Always

by Lynsay Sands

  Sure she had heard her husband's voice over the cacophony of animal sounds around her, Rosamunde straightened from the duck whose broken wing she had just finished binding and glanced around the hall anxiously. There was no sign of the man, but guilt suffused her as her eyes slid over the myriad animals surrounding her. Ducks flocked, geese squawked, and chickens clucked between and around the feet of the thirty or so peasants waiting their turn to see her. A goat was tethered to the table. Several sheep were sleeping nearby. A hawk was perched on the head chair, her husband's, where she saw with dismay that it had relieved itself several times. A couple of pigs were poking through the rushes, rooting for grub. There were several dogs here now, as well as cats, and even a cow. The great hall fairly echoed with various animal sounds, and it smelled like a stable. If that were not enough, Black still stood miserably by the fire, adding his own horrible perfume to the air every other moment.

  How late was it? she wondered a bit uncomfortably. Her husband would not be pleased to return to this madness in his great hall, but the time had gotten away from her. Excusing herself briefly, she made her way past and around the animals and people so patiently waiting, and slipped into the kitchens to find out. To her dismay, Cook was nearly finished making the sup. It was nearly the dinner hour!

  Biting her lip, Rosamunde hurried back out into the great hall, forcing a smile for the benefit of the bevy of servants, farmers, and children who owned the animals around her. "I am sorry, but I fear we shall have to stop now for the day. 'Tis almost the dinner hour and we must clear the great hall," she announced.

  There was a general shifting of people as they began to gather their animals in preparation for leaving. No one complained, but Rosamunde still felt bad at having to turn them away--despite the fact that the only cases that remained were minor injuries or ailments. She had seen the serious cases directly as they had arrived. While no one had seemed to mind the preemptive treatment of these more critical cases, Rosamunde could not help but feel guilty about how long some of the people had been waiting for their animals to be seen.

  "I shall make myself available again on the morrow to aid the rest of you," she assured them as the great hall began to empty. Then her gaze slid over the lord's chair, the trestle tables, the benches, and even the rushes as they were abandoned.

  "Oh, damn. Damn, damn, double damn," she cursed. This was awful. Horrific. Just terrible. There was animal waste everywhere. Groaning aloud, she ran for the kitchens. Thrusting the door open, she peered frantically at the various servants rushing this way and that. "I need help! Now! Right now! Lots of it! Quickly!" she cried.

  The cook took one look at her panicked expression and hurried over to peer past her into the great hall. She heard his gasp, then, "Sacre bleu! Qu'est-ce que tu fait?" Then he let the door close and peered at her with terror as he seemed to recall that she wanted help cleaning up that mess. Backing away, he began shaking his head. "Oh, non. Non, non, non, non, non."

  "Oh, oui. Oui, oui, oui, oui, oui," Rosamunde cried, dismayed by his negativity. Were they not her servants? Shouldn't they have to help her if she asked for it? Cook seemed to come to that conclusion even as she did, for, cursing more in French, he turned on the others in the kitchen.

  "Allez! Allez! Vite vite, depechez-vous!" he roared, and everyone began to move. Every last servant in the kitchen suddenly rushed past her and out into the great hall. Everyone but the cook--but Rosamunde wasn't about to push her luck. Besides, someone had to keep the supper from burning.

  "Merci." She beamed her thanks at the man as she backed out of the kitchen. "Merci beaucoup, monsieur."

  "Bah!" Making what she suspected was a rude Gallic gesture, the man turned away and hurried over to a pot bubbling upon the fire, leaving Rosamunde to join the servants now rushing about cleaning. But the door had barely closed behind her when a whinny and a fart drew her gaze toward the fire.

  "Oh, Blackie!" She sighed, then hurried toward the horse. Her husband had ordered that he be out of the great hall by sup.

  "Let me up!"

  "Not until you regain your temper," Gordon Burkhart announced calmly, shifting to a slightly more stable position on his son's chest before glancing at Robert, who knelt at Aric's head in the straw, holding his hands down. They had dragged Aric here, and were now holding him down in the hopes of giving his temper a moment to cool before he encountered his young wife. "How are you doing, Robert? Can you hold him?"

  "Aye, I am fine, I--"

  "Regain my temper? Regain my temper?" Aric interrupted to roar. "That woman has turned my great hall into a stables!"

  Lord Burkhart nodded solemnly. "Aye. It would seem so. 'Tis a good thing you have started on the new stables. Mayhap if you added a few more men it will be ready sooner."

  "It matters little. It will not aid in this situation."

  Eyes widening slightly, Burkhart glanced at Bishop Shrewsbury who was making his way along the stalls toward them. "Why will it not help?"

  Shrewsbury shrugged idly. "He has refused her access to the stables."

  "And so she has brought the stables into my keep?" Aric cried, stricken.

  "Oh, do stop bellowing like a wounded bear," Gordon snapped irritably, then turned impatiently back to the bishop. "So he has denied her the stables. I have heard that several times now, but still do not understand why it is so important. What does it matter whether she is allowed in the stables or not? Surely, once the animals have some protection she will not feel the need to interfere?"

  "'Tis not interference. This is what she does. The healing of animals is the gift God gave her. It was her task at the abbey. She was valued highly for it there," Bishop Shrewsbury explained quietly. The prelate turned to peer down at the younger Burkhart sadly. "Truly, my lord, you should return her to where the gifts God gave her are valued. I pray you, send her back to the abbey. There she may take the veil and lead the life she was meant to live. She would be so much happier there. She is miserable here."

  Aric glared at the man for a moment, his face flushing with growing rage. The idea of Rosamunde being returned to the abbey upset him much more than the fact that she was turning his home into a shambles and allowing a hawk to relieve itself on his damn chair! For a moment, his mind was filled with the memory of her sweet smile, the soft smell of her, her singsong voice as she had tried to cheer his stupid horse, and her soft coos of passion and delight as he had pleasured her last night. The very idea that this sanctimonious ass standing over him was trying to talk him into giving her up, and claiming she would be happier if he did so, made him want to choke the breath from him. When the fury built to a point beyond containment, Aric roared, "Get out! Get out, get out! Now, damn you!"

  Eyes wide as he took in his son's fury, Gordon Burkhart glanced over his shoulder at the cleric. "It may be better if you did...er...leave for a bit, Bishop," he suggested delicately. "Mayhap a nice ride would be a good idea."

  "Come!" Lord Spencer said bracingly, stepping in to assist in the awkward moment of silence that followed. "We shall return to the village for our meal. These fellows will sort things out here, hmmm? Find Smithy, Joseph, and have him prepare the wagon."

  Clearing his throat, Smithy stepped out of the stall he had stood frozen in since Aric had been forcibly dragged into the stables. He quickly set about his task as Joseph ushered Lord Spencer and Shrewsbury out of the building.

  Aric, Robert, and Gordon remained still and silent until Smithy was finished. Once he had gone, Gordon turned back to his son with a sigh. "Are you feeling any more reasonable?"

  "Reasonable?" Aric laughed bitterly. "There was a hawk relieving itself on my chair."

  Gordon sagged slightly and sighed. "Aric, you are married now. There are certain adjustments you must make--"

  "Adjustments!" Aric squawked. "There was a goat eating one of my banners."

  "Rosamunde meant well," Robert tried, and Aric glared at him.

  "There was a cow crapping in the corner."

  Whe
n Shambley gave a bark of laughter at that, then quickly turned his head away, clearing his throat loudly, Gordon sighed and asked, "Why do you not simply allow her to work in the stables?"

  Aric's mouth clamped shut at once.

  Eyes narrowing, Gordon pointed out, "She did look happy amongst all her little charges."

  Aric frowned, his memory drawing up an image of his wife as he had briefly seen her, tending to binding the broken wing of a duck held in a little girl's arms. She had been smiling widely and chattering away as she worked. Whether she had been chatting to the duck or the child was anyone's guess, but she did seem to have an affinity for animals. Still, to allow her to frequent the stables, where the animals could be brought to her...With all the men hanging around. He scowled at the idea.

  Spotting his dark look, Lord Burkhart sighed. "I have only been here since midday, and you have been closemouthed about your wife, but it seems to me that you are behaving like an idiot."

  At Aric's startled look, he shrugged. "You gave Smithy the job as stablemaster. Why?"

  Confusion clear on his face, Aric murmured, "Because he is good with animals."

  Gordon nodded. "And how did you choose your first in command?"

  Aric blinked. "He is a natural leader. He is organized and has a good head for battle."

  "That's right. He does. And I taught you to utilize a person's skills, that if you do not, they will find somewhere else to use them, or grow bored and bitter and get into trouble. Did I not?"

  "Aye."

  "And yet here you are doing that very thing to your wife."

  Aric jerked slightly beneath his father as if he had been hit. But the man wasn't finished. "With your fear of her being unfaithful and your efforts to prevent it, you will push her right into being so." He gave a short laugh at Aric's stunned expression. "What? Did you think I do not understand you, son? You have no problem with her being consulted on the matter of ailing animals, so long as 'tis done in the keep. You probably would not even have minded the animals being in the keep at the moment, except that they are relieving themselves all over everything. So if 'tis not the animals you wish to keep her away from, what else could it be?"

  When Aric turned shamefacedly away, Gordon reached out to force his son to look at him. "Trust me on this, son. You do not want to make the same mistake with your wife that I did with your mother."

  Aric stilled. "What?"

  Releasing his chin, Gordon sighed and got off of his chest, then paced to the nearest stall and leaned against it, staring blindly at the horse inside.

  "Your mother was a gifted healer when we married," he continued after a moment.

  Aric gave a start. "I did not know that."

  "Nay, well, that is my fault." Shaking his head, he clutched the top bar of the stall in both hands. "But she was. She had helped her own mother tend the ill while she was growing up, those in the castle, the men-at-arms, and even the sick or injured in the village. Then we married." His head lowered briefly before he continued. "She wanted to continue her healing work, but I refused to allow it. We already had a village hag who tended to such things--I saw no reason for my noble wife to do so. She was at me constantly, but I stood fast.... I was stubborn, is what I was," he muttered bitterly.

  "I told her that her place was to have my babies and tend to my keep. After a while, she gave up and seemed to resign herself to that. And at first it kept her...well, I convinced myself she was content. But she wasn't. She thought I valued her only as a brood mare. And while she loved you and your brother and sisters, she began to resent me. Her love died."

  Pausing, he sighed and shook his head wearily. "She was a beautiful woman. I should not have been surprised that others could see what I was blind to. But her unhappiness did not go unnoticed, and eventually another man convinced her that he knew her value where I did not and persuaded her to run away with him. I would have seen it coming if I had bothered to take time out from being the lord of the manor." He spoke the words with self-disgust, then paused a moment before turning back to where Aric had sat up. "Do not repeat my mistake, son. Value her skills. Use them. Give her a place here as something more than a brood mare."

  "Damn," Aric said miserably as he took in what his father was telling him, then he cocked his head uncertainly. "But if that is what happened, why have you always been so bitter about her leaving? You have never even hinted that--"

  "Of course I was bitter," Gordon snapped impatiently, then turned away again. "She was happy without me, while I was alone and lonely. I saw her again before she died. She was happy, tending the ill, being valued for more than the children she produced. Even though she could never marry the man she was with, she knew his love and how he valued her and was content. Even when she fell ill.

  "Well, she died content, knowing she had done what she had been meant to do in this life. While I am left to regret my mistakes."

  Getting to his feet, Aric moved to place a hand on his father's shoulder. "Thank you for telling me this, Father. I know how hard it must have been for you."

  "Aye. 'Twas hard. But 'twill be worth it if you learn from my mistake. Save yourself some heartache, boy," he murmured, staring staunchly ahead.

  "I think I have," Aric assured him solemnly, then turned away. "I had best go talk with Rosamunde. I have been a fool and worse. I will tell her she may tend to her animals here in the stables--as she did at the abbey."

  Robert was silent as Aric left the stables, uncomfortable with this new intelligence. He shifted slightly and murmured for lack of anything else to say, "So Aric's mother was a healer, too?" He had heard about his friend's mother, but he had never heard the whole story.

  "Hmm?" Glancing around blankly, Lord Burkhart stared at his son's friend for a moment, then grimaced. "Aric's mother was a whore. She lay down so often and for so many of my friends and acquaintances, I'm surprised he ever saw her standing upright."

  "But all that stuff about seeing her just before she died, about her being happy, and doing what she was meant to do," Robert said in disbelief.

  Aric's father made a face. "She did not possess the knowledge or the desire to heal anyone. Even her own children. She died in a leper colony. She caught it from one of her lovers. Lord knows which one."

  "But you said--"

  "I lied, Robert," Burkhart said dryly. "Aric was traumatized by his mother's behavior. It scarred all of the children. And Delia's sluttish behavior has hardly helped the situation."

  "And so you lied so that he would not mess things up with Rosamunde?" Shambley reasoned aloud.

  Gordon shrugged. "I have not proven a good judge of women. Mayhap Rosamunde will betray him, too. I do not know. But I do not think so, and she deserves to be given the chance to prove herself. Women should be judged by their actions, not by their sex." His gaze sharpened suddenly. "But you will keep this last bit of information to yourself, will you not?"

  "Aye, my lord," Robert assured him quickly, then hesitated. "Can I never tell him?"

  Gordon smiled slightly. "Why?" he asked with amusement. "Wait, I know. You think Rosamunde will be true, and that Aric will someday realize he was being an ass. You're looking forward to rubbing his nose in it!" He shook his head. "Here is the deal. You may tell him when you are both old and gray and sitting over mulled wine and telling tall tales."

  Robert grinned slightly. "I shall look forward to it."

  "Good!" Lord Burkhart laughed, slapping the younger man on the shoulders and urging him toward the stable doors. "Sup should be ready by now, do you not think? I find coming up with lies gives me an appetite."

  "You tell them well," Shambley complimented him.

  Burkhart nodded proudly. "I was making it up as I went along. There were no holes in the tale, were there?"

  "None that I noticed," Shambley assured him.

  Chapter Eleven

  The main doors to the keep were both wide open when Aric reached them. Stepping inside, he gaped as he looked around the great hall, hardly able to beli
eve the changes that had been wrought while he had been held down in the stables.

  The doors had been left open to allow the room to air, no doubt, and the action had been successful, he realized with a sniff, then shook his head. If he had not seen it himself, he would not have believed it; there was not even a hint of the chaos that had reigned just minutes before. Every last animal that had crowded the room was now gone, but even more amazing was the absence of any sign that they had ever been there. There was not a cow pie, or a feather to be seen, and his chair, he saw with relief as he slowly crossed the room, had been cleaned and shined. Even Blackie--Black, he corrected himself irritably--was no longer flatulating by the fire.

  He was standing, marveling over this wonder, when the sound of footsteps drew his gaze to the stairs. His wife came tripping lightly down them. Pausing when she saw him, she glanced around the room a tad nervously, then gave him a smile of mingled relief and welcome.

  "You are back, my lord," she said, then continued down the steps to greet him. "How was your tour?"

  "Very informative," he murmured. He had learned much in the last few minutes.

  "Oh, good." She beamed at him. "Well, sup should be ready soon, and--" She started to walk past him as she spoke, but her words died on her lips as he suddenly caught her arm and whirled her around to face him.

  "Rosamunde." He breathed her name, and she blinked at his husky tone.

  "Aye, husband?"

  "Say my name," he urged, drawing her into his arms. "I liked the way you said my name last night when I was holding you."

  "Aric." It was barely a gasp on her lips as his hands slid over her hips, urging her against his lower body. He smiled at the breathy excitement in her voice and the way her eyes were suddenly heavy-lidded with desire.

  "Would you really prefer to return to the abbey, as Shrewsbury says?" he asked.

  Rosamunde blinked at the sudden change in topic, then stiffened and tried to pull back. He held her in place against him.

  "Answer. Honestly."

  Biting her lip, Rosamunde glanced away, then sighed. "I was upset when I spoke to Bishop Shrewsbury. I...We had not yet...and I thought...the bedding..." she trailed off in embarrassment. "And then I missed..." She paused again, and looked away uncertainly.