The Falconer's Daughter - Liz Lyles Page 0,54

small pitchers which she would then dump out the bedchamber window. “Am I to be nobody then?” Cordaella’s voice was barely audible over the popping of the fire. “Another servant for my husband?”

“A wife is not a servant. She is his greatest asset, his help, his hands, his handmaiden, and that is very different from being a servant”

Tears filled Cordaella’s eyes. “No it’s not,” she whispered, “it is no different. It is just that the church makes it sound good. Holy.” She swallowed and blinked back the tears. “But I am not like that. I cannot—”

“You must,” Lady Eton said, interrupting her firmly. “That is your duty, your calling. Even as God calls some to the church, he calls others to serve through marriage. You are to serve as a woman, as a wife. It isn’t your choice. It is His.”

“God’s?” Cordaella said, “or the Earl’s? Or is my uncle God?”

Lady Eton slapped Cordaella, not terribly hard, but with enough strength to chastise her. “Shame! You dishonor your uncle, as well as the Lord. You are still so willful.” She shook her head as Cordaella touched her cheek. “Do you think I am harsh? Consider what your uncle would have to say. That is why I am here. I am telling you—trying to prepare you—for the future. God chooses our path. We must then choose to accept.”

“You make it sound easy.”

“It is never easy.”

“I don’t know how to accept. Not from someone I cannot trust, cannot respect.”

Lady Eton stood up. “You might never love your husband,” she said quietly, “but you can obey him. That is your decision.” She walked to the door, skirts rustling. “Both of you need sleep,” she said, turning the door handle. “We have visitors tomorrow. It will be a long day.” She inclined her head. “Good night, Elisabeth. Good night, Cordaella.”

*

FROM THE NURSERY window the next morning Cordaella watched as the retinue of guards and nobles rode through the gates of Peveril. She heard a shout and then the trumpet of a herald. The horses’ hooves kicked up dirt and gravel and she pulled back as the yellow and black banners billowed, the wind filling them like sails. Fernando’s men. They had returned.

*

SHE WAS BEING undressed as if a doll. Lady Eton, Lady Eton’s maid, and Maggie pulled off Cordaella’s plain surcoat and stripped the everyday chemise from her thin shoulders. She shivered and covered her breasts. “Don’t be shy,” Lady Eton said, watching as her maid scrubbed Cordaella’s neck and chest with a damp cloth. “We haven’t time.”

Lady Eton opened Cordaella’s trunk while Maggie brushed her hair, dragging the bristles through the thick black waves until Cordaella’s hair hung even and smooth. Lady Eton’s maid, an older woman Cordaella only knew as Joan, rubbed a cream into her skin, working the fragrant lotion deep in the skin.

“This one,” Lady Eton said, unfolding a black houppelande from thin paper wrap. She shook out the black and gold folds, smoothing the bodice flat. “She needs a good chemise. Ivory. Should be silk.”

Cordaella couldn’t think, her mind as numb as her body. She wondered what Elisabeth was doing, wishing it was Elisabeth being readied instead of her. Elisabeth was already sixteen. She should be the first to marry. But as Joan held the chemise open for her to step into, Cordaella did, tipping her head forward so that the back could be closed.

The black gown was heavy, thickly embroidered in gold with a wide scrunch of pleated gold beneath her chin. The dress was tightly laced, the bodice pressing her breasts up, rounding them so they looked bigger, fuller. The black padded sleeves were folded back at the forearm, revealing the snug long sleeves of the ivory chemise. Just a doll, she thought, or a sheep.

“Come,” Lady Eton said, as soon as the headpiece was pinned on. “They are waiting.” Cordaella followed her down the stairs to the smaller of the two great halls. At the door, Lady Eton whispered, “Be modest. Be quiet. Be obedient.”

“I am not ready,” Cordaella pleaded, caught by the rise of sudden emotion. She wanted to run, to escape. There had to be some place she could go. Or hide.

“You have no choice. There is no way to prevent this—” She broke off, frustration and pity in her expression. She looked the girl long in the face. “It is easier than you think to accept what comes next. I, too, learned to accept. Take a breath and calm yourself. You mustn’t disappoint