Lady Margaret's Future by Victoria Sportelli

Author:Victoria Sportelli
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781952849084
Publisher: Creazzo Publishing
Published: 2021-01-25T00:00:00+00:00

29

Holy Days

Margaret rose, washed, dressed, and braided her hair before the first bell. At its sound, she shook her husband, “Alfred, rise for Mass.”

“Oh, my head! Not this day.”

“What shall I tell Father?”

Alfred groaned again. “Tell him…Drat! What a penance he shall give me for not setting a good example.”

Margaret smiled and moved away. Alfred sat on the side of the bed, groaning and holding his head.

“You are barely bruised.”

Alfred glanced up. “This time I could fight back.”

“Alfred, your men are proud of you.” Margaret added, “I am proud of you as well.” She approached. “You not only won the day, you behaved honorably to the losers. Others will speak well of you.” She lifted each foot and inserted Alfred’s legs into his braies, which she bunched at his knees. After she put on his chausses and fastened his boots, she offered Alfred her hands and assisted him to rise. His garments fell to his ankles. Margaret handed him his loincloth and turned to the clothes tree to fetch his shirt and tunic. She pulled up his braies and tied his belt before she did the same to his chausses. Like a child, Alfred let her put his hands through the sleeves and lift the shirt over his head. Margaret helped him don his tunic and over tunic, and helped him with his sword.

“Stay standing. You want not to return abed,” she warned. Instead Alfred lowered his head, and she combed his hair forward. The second bell rang as the couple turned to leave. This morn Margaret unlocked the keep door and handed the key to Alfred, who managed to pocket it.

“Please act rested and sober.”

“I know. Head up, shoulders back.”

Please fall not from the ladder and crack op your head.

After Mass, Alfred took small spoonfuls of pottage until he was cert his stomach would hold them. “Thank you for tending me. How reached I our bed?”

“Syghelm and Jorgon brought you and helped me put you to bed. Your knights were indisposed.” Now I know you snore when you drink too much. Say it not. He is in no humor for a tease. Margaret looked down the hall with a smile. They look as bad as you. Poor sentries, who must labor in their state. “My lord, do you wish to return to the keep?”

Alfred shook his head. He informed their knights, “No practice this morn.” To Margaret he said, “Fetch Cormac.”

When Cormac arrived, Margaret gave him her place and left to settle meals with Cook.

Friday the men resumed their morning practice while Margaret assisted Leoma and Hopa in baking for All Souls Eve on October 31. The “soul cakes,” as they were called, were palm-sized rounds of honey-sweetened bread dough, either plain or flavored with herbs. A person offered them to their loved ones who had died. They were either fried or baked on a water-soaked wooden slab so the bottoms burned not. One each for Mother, Father, Grandfather, and Grandmother. Alfred will want three, Elbeorht’s first husband, his father, and Sir Cyrille.

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