could only gasp.
“But my duties. . . ,” Matilda began to protest.
“Can wait,” Arianne stated firmly. Just then the lyrical notes of Helena’s nursery songs filtered down to reach their ears. Casting a glance at the stairway, Arianne shook her head. “ ’Tis a voice like no other. Oft I have heard her sing long into the night, and it comforts me greatly in Richard’s absence.”
“Aye,” Matilda agreed. “Many say she is instructed by the angels.”
❧
In the solar, Helena composed a new love song for her beloved. She hummed the notes of the melody, picking and choosing each carefully, discarding those whose tones were too harsh or dour. The music always came first—notes of melodies that raced inside her head and would scarce let her rest before she’d fully composed them into song.
Timothy stared up with watchful blue eyes from his cradle. So long as Helena sang, it mattered little to him what the meaning of the words were.
“If my beloved were a king,” Helena put to the melody she’d just completed. She tested the words against the notes and decided they worked well. It was to be the song she’d promised Tanny when Roger’s whip had lain her ill.
“If my beloved were a king,” she whispered and sighed. “Oh, Tanny, you are a king. King of my heart.” Dropping to her knees, Helena prayed, “Most Holy Father, You alone know where my beloved lays his wearied head. You alone see his sorrows and his needs. Go with him and send my love along. I miss him so.” She felt the wetness upon her cheeks. How long would it be? How long before she saw him again?
Several nights later, Helena anxiously paced her room. There was such a restless spirit within her. She had spent hours in the castle chapel listening to the gentle words of Father Gies as he prayed for her to have the peace of God. Each morning during services, she had prayed fervently for such a peace to ease her longings, and of yet, no peace had come.
Without thought, Helena lifted her voice in a church song of Scripture. The Latin words were heavy compared to the Anglo-French she more often used for song, but the words encouraged her heart.
“Sine fide impossible est placere Deo,” she sang in earnest. Without faith it is impossible to please God.
“Oh Father,” she whispered, “my faith comes so hard these dark lonely nights. I listen to sounds of life within the castle and know that no life stirs within my own walls. Nay, only the empty ramblings of a faithless woman. Yet, without faith, I cannot please Thee.”
“Helena?” Arianne’s soft voice called from outside her door. Wiping her tears with the back of her linen robe, Helena opened the door to her duchess.
“I heard you singing,” Arianne said simply. “I am about to nurse Timothy. Come sing for me.”
Helena followed her into the hall, grateful for the reprieve from her lonely walls. Arianne settled down on the bed and took Timothy to her side. “It seems so dark sometimes,” she said faintly as Helena took a seat on the end of the mammoth bed. The high wooden canopy created shadows against the dying firelight’s glow.
“Aye,” Helena whispered. “Quite dark.”
Arianne reached out her hand to Helena. “Tell me of your home. Tell me of the family you have left behind.”
Helena’s fingers had barely touched Arianne’s hand, but the words spoken caused her to jerk back as if stung. “I cannot.”
Arianne pulled Timothy closer and sighed. “I do not hold you in contempt for your choice. I feel strongly that you remember full well your past and all that remains there for you.”
“I cannot,” Helena replied again, her voice a sob.
“Helena, I will not judge you harshly.”
“I know,” the sorrow-filled young woman replied. “I judge myself and the lack of faith within me.”
“Then judge no more,” Arianne replied. “ ’Tis God’s job and His alone.”
Helena lifted her eyes to meet Arianne’s. “I remember it all,” she admitted,
“But my duties. . . ,” Matilda began to protest.
“Can wait,” Arianne stated firmly. Just then the lyrical notes of Helena’s nursery songs filtered down to reach their ears. Casting a glance at the stairway, Arianne shook her head. “ ’Tis a voice like no other. Oft I have heard her sing long into the night, and it comforts me greatly in Richard’s absence.”
“Aye,” Matilda agreed. “Many say she is instructed by the angels.”
❧
In the solar, Helena composed a new love song for her beloved. She hummed the notes of the melody, picking and choosing each carefully, discarding those whose tones were too harsh or dour. The music always came first—notes of melodies that raced inside her head and would scarce let her rest before she’d fully composed them into song.
Timothy stared up with watchful blue eyes from his cradle. So long as Helena sang, it mattered little to him what the meaning of the words were.
“If my beloved were a king,” Helena put to the melody she’d just completed. She tested the words against the notes and decided they worked well. It was to be the song she’d promised Tanny when Roger’s whip had lain her ill.
“If my beloved were a king,” she whispered and sighed. “Oh, Tanny, you are a king. King of my heart.” Dropping to her knees, Helena prayed, “Most Holy Father, You alone know where my beloved lays his wearied head. You alone see his sorrows and his needs. Go with him and send my love along. I miss him so.” She felt the wetness upon her cheeks. How long would it be? How long before she saw him again?
Several nights later, Helena anxiously paced her room. There was such a restless spirit within her. She had spent hours in the castle chapel listening to the gentle words of Father Gies as he prayed for her to have the peace of God. Each morning during services, she had prayed fervently for such a peace to ease her longings, and of yet, no peace had come.
Without thought, Helena lifted her voice in a church song of Scripture. The Latin words were heavy compared to the Anglo-French she more often used for song, but the words encouraged her heart.
“Sine fide impossible est placere Deo,” she sang in earnest. Without faith it is impossible to please God.
“Oh Father,” she whispered, “my faith comes so hard these dark lonely nights. I listen to sounds of life within the castle and know that no life stirs within my own walls. Nay, only the empty ramblings of a faithless woman. Yet, without faith, I cannot please Thee.”
“Helena?” Arianne’s soft voice called from outside her door. Wiping her tears with the back of her linen robe, Helena opened the door to her duchess.
“I heard you singing,” Arianne said simply. “I am about to nurse Timothy. Come sing for me.”
Helena followed her into the hall, grateful for the reprieve from her lonely walls. Arianne settled down on the bed and took Timothy to her side. “It seems so dark sometimes,” she said faintly as Helena took a seat on the end of the mammoth bed. The high wooden canopy created shadows against the dying firelight’s glow.
“Aye,” Helena whispered. “Quite dark.”
Arianne reached out her hand to Helena. “Tell me of your home. Tell me of the family you have left behind.”
Helena’s fingers had barely touched Arianne’s hand, but the words spoken caused her to jerk back as if stung. “I cannot.”
Arianne pulled Timothy closer and sighed. “I do not hold you in contempt for your choice. I feel strongly that you remember full well your past and all that remains there for you.”
“I cannot,” Helena replied again, her voice a sob.
“Helena, I will not judge you harshly.”
“I know,” the sorrow-filled young woman replied. “I judge myself and the lack of faith within me.”
“Then judge no more,” Arianne replied. “ ’Tis God’s job and His alone.”
Helena lifted her eyes to meet Arianne’s. “I remember it all,” she admitted,
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