Queen Hereafter Page 14

  Kneeling, too, for she had been taught to honor a daily routine of prayer, Eva was surprised to see Margaret pray with the fervor of a nun, murmuring in Latin, hands clasped, for most of an hour. Sometimes the queen led her women in a recitation, and Eva kept pace, familiar with the Latin. Once she saw tears gleam on the queen’s cheeks before the golden head bowed again, hair sweeping down to conceal her face.

  Gasping softly, Eva felt her sympathy caught. What could trouble this beautiful, fortunate young queen so deeply that she cried as if making some heartfelt appeal? Eva could not imagine Margaret responsible for any wrongdoing that might require forgiveness and atonement. She seemed humble, gentle, perfect. But to pray as she did seemed beyond the norm.

  When the ladies got to their feet to file out, Margaret passed Eva, silk and linen shushing. She turned. “Lady Eva, your Latin is very good.”

  “My thanks. I learned from monks. My grandfather insisted on my good education.”

  “Your grandfather?” Margaret arched fine blond brows. “Do you mean Macbeth?”

  “I speak of my mother’s father, who was mormaer in Fife, where I spent my childhood.”

  “I have met Kenneth Macduff of Fife, who sometimes comes here to see the king.”

  “That one is my great-uncle, though I have not seen him for a long while. He sent me north to Moray when I was eight to live with my grandmother. She made sure my tutoring continued.” She did not add that her great-uncle had not inquired about her after bidding her a gruff farewell. Matters between Fife and Moray were not as congenial as they had been in past generations.

  “Well done to your family. Royal women should be learned and astute in some matters.”

  “In Scotland, learning is considered valuable for girls of any rank,” Eva said. “King Macbeth wanted tutors and schools provided in every parish and province, but he did not have time to see it done in the warring years before his death. My father might have done so, too, had he lived.”

  “I see,” Margaret said thoughtfully. She turned to the wife of Ranald mac Niall, whom Eva had met only recently. “Lady Gudrun, do you also find this true in Scotland?”

  “Aye, Lady, many Scots believe education is important for all. Girls are tutored with their brothers when possible, but it does not apply to all families. Many say that Macbeth and his queen wanted to establish this across the land someday, but it was never completed.”

  “In Moray,” Eva said, “even the poorest families send their daughters and sons to the parish priests for basic lessons. And what of King Malcolm?” she asked. “Will he order more education for the Scottish people at the expense of the crown, after the wisdom of his predecessors?”

  “I do not know, but I will ask,” Margaret said. “If I am blessed with daughters I would hire tutors for them, but I had not thought of girls in other situations … I do like the notion. I have benefitted so from my tutoring.” She smiled. “Lady Eva, you surprise me, I vow.”

  “How so, Lady?” Eva wondered if it was her education, but dreaded it was her boldness.

  Margaret shook her head, then, and would not say, though her eyes twinkled as if she was pleased. “Never mind. Only this—I would like you to accompany me when I go to chapel.”

  “If you wish,” Eva said, puzzled. “But your ladies accompany you to prayers every morning. I will be there, too.”

  “You and I will go together at other times. Sometimes I prefer to be alone, but a queen must always have at least one lady with her. One who prays as prettily as you do would be a good companion.”

  Eva did not think of herself as devout. “I am not certain that I—”

  “As a Scot, you will set a fine example for others who are not so … adept in Latin devotions as you are. I will send for you when I feel the need to go alone to my prayers.”

  “Lady,” Eva said. As the queen moved away with her kinswomen, Eva turned quickly to Wynne. “Am I expected to pray with her every morning, so early?” she whispered.

  “She prays even more often than that. Usually a group of us go to chapel with her at dawn, and again in the afternoon or the evening,” Wynne said.

  “But when she wants to go there by herself, she may summon you at any time. Most likely in the middle of the night,” Matilda said.

  Eva hesitated. She did not want to spend hours in prayer when she should practice her bardic work, but she saw a chance to learn whatever she could of this queen, this court. She nodded.

  “Be flattered by her request,” Wynne said. “The Lady worries for the souls of the Scots who lack proper Latin. She will be glad your soul is safe and you can be glad of her favor.”

  Lady Gruadh’s household was free of such poperies, Eva thought. Latin or Gaelic was fine, and prayers were said often enough to keep one in good stead with heaven and the priests.

  “Queen Margaret was raised in an exotic court called Hungary, and in England, too,” Matilda told Eva. “With such a proper and strict upbringing, she wishes to see similar improvements in Scotland.”

  Later, Matilda and Wynne brought a meal for her at midday, along with a verbal message reminding her to join the queen in her solar when she was rested from her long journey. Without answering that, Eva offered to share the cheese, oatcakes, and pot of frothy ale with Wynne and Matilda, who eagerly accepted.

  While she sliced yellow cheese and crumbled the cakes into equal bits, Eva asked the maidservants how they had come to serve in the household of the King of Scots, for she felt sure that both had been gently raised and were not born to servitude. They willingly explained that each of them had escaped the Norman attacks in northern England, and had met while wandering, trying to avoid capture by Normans or Scots, both of whom were raiding the land.

  Wynne, who chattered like a magpie when she relaxed, was the daughter of a slain Saxon earl, while reserved Matilda was the widow of a thane. Neither knew if their kin now lived or had died, and both were grateful for their friendship, which seemed sisterlike and devoted. Eva smiled, glad she had found them. She had no friends in Dunfermline beyond her own escort, about to leave—and she had more than a few enemies here.

  Though the girls gave few details about their ordeals, Eva realized that they had seen atrocities, had lost dearly loved families and good, prosperous homes. Starving and without hope, they had both been plucked from the roadside by Edgar the Aetheling, who had taken them under the protection of his own patrol. Without question, they both adored, even revered young Edgar, who Wynne pointed out would have been their king in better times. Any good fortune they had, including their positions in Dunfermline’s household, they attributed to Edgar. The sainted Edgar, Eva thought wryly—as perfect as his sister.

  Curious to know more, she encouraged them. “This Edgar must have proven himself a fine prince and a warrior,” she said. “I hear he has the full support of Malcolm against William.”

  “True, they are trying to build support for a Saxon rebellion, from what we hear,” Matilda agreed. “Edgar is just our age, but he will gather a great army to rise up against William. He intends to win back his rightful crown—he is David against the Norman Goliath.”

  “With Malcolm’s help, Edgar will regain England for the Saxons,” Wynne said confidently.

  “Far better to be Scotland’s friend than its enemy,” Eva said. “But the Saxon rebels will need an extraordinary leader if they hope to defeat the Normans. Is he that, this Edgar?”

  “If he is meant to be king, he will be,” Matilda said blithely.

  “Ah,” Eva said, keeping her doubts to herself. “Tell me about the queen.”

  “Prayerful and devout,” Matilda said. “Saintly.”

  “Temperamental and demanding,” Wynne said in the same moment. Eva raised her brows in surprise. “She is a very kind soul,” Wynne amended, “but asks a good deal of others and expects even more from herself. Everything must be perfectly done, or she is distressed and displeased. I grant she is an intelligent and strong-willed woman, with a good and charitable
nature.”

  “She was raised to be a queen, and before her marriage wanted to be a nun,” Matilda said.

  “And now she is both,” Eva concluded wryly.

  “In a way,” Wynne replied. “You will soon learn for yourself what she is like.”

  Eva knew she could not avoid joining the ladies much longer. Besides, her grandmother expected news about the king’s court soon, which she could not learn if she kept to her room. Soon the Moray men would leave for the north, and Eva should send back with them some word of the king’s court to Elgin’s lady.

  “HMPH,” LADY AGATHA SAID. “She has refused yet again to join your circle? That is a very presumptuous girl!”

  Margaret looked up from her needlework. A full week had passed since the Moray princess had arrived, and still she had not come to the solar with the other ladies. Wynne—whose brassy curls, Margaret thought, needed taming again—had said that the northern princess practiced daily on her harp, and for that reason she had no time to honor the queen’s invitation.

  “Lady Eva does not mean to offend,” Wynne said. “She says bards must work for hours each day, and nothing must interfere with that.”

  “Even a queen’s command?” Lady Agatha sniffed.

  “Only a Scot would ignore a queen’s summons,” Cristina put in, and Margaret noticed the two Scottish ladies in the group bristling at her sister’s bluntness.

  “Her harp music is very good,” Margaret said. “It is nearly angelic.” And so much nicer than listening to Hector, she thought. Now and then she could hear the sounds of Eva’s faint, clear voice over the chime of harpstrings from below, for the girls’ bedchamber was located directly beneath the solar. “Leave her to her practice. It is a worthy use of her time, and pleases her.”

  “Does she think she is better than others because she is a princess? Her blood is not as royal as ours,” Cristina pointed out. “I hear her father was not a rightful king, and she is illegitimate, besides. She needs to be educated on the importance of rank and proper behavior at court.”

  “Leave her be,” Margaret repeated firmly. Cristina pursed her lips and resumed her work.

  Troubled, Margaret returned to her needlework, aware that her sister grew more disagreeable the longer she stayed in Scotland. Her mother and brother still maintained that Cristina would enter a convent, preferably an English one, as soon it was safe for her to do so. Cristina was as much a sacrificial offering to the Church as Margaret had been in her marriage. Most English dioceses would vie for the privilege and prestige of housing a Saxon princess, for that could attract extra benefits from the Mother Church in Rome.

  She understood her sister’s snappish resentments, for Cristina wanted a more exciting life, while Margaret was the one who would have gladly entered a convent. That irony was clear, but Margaret was determined to make the best of whatever heaven and fate placed before her.

  Yet she wanted more purpose, a greater path for her life. Ordering fine plates for the tables and teaching manners to a boorish king was not enough, but was all she had for now. A need for much more nagged at her, a vague dissatisfaction that she could not ignore.

  The Moray princess, she realized then, led a life with an almost wild freedom, even adventure. That made Margaret curious; the contrast to her own life and desires intrigued her.

  Drawing a long tail of green thread through unbleached linen, Margaret focused on her work in silence. Eva of Moray was so different from the other ladies at court—she was not refined in the usual sense, though she was intelligent and apparently well educated. Though the girl skipped embroidery sessions, she appeared at morning prayers, and her Latin was impeccable.

  And she dared to defy a queen, which earned Margaret’s curiosity, even her respect. Lady Eva had proven forthright and quick-tempered, sharing a headstrong nature with Malcolm and Lady Gruadh, too. Perhaps it was the royal Gaelic blood they had in common, Margaret thought. She would not question the girl’s lineage, being no expert in Scottish genealogy; Lulach had been a crowned king, and Lady Gruadh, it was said, had more royal blood than Malcolm himself.

  Besides, Margaret herself struggled with a quick temper and strong opinions. She understood the heat of the heart, for she strove to quell it in herself nearly every day.

  Knotting the moss green thread, she began a line of stitches in ochre to fill in a vine border. She wanted to know more about Lady Eva and her grandmother. From the girl she could learn more about Scotland and its traditions; from the other, valuable lessons in queenship.

  We three are like a triad of pride, she thought: the harper, the Lady of the North, and the foreign queen. But she doubted the other two, with their prideful tempers, would agree.

  ON A SUNNY MORNING, Eva held the door to the great hall open—the oak so new that its oils were pungent—for Lady Juliana, a young Saxon woman whose father, Eva had learned, had betrayed Malcolm by bargaining with King William for lands in England. A hostage in the Scottish court on account of her father’s behavior, Juliana, as an illegitimate daughter of a significant man, understood Eva’s situation—and vice versa—better than most.

  “We are birds in a pretty cage, you and I,” auburn-haired Juliana had whispered to Eva one day. “We have luxury and privilege here, but no right to our own freedom.”

  As they entered the hall with Queen Margaret and her ladies to break their fast after prayers, Eva saw Margaret seated with her foreign maidservant, her sister, and some others. The queen ate little, although Eva knew that Margaret had not eaten yet that day, and she was pallid, refusing most of what Kata, her maidservant, urged on her. Finally the queen tasted a little plain porridge and sipped a shallow cup of hot milk. Then while others ate, she sat discussing household matters with Dame Agnes. Sir Wilfrid brought an account roll for her review, mentioning the queen’s royal properties in Scotland, which Eva now heard had been granted to her by Malcolm in honor of their marriage. Finally Margaret rose from her chair and motioned for the ladies to follow her from the hall.

  “Where are we going?” Eva asked as she and Juliana walked with Lady Edith, the wife of Juliana’s father. The two women got along well, despite the odd nature of their relationship.

  “To the chapel across the glen to pray,” the older lady answered.

  “But we prayed for an hour, not two hours ago,” Eva said.

  “Hardly enough time to sin again,” Juliana agreed wryly.

  “The queen insists that daily devotions keep our souls in good repair,” Lady Edith replied.

  “My soul does not need so much repair,” Eva muttered, and Juliana laughed.

  She kept to herself that the queen had requested her to sometimes go alone with her to prayers. Truly she preferred harp music over prayer for cleansing one’s soul, but thought better of saying so. For her, playing music felt as inspired and healing as prayer, but that sentiment might be considered heretical here.

  Eva found a place near the door of the anteroom chapel with Juliana while the queen knelt, folding her hands in prayer. Sometimes, as now, Margaret had such grace and purity that Eva would not have been surprised to see a halo around the queen’s head rather than mere sunlight filtering through the little window.

  She sighed, wishing she could get away to practice her harp, when Juliana nudged her. “I need to work on my embroidery,” the girl whispered. “I pray that my work will be passable today. The queen has an unforgiving eye. Let us go,” she urged. “Come, I will show you the solar.”

  Eva nodded, and they tiptoed from the chapel. Looking back, she saw the queen turn her head slightly as they departed. The Saxon woman missed nothing, Eva realized.

  In the sunlit room at the height of the tower above Eva’s bedchamber, Eva was sitting with Juliana when the ladies returned to resume their stitching. The queen welcomed Eva and took up her work from a painted basket. Not sure what was expected of her, Eva was glad when Lady Agatha brought her a folded green woolen gown that she said belonged to the queen, and showed her that part of the
hem had come loose and needed repair.

  “Did you learn stitchery skills in the north country?” the woman asked in her heavy accent.

  “Of course,” Eva said, biting back further comment—stitchery was one of the earliest skills a girl could learn, north or south.

  Silently she began to work, looping the thread snugly as she fixed the torn hem. The gown was neatly made of moss green wool lined in pale silk, with flowers embroidered at the hem, on the sleeves, and on the front of the skirt, and she admired the artistry of that handiwork, turning it to examine the inside.

  She was glad that she had worn her good dark blue gown that day and had taken time to neatly plait her black hair with red ribbons. The ladies of the queen’s circle wore handsome gowns of linen, wool, and silk in an array of colors, and their hair was smoothly arranged, whether covered by a veil or left loose or braided. Eva had noticed from the first that the queen preferred plenty of color in her own wardrobe, often wearing several bright colors at once in gown, shift, shoes, and cloak. Margaret also had a taste for the finest fabrics and exquisite embroidery with touches of gold and silver threads, seed pearls, and even small inset semiprecious stones in the bandwork. Indeed, her garments draped gracefully along her slim curves, and both bright and soft colors flattered her fair coloring—and Eva had the feeling Margaret knew that quite well, indicating that the foreign queen had a certain vanity mingled with her better qualities.

  Wynne had already mentioned to Eva that the queen encouraged her ladies to dress well, as befit their station as her companions. If they did not own or could not afford such things, Margaret helped them by purchasing ells of cloth in the local market and hiring seamstresses in the town to sew the gowns, which the ladies then embroidered. If the queen offered to improve her wardrobe, Eva thought, she would refuse; her own things, though plainer than most, were fine.

  “The king, too, now dresses handsomely in things chosen by the queen,” Wynne had said. “And the Lady scissor-trims his hair and beard herself. He looks like a Saxon now, with long hair and mustache. You should have seen him before—like a bear,” she added with a laugh.