A Knight and White Satin. Jackie Ivie

all bide their time. All.”

      “For what?” The words said as sourly as the taste in her mouth.

      Lady Evelyn bent to her task, speaking again to the field of heather she was stitching in minute detail onto the fabric.

      “The Dunn-Fadden clan has been gathering. Just outside of arrow range. For days now.”

      “I have naught to fear from my father-by-law.”

      “I would na’ be so certain.”

      “He’ll want Kilchurning’s blood. As do I. I’ve naught to do save welcome him and my release.”

      “Perhaps.”

      “Why must you always be so cryptic! Say what it is and let the blame fall! The Dunn-Fadden will revenge the fallen and I’ll get my keep back from Kilchurning’s grip. Dunn-Fadden will have his own castle back and I’ll have what I always wanted. Freedom. I dinna’ see what I have to worry over.”

      “Perhaps,” came the answer again.

      “You are so maddening!” Dallis burst out.

      “Come. Pick out a color and sew. Mind you doona’ pucker it as much as last time. I had to take out all your stitches.”

      “Then why ask it of me? You ken my lack of skill. I was na’ trained to needlecrafts. I was trained to run a household, keep a hearth fire burning, fill a larder, balance accounts…brandish a dirk. Revenge an ill. I was na’ trained in sitting about worrying!”

      “You admit to worry? Odd. I’ve seen you pace with intent, rail with anger, and screech with fury. I’ve na’ seen worry.”

      Dallis chewed on her fingernail in thought. Her aunt was right. She had been pacing. She was not a shrew, though. Lady Evelyn was.

      “I over-spoke again. I meant waiting. I sit about waiting. Not worrying. I leave that bane for the spinsters of the world.”

      Lady Evelyn sighed this time. “Your barbs doona’ affect me today, Dallis lass. You have made me too satisfied. I’ll be the first to let them ken the wait is over, and they’ll have what they want.”

      “Are you daft? First you tell me I must bide my time, and now you drift into being fey by telling me the wait is over? And all without sense? This is na’ companionship. This is argument.”

      “You want bread with your gruel? I’ll go and order it.”

      “I want to be let free! Grant me that and I’ll find my own meal.”

      “He allows you the run of the tower. You’re free.”

      “Up. He allows me this floor and the turret. This is na’ freedom. ’Tis worse than a caged bird! At least a caged bird is given something to perch upon! And food worth the eat.”

      “You canna’ go to the turret anyway. Na’ today. The weather forbids it. In fact, ’tis so cold, the garde-robe is almost too far to venture unless the need is too great.”

      Dallis didn’t need the reminder. Even with the fire at her back, it was still chilly in her rooms. That’s why the ladies of the castle kept to their solar in the winter months. That room was directly above the main hall and shared a fireplace with it. If Kilchurning had a bone in his body devoted to chivalry, he’d have known that and made it available to her and Lady Evelyn.

      Dallis shuddered. She was being greedy and selfish and heartless. What was a bit of chill when she still had her head? Nor was she being forced into a differing bed each eve. All she was really suffering was enforced boredom, Lady Evelyn’s tongue, and badly prepared and cooked meals.

      “When is Dunn-Fadden going to attack? Do they ken?”

      “Nae. ’Tis why he’s had his men on orders to patrol in two shifts per day. On rotation. Constantly watchful. And then he sends them to their rest. He does na’ ken how draining that is.”

      “Draining? How?”

      Her companion giggled. “You think your wenches unskilled in the love art? Please, Dallis. ’Tis a woman’s greatest weapon.”

      “Aunt Evelyn!” Dallis was shocked. It sounded in her voice.

      “They also ken the best way to weaken a man is to get a bit of wine into his gullet. A bit of wine with a bit of hops and St. John’s Wort in it. Just a bit. Na’ enough to flavor it, but enough to make a man drugged and slow in his actions. ’Tis my own concoction.”

      Dallis kept her mouth from dropping open with an effort. It was difficult to form words for a bit. “I thought you swore the man fealty,” she said, finally.

      “So does he,” the lady replied.

      “Aunt Evelyn. You have nae honor.”

      The old woman looked askant at her and winked before going back to her sewing. “When you’ve reached my age, you learn something about honor.”

      “What?”

      “You learn survival is what matters. Then shelter, food, good ales. One thing you’ve done right since wedding the Dunn-Fadden, Dallis lass. You’ve learned how to get the proper age of your lager. You brew a hearty ale. Kilchurning and his men are most appreciative of it. Most. Should he win the day, I’ll be rewarded while he finishes drinking the kegs dry. Should he lose?” She shrugged again but was still talking to her tapestry. “Well…I’ve proved my loyalty as a member of the Dunn-Fadden clan with my potions. Either way, I survive. I call that a win.”

      “You let the choice of two evils decide itself,” Dallis commented.

      “What woman can choose between two evils?”

      She had. “What of me?” Dallis asked in a small voice she hated.

      “Dinna’ look to me for the answer. ’Twas na’ me opening the gate and welcoming his sworn enemy, Kilchurning, while his lone son perished. You’d best hope for a Kilchurning win.”

      Dallis felt the twinge again deep in her breast at mention of Payton’s demise. It was painful. And mysterious. There was no reason for sorrow. She was close to getting what she wanted. What she’d always wanted. The death of her husband was a foregone conclusion. It shouldn’t hurt and make her eyes water up strangely.

      Yet, it still did. Again. She had to turn her face aside to hide the moisture in her eyes and blink rapidly as she watched the flames.

      “Brighten up, Dallis lass. With what I suspicion, I’d guess your acceptance into Clan Dunn-Fadden will be easy. If he does na’ take your head for getting his son killed, that is. I’d talk fast if I were you.”

      “Of what?”

      “The bairn you carry.”

      That’s when Dallis’s mouth really did fall open.