Page 206 of Feathers in the Wind
He slowly pulled up my skirts and ran his fingers along my thigh, leaving a trail of fire. His mouth curled in a smile as he snapped the elastic of my underwear. ‘What are you wearing?’
‘A good, solid pair of Marks and Spencers best knickers,’ I replied, wagging a finger in his face. ‘I may know underwear is not in common use for another two hundred years but I am not a complete philistine.’
He laughed and released my skirts. They fell in heavy folds, brushing the tops of my sneakers.
‘Later then, Mistress Shepherd, you can demonstrate the virtues of Marks and Spencers best knickers. Now, let me escort you downstairs for supper. My grandmother has ensured a welcome home feast tonight. A lamb has been slaughtered.’
‘No spaghetti?’
He smiled. ‘No spaghetti.’
* * *
The great hall,lit only by candles, pulsed with chatter and the comings and goings of the servants. Seeing it so alive reminded me this had once been a home, not a museum. Twenty people sat down to eat at the long table, and the presence of the officers of Nat’s regiment was a stark reminder this was not just Nat’s home but an army garrison now.
I had been to dinners put on by Alan’s regiment so I tried to imagine myself among Alan’s drinking mates, but found it hard. I had been seated well away from Nat at the far end of the table with the women of the house. In 1645, I inhabited a man’s world.
The talk turned to the war, and from the grim look on the men’s faces, I concluded the social part of the evening had ended and it was time for the war to recommence.
Dame Alice rose and announced that the ladies would leave the gentlemen to their deliberations. Mary excused herself to retire to her bedchamber and I would have done likewise, but Dame Alice took my arm and steered me into a private parlor. It might have been the black gown or the stiffness of her ruff, but I had no desire to cross Dame Alice.
She shut the door behind her and seated herself in a straight-backed chair, gesturing for at a similar chair. I had imagined Dame Alice as some sort of sorceress from the movies, dressed in flowing robes with a tall, pointed hat, accompanied by a black cat. As I sat across from her, I realized I had not expected a stiff little person in an old fashioned gown- an ordinary woman.
As she seemed in no hurry to speak, I took advantage of her silence to get in first. ‘I don’t know how you have managed this, Dame Alice, but send us back.’
She raised an iron-gray eyebrow. ‘Us?’
‘I’m not leaving here without Nat.’
Her implacable countenance did not change. ‘Mistress Shepherd, you know Nat’s future.’
I slumped in the chair. ‘If he stays here he is going to die,’ I whispered.
Her face, so like her grandson’s in the light of the fire, did not appear to show any emotion but a slight movement of the ruff betrayed a tightening of her throat.
This hint of humanity gave me some measure of relief, and I continued. ‘I can’t change history, Dame Alice. Nat dies in two days and his son inherits the estate. It’s written in the books, and it’s carved in stone in the chapel.’
She looked up at me. ‘Have some patience, Mistress Shepherd. All is not as you think it. You will understand when the time comes.’
I shook my head. ‘I don’t understand any of it.’ Looking up at her, I asked, ‘Are you really a witch?’
She frowned and she put a hand to her chest, an expression of alarm on her face. ‘If they had the courage, there are some who may call me that, but not to my face. I am just an old woman with some skills in healing. Do not call me a witch in any person’s hearing, Mistress Shepherd, or I will be hanged.’
‘Sending people through time is not just “some skills in healing”. I have some skills in healing. What you have is much more powerful, and I don’t profess for a moment to understand it.’
For the first time, a slight smile tugged at the corners of her lips. ‘I come from a long line of wise women, Mistress Shepherd. There are some who say we are descended from Nimue, King Arthur’s lover. I have a gift, as my mother and my grandmother and theirs had long before me.’
‘Has Mary inherited it?’
‘No, but it is not confined to the women’s line. Nat has snatches of it.’
‘Is that why you can move him around in time and talk to him?’
She gave me an inscrutable look and I wasn’t going to argue. I had woken that morning in the twentieth century and I would be going to bed in the seventeenth century. Nimue, Merlin, Morgana--it didn’t really matter which sorcerer she believed she was descended from. I was too tired to take any more in.
As if reading my thoughts, she stood and put her hand on my shoulder. ‘You have travelled far today, Mistress Shepherd. Go and rest and tomorrow we will talk further. I will send my maid to help you with your clothes.’
At all of five feet, six inches, I seemed to be uncommonly tall for the time and, as I stood, I seemed to tower over Dame Alice. I smoothed down my rumpled skirts and nodded. I would never get out of the combined skirts, petticoats and bodice without someone to help me.
