Chapter Thirteen #2
Emllyn’s giggles diminished as she considered Elyse’s question. She certainly didn’t want to discuss it but she had a feeling Elyse wouldn’t understand that. The seemingly pure and pristine English lady evidently had a nasty streak. So she tried to form an answer that would satisfy her.
“Merradoc has a wild imagination,” she said. “John is a complete and utter gentleman and we enjoy a fine friendship.”
Elyse looked confused. “Then… then he did not bed you?”
“I have already told you my heart lies with another,” she said. “To take another man to my bed would be wrong at best. How much plainer can I be?”
Even though Emllyn’s fine English knight was dead at Black Sword’s hand, in Elyse’s mind, there was no reason why the woman couldn’t immediately focus her attention on another man, especially one as big and handsome as John. Elyse cocked her head curiously.
“Then mayhap I can find out what John is like, then,” she said. “My father said he should be returning soon. Mayhap I can coerce him into my bed. I will let you know what you have missed.”
Emllyn clamped her lips together, wanting very much to tell the woman that Devlin was her property and to leave him alone, but she had a feeling that Elyse already suspected that and was simply trying to get a reaction from her. So she shrugged her shoulders.
“I wish you luck,” she said, returning to her sewing. “It may be quite a task. Mayhap he doesn’t even like women.”
Elyse grinned slyly. “I will find out.”
Emllyn didn’t like that reply at all. She stabbed at her sewing with increasing frustration, irritated at Elyse and her wanton ways.
But any word out of her mouth would find its way into the rumor mill; she knew that now.
Between Elyse and Merradoc, all of Glenteige seemed to be full of gossips.
She’d certainly come to discover that, too, in the past two weeks.
As she sat and fumed in silence, Elyse began to speak of a stable boy she once shared her bed with.
It was rather ribald talk that was fortunately interrupted by a knock on the solar door.
Elyse rose to answer the door, permitting a few serving women entrance. Their arms were laden with trays and pitchers.
“It must be time for the nooning meal,” Elyse commented as the servants moved to put the items on a pretty carved table. “I had completely lost track of time.”
Emllyn was grateful for the distraction. “It is easy to lose track of time when you are focused on your task,” she said, gesturing towards Elyse’s drawing table. “What marvelous thing are you working on? May I see it?”
Elyse grinned and went over to her drawing table as the servants spread out a beautiful meal on the other table. Picking up the rather large piece of yellowed parchment, she blew any remaining grains of loose charcoal off of it as she brought it over and presented it to Emllyn.
“There,” she said. “What do you think?”
Emllyn found herself looking at a perfect likeness of herself, skillfully sketched in charcoal. Elyse had drawn her looking over her right shoulder with her hair flowing and curled, and flowers woven into it. It was astonishing and life-like, and so very beautiful. Emllyn’s jaw dropped.
“Oh… my,” she breathed. “Elyse, you drew an image of me. I have never seen anything so remarkable. It’s magnificent!”
Elyse beamed. “I am not done with it but it is a good start, don’t you think?” she inspected her drawing carefully. “You are an excellent subject because your features are so fine. Do you like it?”
“I love it,” Emllyn exclaimed. “I have never seen myself like that before, ever. May… may I have it when you are finished?”
Elyse nodded. “Of course,” she said as she headed back over to her drawing table and deposited the parchment. “I made it for you.”
“You are incredibly generous,” Emllyn said sincerely. “I am very touched.”
Elyse continued to grin, pleased by her friend’s reaction, when another maid servant entered the room and headed directly for her. The girl in rough linen clothing and a torn apron curtsied quickly as she extended what looked like a piece of parchment to Elyse.
“M’lady,” the servant said. “I have a message for the Lady Emllyn.”
Elyse eyed the girl. “Who is it from?”
“I have been sworn not to tell, m’lady.”
Elyse took the parchment from her and dismissed her. She promptly went to Emllyn, extending the parchment to her.
“Another note,” she said knowingly. “That makes three notes in the past five days. Who are they from, Emllyn?”
Emllyn could sense curiosity and jealousy from Elyse.
It wasn’t surprisingly considering Elyse had been the only fine lady in the castle until thirteen days ago.
Now, others were noticing Emllyn. Although Elyse pretended to be excited and thrilled for her, there was something in her tone that suggested otherwise.
Reluctantly, Emllyn took the note and popped open the wax seal.
There was no signet ring in the wax, nothing to indicate who had sent it, but the note itself was short and brief.
It was the third note asking for Emllyn to meet her secret admirer in the ward of Glenteige near the well at sunset.
There was no signature other than: “Your Devoted Servant”.
With disinterest, she passed the note to Elyse.
“See for yourself,” she said. “Whoever it is never signs it.”
Elyse read the note with great relish. “How romantic!” she exclaimed softly. “You should meet him, Emllyn, by all means. Mayhap you shall fall madly in love with him!”
Emllyn shook her head. “God’s Blood, Elyse, I am surely not interested,” she said with some exasperation.
“I told you once that my only true love was a knight who was killed when Black Sword destroyed my brother’s war armada.
I have no interest in another, not a man who writes me notes or a farmer named John. Why can you not accept that?”
Emllyn had told the story about Trevor to throw Elyse off when the woman began prying into her personal life at the beginning of their acquaintance.
Certainly, the conversation had never reached the bawdy levels that it had reached this day because the day’s conversation had indeed been enlightening.
Elyse had let her prim fa?ade down to reveal the tigress beneath.
And the gossip. Emllyn was very glad she’d never confided in her about anything critical or personal, and she knew now that she never would.
Elyse, however, did not share her friend’s sense of reserve. She pressed the note against her breast in an amorous gesture.
“You must meet the man and put him out of his misery,” she said, still holding the note as she went to the table where a fair amount of food was laid out. “It has taken much courage for him to write to you, Emllyn. It would be polite to meet him for his troubles.”
Emllyn eyed her, cocking an eyebrow. “And thank him by bedding him?”
“If he is handsome enough.”
Elyse burst out laughing and Emllyn grinned, shaking her head reproachfully.
Elyse began eating the fruits that were upon the table and Emllyn was just finishing up her final stitch when a serving woman approached her from behind, a pewter plate of apricots and apples in her hand.
She extended the plate to Emllyn, nearly blocking her vision of her loom.
“Food, m’lady?” the woman rasped.
Annoyed, Emllyn’s head came up with the intention of chasing the woman away when her gaze fell on a set of familiar features.
It took Emllyn a moment to realize that she was looking at Eefha.
Startled, she dropped her needle but recovered quickly, stabbing herself in the process.
All the while, her gaze barely left the gnarled old woman. She could hardly believe her eyes.
When her mouth popped open, a sure sign of realization, Eefha shook her head faintly as if to admonish her to be silent. Emllyn remained silent but she had never been so astonished, by anything, in her entire life.
“Emllyn?” Elyse called to her, mouth full. “Will you come and eat with me?”
Emllyn stood up on shaking legs. “Of course,” she said, trying not to stare at Eefha as she moved past the woman. She desperately wanted to say something to her but wisely kept silent. She forced herself to focus on Elyse. “What delicious dishes do we have today?”
Elyse had her mouth full. “My favorites,” she said. “Brined beef with cabbage and carrots, and duck with honey sauce.”
Emllyn pretended to be very interested in the dishes but the truth was that her mind was still on the shock of seeing Eefha.
She didn’t want to lose sight of the woman, not for a moment, so she popped a piece of cheese into her mouth and turned around to see if the old woman was still in the room.
She, lingering by the chamber door. Emllyn called out to her.
“You, there,” she said, pointing. “Can you please go to my chamber and bring me my wrap?” she asked. “My chamber is on the top floor at the end of the corridor behind the pillar. There is a red shawl on my bed.”
Eefha didn’t say a word; she simply disappeared from the door.
Given the woman’s speech habits and patterns, Emllyn wasn’t even sure if Eefha understood her but she couldn’t have very well sung the request or delivered it via an anecdote about ancient Irish myths.
Her entire purpose of sending Eefha to her chamber was so the old woman would know where she slept and, hopefully, would return to her at some point.
But, then again, as Devlin once said, Eefha did what she wanted to do, when she wanted to do it.
Who knew why the old woman was here or what she was doing?
Emllyn pondered the mystery as she returned to the lovely meal.
“Emllyn,” Elyse said thoughtfully after Eefha had fled the chamber, “do you not think that you should at least meet the man who has been writing you such notes if only to tell him that you are not interested?”