A Lady Under Siege(17)

He was smirking—as if he knew she’d watched him and that girl going at it on the picnic table. Meghan said, “Yes I did, thank you.”

Derek looked toward her house. “Betsy loves the trampoline.”

“She’s got a bike helmet, and knee and elbow pads from a brief interest in skateboarding,” said Meghan. “I’m going to make sure she wears them. Are you sure this thing is safe?”

“When it was new, it was top of the line, it’s not some cheapy Chinese knock-off. It’s not new now, obviously—I salvaged it from the trash but I gave it a good going-over.”

“I think I might buy her a new one,” she mused.

“You look like the environmentalist type,” he said. “Throwing out things that still work should be sin number one.”

“But peace of mind trumps all. If you were a parent, you’d understand.”

“Don’t make it sound like privileged information,” he said.

“I didn’t mean to sound that way.”

“It’s common knowledge people worry about their loved ones.”

Just then Betsy, her face freshly scrubbed, came bounding onto the deck and down to the lawn.

“Well?” she said expectantly.

“You can keep it,” Meghan said. “I might get you a new one instead though.”

“Yippee,” Betsy shouted. The hug she gave her mother was the most joyful, unselfconscious, and heartfelt embrace she’d given in a long, long time.





10





It was late afternoon when the castle gate opened, and Sylvanne emerged, holding herself erectly and proudly in her finest raiment. Kent, the leader of the besiegers, was napping in the shade of a small tree when a comrade shook him awake. What he saw was a vision walking toward him. Sylvanne’s light brown hair fell in waves across her shoulders—there had been no time to find or fashion a widow’s cap. Her dress, a type of velvet gown called a bliaut, in a shade of deep forest green that shimmered in the sunshine, she had worn only once before, at the previous year’s feast of Christmas. Its bodice was laced at the sides to fit snugly. Hidden under the hem she wore her best sabetynes, for she knew she was likely to be put upon a horse, and her feet would show.

Kent watched as she reached the first knot of soldiers. One of them let out a shout, and now all the others were running toward her. They quickly surrounded her, engulfed her, and lifted her like a trophy upon their shoulders. The mass of men that skittered toward him looked like a giant centipede, and she its unwilling fairy rider. The men delivered her straight to him, dropped her delicately at his feet, then retreated a pace or two, catching their breaths, waiting eagerly to see and hear what would come next. Whatever words were about to be spoken would be repeated around hearths and hunting fires for many years to come, and take on the quality of legend.

Sylvanne had dropped to one knee on being lowered by the men, but quickly regained her feet and her composure, straightening her clothing and hair. To Kent she looked flushed, severe, and altogether lovely.

“You’ve made this the happiest day of my life, Madame. Are you hungry? Fetch bread and cheese for the Lady!”

“I’ve come to negotiate terms,” she said.

“Eat first.”

In short order a soldier handed her bread and cheese on a wooden board. The smell of it almost made her faint, and despite herself, she succumbed to hunger and ripped at the food like an animal.

“Slowly, slowly,” Kent warned. “Your stomach will be slow to stretch, I reckon.”

“And some for my maid. Mabel! Mabel!”

Mabel pushed her way through the circle of men.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Give her food also. And water for us both.”

“Of course. Of course. Whatever the Lady requires.”

She looked challengingly at the gawking men who surrounded her.

“Privacy while I feed,” she said.

A small tent was brought and erected for her. She and Mabel sat on the ground. A cooked chicken in an earthenware bowl was offered through the tent flap, reminding her of the way prisoners are fed in a jail. Sylvanne ate slowly and deliberately, but Mabel attacked it with gusto, wiping fat from her lips with her sleeve, and dropping the bones into the bowl. “My jaw aches from chewing,” she grinned. “But my stomach aches most happily.”

The tent flap was pulled aside and Kent entered.