Bliss(5)
Author: Lynsay Sands

Lord love me, I have to marry this wench, he thought as he hurried rudely up the last step and into the keep, dragging her a step behind. She would be breathing this putrescence at him for the next fifty years or so, he thought faintly, too dismayed to even realize how rude he was being by pulling Lady Tiernay about and leaving her aunt and the others to follow.

"Oh, my! You are thirsty, are you not?" Lady Helen laughed a bit breathlessly, rushing to keep up with him as he led the way in to the trestle tables set up before him.

"Aye. It was a dusty ride," Hethe muttered, breathing in the sweet fresh air of the great hall. He supposed it wasn’t really sweet; it carried the odor of fresh rushes and various other things, but to him it was as wondrous as the aroma from a rose.

Lady Helen put on a little speed and reached the table at the same time as Hethe. She immediately set about directing him to a seat, then plopped onto the one beside him and turned to face him.

She was about to speak again, Hethe realized, and he felt himself quiver in anticipation of the stench about to cloud his nostrils. It actually seemed to him as if time slowed down for a moment as the horrified premonition swept over him. He saw her lips part, her mouth open, caught a flash of nice white teeth, even a glimpse of her tongue as she inhaled deeply to propel her words. Then, as he waited helplessly, she blew all those horrid fumes out over him as she spoke.

Through the sudden buzzing in his ears, Hethe thought he heard her say, "I trust your journey was uneventful?" But he wasn’t positive. His whole body, every sense he had, was writhing in agony from her fetid breath. Moaning, he turned his head away, sucking untainted air into his lungs as if his very life depended on it. Indeed, at that moment, he felt as if it very well might.

"Is something the matter, my lord?"

He could hear the concern in her voice. That concern was reflected in Templetun’s expression as the rest of the party caught up to them. William was at his side at once, his face furrowed with dismay.

"What is it?" his first asked, watching in alarm as Hethe continued to suck in air, almost hyperventilating in an effort to clear his body of Lady Helen’s repulsive exhalations. He could actually taste the scent, it was so strong and pungent. Dear God, it was as if she’d been sucking on a dead man’s rotting arm.

"I shall go see about the ale," Lady Helen murmured, her voice tight with anxiety. "Perhaps that will help."

Hethe grunted something he hoped would be taken for an affirmative, and heard the rustle of her gown as she stood and moved off.

"I shall help," her aunt said promptly and chased off after her.

It wasn’t until the older woman had disappeared into the kitchens behind her niece that Hethe allowed himself to relax. His shoulders immediately slumped, and he sagged at the table. Dear God, not only was he to marry this wench, he had to kiss her during the ceremony! Lord Holden began to gasp air into his lungs, positive he was suffocating to death.

Chapter Three

Helen managed to contain herself until she had slid through the kitchen doors. Once the doors had closed behind her, however, her control snapped and she bent abruptly at the waist, covering her mouth as little sobbing sounds came from it.

"Oh, my lady!" Ducky, who had been waiting and watching from the kitchens, was at her side at once.

"Is he so horrid? Did he say something cruel? He didn’t hit you, did he?" She gasped in horror, clutching at Helen’s shoulders.

"Nay," Nell assured the maid, having slipped into the kitchen in time to hear her concerned words. "I do not think she is crying."

Shaking her head, Helen slowly straightened, revealing that her aunt was right. Rather than tragic, her expression was filled with hilarity. She was laughing so hard that it was coming out as sobs, and tears of mirth were streaming down her face. "I vow he won’t go through with it," she gasped. "The poor man is near dead simply from my breathing on him. Oh, God, Ducky! He went right green!"

The lady’s maid’s face lost its concern, and on it hope slowly grew along with excitement. "It’s working, then?"

"Working?" Aunt Nell gave a bark of laughter as an answer. "The man is beside himself. He nearly fell backward off the stairs when she spoke to him, and he appeared quite faint just now as I left." She grinned proudly at her niece, her arm sliding around the girl’s waist. "Your plan was brilliant, dear. He will bow out of the wedding. He is probably telling Templetun so this minute."

"Aye." Helen’s grin was full of glee. "And if this isn’t enough to do it, then the other things in store for him surely will be. We have won ere the battle has even begun. I can feel it!" She hugged her aunt exuberantly, then stepped back and beamed around at the others in the room. She was so happy at that moment that it didn’t even offend her when Ducky put a little distance between them once she was assured that all was well.

"We must move on to the next part of the plan," her aunt proclaimed and glanced at Ducky questioningly. "Are the refreshments ready?"

"Aye. I have seen to them. All is ready," Ducky said quickly, and Helen reached out to squeeze her arm affectionately.

"I knew you would. Now, I suppose we had best return." Her gaze moved to her aunt. "You remember your part?"

Aunt Nell nodded. "Aye. I am to keep Lord Templetun and Holden’s first distracted while you torture the Hammer," she announced dutifully, a grin spreading across her face. "Oh, this is the most fun I have had in years. I feel so naughty!"

"Whatever is the matter?" Templetun cried in alarm, gaping at Hethe’s slumped figure. "Are you taking the ague?"

Still swallowing great gulps of air, Hethe shook his head. "It is her ."

"Her?"

Hethe straightened in time to see his first and the older man exchange befuddled glances. It was William who finally spoke. Moving between him and Lord Templetun, his first put a hand on Hethe’s shoulder and murmured, "Well, she is lovely, ’tis true. But not so lovely it should take your breath away like this."

Hethe groaned at the man’s words and shook his head. " ‘Tis her breath," he hissed grimly. "She has the foulest stench about her I have ever encountered. The woman smells as though she feasts on carrion."

Rather than appearing concerned, William actually looked amused. It took the man’s knowing smile before Hethe realized that his first thought he was joking. It was one of the insults they had batted around about her over the years, as he recalled. Lady Tiernay was a hag who feasted on the carrion of warriors and tortured the living with her fetid tongue until she could devour them, too.

"Nay," he started to say, then paused on a sigh of despair as the door to the kitchens opened and Lady Helen and her aunt breezed back out.

"The refreshments shall be along directly," their hostess announced, her concerned gaze landing on Hethe. "Are you feeling better, my lord? You have regained some of your color, I see."

Hethe stiffened in his seat as she moved directly toward him. Pausing to stand on the side of him opposite William, she reached down to clasp his chin lightly and lift his face for her inspection. "Aye. You have your color back," she said into his face.

Hethe held his breath. He didn’t know what else to do. He could not insult the woman by pulling back or turning away; she was their hostess. She was perfectly lovely and behaving beautifully and obviously didn’t have a clue that her breath was so offensive. So he held his breath and waited… and waited. A frown began to pluck at her forehead.

"Now, my lord, you are becoming rather flushed."

Hethe’s lungs were burning. If she did not let go of him soon and move away so that he could breathe…

"Almost blue, in fact. Dear me, you are not well at all," she said into his face.

He had to breathe. There was nothing he could do about it. He was getting light-headed from lack of air.

If he could just time it so that he sucked air in when she did, rather than while she was speaking or breathing out, all would be well, he assured himself. He watched, and when she started to breathe in, he released the used air burning his lungs and started to suck in oxygen.

"Oh! That is better," she said at once, and Hethe groaned aloud, unable to stop from turning his head away and gagging. Fortunately, the arrival of the ale seemed to distract her from his insult. "Ah, here we are. Thankyou, Ducky."

Hethe managed to regain his composure while she saw to her servants. When a mug of ale was placed before him, he reached automatically for it. It was an excuse not to face her again for a bit. Any excuse was more than welcome. Lifting the mug, he swallowed a mouthful, then promptly spat it out. Silence fell around him briefly; then Lady Helen was at his side again, appearing quite distressed.

"Is there something amiss, my lord?" she asked. "The ale is not to your liking? Our alewife is usually quite good, but there are times when a batch goes bad and she doesn’t catch it, and – "

"There was a bug in my drink," Hethe interrupted. She paused in mid-flutter, blinking at him with confusion.

"A bug?"

"Aye. A rather large, live bug."

"Oh, dear!" She turned to her servant with horror. "Ducky – "

"I’m so sorry, m’lady. I didn’t notice any bug."

"Neither did I when I took it from you." She sighed, not seeming to really hold the woman responsible.

"Please check the mugs to be sure they are empty in future."

"Of course, m’lady. I am sorry. Shall I fetch another?"

"Aye." Lady Helen turned her apologetic smile back on Hethe and pushed her own mug toward him.

"Here, my lord. I can assure you that this mug is bug free and that the ale is fine. I have already tasted it."

Managing a rather tight smile, Hethe took the offered mug.

"I hope that did not put you off. We have the finest alewife in this part ofEnglandand are quite proud of that fact," she announced as he peered cautiously into her mug.

Assured that there appeared to be nothing alive in the vessel, Hethe raised it to take a swallow, then nearly spat that out as well. It was politeness alone that made him swallow the rancid beverage. Warm piss couldn’t taste worse, he thought with horror, swallowing the flat, yeasty brew. If the lady thought this was good ale, he was in for a long, dry visit. Or perhaps a short, dry visit.

"It is fine ale and no mistaking it," Templetun complimented from behind her, and Hethe’s head shot around in shock. The man had even managed a sincere expression as he uttered the lie, Hethe noted with amazement.

"Aye. I daresay your alewife could teach ours a thing or two," William agreed, and Hethe’s startled gaze swung to his first. William was never polite. He was a warrior. He spoke plainly and didn’t dress anything up with polite lies. Confused, Hethe decided the man was being sarcastic.

"Don’t you think, my lord?" William asked.

Hethe nodded solemnly and muttered, "Aye. No doubt Lady Tiernay’s alewife could teach ours a thing or two." He lowered his head to peer into his mug with distaste as he added under his breath, "Like how to poison us."

"What was that?" Lady Tiernay asked sweetly, and Hethe glanced up to see that while Lady Helen had not appeared to hear him, both Lord Templetun and William had, and both of them were now staring at him with a combination of dismay and censure.

Hethe shifted under their combined glare, the realization dawning on him slowly that they truly seemed to think the beverage quite tasty. He didn’t get to consider that for long, however, because Lady Shambleau was speaking, drawing their attention.

"My lord, I know you wished to have the ceremony when you returned, but Father Purcell is away at the moment and shan’t return until tomorrow afternoon. I am sorry. It was unexpected. He was needed to give last rites and – "

"Tomorrow will be soon enough, my lady. Please do not distress yourself. Besides, that gives us time to negotiate the wedding contract." Templetun meant to reassure the woman, but Hethe nearly gave thanks out loud. Another day. He had an extra day’s grace. Mayhap in that time he could find a way out of this marriage.

"You must be weary from your journey," Lady Helen commented. "Would you like something to eat right away, or would you prefer to bathe and rest ere the sup?"

Hethe nearly turned to face her, then caught himself and picked up his ale. He pretended to sip at the horrid stuff as an excuse for not facing her while she was addressing him.

"That would be nice, I think," Templetun answered while Hethe busied himself with his tepid, sour drink.

"It is not a long ride, but the weather has been exceptionally dry of late. The road was quite dusty. I, for one, should enjoy the chance to bathe some of the dust away and rest ere the meal."

Hethe nodded and grunted his acquiescence, then set his drink aside and stood. He avoided looking directly at either of his companions, but saw both of them gulping down their drinks where they stood.

That fact made Hethe frown with confusion. How could they stand the brew? It was disgusting. Shaking his head, he turned to follow Lady Helen and her aunt as they moved to lead the way upstairs.

Tiernay was larger than it had first appeared to Hethe. As they had ridden in, he had noted that, contrary to what he’d suspected, the fiefdom hadn’t seemed to suffer any under it’s new leader. It looked just as green and prosperous as it had when Helen’s father had ruled. Its people were plump and apple-cheeked, its orchards in bloom. Still, he didn’t expect much in the upper part of the keep. He assumed that there would only be two or three rooms, and that he and William would have to double up until the wedding was over. He was wrong. There were at least half a dozen rooms on the upper level.

"It has been unusually dry of late and I knew your journey would be a dusty one," Lady Helen commented as she started along the hall. "I suspected you might wish to wash some of the dust away on your arrival, so I instructed the maids to prepare baths for each of you when you were spotted by the guards on the wall."