Chapter 4
Elise kept rehearsing her new life story with anyone curious enough to ask. The tale was growing lengthier by the telling. A few more nuns wondering about the circumstances of her family, and she would soon be inventing a full chronicle.
From her loving father, lost in the most recent conflict, to the Falaine king taking possession of their home and most of their belongings, Elise had fashioned herself into a most convincing image of devotion and a conveniently loyal ally to Bromheim.
Thankfully, Elise possessed a gifted memory and could recall every detail.
It was already the fourth week of the pilgrimage, and the stubborn spring sun had taken a firm dislike to Elise’s delicate skin. She had tied a small kerchief around her head. The modest scrap of cloth kept the dust at bay, and more usefully, preserved a certain mystery that discouraged most men.
Even then, unfortunately, a few still took it upon themselves to walk beside her, in the charitable belief that their conversation might interest her.
“Smart decision to leave the Falaine lands. Although they might soon belong to Bromheim if everything follows as it should,” said a man with more confidence than teeth.
“My ancestors have lived in Bromheim for ten generations. Some say I’m something of a lord here and there.
The woman who marries me would have enough land to raise whatever animals she pleased.
There’s a good river to wash clothes every day, and I make sure to buy a new broom each year, so cleaning would never be wanting.
A lucky woman, the one who catches my eye. No one could hope for better.”
The knave walked with his head held high, glancing about as if he were the most gallant of suitors.
Elise had not realized she carried any sign inviting husbands upon her person.
Her age and lack of company seemed to have suggested as much.
The delicacies of the life the man described sounded little short of dreadful to her, though she was polite enough to let him keep that discovery to himself.
The loud speech of the short fellow drew the attention of those around them.
Elise tried to ignore the display and fixed her attention on the ground.
The rascal, however, continued on his course without shame.
He seemed determined to do most of the speaking, and perhaps to announce the vacant position of wife to the other women in the procession, should Elise fail to recognize the opportunity.
She had spent most of the journey without bother. She kept close to the nuns and other women whenever they stopped for meals or rest at the monasteries along the road. But today she had strayed from the group in search of a bit of shade.
The cur beside her kept edging closer, and she soon gathered he had grown tired of his own proposal and was mustering the nerve to try something far less honorable.
Elise curled her hand into a fist, prepared to return any unkind gesture with equal politeness.
“You are very pretty. Has someone told you?” he said, so close to her face she could sense the distinct breath of old cabbage.
Elise grimaced and was about to give him her reply when a woman’s voice called from behind them.
“I’m sure she owns a mirror.”
Elise’s hand relaxed as she turned to see her savior.
It was a striking lady, with hair black as a raven and eyes just as dark.
The fullness of her curves and her poise were the only signs that she was no maiden.
The stranger met Elise’s eyes briefly before turning to the man and adding in a sharp tone,
“Save that delightful little life you are promising for a woman who has not had the burden of reading a book. Leave this one alone.”
“Silly woman,” the fellow snapped. “Who asked your opinion?”
“I could not help but notice the dread on this poor girl’s face,” the woman replied. “Have you lost as much sight as you have teeth?”
A spark of light caught Elise’s gaze as her savior took something from her pocket only to slip it back again rather quickly.
The self-appointed suitor was offended for only a moment as he seemed to quickly notice the woman’s good looks. He moved swiftly past Elise and set his attention on the newcomer.
“You are not bad yourself,” the man said, having positioned his stumpy self conveniently at the side of his new interest.
Elise turned to see the mysterious lady chuckling. The woman’s defiant gaze locked onto the oaf as she spoke in a hard tone.
“It is a crime to bother women on a procession to Saint Earl. I’m not fond of your kind. The heavens listen, the Lord sees, and I am quite certain your wife in Bromheim would not approve of this.”
The man stiffened at once. He lowered his head and walked away, slowly at first, then he began to sprint as if the devil was on his heels.
The crowd had already begun to whisper, but Elise had no taste for gossip when something more interesting stood before her.
“Thank you, good woman,” she murmured. “How did you know he was married?”
The woman turned to her with a warm grin. “It’s either that, or he’s a goblin. Either way, it comes to the same. Troublesome creatures.”
Elise’s mouth parted slightly. She did not know if the woman was serious. She had heard the many rumors of pagan rites and strange practices in the lands of Bromheim but had always taken them for tales meant for children and nothing more.
“What’s your name, my darling?” the woman asked, a glint in her eye.
Elise inclined her head. “I’m Elise. Elise de Varenne.”
“A pleasure,” the stranger murmured, already turning as if to change the course of her walk.
“And your name?” Elise asked.
The woman met her gaze with a piercing look. The stare was so powerful that Elise felt a few of her sins uncovered all at once.
“I’m Morgaine,” she finally said.
Elise’s attention lingered on her. The woman eventually looked away and, just before disappearing into the crowd, turned back to add lightly, “There are De Varennes in Bromheim. They are not well regarded. You may wish to think of another name.”
Elise did not dare follow her. A bold woman, that one. Bromheimers had a reputation for being feisty, but this went beyond it.
How did she know? Elise thought she was surely toying with her. Perhaps it was wise to find another borrowed surname before they reached their destination.
She tried to forget the strange woman but remained cautious as she walked, feeling the uneasy sense of eyes upon her.
The day passed without major disturbance, and after a few hours, nightfall caught up with the procession. Word passed from the front that they would take lodging in an abbey a league ahead. Elise was weary from another day’s walking, the blisters on her feet demanding an immediate end to the trek.
At least the journey had helped clear her mind. Here, she could almost forget Edward and Lady Patrice. The road, with all its inconveniences, had done her the small favor of distracting her thoughts, and the need to keep a careful watch behind her helped her hold to that resolve.
In a couple of days, she would reach a proper settlement again, where food and shelter would no longer come freely. She would have to find a protector quickly, before more uninvited proposals found their way to her.
Elise had only needed to let go of everything she knew to discover she had a talent for surviving disappointment. It was a small talent, though a valuable one, particularly in times when change was the only certainty and rarely an improvement.
*****
Elise had heard the procession was headed to the very capital of Bromheim, Metz.
She knew the city was a great metropolis, one of the finest in the known lands.
She had also heard less favorable stories of what took place in cities of such size, but when one has little to lose, even danger can begin to look exciting.
The procession had stopped for the night, taking shelter in a large monastery along the road. From afar, Elise had mistaken it for a fortress. The tall stone walls, broken only by a few narrow windows, looked about as welcoming as a well-defended prison.
Elise made sure to keep herself among a group of women. She and her bickering company were soon led inside, where a small space beside the main altar awaited them. There were no thin mattresses, nor any sign of blankets or other comforts. Only straw lay spread across the stone floor.
There were no fewer than twenty women to share it with, and Elise made her way between a few who were well-rounded in both figure and gossip.
She had purposely chosen the more spirited ones, figuring that if any wandering hand grew unwise in the night, there would be no shortage of outrage to defend her.
The candlelight began to dim after a watery porridge was served to Elise and the others.
There was bread as well, though it was reserved for the men leading the procession.
Elise was hungry enough not to argue the matter.
Instead, she slipped behind the table, crouched, and made herself the rightful owner of a hard piece of rye, the finest bread for a long night of rest on straw.
Well informed as Elise liked to keep herself, she moved about, careful to listen for more about the state of the land she had chosen for her new home.
“They say we’re one kingdom now,” a man muttered, giving his bowl a few contemptuous slurps.
“Aye. Until the war’s done,” another replied.
“Those Falaine pompous fools,” a woman joined in. “It’s all because of them.”
Elise gasped and moved away at once. She had already heard similar comments from the good people of Bromheim. It seemed that they had taken the royal dispute and applied it generously to every soul from the Falaine lands. Still, she had hopes that she could find a way to blend once in the city.
Elise made her way outside the monastery, hoping the night air might bring some calm.
She considered a few solutions should matters in Metz take an ill turn.
Returning to Noldrin was one of them, perhaps by finding another procession headed in the opposite direction.
Or, once separated from those she had recently met, she could begin an entirely new story altogether.
This time she might claim to be from a place no one could question.
She shook her head. Instead of dwelling on her worries, she busied herself with the tangles in her hair.
The once lush strands were now dry and stiff with the dust of the road.
How she needed a bath. She had been wearing the same dress for a week, and she felt as if her body was beginning to take root in it.
Her thoughts returned to Morgaine. The woman had captured her interest more than she cared to admit.
She had seen her here and there, alone in some corner.
Morgaine seemed more interested in prying into other conversations than in sharing her own with the rest of the procession.
Elise had taken a lesson from her, and it had already proved useful.
Deep in thought, Elise wandered the courtyard of the monastery like a noble walking her own palace.
She could not hide the refinement she had recently acquired.
In every word she said, in the way she carried herself, there was something others could read that spoke of class and manners.
She lacked only the coin to make it official.
The fresh air of the night and the scent of the pines settled Elise into such comfort that her mind quickly dulled the dangers and plain difficulties as she began to imagine all the possibilities of her new life.
At least she was well-versed in Bromheim traditions, thanks to the talks and complaints of Lady Greta and her daughters.
She held onto the hope of finding a good place and perhaps a good man in the new lands.
It had not escaped her notice that the men of Bromheim, much like the women, had a stronger frame and looked more manly than the thin lads of Falaine.
She reassured herself that she would find a place to belong in Metz, and with some luck, enough kindness to make it her home.
Elise walked some more, ready to go back and lie on the comfort of straw on stone, when the rustle of fabric caught her attention at once. She hid behind a tree as two people locked in a tight embrace emerged from the shadows. Her eyes widened at the sight of Morgaine.
The woman stepped away, flattening the folds of her skirt and tightening the laces of her bodice, while a handsome man followed just behind her. She handed him a glass vial, and he offered a small cloth pouch in return.
What sort of business was conducted at this hour of the night, Elise had no trouble imagining.
Better to keep well away from this.