her knees, she held herself as her mind raced over the whole. If she stripped Belinda and pulled her into the river, the water would carry the body away. No one would ever find more than bones; no one would ever know she died. A rich lady would have a scribe to write letters, and she could smear the signature or sign with a heart, and so she could probably correspond to the lady's parents. Yet, if she said the wrong words to them, or if someone ever traveled to Gaillard from Montegrel…doom!
But the good knight had sworn no one ever traveled between Gaillard and Montegrel. She would marry a lord. He would bed her as Paxton had. Her thoughts stopped here.
The idea was not pleasant.
She could close her eyes and pretend she was somewhere else.
Nor was she a virgin now, though she supposed this lord might never know that for sure. She had heard of many virgins who did not bleed on their wedding night, leaving their husbands with an unanswered question the whole of their lives. A man had no sure way of knowing. Thank God for that. Then, too, many men, she had been told, did not really care if the dowry was large enough.
And if she didn't become Lady Belinda, would she not starve anyway? Famine was rife in these times, and right now she had as little to her name as a beggar. How many deaths from want of food had she witnessed in her short life? Twenty, thirty, fifty? At least that many, and since the day she left the convent, she had known too many times how very close she was to suffering the same fate.
These were harsh times indeed for the poor folk. What if her circumstances sunk lower and 'twas not begging she was forced to do to get something to eat? That idea sent her thoughts tumbling dizzily as a memory rose in her mind.
It was the harshest winter. The village crops had been burned the year before and most of the livestock killed by way of necessity for food—leaving the village without milk and eggs from the goats and chickens. During these times she took to searching the forest for roots to boil and eat, anything really to fill an empty stomach. Sometimes she was lucky and managed to find certain rare herbs—pennyroyal, mugwort, camphor—which, if she could find a buyer, she could sometimes sell to get a loaf of bread and a slab of lard.
It had been on one of these searches that she came across a mother and two children. The smell had alerted her first and she approached with trepidation. Their three bodies were huddled together -A sight far more gruesome than the one she looked at now. Their flesh was rotting beneath the tattered rags, black with a trail of ants taking what little the birds had left. No shoes. They had no doubt started out from another village, hoping to find someone or something that could keep the slow death of starvation off long enough to reach the summer months.
The sight was not uncommon. It happened all the time.
A hand went to her abdomen. And what if she should carry Paxton's child? Dear Lord, 'twould be so much worse! And what if she could be this Lady Belinda and never see another day's poverty as long as she lived?
Mary, should I, could I? Is this the fate you meant me to have? Is it possible?
She went very still again, searching for a sign. Never in all her life had she needed a sign more. Anxiously her gaze swept the heavens.
Nothing happened.
The river raged on and her gaze dropped to the ground.
A fat frog leaped near the bulrushes.
That was a sign of sorts!
How she would love to be fat for once in her life. To eat lots and lots of food whenever she felt hungry. Steaming hot trencher bread full of thick stew! Strawberries and thick cream! Cheese and honey spread over real wheat bread, hot possets and custards. And, oh Lord, she would love to sleep in a featherbed, with a servant to rush about, fetching her all this fine food. She would love to have a trunk full of pretty clothes and a waiting woman to dress her hair! To be rich enough to exercise the virtue of charity!
But the good knight had sworn no one ever traveled between Gaillard and Montegrel. She would marry a lord. He would bed her as Paxton had. Her thoughts stopped here.
The idea was not pleasant.
She could close her eyes and pretend she was somewhere else.
Nor was she a virgin now, though she supposed this lord might never know that for sure. She had heard of many virgins who did not bleed on their wedding night, leaving their husbands with an unanswered question the whole of their lives. A man had no sure way of knowing. Thank God for that. Then, too, many men, she had been told, did not really care if the dowry was large enough.
And if she didn't become Lady Belinda, would she not starve anyway? Famine was rife in these times, and right now she had as little to her name as a beggar. How many deaths from want of food had she witnessed in her short life? Twenty, thirty, fifty? At least that many, and since the day she left the convent, she had known too many times how very close she was to suffering the same fate.
These were harsh times indeed for the poor folk. What if her circumstances sunk lower and 'twas not begging she was forced to do to get something to eat? That idea sent her thoughts tumbling dizzily as a memory rose in her mind.
It was the harshest winter. The village crops had been burned the year before and most of the livestock killed by way of necessity for food—leaving the village without milk and eggs from the goats and chickens. During these times she took to searching the forest for roots to boil and eat, anything really to fill an empty stomach. Sometimes she was lucky and managed to find certain rare herbs—pennyroyal, mugwort, camphor—which, if she could find a buyer, she could sometimes sell to get a loaf of bread and a slab of lard.
It had been on one of these searches that she came across a mother and two children. The smell had alerted her first and she approached with trepidation. Their three bodies were huddled together -A sight far more gruesome than the one she looked at now. Their flesh was rotting beneath the tattered rags, black with a trail of ants taking what little the birds had left. No shoes. They had no doubt started out from another village, hoping to find someone or something that could keep the slow death of starvation off long enough to reach the summer months.
The sight was not uncommon. It happened all the time.
A hand went to her abdomen. And what if she should carry Paxton's child? Dear Lord, 'twould be so much worse! And what if she could be this Lady Belinda and never see another day's poverty as long as she lived?
Mary, should I, could I? Is this the fate you meant me to have? Is it possible?
She went very still again, searching for a sign. Never in all her life had she needed a sign more. Anxiously her gaze swept the heavens.
Nothing happened.
The river raged on and her gaze dropped to the ground.
A fat frog leaped near the bulrushes.
That was a sign of sorts!
How she would love to be fat for once in her life. To eat lots and lots of food whenever she felt hungry. Steaming hot trencher bread full of thick stew! Strawberries and thick cream! Cheese and honey spread over real wheat bread, hot possets and custards. And, oh Lord, she would love to sleep in a featherbed, with a servant to rush about, fetching her all this fine food. She would love to have a trunk full of pretty clothes and a waiting woman to dress her hair! To be rich enough to exercise the virtue of charity!
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