upon the completion of morning rounds, it was time to see the patients who had accumulated in the clinic once they'd opened the doors. There were always a few souls who arrived during the night and slept in the church. Gwen and Pradeep saw these patients first. For some, they prescribed a change in diet or behavior; for others they prescribed remedies to be mixed at the local pharmacy or by Pradeep himself. For those who might need an herb for an extended period of time, Pradeep encouraged them to grow the plant if they could do so and eat, smoke, or drink it as a tea.
When they'd seen the last of the day's clinic patients, Gwen and Pradeep retired to the physician's office to mix remedies and write up the day's logs.
The sun in its westward decent left the room dim, and they lit a few wax and tallow candles before settling into work, Pradeep at his desk and Gwen at the work table. The office, as always, with a collection of plants was redolent with the fragrance of fresh turned earth after a rainfall, and Gwen took a moment to savor the scent as she let her eyes wonder over the bright green foliage of Pradeep's collection. Before pulling out her reading.
"So ," Pradeep looked up from his notes. "Your second day is nearly completed. How are you feeling about Wyeledon hospice?"
Gwen froze a moment before looking up from the logs she was reading. When you were a servant, no one asked after your feelings regarding your work. It was assumed that the work was miserable, and you were resigned to it. Though she had never felt any shame in serving, indeed she saw a nobility in it.
"It is a great busy place and," she took a deep breath, "I have much to learn."
He smiled and she felt a wash of relief. He liked her answer.
"Well, you are learning three new jobs at once."
"Oh."
"Physician, assistant, and hospice stewardship."
"I suppose I am," Gwen replied considering his words.
"Study those logs. I'll want you to start writing them next week for the clinic patients that we see. Nurse Owena will be helping you with that for a time, but as my assistant I'll eventually expect you to take over that work. Also review my notes; you'll want to start making similar ones regarding the patients when they speak to us."
She felt a twist of nerves, but nodded. "Yes, Physician Pradeep."
"Now there are a few more remedies we will be mixing this evening, and then its off home. "
"Yes, of course."
Pradeep discussed plants and healing with her, as well as her knowledge of gardening. Like most peasants Gwen had grown an herb and vegetable garden for eating, so she had a foundation for this new knowledge. There were differences in harvesting plants for medicine and how you wanted to grow them to increase or decrease an efficacy of the plant itself. He recommended that she start a little garden of her own at the townhouse. She could, of course, have her own practice without doing so, but the only way to be certain of her prescribed remedies was to grow them herself.
"How is that lad who was here yesterday- Mordred? Was able to help him?"
"Yes, actually he will keep his arm."
"Astonishing, utterly astonishing what that woman can do and her dedication to her craft." Pradeep stopped in the midst of his work. "And her courage? I've never seen such courage. She saved this city when the Saxons would have overrun it. Probably saved the entire Island, but still cried over one little life, amazing." The physician sighed and returned his attention back to his work.
"You hold Ms. Ylsa in high esteem."
"Oh, the highest. Many physicians disregard midwifery as any worthwhile medicine, but it is the first medicine any of us will receive and, therefore, the most important-midwifery lays the foundation for life. Our world," he sighed and shook his head here, "is a very backward place. The most important is regarded as the least, and the most sacred things taken for granted." He looked at her expression, thoughtful. "Know your value my dear and never forget: Without womankind, there would be no much vaunted mankind."
And with those stunning words, Physician Pradeep turned back to his work.
"You let him leave!?"
Guinevere, Synove, and Kerenza winced and glanced at each other each, wearing grimaces of concern and worry.
"Let! This is boarding house for adult women, not a child smuggling ring."
"Child smuggling!" Ylsa's words came out in a shriek. "I explained the situation to you. I told you Mordred could not leave, that he was not safe. I told you that he needed to be kept here!"
"I don't think we should be listening-"
"Shhhh," Kerenza shushed Synove, and Gwen strained guilty ears to hear more.
"-mistress in this house!" Ms. Alfonsa shouted!
"Yes, you are, and we all know about your preoccupation with money! You pretend to care and be oh-so concerned with helping others, but when it comes down to it, you can't even help one injured boy. You're never the one in the streets, or the hospices or the battlefields. You just talk, talk, talk! And you're bringing that man to this house!"
"Who is she talking about?" Guinevere asked.
"I don't know," Kerenza said.
"But girls-" Synove said.
"Be quite!" Kerenza hissed.
"-the patrons are important, you and Ms. Jen are thick as thieves, but she wouldn't have a position right now if it weren't for his patronage."
The others glanced at her and whatever Ylsa said in reply was too low for them to hear.
"-I could buy this townhouse and the hospice if I chose to, but I know the true value of dirty gold,-"
"-Yes, Ylsa, it is your choice!" The words were thick with resentment. "And if you might make a different one, I might make a different one-"
Ylsa let out a frustrated screech.
"Pray for yourself, pray for all of us, because you're going to need it!"
They heard the sound of the study door opening and slamming a moment later and the click of heels on the tile floor. Guinevere picked up her dress, and needle and thread. The others shared a guilty glance and got back to work too; they were helping her finish her dress for Ms. Alfonsa's party on Saturday. She probably should have been studying, but there was something soothing in working on her dress and Kerenza and Synove were able to help her tonight. Once it was done, she wouldn't have to think about it for the rest of the week.
A few moments after the first slam, they heard the front door opening and was truly outraged.
Gwen had returned from her second day at the hospice to find that Mordred had gone while they'd been out for the day. She'd known of course that Ylsa would be unhappy. She had not anticipated this raging argument between Ylsa and Ms. Alfonsa though, but then none of them had, except perhaps Ms. Alfonsa herself.
Kerenza opened her mouth to speak, but the older woman appeared in the doorway of the parlor. The three of them, as one, turned their focus on the work in front of them.
"How is the dress coming?" Ms. Alfonsa asked dropping the words into the midst of the tension hanging in the air.
"Well," Gwen said looking up.
"Will it be done in time do you think?"
"Yes, now that Synove and Kerenza are helping me," Gwen glanced at her two friends, both of whom gave the sewing in front of them their full attention.
"Good, good." Ms. Alfonsa stood in the doorway for a moment, before coming into the parlor and settling on the room's only open chair. "Listen my dear girls. For the party this weekend, it is most important that our guests feel comfortable and at ease. We will have seven guests, and each of them shall bring a single companion. I would like to ask the three of you to attend to the needs of one guest and his or her companion."
"That guest will be your responsibility for the duration of their party. You needn't be at their side constantly; just make certain that they eat, drink, are introduced to other guests, and entertained. Make them feel special and at ease. Father Flaejer, myself, and Adras will all be doing the same."
"Do you still want me to play with Rosaline?" Synove asked.
"Yes, if tending one of the guest will pull you away from that too much, you needn't worry about it," Ms. Alfonsa said.
"It shouldn't," Synove said with a little smile.
"Very good then," Ms. Alfonsa sighed and fell silent. The tension from her argument with Ylsa, though less, still hung in the air. "I have much to do; I shall leave the three of you to your sewing."
Gwen peered into the early morning darkness. The horizon shone with only the soft pearl gray of false dawn and yet she was awake, dressed, and standing in front of the townhouse waiting for Ylsa. At least the early morning air was cool, the summer had been unusually hot and sunny.
The midwife stepped outside at just that moment and pulled the heavy townhouse door shut.
"Come," Ylsa grinned wide and bright as she took her arm, and Gwen failed to suppress a scowl.
"How is it-" she punctuated her question with a yawn."How is it that you are so lively?"
When she'd mentioned that she wanted to see a demonstration of how the hospice breakfast was prepared, Ylsa had volunteered to make certain she woke early enough. And indeed the midwife had shaken her awake when it was still quite dark outside.
"Sorry, trade secret."
"So it is magic?" Guinevere asked with a small smile and ignored her body's complaints that they were up and walking about.
"Yes."
Ylsa looked ridiculously pleased with herself, and Gwen felt the vaguest stirring of temptation and just a hint of jealousy. As a palace servant, she'd been used to rising with the sun, and with Camelot being Camelot, she'd often kept odd hour, helping Merlin with various capers. She'd never seemed to lack vigor or good cheer in those days. Now she often woke weak and drained. Was she already growing old?
"There's nothing I could do for you now, but the next time you decide to be up before the sun, I could help."
Gwen nodded, "Was the early rising magic too?"
"Of a sort."
"How?"
"I just told my body to sleep less."
"Oh," The two women lapsed into silence.
Guinevere allowed herself to be lulled into a peaceful early morning thoughtlessness almost as if she still slept. Torchlights waved and danced, and they could hear the city patrol moving about somewhere in the streets of Wyeledon, but otherwise, all was quiet.
She'd never seen the busy crowded streets of Wyeledon empty and saw a few birds here, and there as they walked, their presence startled the occasional rabbit or squirrel, but other than the city patrol, the only humans out and about amidst the buildings of Wyeledon were two tiny women strolling arm-in-arm each lost in thought.
"Do you think I'm wrong?" Ylsa's words were soft, if not for the early morning quiet, Gwen would not have heard them.
The sun was just starting to rise now, and Gwen could see the first hints of pink and gold light moving over her friend's worried face.
"Wrong?"
"To be angry with Ms. Alfonsa."
Gwen swallowed. They had been fighting for two days now, and the last place she wanted to be was in the middle of it.
"I know Mordred has people of his own, but he is just a child. You saw his arm."
Gwen could hear the pleading in Ylsa's voice and in a flash of insight, she understood that more than anything, the midwife wanted someone else to see the danger she saw, share her worry for Mordred.
"I could not forget it."
"And not just the burn, which could very well have been an accident, but the other bruises. He will be hurt again; I am certain."
"Ylsa," Gwen chose her words with care. "Ms. Alfonsa respects you; she listens to would not have let Mordred go if she felt she had any choice."
Ylsa snorted now.
"Don't be so certain of that Jen; she did not see his arm." There was a cynicism in Ylsa's voice that Guinevere had never heard before. "Yes, Ms. Alfonsa respects me, but she- and for that matter, Father Flaejer, Pradeep, and even Adras dismiss me as too compassionate, too caught up with the feelings generated by my gifts."
The tone with which Ylsa delivered the last made Gwen think that she was quoting one of the four.
"Ylsa, I happen to know that all of them respect and admire you greatly." She shook her head. "When I first learnt of your magic, all of them had something to say and nary a bad word was uttered."
The midwife tsked.
"That's as may be, but I tell you this. I have warned them of the evils that certain men do, and they have taken no heed."
"But Pradeep and the others do listen to you-"
"-They listen when the benefits can be demonstrated. When it does not suit their purposes or wants, their ears are stopped up. They have not seen what I have seen. They think only of how certain alliances will further their own ambitions."
Now Guinevere frowned. "None of them strike me as ambitious?"
Ylsa snorted. "Ambition is not always at odds with kindness and generosity, Jen. No one works as hard as those four, as hard as I do, as hard as you do without being ambitious."
Her mouth worked to deny it.
"The sun is not yet up, and here you are going to watch a demonstration of food preparation for the hospice so you can better understand hospice stewardship. Were you asked to do that?"
"No," Guinevere admitted.
"And surely you could have watched them prepare lunch or dinner, but that would pull you away from the floor, wouldn't it?"
Gwen chewed her bottom lip.
"That's ambition, and there is nothing wrong with it. It's going to make you a better physician, it's going to make the lives of those depending on your skill better, but do not mistake it for anything else. Adras, Father Flajer, Physician Pradeep, Ms. Alfonsa and I are all ambitious people. My ambition is different from theirs. They are ambitious in their fight against the scourge of prostitution and slavery in this city, and it is leading them to dangerous alliances."
"I still don't know what it is they even do, besides the night ministry."
Ylsa sighed and shook her head. "It would take too long to explain, and here we are at the hospice."
The porridge bubbled and spit, filling the abbey kitchen with a warm, nutty fragrance that mingled deliciously with the ever present scents of clove and watermint. There were also the pungent scents of a numerous herbs and spices that Sister Abbey was using in the rest of the hospice breakfast.
Part of her stewardship was understanding each element of patient care at Wyeledon Hospice. Food, of course, was an important part of that.
She'd already spent an afternoon with the porters learning how to mix Ylsa's clove and watermint wash as well as the cleaning techniques that so reduced infection that a physician was now the preferred surgeon for all of Wyeledon.
Ylsa's influence was also found here in the kitchen. The sisters prayed over the food of course, but at Ylsa's direction, all the hospice food was served as close to raw as the patients could tolerate. That meant fruit and nuts were not added to breakfast porridge until it had finished cooking and eggs were steamed for no more than four minutes. She also learned the different herbs and spices Pradeep had prescribed and their beneficial effects.
The nuns finished the hospice breakfast, and Gwen thanked them for letting her watch before heading back to Pradeep's office. She had some questions for him about the logs that she wanted to ask before rounds began. But she didn't not go empty handed; she took a breakfast plate from the hospice with her.
Gwen leant against the wall amidst the cloaks and capes of the hospice staff. The room, windowless and shielded from the rays of the sun, was dark and cool, the air heavy with the scents of orris, myrrh, and frankincense, a pleasant place to hide a moment's weariness.
Once long days on her feet had been wearying, but no true challenge. This day- She was starting to regret the ambition that had her up before the sun.
It started with the hospice patients. Mr. _ had called on Father Flaejer for last rites. This had upset the entire floor, in particular one Ms. _ with whom he had formed a friendship. Then in the clinic there had been a long line of patients all complaining of a rash, and half of them swearing it was some new pox or plague. But Pradeep had seen it before. They'd spent hours pouring over medical logs and tomes searching for information. Until they'd found a log on a plant, a lily, that only bloomed once every seven years. It's pollen spread in late summer causing a reaction of red, itchy, watery eyes, sneezing, and in some cases rash- the Seven-Summer Fever.
It wasn't a mortal plague, but it could be very distressing to those who suffered the most acute reactions. Pradeep wrote up a script for a soothing potion and ointment and sent it to the apothecary. He ordered extra bed rest for those stricken and encouraged them to recite their Hail Marys and chant whatever prayers they most favored when feeling the worst effects of Seven-Summer Fever.* The symptoms would pass with the season.
Between the early start and the hours of reading she was stiff, her eyes strained, her shoulders ached, and she felt all but drained of her strength and vigor. Four months on her own schedule had left Guinevere unused and unready for a week spent working day in and day out. She had bragged to Pradeep of her vigor and hardiness in her interview. She could not now reveal that the first week had nearly exhausted her.
Guinevere closed her eyes. It was so cool and dark and pleasant in here. She'd rest just a little while and-
-"if she is so blessed* good with patients, you'd think she'd be a better mother."
Those words hailed footsteps, and intrigued, Gwen pressed further back into the capes trying to place a name to the familiar voice.
"What do you mean?"
She recognized the second speaker as Tamina, the little Ostarrichi* nurse.
"Well she is just a horror of a mother, selfish, too full up with her cares to think of her children."
Whatever reply Tamina made was muffled.
"Once he came home, and she had spent the day abed. The children unfed, unwashed, and mind, she is the one who insisted that they have no nurse."
Tamina gasped. "They hired one after that?"
"Of course. She had a fit, miserable wretch, wants the children to be heathen like the rest of her filthy people."
Gwen frowned, who were Sabina's people?
"I'm surprised Pradeep lets her volunteer here," Tamina said the last with a sniff.
"Well it was her husband's idea; he is a patron."
"Of course, he has no choice."
"She gives herself such airs, it's disgusting, but all those baubles cannot truly hide what she really is. I feel sorry for Mr. Maxen. She is beautiful, no denying it, but he thought she wanted to be civilized. He should have left her in the dung heap where he found her."
At last Gwen recognized Crissiant's harsh, haughty tone.
Their footsteps started again, and they drew away. Suddenly Gwen was glad she hadn't revealed herself. She was almost certain the unnamed volunteer they were gossiping about was Mrs. Sabina. Owena had made it clear that Mrs. Sabina was a valuable member of hospice staff and that she was not well liked by some of the nurses. Gwen gathered the books she'd come to collect and started back up to Pradeep's study considering what she'd just heard.
The gossip about Mrs. Sabina's mothering she dismissed. She'd worked with all types at the palace, and she knew enough to know that the majority of what she'd overheard was outright lies or at best twisted truth.
The tone of Crissiant and Tamina's gossip put Gwen in mind of bullying she'd observed at the palace. The purpose was usually to run the target of the gossip out of their position for one reason or another. She did not know if Mrs. Sabina had done anything to earn the nurse's wrath or if the woman disliked her because of her background, but the hospice needed volunteers. Gwen considered what Pradeep had said a few days ago about her learning hospice stewardship. She did not think a good steward allowed valuable staff to be bullied out of their positions. She would have to think of something.
How was it that she tried to draw a nice round bone, that had depth and dimension and yet drew something flat that looked nothing like a skeleton? Gwen rocked backwards in Pradeep's chair, and looked up from the skeleton she was trying to draw to survey Pradeep's plants. Perhaps she should work on gardening rather than drawing. She understood it, and -Gwen took a drew in a deep breath- it was so pleasant. Plants with bright lush leaves, damp soil, nurturing a new life into the world. The only drawback: gardening was recommended, and the skeleton was an assignment. It didn't just make better medicine; the vibrant green, the smell of fresh earth were soothing.
Gwen closed her eyes and relaxed for just a moment; she would simply do her best. She took a second look at the skeleton she was trying to recreate. Pradeep's skeleton was as good as anything the Romans might have done and hers-
-Guinevere let out a frustrated sigh; hers looked like a pile of walking sticks. Reading she was ready for, drawing…
The only drawing she had ever done had been as a child with sticks in dirt. If books and reading were treasures, then drawing paper, tools, time was an impossible moon.
She shook her head and eyed the medical logs and the books she needed read but couldn't bring herself to pick up a one. Her eyes were still strained from pouring over medical tomes looking for to the answers about the Seven-Summer Fever. That had been enough reading for one day.
She could go home, to the townhouse; her work day was done, but she needed some peace and quiet. She stretched her neck, first one side then the other, trying to ease some of the tension that had gathered there.
The townhouse was anything but quiet and peaceful. Ylsa and Ms. Alfonsa's disagreement about Mordred and the new hospice patron introduced a tension into the townhouse that had never yet been present. Neither woman wanted to argue with the other. Instead they somehow picked fights with their housemates about the daftest things. Somehow these fights circled back to which one of them was wrong and who was more favored in the house. Last night she'd argued with Ms. Alfonsa about the currency with which she paid her rent, and Ylsa had gotten into a shouting match with Kerenza about who got to use the bath first. Somehow each argument ended with the insistence that they favored Ylsa over Ms. Alfonsa or vice versa. It was not an environment for study.
There was Nurse Crissiant and Tamina's gossip to consider. Was it simple cruel gossip, or was it bullying with some end game?
She ran a hand over her hair pushing off her linen cap. Why could people not be kind to one another?
There was a knock on the door of the outer office.
"Yes?" She smiled and got to her feet grateful for the interruption.
"It's Adras."
Guinevere's smile disappeared, and she bit her bottom lip.
"Working hard I see," the redhead strode into the office as elegant and graceful as ever.
"Hard is right," Gwen looked at her sad little skeleton.
"I could help you with that." Adras' eyes were on her work.
"Could you?" Guinevere felt the sudden beginnings of relief and resisted frowning, no longer certain what to do or say about Adras.
"Most assuredly, but that is not why I am here. I have been tasked by two very worthy femmes to return you to the townhouse for tonight's dinner."
"Ahhhh."
"Mordred happened to visit this afternoon and so peace reigns for the moment. Someone thought you should be informed that you can return home in safety tonight. I volunteered for the job."
"My housemates?" Gwen left the "what about you?" unsaid, but almost felt it in the air between them.
"I miss that sunshine smile of yours, Jen."
Gwen made a vain, but failed effort to control the aforementioned smile. She could stay and work and then walk home after being on her feet for most of the day, or she could ride home in the rollicking comfort of Adras' cart. Weariness won.
"Well, thank you, Adras."
"You are welcome, Jenafere."
"Just let me get my things."
"The quality of tonight's dinner is already vastly improved."
Gwen sucked her tongue. "I shall tell Luisa you said that." She gave the other woman a quick wink and went to collect her belongings.
Adras insisted on taking Aristotle's heavy tome and Pradeep's logs. Gwen -tired from her day's work- acquiesced with pleasure. Then just as she had done in the past, the other woman extended an arm to her. She hesitated, but a moment before taking her friend's' arm and allowing the other woman to escort her from the building.
They sat close in the cart, chatting about nothing of any import, and Gwen wondered at that, wondered at all of it. Wondered at Adras' warmth and friendliness.
There had been that unmistakable moment in the parlor when the banter and mild flirting that had always been part of their friendship had, however briefly, shown itself for something other than harmless fun, the subsequent argument, and then herself giving in so quickly and easily to Adras' charm.
"Is something wrong?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Because you're frowning."
Gwen felt her frown deepen.
"I'm sorry, my thoughts wandered to some of the hospice staff."
"Oh."
Hearing the curiosity in that one little syllable Gwen expanded.
"There is a volunteer, Mrs. Sabina."
"Ah Mr. Maxen's wife. She is a very beautiful woman."
"She is at that, too much it seems. Some of the other nurses have taken a great disliking to her and spend much of their time in petty gossip and backbiting."
Adras sighed for a response.
"She is an asset to the hospice."
"Indeed," Adras said. "It is unfortunate that she cannot find friendship there. The few times I've met her she seemed melancholy. I had hoped she might find camaraderie at the hospice."
"Really?"
"Yes, I was the one that convinced her husband to allow it."
"I see. Well she is very good at it. I'm not sure if the enmity of Crissiant and the nurses is because of her beauty or her deftness with patients, but I'm worried that it might drive her from the hospice."
Adras seemed to think a moment.
"Perhaps you might befriend her."
"Well yes, except I have the position of supervising hospice staff," Guinevere said sighing. "I don't think it's wise to make friends amongst them."
"It wouldn't be wise to make friends amongst the staff, but Mrs. Sabina is a volunteer."
Gwen started to smile.
"You look entirely too happy just now; I fear I am pricked by the thorn of envy."
Before she could respond, the door of the cart opened, and the driver was there to hand them out. Gwen settled for giving Adras a pleased smile as they headed in for dinner.
"Ms. Jen understands what I am saying about Hojtor," Father Flaejer said. "Don't you, Ms. Jen?"
She looked up from her plate. "Hojtor?" She frowned a moment. "The Viking? My goodness, he always has a comb, he can braid hair as well as I do, he knows things about styling hair that would make him the envy of every handmaid at court, and says that, of his friends, he is the least well groomed." Gwen shook her head in bemusement.
"They say Vikings are terrible seducers," Synove chimed in, "carrying off innocent maids to never be seen again."*
"I don't know about that, but some of the nurses at the hospice can barely keep their eyes on their work when he is around," Gwen rolled her eyes, but couldn't hold back a bit of a smile at the situation.
"Jen, how come you haven't told us about this handsome young dandy?" Kerenza asked.
"I don't know," she said after a moment. "Probably because he is in love with Gnanachelvi."
"Truly?" Father Flaejer asked.
"I didn't know you were such a gossip, Father."
"We're all sinners," the priest quipped.
"I've seen the way he looks at her. I know that look," Gwen said emphatically, recalling times when she had been on the receiving end of such a gaze from Arthur. "Hojtor is in love with her."
The table seemed to have gone strangely silent, and Guinevere glanced around. All of her dinner companions were gazing at her with speculative or measuring expressions.
"You seem so certain," Ms. Alfonsa said her curiosity plain.
"Well," Gwen fiddled with her fork. "They say in poems."
"None of you seems to have this summer fever," Adras said. "Ambry and Esobal are both at home sneezing and crying and miserable poor little things." Adras shook her head.
The summer fever was a sufficient distraction from the sudden interest in Gwen's knowledge of love. Synove had plenty of questions about how it was caught and if it was deadly.
Gwen felt relief wash through her as she answered Synove's questions. The other woman was worried enough that her concerns dominated the dinner conversation for the rest of the evening.
When they'd done eating, everyone retired to the parlor save Adras; she wanted to get home to Ambry and Esobal.
"Ms. Jen, if you will escort me out?" Adras offered her elbow, and Gwen paused before taking it and walking with her to the foyer.
"I have missed your company, my friend," Adras said when they were alone.
"I have missed you also," she admitted.
"I am certain that you are busy with your new job, but perhaps you might join us for dinner one evening."
Guinevere found herself hesitating not at all certain how to respond.
"What halts your tongue, Jenafere?"
"I did not know if I was your friend," she sniffed and crossed her arms. "I thought perhaps I was waiting for your brother."
The other woman flushed, embarrassed now by her heated words.
"Fair enough, but I do think of you as a friend, Jen."
"Then why would you speak to me in such a fashion?" Perhaps she could forgive human frailty without asking, but that didn't mean she would simply forget it.
Adras frowned."You are my friend, and this is a longer conversation than one to be had here in the foyer." The redhead seemed to think a moment. "Come with me, I'll have Caradoc take you to the hospice in the morning."
Gwen stared at her friend for a moment. This was not the response she'd expected.
"Aww come on," the redhead flashed a playful smile. "I guarantee you the bed and breakfast service at my home are better than what you get here," Adras winked, and Gwen chuckled."You have been most kind and very patient with me Jen. You deserve an explanation. I do not want it to be put off, and Ambry and Esobal will be truly happy to see you." "
"Very well, give me a moment to grab a few things."
"Take all the time you need, Jen."
Though the sun was nearing the end of the day's journey, it still fed enough light into the windows of the cart that Guinevere could make out Adras' face and expression. Pensive, hesitant, uncertain were not words that she usually associated with the tall, redhead, but all were clear in her expression.
Brows drawn into one long red line, lips pinched drawing creases about her mouth, she looked, tired. And though she sat leaning toward her, elbows resting on her knees, hands low and steepled Adras would not meet her eyes. Whatever Adras was thinking of telling her would not come forward with ease. The cart gave a slight lurch as it started forward, and for a time, the only sound was the steady drumming of hooves on packed dirt street.
Did she want to know?
In that moment, Adras' dark eyes met hers. Gwen swallowed.
"My father died while I was still a toddling babe, my mother not so very long after him. I have no memories of my father and very few of my mother. I don't grieve them so very much. Are your parents still with us?"
"My mother died when I was seven, my father just a few years ago."
Adras surprised her by taking her hand and giving it a firm squeeze, her slim fingers applying a comforting pressure.
"Grievous losses indeed," Adras took a deep breath. "For many years I had only Gwaine, and he was no parent, but I can firmly say that everything I have, everything that I am is because of him."
Gwen nodded.
"He got me a job as a maid of all things."
"You were a maid?" Guinevere tried to imagine Adras as a maid in a linen cap, wearing a dress and apron.
"There is no shame in it," Adras smiled. "It got me off the streets and into the service of a good, honorable woman. My Mistress set a new course in my life. To her students, she taught only delicacy, pleasing arts, imbuing wealthy girls with all the refinement of nobility that their common born parents could not give them. She taught me these things too. To read, to scribe, to paint, instruments like the mandolin, the harp, and the lute." Here a true smile stretched Adras' face. "All the things the most refined ladies must know, but so much more the sword, maths including the new algebra, history of the Romans, the Greeks, the Israelites, and even the distant Egyptians. From her I learned philosophy, to think strategically. I learned why men lead and women follow and," she paused again, "I learned to truly serve."
Gwen frowned over the last bit, but Adras did not seem to notice.
"But more than that my Mistress loved me as if I were of her own flesh and bone. When she died I was angered even as my heart broke. I was so very angry and when she was gone, the frightened girl who lived inside of me, who had slept safe and secure under her protection woke up."
Here Adras paused, and they must have passed near a torch, for its orange yellow-light brightened the interior of the cart and showed for just a moment the grief in the other woman's face that had not made it into her words. Without thinking Gwen leant forward, taking her turn to give Adras' hand a comforting squeeze. The air of the cart grew warm, heavy, and the torchlight faded; they were left again with light and shadows of the cart and the fading sun.
"She took all that I had learnt and used it to make certain that neither hunger nor cold would darken her doorstep again." Adras' voice was husky now, a whisper struggling around choking grief. "A disappointment to my mistress for certain sure."
"When I first met Isobelle, she would not have spit on me if I were on fire, such was her disappointment in Mistress's favored pupil. But she reminded me that I could and should be more than a merchant who lines her pockets and fills her coffers. That it was not good enough to succeed as a woman if I did not turn that good to the service of other women."
She sighed and pulled back the shades a bit to look out the cart window. Gwen tried to think of something to say, not at all certain how she might respond to what the other woman had shared with her.
"I do not have many people in my life, Jenafere. The few I do have are most important. It is not with ease that I grieve them, and my grief is often savage. I forget the good in the world, the good in myself. It stirs so much fear and anger in me as if I were a child on the verge of starvation again." Adras met her eyes again. "I know that's not true of course-" She shook her head now. "I should not have said those things to you, and I am sorry. It was cruel and if you should find it good to continue as my friend, I should consider myself most grateful."
Gwen stared; she had not known that Gwaine or Adras had lived in the streets. For a moment she imagined child Adras as beggar in the streets, thin, filthy, sleeping in dung for warmth, afraid of being swept up by procurers or worse... What did she say to this?
The cart rolled to a stop, and the driver opened the door the evening air, now cool with the setting of the sun blew in, tickling Guinevere's curls and drying the faint perspiration that had gathered in the close confines of the cart.
"I can have Caradoc take you back to the townhouse if you like."
"No," Gwen said voice soft. "That won't be necessary."
The nurses were crowded around a long wooden, plank table in the hospice stove. The hospice stove unlike the abbey stove where patient meals were prepared was smaller, less modern. It had only a small fire pit with a narrow chimney over which a pot could hang or spit for roasting, but it had no cooking surface. Still it was a pleasant room made of the same pale stone as the rest of the hospice. Sunlight poured in through one large window, and someone had brought baskets of fresh flowers and set them on the shelves as well as put one great bouquet in the center of the table.
Gwen could not but smile in such a sunny, pleasant room.
"And for a moment we thought someone had gotten a little too full of herself to eat with nurses," Fiona, a petite older woman said as she Dagmar scooted apart making space for her.
"She is is busy with all that studying Pradeep is assigning her," Freweini said. "Elijah nearly killed himself helping Ms. Jen carry home that stack of books Owena gave her."
She had met the hospice nurses during the two weeks she'd spent volunteering. They'd all seemed pleasant enough then, but Mrs. Sabina had yet to join the staff, and she hadn't spent all that much time with them. She couldn't really say she knew any of them except Freweini. Freweini and her husband Elijah had helped Abebech find a place among the Eritreans living in Wyeledon.
Crissiant and Tamina sat opposite them along with Gnanachelvi, Lowri, and a nurse named Guinivak. There were still four nurses tending patients, but the majority were here at the table, and taking lunch with them would give her an opportunity to observe if it were just Crissiant and her toady Tamina making trouble or if there were others.
Gwen unpacked the lunch Adras had sent with her. A little pot of thick rich cream, bread still warm, a flaky pastry stuffed with cheese, spinach, green onions, and ham, and a sweet stew of berries.
"Well that simply looks splendid," Gnanachelvi said.
Gwen resisted the urge to squirm as she surveyed the lunches around her, meals mostly of cabbage, carrots, and potatoes with rye bread and hard boiled eggs. Set amongst these, her lunch told a tale all its own. It said about as much as her arriving in Adras' cart did.
She'd decided to take Adras' advice and befriend Mrs. Sabina, but first she wanted to spend some time with the nursing staff, see if there were any troublemakers other than Crissiant and Tamina. It hadn't occurred to her to check the lunch Adras had sent with her. She'd known the other woman would send something good; she had not considered that it might be too good.
"Your looks good," Gwen remarked.
The other woman's eyes lit and she smiled.
Gnanachelvi's lunch seemed to consist of a very fragrant stew, some colorful rice, and tasty looking potatoes.
"Would you like to try some?"
Gwen was curious, very curious, but suddenly all the other nurses seemed to be watching and she found herself feeling hesitant.
"Its very good," Dagmar said.
The sudden interest of the nurses made her uncomfortable. They were up to something, but she could not imagine what. Pradeep's lunches looked like this, and he had made some very good recommendations that improved patients' food and therefore their health.
"Thank you."
Gwen took a cautious spoonful and at first bite she tasted a bit of well seasoned goat and other things she could not name. It was good, but as she chewed a steady heat filled her mouth and Gwen realized that they were all watching her with anticipation now. At some point she bit down on whatever must have been the source of the heat and fire exploded her in mouth. Her eyes watered, and she coughed. Somehow though she managed not to spray food at everyone around the table.
Dagmar put her little jug of cream in her hand. There were some giggles, and Fiona patted her back.
"Don't feel bad we all fell for it."
Mouth on fire, Gwen got up and walked a little ways from the table to blow her nose on the kerchief she always carried and then went looking for some of Ylsa's clove and watermint wash. Before she might have just wiped her hands on the kerchief with a little water and went back to eat, but now they needed to be clean.
-"Well of course he didn't marry her. She was just an ill-bred, goat dung, puturelle," Fiona said as Gwen returned to her seat.
Guinevere suppressed a grimace. She did not know of whom they spoke, but stable-muck was a particularly cruel insult.
"Must have been kicked in the head as child," Tamina shook her head. "Here you are a poor woman and you can have a knight, which is lovely, or you can be queen. I know which one I would chose."
Gwen ducked her head a not at all sure what to do, but certain that the sudden frenzied pounding of her heart could be heard by everyone in the room. She had known that it must eventually happen, that the story of the serving girl who betrayed the king would reach these shores.
"She couldn't even keep her drawers up long enough to seal the deal."
There were snickers all around the table-
She swallowed pressing her hands into the table. She must show no sign-She could not let the things in her past taint her new life. She had told herself time and again that when it happened she would give no sign that the wanton, fool who'd betrayed a king was she.
"Well they do say Lancelot was very handsome and very charming," Dagmar said.
They say the same of King Arthur. Foolish, selfish wench," Crissiant's husky voice was harsh.
She wanted to push to her feet and run from the room and that would most surely give her away, and they would know- No, she had to sit here and pretend that Guinevere, Arthur, and Lancelot were some distant folk she knew only by story. Did she not have a new name?
"Ms. Jen, you're from Camelot. What do you think?" Tamina said.
Guinevere took a deep breath; she had practiced what she would do when the inevitable happened. She was here to learn, to work. She could not fall into crying fits every time she thought of Arthur or what might have been, and nor could she be like Adras.
"My people are from Longstead," she said and this was true. "When I left Camelot, they weren't yet betrothed."
"Oh."
"But surely you heard something of it," Gnanachelvi prodded. "Something about Guinevere and Arthur?"
"I was too busy studying to pay much mind to gossip."
"As I said, no better than pig offal, and good for him that he found out before they married."
Gwen took a bite of her lunch and told herself to ignore the twisting in her stomach and sweat on her palms. Told herself to ignore the sting.
"Speaking of pig's offal did you see the necklace Mrs. Sabina wore today?" It was the rich voiced Crissiant that spoke now.
There were clucks, sighs, and sucked tongues all around the table, and Gwen told herself to put aside her own embarrassment to pay attention.
"What does she think this is?"
"One of her little gypsy barn dances."
There were cackles, and Guinevere surveyed the faces around the table. Not everyone was laughing. Some did indeed look uncomfortable, though all had seen fit to consider her no better than something found in a pig filth just a moment ago. Gwen ignored her own unhappiness and began a mental tally of who gossiped, who looked uncomfortable, and who tried to stop it.
"She is base court," Crissiant said. "I grew up with these would-be nobles, and I can tell you wealth does not wash off low-breed stink."
"Your tongue is so cruel Crissiant."
"You say that because so few dare to speak plainly. It is well known that Gypsies are liars, thieves, and whores," She shook her head. "They should not be allowed inside the city walls. Even the ones that marry out-"
"-I think you envy her baubles Crissiant." Fiona said halting the other woman's tirade. "She doesn't look the least bit Gypsy. I think you envy her baubles and her beauty."
Crissiants eyes narrowed.
"Wearing an expensive necklace only means she likes expensive necklaces," another nurse challenged. "And besides nothing in her look or manner suggests Gypsy."
"I have heard that they steal babies, trading healthy ones for sickly ones," Tamina put in. "That's what happened with Annette. How else did her fine, healthy babe just die in her sleep all of a sudden?"
There were nods and mutters of agreement. And for a moment Gwen wondered at it herself. How did a perfectly healthy babe simply die? There were tales aplenty, of witches, demons, sins, but no one really knew. Still she found it hard to imagine someone sneaking into homes and trading healthy babies for sick ones.
"But then she would still not be Gypsy," Another argued.
"Just because her mother had lifted her skirt-"
"-That's enough," Guinevere brought her palm down on the table, and all eyes went to her. She'd seen enough to confirm who the troublemakers were and truly did not want to hear the rest of Crissiant's words.
"Its bad enough to spread rumor and gossip as if it were a fact, but worse still to carve up one of our own. Backbiting is a mortal sin. Where is our compassion? Where is our kindness?" Gwen said, thinking of what Pradeep had told her about hospice stewardship. "Our patients are depending not only on our knowledge and care, but the purity of our hearts, minds, and prayers to improve their health or ease the way. Mrs. Sabina is here because Physician Pradeep and Head Nurse Owena want her here, and you'll respect that as long as you are a nurse in this hospice."
Gwen glared at them. Heads were ducked, and "yes ma'am" muttered in the direction of their plates. A few who had not been participating gave her approving smiles. Only Crissiant sat looking annoyed, lips puckered as if she had bitten into sour fruit.
"Nurse Crissiant, have you something to say?"
The pale blonde nurse flushed and ducked her head.
"No, ma'am."
"Good," Gwen took a bite of her pastry.
"This really is splendid," she remarked to no one in particular as if she hadn't just given the entire table a dressing down. She took her time finishing the pastry, savoring each bite of its flaky crust and rich filling. When it was done, she gathered her remaining food and strolled from the room. Once outside the little stove, she moved fast avoiding the others and found a quiet out of the way corner to enjoy her lunch and stifle tears.
The rest of the day passed quickly. The nurses were quiet and subdued in her presence. A few even approached her to apologize for participating in gossip, while others thanked her for stopping it. Gwen gave no weight to any of it. She had asserted her authority. They were only approaching her to make certain of their relationship to that authority nothing more. And she could still feel the sting of their gossip.
Foolish.
Selfish.
No better than pig's offal.
Guinevere told herself that they would not have spoken of her that way if they had known who she was and that was most assuredly true. At least they would not have done it with her sitting there, but they had done it, and it did not make the hurt any less.
Two tiers with white icing and magic to keep it cool in the summer heat.
"This cake is fit for a king," Gwen declared. At a younger age, the desire to dig little fingers into the frosting for a quick taste would have been irresistible.
"Thank you, Ms. Jen."
"You're welcome, Ms. Luisa," she said. "It all looks beautiful and smells divine."
"Ms. Alfonsa had quite a budget for this party, and she has been preparing for it for nearly a year."
"Well her efforts are yielding beautiful results."
Gwen thought of the dress waiting for her upstairs. When Ms. Alfonsa had presented her with an option to select a gown for the party Guinevere had asked for two. She had taken a deep red gown and white one. Both were of a light diaphanous satin and Gwen began to wonder at Ms. Alfonsa life as a young woman that she had such fine was more than excited for her first Wyeledon party, a little too excited in fact.
"You should finish getting yourself ready. Ms. Alfonsa will be most unhappy with both of us if you are not in your place on-time."
"You're right, Luisa," Gwen said and with one final survey of the kitchen headed up the stairs. She'd bathed, done up her hair, and tied it up with a little cap hours ago. Then she'd helped Ylsa and Kerenza with their hair before volunteering her hands to Luisa. It only felt natural to help prepare for the big day rather than lounge around waiting for it to start while nerves ate her up.
She found Ylsa and Kerenza in the dormitory in the midst of doing their make-up. Synove had left hours ago to spend her morning in rehearsals with her friend Rosaline.
"We were just thinking of coming to look for you," Kerenza smiled her sweetest, and Gwen sighed suddenly wary.
"You want help with your cosmetics?"
Ylsa and Kerenza nodded.
"You both do?"
"I can make certain your skin is rosy and glowing and perfect," Ylsa offered.
"You were going to do that anyway, weren't you?"
"Well now it will be fair trade." Ylsa grinned looking pleased with herself, and Gwen chuckled.
"Oh very well." Gwen felt herself smiling and realized in that moment that she loved her little townhouse family. Of course, she wanted them to rival Aphrodite herself in beauty for Ms. Alfonsa's party.
"Sit down then," Ylsa said. "We'll want to do my part first."
"Oh,"Gwen said and sat on the edge of her bed.
Ylsa studied her a moment turning her face from side to side.
"Your skin is lovely," the midwife said. "I could make the freckles go away though, if you like?"
Gwen frowned wrinkling her nose, and Ylsa shrugged.
"Some people don't like them. Now close your eyes. I want you to take long deep breaths, filling your lungs full, then hold, and then slowly release."
Gwen drew in a breath, held it, and released it as Ylsa had directed.
"Good, good, let the air flow in and out in a smooth, even wave. Your face is going to start to feel warm. That's normal."
"What you're really going to feel is hot actually," Kerenza chimed in.
As if on cue, Gwen felt a flush through her face and neck.
"Some areas will tingle-"
"Burn," Kerenza remarked.
"Some areas will tingle," Ylsa insisted. "Do not be alarmed that's only the magic, just keep breathing."
"Kinda hard though, right-"
"Kerenza, go get Jen some water," Ylsa said, and Gwen could hear the midwife's annoyance.
Kerenza didn't say anything, but Ylsa repeated the word go, and Gwen heard the other woman's footsteps moving away.
Ylsa continued to coach her through as several hot spots erupted on her face.
"Just keep breathing."
The hot spots grew almost painful."A few more breaths and we're done." Ylsa coached her through the last few moments of discomfort. "Open your eyes, Jen."
"I still feel warm."
"That is the increased blood flow. Fear not; it will recede on its own leaving a bright and rosy flush to your cheeks just as our guest are arriving, but don't look in the mirror just yet. You look like a strawberry."
"Oh."
Kerenza returned with the requested water, and Gwen took a cooling sip and got to work on the other two women's cosmetics. The work that Ylsa had done canceled the need for face powder, and Gwen simply applied paint to their lips, khol around their eyes, and pigment to their lids. Bright colors were the fashion for young ladies in Wyeledon, and when Gwen was done, they had the look of the warmest flowers. By the time she'd done with her friends and turned to do her own face Gwen did indeed see a warm rose glow -a little bright- but as Ylsa had said that would slowly recede. She did her make-up as she did theirs.
When she'd done Ylsa, Kerenza helped her into her dress and surcoat holding the material so that it did not muss the careful artistry that she'd applied to her face or clothing. Made-up and dressed-up, Gwen admired the final picture in Synove's polished bronze mirror.
Like the other dresses Ms. Alfonsa had given her, Gwen had had to shorten and re-fit these as well. She had actually taken two gowns from the dresses Ms. Alfonsa had offered: onea deep ruby red, and the other a shimmering white. From the red gown, Gwen had made herself a surcoat that she had embroidered with a pattern of curling black and white branches. The black branches she'd tipped with white leaves, and the white with black. It made for striking contrast. The white gown was fitted to her size and stature and with material from the red she'd added a border and rich red piping along the seam. She'd also used the red gown to make a trim for the white one adding a border of red along the hem as well as red piping along her seams. Finally the outfit was completed with a little red bag and gloves.
With the surcoat over the white gown the colors fairly glowed against each and Gwen found she reveled in the look. She'd always fancied making such dramatic costumes for herself.
"I wasn't sure about this combination Jen, but it's simply marvelous. Are you sure you don't want to reconsider being a seamstress?" Ylsa asked.
Gwen merely chuckled for a response. Ylsa looked beautiful herself in a bright rosy pink sleeveless gown and Kerenza in rich forest green.
"Ladies, we all look beautiful. I'd say we shame Galeta*." Kerenza remarked with a grin.
"Indeed."
"It's nearly time," Ylsa said checking the hour candle.
"Has anyone seen Ms. Alfonsa?"
"Not in some time," Ylsa said. "She said she was too old for a rosy glow."
Gwen bit her lip to keep from laughing, and Kerenza let out a chuckle.
"I suspect she is downstairs, in the parlor. Perhaps we should join her," Kerenza said.
"We should. The guests will be arriving soon," Ylsa said. "And I know she is nervous."
"Nervous?" Gwen asked her tone incredulous.
"Ms. Alfonsa may seem as if she is made of iron, but she is as human as the rest of us. She masks it just quite well, but this party is important, she is nervous."
"Well then we had better check on her, hadn't we my dears?"
As one the three started down stairs. The hall wasn't quite wide enough for three and Gwen lagged behind her friends. Ylsa and Kerenza chattered happily, reminiscing over some party in days past. They went single file down the narrow staircase, lifting their skirts carefully as they went, a spill down the hard stone steps would be nasty.
Guinevere thought of the cake sitting in the kitchen, the stuffed quail, the mussels, and oysters, the spiced wine, the fine cheese, the flaky white pastries, pears and fruits in brandy. She was ready to dance and stuff herself silly on food.
"Do you know the Coliar brothers Jen?" Kerenza asked.
"No."
"They are very handsome and very wealthy," Ylsa explained.
"And ever so much fun," Kerenza said. "They might not interest you Jen-"
"-Oh no handsome and rich interest me as much as any maid."
The trio reached the foot of the stairs and for a moment crowded foyer.
"So you like swords as well as sheaths," Kerenza grinned.
Gwen felt her eyes go wide and she stuttered a moment, face hot with embarrassment.
"Well Kerenza," Ylsa's eyes twinkled with mischief as she spoke, "the brothers and Adras do have somethings in common. Wealth and they're easy on the eyes."
The two women laughed and Gwen just rolled her eyes.
It was true, at least about Adras. She was a handsome, wealthy woman, not unlike Arthur. Guinevere felt herself frowning not at all certain what to think about that. There was a knock on the door then and Gwen -suddenly wanting a moment out of their company- waved her friends on as she went to see who was at the door.
She stood on the wooden stool kept in the foyer and slid the little window in the heavy wooden door open. Synove and Rosaline, each carrying two wooden instrument cases.
"Synove, Rosaline we were just starting to wonder," Guinevere pulled the door open.
"Good afternoon, Jen," Synove said and took a long look at her before smiling. "You look very, very pretty today Jen."
"Thank you Synove, you look rather pretty yourself."
The plumper woman favored blue and silver and the sapphire gown she wore glowed against her skin.
"Jen you remember my dear Rosaline." Synove turned her smile to her lover.
"Of course. Come in," Guinevere pulled the door wide allowing both women to enter and shut it behind them, not bothering with the locks, the guest would be arriving soon. Door shut, she started toward the two women curious if they had at last decided what songs they would play.
Synove was looking away from her, eyes and attention fixed on her lover's face. Guinevere saw it then, in the other woman's hair, a bronze barrette.
Sunlight gleamed off the nearly black metal and Guinevere recalled the feel of Arthur doing up her hair, his big hands so strong yet so gentle as he secured her curls. The feel of his lips on the back of her neck, his warm breath a whisper caress against her skin.
-"It's a gift of love, it must be repaid in kind."
-Arthur pushing her back against his desk-
-Lancelot pushing her back against the council room table-
She blinked. It could not be.
Guinevere looked again and her blood ran blazing hot and a heated mist swam before her eyes as a possessive primal rage took hold of her. It pounded in her ears matching the beat of her heart. Nestled in Synove's soft, brown hair was a black barrette of gleaming bronze. A bronze barrette fashioned after the setting sun, the barrette Arthur had given her.
A/N-
Next chapter we're back in Camelot to find out what is happening with Merlin and Arthur. A few notes for you guys this week. As always thank you for reading and good, bad, or different I welcome you comments and thank you for coming on this journey with me.
*blessed- functions almost as a swear here, not unlike damn or damned but more appropriate to the social and cultural mores of the time.
*Vikings were not necessarily more apt seducers; they were simply better groomed than many of the people around them, making them more desirable.
*when Pradeep prescribes repeated prayer like hail mary what he is really prescribing is mediation. i have found meditation to be very helpful in calming some allergic reactions. i wouldn't recommend it in place of medication but to go along with it.
*Ostarrichi- Austria
*g*psy is a slur, Rroma is the preferred term