Ardinéa

Ardinéa

Meredith Anne DeVoe

Smashwords Edition

©1999 by Meredith Anne DeVoe

(Revised 2002, Smashwords Edition published 2011)

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this free ebook. You are welcome to share it with your

friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial

purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this

book, please return to Smashwords.com to discover other works by this author. Thank

you for your support.

Discover other titles by Meredith Anne DeVoe at www.Smashwords.com

and visit her blog at www.blackbirchwoods.blogspot.com.

Contents

PART 1:

TREAD UPON THE LION

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1: THE FIRST FLOWER

CHAPTER 2: MEETING BY THE BROOK

CHAPTER 3: THE GHOST SONG

CHAPTER 4: THE STING OF DEATH

CHAPTER 5: TAMLYN'S WARNING

CHAPTER 6: THE ELF-KNIGHT

CHAPTER 7: THE TROUBADOUR IN LOVE AND WAR

CHAPTER 8: A BROKEN HEDGE BETWEEN THE REALMS

CHAPTER 9: TREAD UPON THE LION

CHAPTER 10: LAUGHTER IN THE MORNING

PART 2: THE FEY QUEEN

CHAPTER 11: BETROTHAL'S KISS

CHAPTER 12: BITTER WIND

CHAPTER 13: SHADOWS

CHAPTER 14: MEETING ON THE MOUNTAIN

CHAPTER 15: THREE RINGS

CHAPTER 16: BRYCELANDS

CHAPTER 17: JOURNEYS, JEWELS

CHAPTER 18: COME TO THE WATER

CHAPTER 19: A BROTHER OFFENDED

CHAPTER 20: WHAT GOD WILL JOIN

CHAPTER 21: PEGHARA

PART 3: SWORD OF THE SPIRIT

CHAPTER 22: FALLING LEAVES

CHAPTER 23: FROM WHENCE MY HELP

CHAPTER 24: TO THE FOUR WINDS

CHAPTER 25: RIVER OF GOD

CHAPTER 26: AS SILVER REFINED

CHAPTER 27: I WAS A STRANGER

CHAPTER 28: MEETING IN THE MEADOW

CHAPTER 29: TREE OF LIFE

Part 1: Tread Upon the Lion

Prologue

Caer Aldene commanded the only crossing for many miles of the Briar River, the first crossing below its headwaters among the impenetrable brambles of the Cloud Mountains from which it tumbled. Its keep was casually sentried, for Briardene was a quiet land, this crossing having never seen attack and its turrets only rarely having been shot from. The town that clung to the bailey surrounding the castle spread like lichen, surrounded by rich farmland from which it took its living; furs, wool, flax, apples, grain, honey and more poured like a river from these dales in a good year, and in a bad one, few went hungry. Lord Gregory, Duke of Briardene, was loved in his domain.

The River tumbled headlong from the tangled uplands. Her youthful ardors were not yet spent and it was a many miles before she settled in for a languid journey to the sea. Caer Aldene's single keep presided easily and prettily as a pretender to the spires that rightfully dominated the landscape-- the unreachable Cloud Mountains to the east. Wrapped in mystery and hidden often in a clinging mist, the twin peaks Primarda and Arvanne were gloried with the sunrise between them in the summer solstice, and home to strange thundering and lights in the summer nights.

Chapter 1: The First Flower

Margaret's sister, Hildreth, was impossible with pride. It was the morning before her wedding day, and all the inhabitants of Caer Aldene were in the castle yard to greet her fiancé's family.

The illustrious band could be seen advancing over the plain from the west on horseback. Heralds came first, carrying streaming banners, lit by the morning sun. The bridegroom Herrick, with his father Lord Eldred, rode next, flanked by Herrick's brothers, by squires and knights, bravely attired, with swords and shields glinting. Next came Herrick's mother, Lady Anne Gay, her widowed sister Lady Phoebe, and their children, relations, handmaids and footmen, pipers and harpers, porters and nurses and grooms; followed finally by mules laden with luggage and gifts, and even milkcows, a herd of swine, and a flock of running geese driven by a young boy, and a small rear guard.

After all this followed a great number of the villagers' families, tumbling after the spectacle, and some children forming a parade of their own, blowing pennywhistles in tune with the royal pipers, and riding on draft ponies, streaming scarves tied to sapling wands above them. All this mixed retinue obtained the bailey gate of Caer Aldene, where they were met with an equally splendid show of banners and all the inhabitants of the castle turned out in clean, bright clothing. All the young maidens had washed and rinsed their long hair with herb vinegar, and it flowed unbound and glinting down their backs. Each girl stood with narcissus and primroses in her hand. In their midst stood Lord Gregory with his daughter Lady Hildreth by his side, who looked self-consciously stunning, her blond hair sparkling and her green eyes wide.

Margaret's younger sister's excitement could scarcely be contained, and Margaret had to answer a continual stream of questions, finally in exasperation crying out, Varda, switch not about so, and let go my dress, please! Margaret saw how Hildreth's eyes wanted to rest on Herrick, who was a proud sight approaching in the head of the procession; but Hildreth was determined not to stare and if at all possible to remain composed. But Margaret searched among the knights for Roald, for last summer he had visited and the two had teased and flirted. There! She picked him out by the sandy hair on his shoulders. There also was her brother Aelfred, who was a squire in Eldred's service. To suppress her excitement she found Hildreth's hand and squeezed it, Hildreth squeezing back and momentarily turning a beaming glance at her. Then both straightened up and put on their most stately manner, for the band had now arrived.

Lord Eldred dismounted and drew near to Lord Gregory, their right hands clasped and left arms were thrown about the other's shoulders in a hearty embrace. Even Varda stood still and looked dignified while courtesies were displayed and welcome proclaimed, and then the nobles' horses were led away and the lovely crowd entered the Great Hall of Aldene. As goblets of honey mead were drunk, the talk grew to almost a roar in the Great Hall. War was discussed on the one hand, babies and marriages on the other...

Aelfred introduced Margaret to his friends, boasting that she could ride a horse and shoot arrows with the best of them. The young people went out to test each other's skills with horse and bow… so the day passed, it seemed to Margaret, in a moment.

A thousand tapers lit the Great Hall of Caer Aldene that evening, and the living hall as well, and each was filled with persons clothed and bejeweled, and liveried servants coming and going, and reels and dancing and wine. If Margaret could have been any happier, it was only because it was a sobering realization that the loss of her sister's company and friendship and even antagonism was going to change her world forever, after tomorrow. Yet perhaps the bittersweet undercurrent only sharpened the beauty of the spectacle in the Hall. The soaring flutes and viols and drums filled her heart as the dancers swept and leapt in time, smiling and sweating in the brave torchlight.

Then she was interrupted in her thoughts by Roald, who touched her elbow. Margaret, turn aside with me, said he, and guided her toward the side door. Her heart was beating hard, for it was there that last summer, he had stolen from her a kiss. He had so hopefully, tentatively leaned toward her, so softly brushed her lips with his... But when they had turned into dark of the rose garden, he was not at all tentative, but crushed her to himself, and his breath smelled of wine, and the large buckle of the belt with which he was girt poked her in the stomach as he arched over and pressed himself onto her. She cried out his name in dismay and pushed against his chest briefly before he straightened, and gaped at her. Margaret, I am sorry, but ...what is the matter? I thought ... She had been so surprised that now a flush of anger, embarrassment and confusion fought within her. These passed and left her staring at Roald, who now looked embarrassed himself, and a little unsteady on his feet. At that moment two menservants carrying candelabrae entered the garden followed by a laughing company of guests, and the moment had passed.

Margaret and Roald returned to the Hall, Roald pathetically trying to outdo himself with courtesy and deference, and Margaret was grateful beyond words when her cousin Malva pulled her away to join a group of girls who were rehearsing the steps of a girl's dance. Roald stayed at a distance and Margaret realized that it was up to her to repair the breach, but was not at all sure that she wanted to. She hoped desperately to be able to talk with Hildreth but realized that her thoughts were far away; she shone in an assembly of nobles among whom she was to take her place the next day as the wife of Sir Herrick. Margaret sighed and tried to see how little was her problem. But at seventeen it is hard not to be ruled by the heart.

It was Rivanone who came alongside her late in the evening. With a questioning glance Rivanone regarded Margaret, who felt under her gaze very like the girl who had so often lain on her shoulder and cried for her mother, Lady Varden, who was lost in childbirth years before. Auntie, may I speak with you? Rivanone smiled and led her aside to a servant's door, which led into a corridor with a door to an herb garden and an apiary. There they sat on a bench and Rivanone waited. You know Roald and I ...that is ...

I know that the two of you have smiled at each other a lot in the past. But not tonight? Margaret gazed at her hands, toying with a ring.

He tried to kiss me in the garden tonight. She checked her aunt's expression, but Rivanone waited. I thought that was what I wanted, but ...it was wrong. I felt as if a dog were pawing me. Then I felt sorry for him, because he is my friend. Now I feel awkward, and Roald isn't-- well, he doesn't seem to know how to act, either. And I know that soon the question of my marriage will come up, and that Roald ... Margaret trailed off, but then her thoughts collected themselves. This morning I thought I loved him, now I fear I don't have an idea of what that means.

Love that you feel in your heart is but the flower, Margaret. Without branches and roots, the flower quickly fades. True love is something you do.

Margaret looked up from the ring to Rivanone's face. The headdress she wore as a married woman was simple, pale and filmy in the moonlight, not brocaded or ornamented like the more sophisticated noblewomen of Caer Prim and Caer Morga who graced the hall tonight. In that moment Margaret realized that there was something in Rivanone that few of those fine ladies had. She continued, "Your love has not yet grown. Loving deeds and choices are the roots that give the flower life. Too many young girls seek and find the flower, and grasp it ere being sure that it will be a lasting bloom, rooted in faithfulness from which springs faithful deeds. Then they wonder why they find themselves wed, but still alone. The flower fades, and the thorns cut deep.

God put it in the hearts of men and women to desire each other-- but He ordained the marriage covenant to teach us a kind of love that requires more than a moment's excitement: God revealed His love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. Greater love has no man than this: that he lay down his life...That is what love really is: something you would live and die for. I have spoken with you often of these things, Margaret, but I can see in your eyes that you're finding them out for yourself, Rivanone said, grasping Margaret's hand. Most girls are wed at a younger age, when they've not had the mind, or the luxury, to consider such questions. You and Roald are both young. If there is love between him and you, it will prove itself. Do not allow youthful lust to hastily pick the first flower!

She squeezed Margaret's hand and looked at her meaningfully, and Margaret understood suddenly that she was referring to herbcraft: her mother had taught her never to pick the very first of a sought-for plant, but to find others first, to be sure that the area was not depleted. I can see now that there is more of which we must talk plainly, but not on a night such as this. As for your marriage, your father counts your happiness too dear to wed you off against your will for his own purposes, although that is his prerogative. Count yourself very blessed indeed, and try not to give your heart away so easily! No man wants a dog-pawed bride, anyway.

They laughed in the moonlight, but Margaret caught the veiled reproof.

But was not Uncle Just chosen to be your husband by Grandfather Geoffrey?

Aye, Margaret. As I said, love takes root in faithfulness. Then the flower may bloom, and bloom again. And for us, it has and does.

Chapter 2: Meeting by the Brook

Elora had been found on the steps of the church in Caer Aldene by Margaret's Great-Great-Grandfather, the first Lord Geoffrey, who in his dotage had given over the cares of Aldene and spent much time in the chapel, with the parish priest; he was the first to arrive for Prime and nearly stepped on the ragged bundle. In the bower of his grandchildren a baby had died in the cradle only two days before. He took the foundling to the bed of his daughter-in-law, Lady Gyvarda, Lord Gregory's grandmother, who was in agony of engorgement. She awoke when the babe cried at the nearness of the warmth and milky smell of the bereaved mother, who almost had no choice but to take and nurse Elora-- her need for the child was almost as great as the child's need of her.

Elora was all her life a person who made herself necessary. She maneuvered her way into caring for the most prominent members of the family, having a talent for nursing with an almost stern attention that sprang from a fierce love. It was she who stayed at Lord Geoffrey's bedside seemingly round-the-clock in his last days, then his son Gyffory's, and his grandson Grefyrd. By the time she had outlasted two husbands of her own and helped birth and raise three generations of Aldene nobles, she had parlayed her position from foundling serving-maid to queen butleress.

Elora had one son when she should have been past the age. Gilling was an itinerant viol-player who sometimes drank too much mead and disappeared for months or years at a time, for he longed to see what was through the green wood and over the fell and beyond the Silver Loch over the plains of the South.

Relieved of her nursing duties due to her age, she took on projects she deemed worthy of her competencies, which were many after serving in Caer Aldene for all the decades of her life. So on this morning of mornings, she was up before the morning star, and whipping a wedding fit for a king and queen into shape, albeit hobbling from kitchen to scullery leaning on a rosewood cane, carved for her by her son.

But one was up earlier even than Elora.

Margaret had barely slept after the dancing and music of the previous evening, though it had ended at midnight, when the Matins bell rang. Margaret had gone to chapel then with her aunt, nodding off to the angelic chanting of the nuns. Still, she had turned and tossed and dozed but briefly until false dawn, when she gave it up, rose as silently as possible, pulled on a plain dress and tossed on a cloak over her hastily-combed hair. She picked her way between rows of sleeping cousins and guests, to the bower’s door and down the dim hallways. Margaret slipped out of the castle in the darkness and hurried down the way to Cloud Brook in the graying night, a tow rag in her hand. Only a spaniel named Wag detected her passing and would not be prevented from accompanying her.

The bailey gate stood wide open as it had since she was a child; so peaceful was Briardene. A slim cloaked figure accompanied by a dog would not arouse the suspicions of the sentry in the keep-- if he could even see her at that hour. She slowed as she approached the brook to hear the first birds stirring, first this one, then another. She was exhilarated by the chilly dawn and her adventure; she had never in all her years come alone to this place. She knew where the wild apple trees would hold tender, pale pink buds that her sister would love, and she had got it in her head to have them in hand when Hildreth awoke.

As a child, Margaret had often burst running from the great Hall that overlooked the rolling dales of Briardene. She would skip through the heavy side door, past the stone wall of the White Rose garden, past the vine-covered palings enclosing the vegetable plots; through the bailey gate whose heavy door stood always open. Down the warm, dusty lane rutted by hooves and scented by manure and the briar roses by the way; past old peasants bent under loads, past spirited horses romping in emerald pastures, to the brookside, to the smell of the water whispering in the shade of the willows, where blackbirds and wrens warbled. But this morning, it was yet too early even for birdsong, and the garden and the pastures were wrapped in mist and darkness.

Margaret removed her sandals at the water's edge and lifted the hem of her dress, stepping on the sand, relishing the feel of the cold on her feet, although it made her ankles ache. Wag had splashed into the water, but stopped suddenly, cocking her head, and whining. What is it, Wag? Margaret said, and her voice seemed to crack the quiet of the morn despite the babbling of the brook. The dog turned back for the bank and trotted off, her tail held low. She thought it odd, but wrung the tow cloth in the water to wrap the stems of the apple branches in. Then, walking on large boulders that were strewn in the water, praying that she would not slip, she crossed the brook.

She walked in the direction of the wild apple grove and saw with some disappointment that the buds were still but tightly furled. She hoped that putting the stems into warm water would serve to help them bloom today. Margaret approached the nearest of the wild apple trees, her heart pounding strangely, a shiver up her spine. She selected a few branches laden with buds and pulled a blade from her belt.

A breeze stirred the branches of the tree and lifted strands of her hair, causing her to tremble though the breeze was mild. Her hands were almost shaking as she cut into the green wood, and when a voice startled her, she nearly fainted:

How dare you pull these branches down, without the leave of me, Lady, said a man's voice, teasing, yet softly and kindly.

Margaret spun around. There close behind her stood a young man where none had been a moment before. She saw with wonder that a snowy horse grazed a few yards away. Yet when she met his eyes, her alarm dissolved, for he smiled gently. She stood, releasing her caught breath, at a loss for how to respond, for his manner seemed familiar, and yet she could not recall having met him. She became aware of the flowering branch in her hand, and the knife. Her mouth had gone dry, and she swallowed. These woods are my very own, and I will pull branches down without the leave of you, young man, she replied, her voice much softer than she intended it to sound, and smiling in spite of herself. I have come for these flowers for my sister's wedding. Why tarry you here so early?

I suppose I have come to help you, Lady Margaret, he said, and held out his hand. She willingly put the handle of the knife in his hand, wondering even as she did so; she watched as he took it from her and turned to the tree before them; he chose branches and severed them with a flick of his wrists. He was taller than she and reached branches that she could not have. She was content to let him choose, for he chose the best, and laid them in the wet tow cloth. He at last said, Perhaps any more would be too much to carry-- I would offer to carry them back, but ...

Thank you, you are most kind; but it would draw attention to my secret errand, for I am alone without the walls, where perhaps I ought not to be, confided Margaret, and stood there, examining him in the rosy light of dawn. His curly, ash-blonde hair hung down long and free, and his eyes, gray-blue; his fine downy beard was deeper gold. She drew a deep breath. The breeze that stirred the woods all around smelled of the promise of Spring.

Aye, you have never been here by yourself, have you? His clothing was green, of fine material and beautifully stitched, but the tunic and pants were not like that of the men of Briardene. Nor was it usual for a man to grow his hair long as a woman's, but perhaps far away, in the cities, they did so ... She was aware that she was staring at him and yet felt no urgency to make conversation, nor did the young man seem uncomfortable either. Something set him apart, but she could not discern it.

Finally she said, Perhaps I must be getting ready for the wedding, and she knew that perhaps she had dawdled too long already, yet she felt no hurry. It was as though all could wait, as if she could wait…

Your sister must make a comely bride, for she is like a willow tree in summer ...And whom might I wish joy of the marriage?

He is a thane's heir, and himself a knight: Sir Herrick of Caer Prim-- You must know of him?

I know of his father, Lord Eldred. Herrick was but a squire when... Then he has distinguished himself? She described to him the circumstance of Herrick's knighting, and he was interested, as any young man would be in tidings of war; he seemed to be vague in the details of current news. In this way they talked for a while, their gaze resting easily on one another; then the breeze again lifted a strand of hair across Margaret's face so that she had to brush it away, and far up the hill, a church bell rang.

She smiled and said, Really, I must now fly, and he bowed his head, handing her back the knife, then he wrapped the flowering branches in the cloth, and placed them in Margaret's arms. She stood for a moment, sheepishly smiling her gratitude before turning away.

She crossed the brook and slipped on the sandals she had left, paired, on the other bank, and turned to say good-bye-- but there was no one on the other side, yet she would have sworn he had assisted her over the brook. The light had again grown dim; she had not even been aware of its brightness; the breeze had died. Her eyes searched the trees, but he was gone and so was his long-limbed horse, and she realized with a start that she had not even learned his name. As if to confirm that she was not dreaming, she looked down at the bundle of tree branches, but she caught her breath, for they were now in full bloom. As she turned to go, a thrush began to sing clearly in a tree over her head. Wag reappeared, head and tail low, panting.

Chapter 3: The Ghost Song

Margaret returned to the castle, entering by way of the kitchen, where she was wont to return from the forest and the brookside with armloads of vegetation. Burda, please bring me a bucket of water, she called, and went into the scullery to fetch a vase. She selected a heavy, pale green glass vessel, poured water into it, and arranged the apple blossoms to her satisfaction. As she did so, she heard again the soft voice of the young man and saw him handling the knife to cut the branches. Her mind began to fill with questions-- who was he, why was he in the wood, and how was it that he knew her? How had she not heard his horse's approach? What of his strange apparel, his lilting accent? She stared into the mass of pink-white blossoms for a few moments, consumed by the faint fragrance that filled her head; then she turned away and asked that the flowers be brought up to the bower at once.

At that moment Elora entered the scullery and was only mildly surprised to find Margaret there, but she paused as she would have limped by and stared at Margaret wonderingly, and with her hand turned Margaret's chin toward her.

What is it, Elora? Said Margaret, thinking that she would be obliquely confronted about her covert trip to the forest.

Why, young Lady ...You look lovely this morning, she said, and turned to continue on her way. ...Like you have just arrived from Faerie Land.

Margaret met Burda, a great strong woman who was but little encumbered by the large vessel, at the door of the bower and motioned her to the bedside of Hildreth, who lay dead to the world. After Burda had left, Margaret, who had rinsed her feet in the kitchen, slipped into bed beside her, but lay thinking ...of Roald's forgivable rudeness. Of Rivanone's affection for a man whom she had not chosen. Of her father's heartbreak over the loss of her mother and the love he now poured into his grist-mill and his bridges... and of the gray-blue eyes that searched the apple tree for the best withies. They held no threat, nor the brittle overworked courtesy with which Margaret had got used to the knights and the noble sons trying to impress her.

It occurred to Margaret suddenly to wonder at this. By his speech and manner and by the gold brooch fastening his cloak, and by the accouterments of the horse and the sword and shield hanging from the saddle, he was as a young knight, yet he had not been among the knights guesting in the castle.

Nobly born is not noble in heart, Rivanone would say. But noble birth would be required of a fitting suitor, whatever the state of his heart. She thought again of Roald, and her conversation with Aunt Rivanone. She and Roald had been childhood friends. He was wealthy and well-connected, her father cast an approving eye on him, and once he achieved knighthood, he would very likely come looking for her as a bride... could she love him, as Rivanone loved Just? She gazed over at Hildreth and almost envied the simplicity with which she had unquestioningly given her heart to the man on whom Lord Gregory's favor had rested, and Herrick had returned her earnestness; now it was their wedding day. After this day, attention would turn to the question of Margaret's own marriage. She had much to think about, to sort through and talk to Aunt Rivanone about, and soon...

Hildreth stirred and opened her eyes. Oh, look! How lovely, Maggie! You knew they are my favorite, oh thanks! How did you get them? She told her sister of sneaking down to the brook, but did not tell all that had happened there; her story seemed somehow inappropriate in the face of Hildreth's excitement.

After tonight, you'll have this bed all to yourself, she murmured.

Will you be lonely for me? Margaret teased.

Not a bit! They giggled quietly.

You'll be mistress to footmen and handmaidens ...You and Herrick will have your own bower together...

I am excited. But, Margaret-- it will never be the same. I have always lived at Aldene and with you here, and in these last months I've been so eager to be wed and away from this frontier to Prim Briar, closer to Fearnon's castle and the court of Queen Charis-- who wouldn't be excited!-- but suddenly I feel terribly homesick for our knoll by the river, and the times we squabbled over my shifts you wanted to wear, and everything that has made this our home ...I've decided I want you to have this, she said, sitting up and removing a gold chain with a cross pendant from over her head. Take it quick, ere I change my mind, she said, smiling through misting eyes. When Margaret hesitated, Hildreth put it over her sister's head, and pulled it down in front while lifting Margaret's heavy, dark hair out from under the gold chain with her other hand. Margaret was almost aghast.

This is your favorite! Mother gave it to you. She raised the pendant and examined the cross, with rose brambles twined around it. She had coveted it for as long as she could remember. Now it was hers and the reality of Hildreth's leaving pierced her heart.

It is very old, and no one at Caer Prim will know what it means to me, but you always will. And you'll think of me often when you admire it... Margaret's eyes overflowed, and Hildreth wrapped her arms around her. After a few moments she patted Margaret's back. We must get up! Come!

Soon all the girls were awakening and servants bringing water for washing and bread for breaking the fast. Then began the dressing that occupied the morning. Elora appeared with servants who carried in Hildreth's wedding apparel. Elora presided for a short while until she could be assured that things were going correctly. When Aunt Rivanone appeared, who was to be matron of honor, Elora repaired next to the chapel. Hildreth was arrayed by the servants and Rivanone bound up her hair in a married woman's braids, and made sure that none of the young girls was applying too much perfume oil from a tiny glass-and-gold flask that one of them had brought. Margaret combed her hair less hastily than before, and looked into the wardrobe, where the satin dress she had selected days before seemed suddenly too bright. It had been patterned after one that Hildreth had and Margaret had coveted, and was a bright rose, shiny and brocaded, with gold beaded trim about the neck, sleeves and hem ...She sighed, and laid it neatly back down, telling herself she must not outshine the bride with gaudy colors. She chose instead a simpler, yet more finely-made gown of a pale rose, like the apple blossoms which Hildreth would twine into her long plaits; apple blossoms he had cut for her. For in every spare moment of her sister's wedding day, her thoughts ran down the half mile to the brook, for like a strange dream that wakes one, her mind kept returning there, and dwelling on the face of the stranger, and the words they had spoken with each other.

The nave of the church was packed with persons, the high and low of the country had come for the spectacle of a wedding of nobles; even the laborers wore their whitest tunics and newest of dresses, and the girls' hair was entwined with flowers. Ribbands and flowers adorned heads and arms and hats; small boys even tied them to wands and waved them about. The wedding had been planned to fall just after plowing was done, and a message had been cried among the people imploring all to take the morning off from planting and weeding and washing to be part of the festivities. Within the bailey wall an outdoor kitchen prepared a feast for the peasants on the parade ground, and wine and ale casks were rolled down; they would have their own dancing and music and games.

Margaret had seen many weddings in this church; when she was younger she and Hildreth would beg their nurse, Tyna, to take them down to the chapel to see the peasants' much simpler nuptials; after Tyna had herself wed and moved from the castle, Margaret had brought Varda down. Most of these took place after plowing, before hoeing of rows was needful or fruits ripening; so the month of June was the favored time, also after the harvest was in and before the lambing began; so these weddings were a part of the Advent season's diversion as well.

But no wedding had been so exciting, nor held such importance for Margaret personally as Hildreth's. Margaret stood in place with her