Chapter 11.4.2

I went to her and laid my hands upon her satin-covered waist, and played upon it as if it were my harp. I thought of my Elise as I did so, if her devotion and steadfast heart. Then I thought of Wallen and the Lady Laurice, of the Bard-in-training and the woman who would give everything she had to be with him. Barefoot, both of them, running over hill and dale to escape her father’s wrath.

Beneath my touch, she twisted back into my hands. Something had awakened within her, something that Christians tried to guard their women against. I could feel her hungering passion, which would soon be hunting for a target.

Was this how a Bard had claimed the heart of Wallen’s mother, and so earned a generation’s worth of misery for her people and her son?

On the couch, the Lady Laurice moaned softly. "Brother, you are wasted in that skirt."

"Is he that good?" The Lady Victoria glanced at me lightly. She played with a lock of her golden hair. "Perhaps I should introduce him to the wonders to be found without his vows."

"By the Virgin Mother!" Lady Laurice growled. "You will try for Saint Peter himself, at the very gates of Heaven! Let this monk be!"

"As you wish." The Lady Victoria rose, her mouth pressed into a thin line. Her gaze raked over me, and stopped at my bare feet. She opened her mouth, glanced at her Lady, and firmly shut it again.

I decided to leave quickly.

Straightening up, I signed a Heathen blessing on that fair waist, and turned to leave – then found myself face to face with another Silent Monk. My heart hammered – I was about to be exposed for the fake that I was.

The monk lifted his head enough for me to catch a glimpse of his features, and I saw that it was Wallen.

Taking an easy breath, but staying in character, I signed a greeting.

He returned the greeting, then said, "I see you have made peace with the Bard who meant to harm you."

But – what? Wallen already knew that. I looked down in puzzlement, and saw that his feet were calloused, tough – not torn by rocks and ice. I looked back at the monk’s face, and saw that he was not my lord. Not quite. But certainly close enough to be his brother.

Chapter 11.4.1

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Morning came with a dull yellow light that struggled through snow-filled clouds and failed to penetrate the darkness of the castle. Shrouded in shadows, I easily passed the guards and entered the forbidden cloister of the ladies tower. This time my quarry filled the workroom. Some spun, some wove, and some embroidered, all beneath braces of candles. At first the Lady Laurice was out of sight, but then I found her reclining on a bench strewn with pillows. She held a small one against her belly.

“The child, the child!” she cried out, rocking the pillow. “I feel it move!”

The room echoed with laughter.

“Tell me,” said the Lady Victoria, perching on a cushion beside the bench. “Have you named a father for your child?”

Lady laurice wrinkled her petite nose. “How about that sweet boy of yours? Father would believe that.”

“Please, my Lady, no. Lord Guerney would have him flayed and gutted, then used for target practice.”

I doubted that she was joking.

Lady Laurice shrugged. “Only if he finds the boy. Didn’t he leave months ago to sing his songs for Lord Reinard?”

“Sing? Oh, you mean the singer?”

Singer? Who was this whore, to call a third-string bard a singer?

To her credit, Lady Laurice gave her handmaiden a hard look. “I thought he was a Bard.”

The Lady Victoria shrugged.

“He’s come back for you,” cackled Auld Martha. A shuttlecock flew between her fingers. “He sang for supper, just last night.”

Lady Victoria sat up sharply. “Back? Oh, my Lady, you must name him the father, and quickly, before he comes to bother me. Besides, if Lord Reinard has heard about the child, and decided to marry you regardless, learning that the father was a Bard should certainly change his mind.”

“What was his name?”

Lady Victoria screwed up her delicate face in thought. “I think...”

Sharp, I thought. And he was in trouble.

“Sharp,” Auld Martha said for her. “He has an apprentice with him – not a bad looking creature, for a Heathen.”

The Lady Victoria rose. “I’ll have to try him out.”

No, I thought firmly. As much as I wanted my lord to give up his false lady, he did not need to replace her with a fickle one.

Auld Martha threw the shuttlecock. “Ah, but if you want a man with muscle, then he’s not for you. His face is strong, but he could hide behind a post. And he wears the poorest excuse for a beard that I have yet seen on a man.”

“Oh.” Lady Victoria sat back down.

Lady Laurice sat up, and spied me. “Is that our monk? Brother Peter, is that you?”

“Not unless he’s lost some height,” Lady Victoria replied. She knew her men – but fortunately, she did not dwell on my feet.

“No matter, he’ll still hold our secrets. Come to me, brother, and rub my back. The child has made it hurt.” She threw the pillow to the floor and rolled over.

Chapter 11.3

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As I lay in my bed of straw, my fingers ached for my harp. For decades it had been my constant companion, my voice when I could no longer sing, my comfort. With it I had woven bandages to bind a shattered heart, and arrows to pierce the demons of the night. In times past, it had fed me and given me a place to sleep, and now it assured my shelter at Songless. Friend, shelter, comfort – my harp was like a wife to me.

Perhaps that is why so few Bards marry – any woman who takes a Bard for a husband must remain mistress to his music. Likewise, we seldom stay in one place for too long a time, less our feet become like the roots of a great oak tree and fasten us to the ground. Music needs adventure and change.

Bards are not trees, but the wind which sweeps through the trees, spreading news and songs as we travel. Yet I would never be the wind, for the wind is not dumb. It howls, it cries, moans, and it shudders. It comes in the evening and is gone by morning.

I had stayed ten years at Songless, ten years in which ivy had marched across stone walls, and tree roots had dug deep into the soil. I had grown into the castle, become a part of it, and it was the only place I could live. And I had taken a wife.

I missed the touch of my harp, but I realized that I missed Elise more.

Chapter 11.2

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At the end of the evening, the dishes were cleared and the tables put away, so that soldiers and servants could lay down in the great hall. I headed toward the stables, a place of greater warmth and privacy, but Sharp stopped me. He guided me toward a dark corner, then pressed his hands to his chest. “Dear Brother, I must confess my heart, or it will shatter from anguish.”

“Heathens don’t confess and we don’t have hearts,” I signed back, but I do not know that he understood me.

“Hear me, please. My very heart has been shattered by the pains of love.”

Perhaps he should learn not to be so casual with his heart. I held out my hands and bowed my head.

Behind me, servants moved, but perhaps not as quickly as they could have.

“I once loved a lady, one so fair and so fine that the birds would sing at the mention of her name. She was sweet as nectar, as beautiful as the summer sky, as gentle as a lamb. Freely I gave her my love, and freely she returned it. Then, and for this sin I beat upon my breast and call upon the gods for mercy, I freely left her. Now I have returned, but she will not have me. She has taken a new lover, a soldier who is constant of heart and will, strong in body, weak in mind. She will not have me, and I am unconsolable.”

He did not looked grieved, not then nor when he was accepting his dinner from the fair fingers of maidens – but his message bothered me. How were we to persuade the Lady Victoria to help us now?

“Who is her new lover?” I signed slowly. “Will he help?”

“She lies under the spell of the captain of the Guard.”

Ouch.

I thought, then signed, “I will approach Lady Laurice myself.”

“How?” His voice dropped to a whisper. “She stays in her tower, with only the company of her ladies.”

“And Silent Monks, remember?”

The darkness of his expression showed me that he did, and only too well.