People would say she was a saint, she would be so kind to the poor folks.
Mary would smile on her efforts.
Still, she needed one more sign to be sure. Her gaze lifted to the heavens again.
A sparrow! Sent by Mary! Sparrows always meant the coming of happiness!
The matter was settled. She looked toward the poor Lady Belinda. She knew what she had to do, and she approached the body to take the key. She never saw the swift flight of a hawk, swooping down and snatching the sparrow from the heavens.
Chapter Three
The sun dipped down behind the mountain, slanting the last hour of sunlight across the Gaillard valley. Calihab's steady trot marked the dusty road that wound through miles of vineyards. The leafy green grapevines climbed up row after row of sticks, forming a green sea of crosses. Without exception, the cottars, bending over the fields where they added a mixture of dried fish to the soil for fertilizer, straightened to stare at the lady dressed in blue velvet atop a warhorse. Two boys stopped from their chores to chase after Calihab
At last the township gate rose ahead; she had finally arrived at her destination. As the neat row of two-story thatched-roof dwellings peeked above the stone gate, Linness stared in wonder. Gaillard. Once Lady Belinda's destiny. Now it was hers.
"Mother Mary, if I am wrong, if you do not mean me to be the Lady Belinda, stop me now…”
She held her breath, half expecting to fall from Calihab or to see an angel blocking the way. She did not. Fear pumped blood through her heart hard and fast. Her limbs went numb. She felt hot and cold and shaky all at once.
Even while the priest had torched the kindling beneath her feet, she had not known such fear. She managed to remain seated on Calihab for one reason only: Mary had chosen this fate for her, she was sure. Mary had sent her here to Gaillard, where she would present herself as the Lady Belinda to her betrothed, the Lord Morgan de Gaillard Chamberlain.
Her child, the heir lord of Gaillard, would be his in name, yet hers and Paxton's in heart.
If all went well. She must relinquish her doubt, and she would, she truly would, if only it were not so much easier to believe she would be hung by the day's end.
Two main thoroughfares divided the township neatly in four, like a cross viewed from far above. Her gray eyes rested on the chateau as it rose in ancient splendor at the far end, a vision drawn from the most fanciful notions ever imagined.
Gaillard was much like any other township these days. The land was farmed, the peasants well fed and with few exceptions, the place had been untouched by war or plague for many years now as Francis, king of France, spent his energies and monies in the infernal Italian campaigns far away. She knew these things; it was talked about among people. The Italian campaigns were an endless series of battles the young king insisted on fighting for no reason anyone knew, wars interrupted by occasional treaties and punctuated by intrigues, mysterious disappearances, and renewed calls for justice. No one alive understood these wars, or if one did, Linness had never grasped the purpose past the young and vain king's insistence that he was the rightful monarch of the provinces of the Kingdom of Naples and the Duchy of Milan—issues easier settled by marriage as far as she was concerned.
Flowers appeared in boxes beneath the windows on the upper levels of merchants' homes, while the wooden shutters were let down on the lower levels from over the windows, making counters that stuck out on the street, from which proprietors sold their wares. The shops were small. Painted signs directed the buyers. There was a pie shop, bakery, tailor, barbershop, and sausage store, among many others. Calihab trotted past the stables, where the town's blacksmith worked. Dusk settled over the landscape, and few people darted about in the street as the shops were closing one by one.
The few people
Mary would smile on her efforts.
Still, she needed one more sign to be sure. Her gaze lifted to the heavens again.
A sparrow! Sent by Mary! Sparrows always meant the coming of happiness!
The matter was settled. She looked toward the poor Lady Belinda. She knew what she had to do, and she approached the body to take the key. She never saw the swift flight of a hawk, swooping down and snatching the sparrow from the heavens.
Chapter Three
The sun dipped down behind the mountain, slanting the last hour of sunlight across the Gaillard valley. Calihab's steady trot marked the dusty road that wound through miles of vineyards. The leafy green grapevines climbed up row after row of sticks, forming a green sea of crosses. Without exception, the cottars, bending over the fields where they added a mixture of dried fish to the soil for fertilizer, straightened to stare at the lady dressed in blue velvet atop a warhorse. Two boys stopped from their chores to chase after Calihab
At last the township gate rose ahead; she had finally arrived at her destination. As the neat row of two-story thatched-roof dwellings peeked above the stone gate, Linness stared in wonder. Gaillard. Once Lady Belinda's destiny. Now it was hers.
"Mother Mary, if I am wrong, if you do not mean me to be the Lady Belinda, stop me now…”
She held her breath, half expecting to fall from Calihab or to see an angel blocking the way. She did not. Fear pumped blood through her heart hard and fast. Her limbs went numb. She felt hot and cold and shaky all at once.
Even while the priest had torched the kindling beneath her feet, she had not known such fear. She managed to remain seated on Calihab for one reason only: Mary had chosen this fate for her, she was sure. Mary had sent her here to Gaillard, where she would present herself as the Lady Belinda to her betrothed, the Lord Morgan de Gaillard Chamberlain.
Her child, the heir lord of Gaillard, would be his in name, yet hers and Paxton's in heart.
If all went well. She must relinquish her doubt, and she would, she truly would, if only it were not so much easier to believe she would be hung by the day's end.
Two main thoroughfares divided the township neatly in four, like a cross viewed from far above. Her gray eyes rested on the chateau as it rose in ancient splendor at the far end, a vision drawn from the most fanciful notions ever imagined.
Gaillard was much like any other township these days. The land was farmed, the peasants well fed and with few exceptions, the place had been untouched by war or plague for many years now as Francis, king of France, spent his energies and monies in the infernal Italian campaigns far away. She knew these things; it was talked about among people. The Italian campaigns were an endless series of battles the young king insisted on fighting for no reason anyone knew, wars interrupted by occasional treaties and punctuated by intrigues, mysterious disappearances, and renewed calls for justice. No one alive understood these wars, or if one did, Linness had never grasped the purpose past the young and vain king's insistence that he was the rightful monarch of the provinces of the Kingdom of Naples and the Duchy of Milan—issues easier settled by marriage as far as she was concerned.
Flowers appeared in boxes beneath the windows on the upper levels of merchants' homes, while the wooden shutters were let down on the lower levels from over the windows, making counters that stuck out on the street, from which proprietors sold their wares. The shops were small. Painted signs directed the buyers. There was a pie shop, bakery, tailor, barbershop, and sausage store, among many others. Calihab trotted past the stables, where the town's blacksmith worked. Dusk settled over the landscape, and few people darted about in the street as the shops were closing one by one.
The few people
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