Claire Delacroix (64 page)

Alys paused and caught her breath. She saw Heloise in the distance, crouched, staring at the pebbles that covered the ground, her head cocked to listen.

’Twas going to be one of those visits.

Alys sighed, summoned a smile, and waved. Heloise had always recognized her, but each time Alys visited, she feared
the worst. The older woman’s thoughts grew progressively more muddled as time passed.

“Good day, Heloise!” she called with a cheer she was not feeling, then lifted her skirts and made her way closer.

The older woman looked up and squinted into the sun. Though another might have been startled, Alys barely noted in these days that one side of Heloise’s face hung slack and expressionless, or that her right arm was nigh useless. She had learned to focus upon the other half of the older woman’s visage, where still Heloise’s smile curved her lips and her eye sparkled.

“Alys!” The older woman hobbled past the crude stone hut that now was her home, her quick steps ample evidence of her concern. ’Twas not easy for her, for still her right leg fought against movement. “What has she done to you?”

“Naught, Heloise, naught,” Alys lied, putting an arm around the woman’s shoulders before she could see even the mending upon Alys’s kirtle. They did not need to repeat the past this day. “ ’Twas some whimsy of a task Aunt granted me, no more than that. You see? I am here, hale and hearty.” She kissed Heloise’s cheek. “You have naught to fear for me.”

Heloise shot a sharp glance her way. “Aye? Did she set you to scrubbing the hall with one fingertip?”

Alys laughed and declined to elaborate. “How
are you
?”

“Well enough, if not for
them
.” Heloise looked back to the pebbles and frowned.

“Them?”

The older woman leaned closer, her eyes gleaming. “The stones! They are speaking, keeping me awake all the night with their chattering.” She sighed. “They grow louder each and every day so that I cannot bear their din. Listen to them!”

The older woman stared fixedly at the pebbles in question. Alys held her tongue, as ’twas clearly what she was meant to do, but discerned naught beyond the typical whistle of the wind, the crash of the sea, and the cries of the seabirds.

She jumped when Heloise looked sharply at her once more. “Well?”

Alys shrugged. “I cannot hear them.”

Heloise clicked her tongue in agitation.

’Twas clear that solitude was addling the older woman’s wits, and Alys felt a surge of anger that Aunt had insisted the older woman be removed to this place. ’Twas a poor prize for years of loyal service. Heloise was too old to be left alone, too frail to be subjected to the dampness of the wind from the sea, too forgetful to ensure her own welfare.

Indeed, Alys had no doubt that Heloise had let the fire die again.

“How fares your hearth?” she asked, trying to distract the older woman from the stones. “Cook has sent you some lovely bread, and we could melt a piece of cheese atop it.”

Heloise’s gaze brightened, then she frowned in confusion. “There is no hearth here.”

“Of course there is.” Alys took the maid by the hand and led her to the stone hut. ’Twas dark inside, no glimmer of a coal upon the flat stones placed for a fire.

The firewood Alys had collected upon her last visit was either still there or Edana had replenished the stock. Clearly, though, the girl had not known that she must start the blaze for Heloise. Alys left Heloise to peruse the contents of the basket and collected some wood, then struck a flint.

Heloise, as always, cried out at the first sight of a spark. For some reason, she associated the fire with events leading to her fit, regardless of what Alys said of the matter.

Perhaps that was why she left the hearth untended.

“ ’Tis all over, Heloise,” Alys said crisply, coaxing the first tinder to burn. “ ’Tis in the past and can hurt neither of us any longer.”

“Let me see your back,” the older woman said suddenly.

The fire caught as Alys glanced up. “There is naught to
see,” she argued, wondering at this unexpected demand. Heloise’s eyes were oddly bright. “ ’Tis long healed and you know it well.”

Heloise shook her head. “The stones say nay.”

Alys felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle at this oddly accurate claim. She straightened, ensuring she faced Heloise. “The stones are wrong,” she asserted. “Would you have some cheese and bread?”

Heloise considered her for a long moment. “You are well?”

Alys smiled. “I am fine.”

But Heloise shook her head, clearly troubled by her memories. She squatted down and rocked on her heels in agitation. “She should not do this, she should not hurt you, she should not disserve the memory of Isibeal. Ah, Isibeal!”

As was often the case when the maid was agitated, she fingered a chain around her neck that Alys had never seen her remove. There was a pendant upon it, though Heloise guarded it jealously and never let any look upon it. Alys assumed ’twas a token from her family, or perhaps that of a love gone astray.

“Isibeal!” Heloise whispered, and began to cry. “I failed her in this one important deed. She bade me care for you, protect you.”

“And so you did.” Alys crouched before the older woman and pulled her into a loose embrace. “Heloise! ’Tis because of you and your love that I grew so straight.”

Heloise bit her lip and abandoned the pendant to touch Alys’s cheek. ’Twas as if she had to prove Alys’s presence to herself, and Alys ached at the older woman’s uncertainty.

“There is no reason for concern,” Alys crooned. “I had an onerous task that kept me from visiting you, but ’tis done, and I am none the worse for wear.”

Heloise stroked Alys’s cheek, her gaze filling with an affection that reminded Alys of the maid’s younger days. “Sweet like Isibeal,” she whispered.

Alys held Heloise while the fire flickered to life, unable to avoid thinking that their roles had been transposed. She could remember Heloise holding her close in reassurance—and knew how much those embraces had meant to her.

Heloise finally shook her head, gave the pendant one last rub, then tucked it into her chemise with fumbling fingers. “Has your knight come for you yet, Alys, as Aucassin came for Nicolette?”

“Nay.” Alys forced a smile and cut the bread, well aware of how Heloise watched her.

“Are you certain?”

Alys took a deep breath. She met Heloise’s gaze and decided to ask. No one would know, especially a certain cocksure knight. And this was the only person she knew she could trust.

“Heloise, do you remember a man, a knight, named Burke de Montvieux? He came to Kiltorren three years ago.”

Heloise shook her head. “I was here then, I have been here since Isibeal died.”

Alys shook her head, well accustomed to Heloise’s uncertainty over timing of events. Her thinking had been much muddled by her fit. Though it had cleared markedly, still some matters were confused. “Nay, you were still at the keep then. Isibeal died when I was only a babe, and you know you told me tales every night for years. That was at the keep.”

The older woman chewed her lip.

“Heloise, do you remember that tale we used to sing?” she asked. Alys began to sing the familiar chanson, fully expecting Heloise to join the words.

“Aye!” Heloise crowed, her voice rising high and clear as she began to sing in turn.

Alys stiffened, oblivious to the melting cheese that dripped into the fire with a sizzle. There was only one insignia she knew with a lion and three lilies. And this verse echoed rather too strongly of Burke’s insistence that he had sought Alys far and wide.

What
did
Heloise remember?

“This is not the tune as you taught it to me.”

Heloise grinned, the firelight painting her features with an uneven light that made her disfiguration even more marked. She seemed more intently present than she had been in years.

“The stones say ’tis how it should be sung now.”

The hairs prickled again on the back of Alys’s neck, but suddenly Heloise spied the toasted cheese and bread. Her face lit with pleasure and she reached impatiently for the bread, chattering of her love for cheese. Once again she was naught but a confused older woman in need of Alys’s care.

The moment was gone, but Heloise’s unexpected verse would echo long in Alys’s thoughts.

The sun was sinking low when Alys climbed from Heloise’s hut and turned to wave farewell. But the older woman had already forgotten her. Heloise was bent once more over the stones, her head cocked. Alys watched her for a long sad moment and resolved to come more often.

She wondered whether Aunt could be persuaded to let Heloise back into the hall. If naught else, the elderly maid would be warmer and better fed than she managed on her own.

Aunt. The very thought of confronting her was sobering. Perhaps Alys should retire to this hut and care for Heloise herself. Undoubtedly the feud between the two older women was a bitter one. Alys sighed, frowned, and turned to trudge homeward, only now acknowledging the ache in her bones.

She had done too much this day, that was certain, but there had been no choice. Heloise had her alone to rely upon, and truly, Alys’s debt to her mother’s maid was not small. She would do anything for Heloise.

Perhaps even challenge Aunt.

Alys glanced up, gauging the distance to the keep, and caught her breath.

For a knight stood silhouetted against the brightness of the sky, his destrier grazing beside him.

Burke was clearly waiting for her.

Alys willed her heart to slow and tried to continue on as if the sight of him, waiting, did not trouble her in the least. Her lips twisted with the recollection of Malvina’s claim that they laughed together over her desire for the knight. Whether ’twas true or not, Alys resolved that Burke would see no evidence of her wayward yearnings this evening.

’Twould do the man good to have some doubt of his appeal.

Burke knew the very moment that Alys spied him.

She had been trudging tiredly along the stony coast where no path was discernible to the eye. He had waited impatiently, his boot tapping, knowing that he had no place invading the solitude of an anchorite, yet anxious to assure himself that Alys was well.

The way she walked when she finally appeared did little to reassure Burke. She was exhausted, ’twas evident, yet still she intended to walk the few miles to the keep. He did not know whether to kiss her or kill her over her reckless disregard for her own health.

Then Alys spied him. She straightened as if bracing herself for a battle—or deliberately hiding her fatigue—lifted her chin, and strode in his direction with purpose. And Burke found a smile of anticipation curving his lips.

Oh, he liked the fire that had been kindled in his lady love.

Alys’s eyes flashed when she drew near him, though she neither halted nor glanced his way. ’Twas left to Burke to turn and match his steps to hers. Moonshadow, his reins hanging slack, ambled behind.

Burke felt as much as saw Alys’s sidelong glance.

“You wait for me.”

“And have all afternoon.”

Alys sniffed. “Surely Malvina made more pressing demands upon your time.”

Aha! Suddenly Burke understood the reason for the lady’s irritation and that made him smile. “Are you jealous?” he teased.