Five

 

For a week, Margareta wandered through the house and the priory like a corporeal ghost. She avoided people she would normally acknowledge, taking her meals alone in her chambers. If it weren't for the library and the rose garden, she would have been bored out of her mind.

All right, she was ready to scream when a thin wail erupted from the other end of the rose garden. Curiosity got the better of her, so Margareta crossed the courtyard to investigate.

The wail issued from a bundle of blankets held tightly to a young woman's breast. The woman herself reclined on a bed of sorts, and she was wrapped in more blankets than her baby.

"Lady Margareta!" the nun exclaimed before dropping a deep curtsey. "Lady Margareta is the Master's daughter. She has taken a vow of silence, in the hope that her sacrifice will persuade the Lord to save her brothers."

Margareta opened her mouth to correct the woman, then remembered and closed it again.

"My lady, may I present Lady Penelope, widow to the late but valiant Sir Godfrey, who died defending the priory?"

Margareta inclined her head. She hadn't heard of any such knight, but if the baby in Lady Penelope's arms was his, he couldn't have died very long ago.

The nun fluttered her hands. "Oh, but you wouldn't have heard about Sir Godfrey's brave deeds, for you had not yet arrived. Lady Penelope, you must tell her."

It was Penelope's turn to duck her head. "Perhaps when I am recovered. I am but recently widowed and I fear the birth of my daughter..."

The nun's hands fluttered more violently. "But of course. Perhaps I should help you inside, so that you can rest?"

Penelope wrinkled her nose. "I much prefer it out here. I'm sure you have better things to do than hover around me all the time. I will be perfectly well here for a while, if Lady Margareta does not mind sharing her garden?"

For all that she wanted to be alone, Margareta knew she would look churlish if she refused. Besides, she was curious about the other woman. And she wanted a peek at the baby.

So Margareta smiled, spreading her arms wide to signify how delighted she was to share the garden her father had planted for her.

As if on cue, a bell tolled.

"Oh! That is the bell for prayers. I must go!" The nun hurried away.

When Margareta was sure the nun was out of earshot, Penelope said, "If you wish me gone, merely nod and I will ask them to take me somewhere else tomorrow. It is so different to things at home. There, I would have a private courtyard where I could sit and my sleeping chamber is just for sleeping. Here...why, the moment I arrived and they found out I was with child, they confined me to a dark room and seemed terrified that some dark spirit might harm me or the baby if a single ray of sunlight or a breath of fresh air reached us. I threatened to walk out here by myself if they did not let me out of that room."

Margareta felt a strong desire never to have children. Not that her father was likely to accept any offer of marriage that came her way, anyway. That would mean giving her a dowry and part of the island, which he would already have to divide between his twelve sons. Of course, that only strengthened her desire to hold Penelope's child, for if she could never have one of her own...

Margareta held out her arms for the baby.

Penelope looked surprised. "You want to hold her? Sure." She settled the baby in Margareta's arms and sat back. "Her name is Melitta."

Margareta stared at the sleeping child. She weighed next to nothing, yet Melitta held more power over her than the tiny girl would ever know. The aura of magic that swirled around her marked her as a witch. Magic followed bloodlines, which meant her mother might also have some magical talent. Or it could have come from her father, though it was rare for magical ability to manifest in men.

"My husband was a fool," Penelope said. At Margareta's startled glance, she smiled, revealing a spot of blood on her lip from where she'd bitten it to cast what Margareta could only guess was a spell of some kind. "A brave, loyal fool, but no less a fool. What talent she has comes from me, though it is very faint. I thought my mother's bloodline would end with me, until a woman who is what you would call a witch joined our travelling party. Back home, we would call her an enchantress. That's a powerful kind of witch, who can cast many types of spells, not just the one or two that she is best suited to."

Margareta nodded. Penelope would call her an enchantress, too, if she knew, though Margareta's power was limited by her nature. There had never been a mermaid witch before, and it was unlikely that there would be another. She could command water in ways that sent the other merfolk whispering and wishing she were far away, but any other spell – even the slightest blessing or curse – sapped her energy for hours. Penelope's power ran to...telepathy, she thought.

"Reading minds, yes," Penelope said. "Or strong emotions. I cannot change them, but I can perceive them. You should see Melitta's thoughts. Nothing but blurs of colour...and milk." She laughed.

Margareta ached to laugh with her, but she could not. Her father and her brothers depended on her silence. Yet with Penelope, she could perhaps hold something approaching a normal conversation. For the first time in Margareta's life, she wanted a friend. And a baby like Melitta, though motherhood would have to wait.

"I would like that," Penelope said. "Though I will ask one favour. Can you invite me into the garden every day? Arguing with the nuns here nearly wore me out before I made it outside." She winked. "I still might be in my room if I hadn't squeezed out a tear or two as I invoked Saint Godfrey, which is what they'll make of him if they are given their way. A brave, foolish man who would still be alive if he weren't such a brave fool. He should have left matters to the enchantress, as I did." Penelope smiled wanly. "I know you are curious. I will tell you the whole tale one day, but not today. I promise." She reached for the baby and Margareta reluctantly handed Melitta back to her mother.

Penelope's story could wait for another day.