"Get along, now, lass. There's a good girl. Yer father'll be wantin' a fresh an' happy little lady at breakfast wi' th' guests an' all..." Mary went on with her usual prattle, an endless stream of comments, advice, and descriptions of what was happening around them.

Marilyn had grown accustomed to such in her short life. Some adults apparently felt the need to fill the silence that always seemed to surround her. She didn't mind. They all meant well, and it was never bothersome, except when she was really trying to concentrate on something. Just now the only feeling she had was that of good-natured tolerance and good will toward her emanating from the woman in whose care she would spend the night.

"Not that ya'd take more than a moment to fall t' yer slumber. Yer a good lass, an' sure o' that. Nothin' like tha' rapscallion of a brother o' yers. Like fightin' a wee bear t' get him t' lay 'is head fer more'n two breaths..."

She was being herded down a tiled hallway toward the large room that was her domain as smallest member of the family. There she would find her doll and her little cot, freshly made with sweet smelling linens, bathed in the golden glow of the lamp lighted at its side. It would be welcomed. She never fought bathtime and preparing for bed, to the apparent astonishment of her numerous caregivers. She had always enjoyed a night's respite from the rigors of her daily toddler's life.

As they passed her parents' room, she got the warm feeling she always felt when thinking of Mother and Father. She reflected briefly on her constant awareness of their love and guidance, a welcome buffer against the never ending assault of whatever emotional currents were running through her environment.

"Come along, come along, an' after yer bath, I'll tell ya a bedtime story if ya like. Mayhap th' lads'll be joinin' ya if they've not decided they're too big fer stories..." Mary was now rounding the corner in the hall, Marilyn following. At that moment, the little girl felt the intrusion.

It was like a sudden dampening of the otherwise comfortable and warm drowsiness of the evening; bitter, metallic, and heavy. It felt like a pool of thick mud, smooth and slick on top, surface slowly rising from the pressure beneath...rising until it would finally burst. Her own eyes narrowed and she turned to peer back at the door to her parents' room, head tilted like a small bird. Why would such a feeling come from that room?

But Mary laid a hand on her back and ushered her along. Not resisting, Marilyn trotted forth to her bath. Whatever it was, it was in Father's room. He would take care of it. Father always took care of things.

~~~~

The woman bustles down the hall carrying a large basket with an uneven gait. Stopping in each room, she gathers the dirty clothing and linens left out the night before. In a flurrying rush she tramps along, muttering to herself.

"Guests an' nobles. Nobles an' guests. Breakfast all but done an' still th' rooms not even straightened. An' who's t' do it? Half the house staff forced int' th' kitchen feedin' extra mouths an' none left t' git their own chores done. So who's t' do it? Get Gert! Aye! Gert'll do't. Gert always takes up th' slack. If I wait fer it t' be brought me I'd never get th' laundry washed..."

Into the Lord and Lady's room now she stamps, groaning theatrically to bend over and pick up a cast off nightgown at the side of the large bed. "...fine lady an' ya'd think she'd o' learned to lay 'er things nice fer th' help..." She bustles around to the other side of the bed to pick up the breeches and undershirt on Lerrad's chair, "m'lord does..." then drags the basket over next to Elspeth's dressing table where she sweeps a delicate chemise and skirt off the surface, not noticing the small wooden block tangled in the gauzy fabric. "as does m'lady when she has th' wits t' remember... 'course, 'f I was married t' th' lad m'self, I might get a wee bit addled as well, preparin' to lay down b'side 'im, flingin' m' underthings about th' room..."

Grunting once more to heft the basket into a more comfortable carrying position she trundles off to take her burden to be washed. "Lass has good taste an' th' wits to rec'nize a good lad a' least. Keeps 'er in style, does tha' one...." Her mutters accompany her throughout the house and to the laundry.

~~~~

The basket is dropped on the long low table with all the other baskets of collected laundry. Gert sidles over to the young girl already stirring a steaming kettle of wash with a long wooden paddle. "I'll do tha', Laura. You an' Katie Sarah git over there an' sort th' last of it, aye?"

The pale blonde head nods a quiet assent and the girl hurries over to the row of baskets, where she is quickly joined by another young woman with red hair. Laura offers Kate a quick smile as they begin sorting the laundry into piles atop the table. They speak in low voices while Gert continues her various laundry duties behind them, keeping up her own monologue.

"Ya meetin' Luke again today, Kate?"

The redhead glances over her shoulder and frowns at Laura. "Hush. Gert'll tell ma if she knows." She drops a pair of breeches in a pile of darker clothing and shrugs. "Not tha' she'd mean to, but ya know she talks constantly about anythin' an' everythin'..." She pauses as she untangles a fine linen chemise and a small wooden block drops out of it. "Wha's this doin' here?" She scoops up the plain little toy and drops it in the pocket of her apron as she continues sorting.

The other girl nods, not looking up as she offers a sly smile "Well...I won't say anymore on it then, don't know what you see in him anyway, but...if you'll help i' th' kitchen t'night in my place...I'll do th' rest o' this here so ya c'n run off t' meet...um... tha' person yer supposed t' meet whose name I won't say and who mum says is much too old for you... i' th' gardens at Camelot this mornin'."

With a grin, Kate steps back from the table and throws her arms around Laura's neck for a quick hug and a peck to the cheek. "Yer a love!"

"Aye, well...what're sisters for...except..." she's now talking to the retreating back of her younger sister as she races off..."You be sure you get to the kitchen tonight! I WANT MY TURN!" The last is shouted out the door, with a rueful grin and a shake of her head as she resumes her chore.

Gert steps to the door after noticing the younger girl's absence and yells into the morning "I know what yer about KatieSarah! I know you girls an' yer wiles..." and in a more moderate tone as she passes Laura on her way back to the cauldron..."an' YOU watch yerself wherever YOU get off to this eve. Ya think I don't hear? I got ears on my head. There's been trouble afoot of late. I heard ole Niamh works over in Camelot's kitchen sayin there's been folk turnin' up dead. Dreadful business. Dreadful...an' you girls..." And as she stirs, she continues to share her view of life, the world, and everything.

~~~~

Kate slips through the gate that lets into the back of Camelot's garden and takes her time wandering along the path. Only a moment's guilt at leaving her sister to finish the sorting plagues her as she walks along the sun-dappled path toward the footbridge. After all, she'll be working in the kitchen tonight so Laura can mind her affairs as well.

A furtive sound in the brush startles her, causing her to turn around.

Suddenly an arm steals around her waist, and another over her mouth as a voice intones low in her ear. "An' what're ya thinkin', wanderin' the country by yerself?"

She swats at the arms encircling her, and is instantly released to hear a good natured laugh as she turns to glare at the sandy-haired man.

"That was not funny, Luke."

The tall young man lowers his head, trying his best to appear contrite, and failing completely.

Kate pins him with steely blue eyes, but her expression softens at the mere quirk of Luke's lopsided grin and large dark eyes begging for her forgiveness.

"Yer not funny." She struggles, oh so hard, to remain stern.

He moves forward, brows wiggling, those liquid eyes now suddenly growing serious. She has to look up to keep her eyes on his as he looms over her.

"Yer not."

The arms wrap about her waist once more, slowly...and she can think no longer. For a moment it seems the sun has filled her with its light, the breeze shaking the leaves in the trees, and her pulse along with them. And then she finds his lips parting from hers, and again...he's staring down at her, leaning back slightly.

"Forgiven?"

Her embarrassed grin and a nod of her head are all that he needs. "I thought we might take a meal t'gether, Kate."

Again she nods, but he hesitates, stepping back to rake her up and down with his eyes. "You were workin'. Ya came straight from workin' t' see me?"

Another nod.

"Cat got yer tongue, lass?" He chuckles and steps forward. "I am honored ya were in such a hurry...but..." He hooks a finger beneath the shoulder strap of her apron and tugs lightly, drawing her close again. "Since I am takin' you t' dine in Camelot's firehall, ya may want ta...look less like ya just come from the laundry?"

"Aye..." she breathes, still slightly overcome by his nearness, then blinks and nods. "Aye. I'll take it off." She reaches behind her to undo the bow, but he quickly steps behind, doing it for her, helps her shrug out of the apron, and lays it over his own arm, offering the other to escort her to the hall.

"Luncheon, m'lady?"

With a giggle, the young girl links her arm through his and they step off through the garden to the hall.

"Ya know my younger brother marries this weekend."

"Tyler?"

"Will ya be attending?"

"I suppose."

"I'd sit with ya, but I fear I shall be standin' up for him. Save a dance fer me after?"

"Of course!"

They reach the garden entrance to the hall and he hands her the apron as he pulls open the heavy door. "After you."

Smiling, she enters the hall, nervously shifting the apron, folding it smaller, more easy to carry, less conspicuous. As she does so...a small wooden block, uncarved and plain, falls from the pocket. Luke lays a hand at Kate's waist in a proprietary gesture, guiding her to the tables nearer the kitchen door. And the little wooden block lies unnoticed on the stone floor in a patch of sunlight streaming through the window.

Joy 04/2001