Mermaid_ A Twist on the Classic Tale - Carolyn Turgeon [40]
“I know,” Margrethe said. “But it was not like that. It was …” Her mind spun as she tried to reach back to those moments on the beach, in the infirmary and the garden. “He thought I was a novice, you know. He had no idea who I was. I was the girl who found him on the beach. He thanked me over and over.”
“It was a coincidence, then?” Laura asked.
“No,” Margrethe answered. “Fate.”
“Fate,” Laura repeated, sighing. “That’s so romantic.”
“Imagine if he knew who you were,” Josephine said. “Do you think he knows by now?”
“Maybe,” Margrethe said, her heart sinking. She had avoided the thought: Christopher, learning that the young novice was actually a princess, the daughter of his father’s enemy. How would he react to that news?
She had no idea what he would think. She had no idea what would happen to any of them now.
Slowly, she stood from the bath. “I need to sleep,” she said.
She remained silent as they dried her off and dressed her in her nightgown. Then she dismissed them and curled up on her bed, falling asleep almost instantly.
SHE WOKE TO a hushed, dark world, wondering, once again, if she had dreamed everything. If it was months earlier, when her biggest decisions had been what to wear that day, what manuscript to read, what delightful pastimes to partake in. Back then, the world had seemed so safe. There were enemies in the South, evil and ferocious, but the bravest men of her land were ready to fight them, and she had no doubt that, when the time came, they would be victorious, loved as they were by God.
She held up her arm, and it was still there, the shimmer across her skin in the sunken firelight.
Edele was sitting near the fire. Margrethe stood up, groggy from sleep, and walked over to her, put her hand on her friend’s shoulder.
“Have you recovered?” Margrethe asked.
Edele looked up, surprised, then broke into a smile. Margrethe was struck for a moment by the girl’s vibrant beauty: her elaborate brocaded green dress that dipped down in the front, revealing her pale skin and ample cleavage, her mass of red curls and open, freckled face. Back to normal, as if the last months had never happened at all. The fire reflecting against her skin, making it glow.
“I feel like I slept for days,” Edele said, standing. “I’m a new woman. And you? You must be dying to get into some civilized clothes again.” She walked to the wardrobe against the wall, began rifling through the rich gowns hanging in it.
Margrethe laughed. “It is strange to be back, isn’t it?”
“Yes. But I am so relieved. I missed it here. I do not like being in a world without men.” She turned back to Margrethe and winked.
“Edele! There are other things in the world besides men.”
“Not anything of importance, m’lady.”
“You are terrible. Did you really hate it so much?”
“Yes! What was there not to hate? Rising at all hours of the night, never getting a proper rest, wearing those awful habits, all those hours ruining our hands at the loom, the terrible food. Worst of all, no men but that mean old bishop and the son of our greatest enemy.” Edele pulled out a pale blue silk gown. “This one,” she said, turning to Margrethe with the dress in hand. “Did you not hate it as well? All that time, and not once being able to speak as openly and loudly as we are now!”
“I think I found some beauty there.”
“Well. That you did.”
There was a knock on the door, and a servant entered, followed by Josephine and Laura, announcing that the king expected Margrethe at dinner.
“I will be there shortly,” Margrethe said, nodding, as Edele embraced the others and started regaling them with tales of the convent’s horrors.
They all bustled around Margrethe, dressing her in the gown Edele had selected, combing out her long hair and piling it on her head, perfuming her with exotic oils. Margrethe closed her eyes. She could not help but savor the feeling of being stylishly clothed again after months of dressing plainly. Having her dark hair out and in full view, elaborately adorned. She