June Francis - Tamed by the Barbarian

Cicely pulled herself together and returned to the table. To her relief, neither man mentioned her outburst, but instead spoke of the baggage that had been unloaded from the packhorses. Mackillin asked whether Jack wanted the packages moved or unpacked first and sorted out.

Jack hesitated. ‘Some goods are for customers and others gifts for family and the church. I had thought it was probably best to leave all until Matt returns—but with the weather the way it is it’ll give us something to do, unpacking and listing everything.’ He turned to his sister. ‘You can help me with that, Cissie.’

She had calmed down somewhat and agreed, stretching out a hand for her bacon collop on the platter in the middle of the table and placing it on a slice of bread. ‘Father promised me a sheet of Flemish glass for my bedchamber window. At this time of year so many draughts manage to get through the gaps between the shutters and frame.’

Jack turned to her and his eyes were bright. ‘He kept his promise as he always did. He purchased a new kind of glass, not so thick as that in my bedchamber and much clearer. The trouble was that it was too large to load on to the packhorses—as were some of his other purchases, such as the glass he bought for the village church in memory of our stepmother. The shipping agent is sending them by cart. They were packed carefully and I pray that neither gets broken on the way.’

‘Me, too,’ she murmured, thinking the glass would be a gift worth waiting for. She took a bite of her food before getting up and wandering over to the pile of baggage.

Mackillin and Jack followed her over, but no one made a move to unpack any of the goods immediately. Cicely was remembering other such times when her father had produced gifts for his womenfolk’s delectation.

Noticing the sadness in her face and guessing the reason, Mackillin sought to detract her thoughts. ‘There is a fine thirteenth-century stained-glass window in the Cathedral of St Maurice in Angers,’ he said.

His mention of the saint roused Cicely’s interest. ‘St Maurice is the patron saint of cloth-makers. Do they make cloth in Angers?’

He shrugged broad shoulders. ‘I only know that the women are skilful in tapestry work.’

He had surprised her. ‘How do you know this?’

‘My mother visited her French kin in Angers as a young girl and a few years ago she asked me to purchase a tapestry for her.’

‘Isn’t Angers the main city of Anjou?’ she asked.

Mackillin nodded. ‘The Queen of England’s father, King René, has his court there.’

‘You have visited his court?’ asked Cicely.

A slight smile lifted the corner of Mackillin’s lips. ‘If I said aye, admit that would surprise you, lass.’ She flushed, but did not comment, and he added, ‘I was no lord then, but he knew the Percys and so welcomed me. René is a good man, cultured, but with no airs and graces. He likes to talk to his subjects and visitors alike. We discussed painting, music, the law and mathematics.’

Indeed, he had amazed her, thought Cicely, finding it difficult to imagine this man conversing on such topics.

Jack groaned. ‘I wish you hadn’t mentioned mathematics. Father was adamant that every merchant should have a knowledge of the subject. There are books he wanted me to read. That’s why he wished to speak to Master Caxton. I never thought being a merchant would involve so much study.’

Mackillin winked at Cicely and instinctively she smiled. For a moment their eyes held and it was as if a flame passed between them. Her pulses leapt and she thought, this can’t be happening! Determinedly, she looked away. Just because he was proving not as uncouth as she had first believed him to be, that did not mean he was to be trusted. She spotted the rolled pallets and blankets in a corner and faced him again. ‘I will have the best bedchamber prepared for you.’

‘I would appreciate that…and a basin of hot water would not go amiss,’ he said, rasping the stubble on his chin with the back of his hand.

Jack swallowed the last bite of his bacon collop. ‘We can do better than that for you, Mackillin. Adjacent to the best bedchamber is a room with a tub.’

‘Aye,’ said Cicely, her eyes brightening. ‘I’m sure your lordship will benefit from a soak in hot water and some clean raiment.’

Mackillin desired only a few things more than sinking his smelly and aching body in a tub of steaming water and to don the clean raiment in his saddlebag, and he realised at the top of the list was an urge to bed the lass in front of him. Knowing that was out of the question, he teased her instead. ‘I could catch ma death of cold if I were to wash, lass.’

He had to be jesting, thought Cicely and said firmly, ‘Then put on an extra garment.’

Jack grinned. ‘I deem he does not wish to give you more work, Cissie. I saw Mackillin immerse himself in a barrel of water aboard ship when we crossed the sea. I wouldn’t have done it. The wind was freezing and from the north.’

‘Hush, laddie,’ said Mackillin, laughter in his eyes. ‘Your sister might start changing her mind about me.’

Cicely would not allow herself to be drawn on that subject and only said, ‘Then you would like the tub filled?’

‘If it’s not too much trouble.’

‘It will be done, even if I have to wind up the buckets of water myself,’ she said, picking up one of the parcels and trying to guess its contents by feeling it.

Instantly the laughter died in his eyes and he looked horrified. ‘Nay, mistress, it is not a task for you. Robbie will help me to draw water. We’ll also fill the empty water butts. It will help pass the time and prevent my body from getting soft…. And before you remind me that lords don’t do such menial work,’ he added, ‘I tell you that this one has done plenty in the past. We’ll make a start now. Who’s to say when next I’ll be able to bathe if the ground freezes and the water in it, too?’

She put the parcel down. ‘Then we would have to break the ice and when the water butts ran out we’d dig snow and melt it in pans over the fire,’ she said promptly.

‘You’re a lass of good sense,’ he said gravely.

She flushed with pleasure at the compliment and watched as he and Robbie left the hall. ‘Has Mackillin mentioned a wife to you, Jack?’ she asked casually.

He hesitated. ‘Why don’t you ask him if you’re interested? I’m certain Father did not wish you to marry Diccon.’

‘If he did not speak to you about it, how do you know?’ demanded Cicely.

Jack’s expression changed. ‘Take my word for it, Cissie. He had someone else in mind for you.’ Before she could ask whom, he hurried after Mackillin and Robbie.

Frustrated, Cicely went upstairs to prepare the best bedchamber for Mackillin.

It was to be a couple of hours before the tub was ready and Mackillin followed her upstairs. His eyes were drawn to the seductive sway of her hips in the black gown and he wondered what Diccon Fletcher was thinking, to leave her here unprotected when he must have known her father was away in Europe. He remembered Diccon now. A pleasant-looking young man, hot for adventure and keen for advancement. After Nat Milburn had introduced them, they had later met in a tavern in company with the young Edward of York and some of his followers. Diccon had drunk too much and spoken of King Henry failing to keep his word and reward him for services rendered. Mackillin did not doubt for a moment that Diccon was now Edward’s man. It concerned him only as far as it would affect Cicely’s future. Nat Milburn’s dying words made him uneasy in the light of what he now knew about his daughter and her relationship with Diccon. What if he was killed in battle? Who would she marry then?