The Winter Promise by Jenny Jacobs

boredom would be alleviated. But to see her there, and know she was out of reach, only made him more irritable.
    He gulped his drink. He still had not decided if he’d been fortunate the day that fate had driven her to his keep.
    She glanced up and caught his gaze. She held it for a moment before turning to respond to something her table companion said. Did she ever think about him? Did she indulge, as he did, in idle daydreams?
    Soon the meal would end and she would disappear into Elizabeth’s room for the rest of the afternoon, and then he wouldn’t even have the pleasure of looking at her, seeing the curve of her cheek in the firelight —
    Except that the snow was falling and his household was mostly unoccupied and Imma, he knew, happened to be a bard.
    He began to smile. He summoned his servant Kenneth. “Fetch Lady Imma to me,” he instructed, ignoring the quizzical look Elizabeth gave him. He watched as Kenneth approached Imma at her place at the table. She gave Kenneth a startled glance when he spoke to her, then shot an unreadable look in Robert’s direction before getting to her feet and following Kenneth to the front of the room.
    “Yes, my lord?” Her voice was soft and neutral, as if she barely knew him. He was conscious of the weight of Elizabeth’s attention on him.
    “My lady Imma,” he said, keeping his voice was as calm and neutral as hers. No one in this hall would guess how close he was to sweeping her into his arms, no matter the consequences. “We are in need of entertainment this dreary afternoon, my lady. Would you tell us a tale?”
    A dark brow lifted in surprise. “Of course, my lord,” she said. “But I only know the Welsh tales.” She said it as a question.
    “I expected as much, seeing as you are Welsh, my lady.”
    She nodded, her violet eyes taking in his face. She must have seen something in his eyes because she said, “Oh!” and caught her breath. Then she said in a rush, “Tell me where to sit, my lord, and as soon as the tables are cleared, I will tell you about King Pryderi, and the evil enchantment he fell under that turned the kingdom of Dyfed into an empty wasteland.”
    Intrigued, Robert gestured for the servants to place a bench for her near the fire. She took her seat and, as the meal ended, the members of the household arranged their own benches around her so they could hear her tale.
    Outside the wind howled and the snow fell but here the central fire crackled, and the mead flowed plentifully, and the storyteller was beautiful to look upon.
    “When Pryderi returned to Wales from the invasion of Ireland, he married Cigva, and became the king of Dyfed. He had hoped that the trials he had endured had ended, but that was not to be … .”
    • • •
    “The snow hasn’t stopped yet,” Imma said the next morning, turning away from the window. “Does it always snow this much at Athelney?”
    “It is always miserable at Athelney,” Elizabeth muttered. She made a sound of frustration and set the altar cloth aside, then shifted her chair closer to the fire.
    “My lady, you seem upset. Is there anything I can do?” Imma knew Elizabeth disliked asking for help but the old woman did seem to be in some distress. Lord Robert’s keep might crackle with fires in every hearth, but the stone walls chilled the inhabitants and cold drafts whistled down the halls and through the rooms, no matter how many weavings were hung to block the cold wind.
    “It’s my hands,” Elizabeth admitted. “In the winter they become so stiff and sore. I grow frustrated at my limitations.” That Elizabeth even admitted to experiencing limitations was a sign of her deep distress.
    “Shall I call the physician?”
    “He says I am getting old and nothing can be done,” Elizabeth sighed, rubbing her fingers. Imma supposed he had suggested she discontinue her sewing but Imma could not imagine Elizabeth doing that. The idea that she had earned some idleness near the end of her life would