They turned to glance at each other, quickly noticing their error and returned their gazes to Michael, who only laughed.
"Wh—what was ru—rule number three again?"
Michael threw his head back and laughed. The crowd that had started to gather, pointed, hiding behind their smiles. They'd warmed to Michael, and those that challenged him would be the subject of ridicule for some time.
"Rule" —his foot shot out, knocking the legs of one knight out from under him, he fell to the ground— "number three." Again he lashed out, this time smashing two heads together. "'Tis simple." He advanced on the last knight standing who promptly dropped to his knees. "Ah, I see you understand. What is rule number three then?"
"Obey your leader." The man's voice was shaky, his hands held out for mercy.
Michael stopped about a foot away from the kneeling knight. "Lesson learned. Stand up. Shall we continue with training today, or are there any others who wish to challenge me?"
Not a one came forward. Elena smiled. He truly was making good on his promise. Perhaps there would be a day when she and her ladies need not fear for their safety within the walls of Kent.
"No one? Something I fear you all have forgotten, rule number eight, to live with honor. Live for glory, both on and off the battlefield. Let us be great, respected amongst our peers and women. Training your minds and your bodies is one way to always be prepared both physically and mentally for the challenges that lay before you. Prepare yourself for a life worth living."
Shouts rang out through the crowd. The five men who had once lain on the ground now stood, heads bowed as they headed back to the fields for training.
"Halt! There will be consequences for breaking the rules. You will not return to my training field until you've been properly punished. Not only will you lose your evening meal, you'll learn the true meaning of work. You will work in the fields—alongside the peasants—until the sun goes down. Change out of your armor."
A gasp went out through the crowd and within the women's solar. Eyes widened, mouths twittered. Elena stared in shocked silence as the men—the unconscious one had regained his senses—stripped from their armor and walked to the fields. A small young man, beady eyes and long nose like that of a rat, scurried to the piles and collected pieces of the armor, running off and then returning again. She'd never seen him before. Perhaps he was one of Michael's servants.
Michael watched until the men were gone, their armor taken and put away. Then he glanced up at the keep. Elena's breath held as his gaze caught hers. She pressed her hand over her heart, hoping that would still its pace, but if anything it ached and beat faster. The new captain of the guard, Black Knight, Sir Devereux, was the one and only man for her. A man filled with such raw power, emotion and a sensuality that she'd only ever dreamed of, and had once been within her grasp.
He bowed low to her and then turned. Those in the crowd who witnessed his actions turned their faces upward to her window. They too bowed, and curtsied. Pride welled in her heart. Never before had the people showed her such respect without grumbling. Michael had done that.
Was it a sin to wish that Michael, and not Chauncey de Bourg, was Earl of Kent?
Putrid air hit her nose as she entered the great hall. The scent was so strong, she could taste it. Bile rose in her throat.
"Enough!" Elena's hands went to her hips and she surveyed the dozen or so loitering servants in the great hall. Male and female servants lounged about as if they belonged to an Eastern harem. Lazy eyes turned toward her, a few smirks were made in her direction.
If Michael could whip the brutish soldiers into somewhat of an order within two weeks, she would to the same with her staff. High time these lazy servants actually did their duties. She'd spent enough time cowering. With Michael here, she somehow found a power within she'd not possessed for a long time.
When not one asked if they could be of assistance to her and instead went back to picking lint off their soiled tunics, digging up their noses, drinking ale and whispering behind closed fists, Elena stalked forward.
"Did not a one of you hear me? I said, enough!" She grabbed an upturned mug from one inebriated female servant and tossed it into the bare, dark, cold hearth. What little ale was left splattered on the ground, running into the creases between the stones.
Heads snapped toward her, their attention now fully focused on their mistress.
The drunken woman tried to stand taller as she confronted Elena. "Ye can't juss throw out me ale." Then she hiccupped and teetered to the left.
Elena grasped her arm to steady her. "What is your name?"
"Maven." The woman yanked her arm away.
"You will address me as my lady."
"Aye, my lady," she said a bit grudgingly.
"I have lived nigh on six summers with you all, as you sat around slovenly shirking your duties, drinking ale until you could no longer walk. All the while this keep smells like the dregs at the bottom of a cesspit."
A few servants stood taller, defiant.
"Your duty to your lord, your family and yourself, is to maintain this keep. But you haven't, and I wouldn't send my worst enemy to sleep with the lice and rats festering within the piles of rotting rushes strewn about." Her arms spread wide, indicating the moving and rustling weaves upon the floor. They seemed to be alive, and likely it was because they were. As if on cue a fat rat ran out from the corner and disappeared within a particularly heavy pile of…something foul.
Insolent eyes turned on her. She wouldn't let them intimidate her. If it was the last thing she'd do, she'd get them to clean.
A male servant sauntered over to her, his sharp shoulder bones poked through the top of his tunic. He was in need of a good scrubbing or two and a hearty meal. He stopped short when her lady's maids moved to stop him.
"I ain't meanin' the lady no harm. Juss want to know what his lordship thinks of all this?"
These servants needed to be put in their place. No longer would she take their abuse. She didn't care what Lord Kent thought. He might just improve his temper if he didn't dine in the foul atmosphere the great hall held. Then again, his evil and contempt were so deeply rooted, she wasn't sure there was anything that would ever make Lord Kent not despise the very air he breathed.
She straightened her back. "That is none of your concern, Timothy. Aye, I know your name. I know your wife, too. Did I not provide her care for her ague? And what did you do in return for me saving her life? You have defiled my home." She stepped closer to the man when he backed up. "Do your duty, as I do mine."
Men and women staggered behind Timothy, on edge, waiting to see what he would say in response. But she wouldn't let him have a chance to countermand her again.
"You know not your place, Timothy. Think you that by not doing your duty, by speaking ill of me and disrespecting me you will gain favor with his lordship?" She pinched his ill woven tunic and then poked his bony arm. "What favor has he bestowed on you? New clothes? A hearty meal? A warm bed?"
Timothy's gulp was audible, but his voice was quite the opposite. "No, my lady."
"No, you say? Then why?"
He looked behind him as if the answer lay within the crowd of servants.
"What about you, Maven? Why do you shirk your duties?" Elena said, taking the girl by surprise.
Maven looked on wide-eyed. "I know not, my lady."
Elena took a step back and spread her arms in exasperation. "I have done nothing to you, but care for you when you are sick, clothe your children, offer you food from my table and you repay my kindness with impudence. You should be ashamed. I may just whip you all myself."
A few mouths dropped open. Then a saucy tart, who Elena thought went by the name of Betsy, swayed forward, hands on her hips. Her dirty skin hid what might have been beauty, her dark brown hair was so matted with grime, Elena doubted she'd brushed it in years. Her mouth held a brazen smile.
"Well I have been with his lordship." She looked around raising her brows, her suggestion
more than obvious. "An' he told me personally, not to listen to a word his lady wife had to say."
"How dare—" Raelyn started, but a hand held up by Elena stopped her.
She wasn't going to let this woman get to her. More importantly she didn't care that the woman bragged to have slept with Lord Kent. In fact, she felt sorry for her. The act must have been a nightmare for her. He cared not for abusing her own person, what would he do to a servant? She shuddered to think.
"You will be the first," Elena said calmly.
"First what?" The woman asked, leaning her upper body forward, her stance challenging.
Elena grabbed the woman by her arm, and nodded for her ladies to follow suit. "To be cleansed."
The woman gasped, digging her heels into the stone floor, but it was too slick with muck to hold her. Raelyn, Beth and Mary grasped the woman. "Take her to my chamber." She pointed to her other ladies, and wiggled her brows. "Prepare her for a cleansing."
Her ladies nodded. She often referred to her ritual after Lord Kent bedded her as a cleansing. They would know exactly what she meant.
When the screaming and kicking servant was gone from the hall, she turned her eyes on the rest of them. "Does anyone else wish to be cleansed along with Betsy?"
Scared eyes stared back at her as they shook their heads, not one of them knowing what she meant by cleansed. If they knew she simply meant to give the foul woman a good scrubbing and talk her ear off about respecting her body, they might not have been so inclined to do her bidding.
"Good. I want the great hall scrubbed from top to bottom. Take these rushes and whatever debris lies within them out to the bailey and burn them. New rushes must be woven and brought in. I want herbs sprinkled around them—rosemary and basil I should think. Bring in the cats to get rid of the vermin. The doors shall be opened, let the fresh air in. Take the tapestries down from the windows, beat the dust from them outside and let the air flow through. Wash the walls. Take the tables and benches outside, scrub them well with warm water and lye. Polish them with beeswax. We dine outside this eve." Elena made eye contact with each and every one of them. Not one challenged her now. "It will most likely take you several days to get it just as it should be."
She hadn't wanted to scare them into listening to her, but it seemed to be the only way. She would have to show them her gratitude when they completed their duties, so they would know that a good servant was someone to be cherished.
"Good then, we have an understanding. You there." She pointed to a cluster of young women. "Bring hot water to my chamber to fill the tub. The rest of you pray for forgiveness and get to work."
"What the devil is going on here?" Kent stood, fists on hips, in the courtyard just beyond the stone stairs to the keep. His cheeks were flushed red and puffs of air shot out of his mouth like a fire-breathing dragon.
Michael stood at the end of the trestle table, awaiting Kent and Elena. The sun was still high in the sky, but it would only be a matter of a couple hours before it fell to the horizon. It was the first evening that all of his men would be attending dinner—those who he'd banished to the field had worked their arses off and he planned to reward them. He was excited to sit beside Elena, share more than a passing glance. He'd yearned to speak with her since they'd arrived just over a fortnight ago. Every chance he'd had was thwarted. Up until that morning even. He'd found a few spare moments to come and see her, then he'd been challenged by half a dozen knights.
He still wasn't sure how he felt about her seeing such a display. She'd made it clear before when he'd put on a show with Jon that she didn't like him roughly handling others. When she'd smiled down at him, he'd taken it to heart; she didn't seem disappointed in him. Hopefully she knew it was important for him to establish his dominance among the knights. Sounded like they were a pack a rabid wolves, but the truth was, they really were. Being the wolf with the biggest bite had earned him a lot of respect today.
Kent walked forward and roared at one of the servants. "Why in blazes are my tables outside?" The poor maid shrugged and scurried away before answering.
Servants bustled around Kent and Michael, filling the tables with trenchers, mugs, and food. Succulent meats still sizzled on platters, steam rose from various other dishes, and the scent of freshly baked bread made Michael's mouth water. The entire staff was in an uproar at Lady Kent's demands for cleanliness and order. And here Kent stood, glaring daggers at all who dared look at him. All of the tables and benches were scrubbed and polished. They didn't even look the same. In fact, he'd thought the tables to be a deep brown, when in fact they were more light oak in color. They'd appeared to be much older than they actually were as well.
"Devereux? What say you of all this?" Kent indicated the set-up in the courtyard.
Elena had taken the reins. Good for her, he was glad. Every time he'd walked into the great hall he'd had the overwhelming urge to relive his last meal—and not in a good way. Michael tried to hide his pride in her sudden confidence.
"My lord," he bowed. "The great hall was in desperate need of a scrubbing. A few of the men even volunteered to help with some repairs that needed to be done." He emphasized volunteer to indicate the men were being punished for some deed. And right they were, but Michael was sure they would have chosen to help anyhow. The rats from the great hall trickled down to the cellar below where most of them slept.
Kent glowered for a few moments longer as he took in what Michael said. Then he grunted, nodded and walked to his high-back chair at the end of the trestle table.
The man seemed to be taking Michael's opinion more and more. Kent appeared to like the way Michael had handled the men. In the earl's tent at the tournament, he'd even mentioned he thought the men were getting out of hand, but he hadn't the strength or energy to deal with it. Michael secretly wondered if the man abused his wife and other women in the household because it was the only way he could feel some power. Did he torture the servants and peasants for the same reason? Michael frowned. There was more bad than good in the Earl of Kent.
Even still, there were three of Kent's men, the first three to challenge Michael, that seemed to have a sense of entitlement, as if Kent Castle and the lands were their own. Mayhap empty promises had been made since the earl had no heir. Empty or not, the promises were something Michael would have to deal with if they had been issued.
"Sit down, Devereux," Kent ordered. He took a large gulp of wine that was set before him, and then indicated to the waiting servant to refill it.
Tragedy averted, Michael took a deep breath. Raising his gaze toward the great oak doors of the keep he caught Elena's stare. Gratitude showed on her face. She exhaled with him as if she'd been waiting, strung up all day for the whip to hit her flesh, and now she'd been pardoned.
He tilted his head in her direction and then walked to his seat, but remained standing as she and her ladies came out onto the lawn. He was always amazed by their beauty and grace, and tonight especially. Elena wore a gown of deep green velvet. The ends of her wide sleeves and the hem at the bottom were embroidered with gold and black roses. The cut was not as high as she normally wore, but still modest. She continued to wear the silly contraption that made her figure boyish, but even still, she glided like an angel and the gentle sway of her hips almost had his head moving back and forth to follow. Her hair flowed down her back. The wind picked up a few strands and twirled them in the air behind her. A soft gold headdress decorated with black pearls sat on her head.
"My lady." He bowed, and when he stood and saw no one else bowing, he thought it time to make another change. "Knights, rule five."
As one, the men stood and bowed, albeit some grudgingly, toward the women. The ladies looked surprised, and Elena beamed. Today was a big day for her. Michael's chest swelled with pride, and something deeper. His heart felt like it might leap from his body. Before his face could show his feelings to the whole of Kent Castle, he masked his features.
Lord Kent looked up, a smirk on his lips. "Might rule f
ive be to grovel at the feet of worthless females, in hopes they might kneel before us to provide our pleasure?"
Michael let out a forced short laugh, all the while seething inside. No, the man definitely did not have a bit of warm compassion buried deep. A few of the men made vulgar movements of their hips. Michael snapped his gaze in their direction and they immediately quit their disgusting display of piggish behavior. Elena and her ladies all bowed their heads, the light dimmed in their eyes.
Kent laughed aloud and took another long swallow from his cup.
"Nay, my lord." Michael's voice was cool and even.
Kent stopped mid-sip and glanced at Michael. Slowly he set the cup down, licking his lips as if in thought. "Do you question me?"
"Nay, my lord." Blood rushed through Michael's ears. He was so used to leading the men, he'd forgotten what a boar his own master was. Dear God, this moment could mean the end of his position. From the corner of his eyes, he watched Elena's hands slip into the folds of her gown. No doubt, she was as much on edge as he was.
Kent grunted. "What the hell is rule five then?"
Michael placed his hands behind his back, legs stiff. Here it went… The man would have him thrown in the dungeon, tortured, and the bastard knights assigned to carry out his sentence would love every minute of it. "To respect and honor women."
Kent looked horrified. He had to mollify the man somehow. It wouldn't do for Lord Kent to string him up by his toes and flog him to death.
He forced a smile to crease his lips. "All the better to see our ale is not poisoned, or our breath taken as we sleep."
Kent squinted for a moment, and then burst into laughter. "As if they'd have the nerve!"
Again Michael let out a breath, another tragedy averted. He would have to tread more carefully in the future. The lord of Kent Castle wouldn't be so easily turned.
"I imagine not, my lord."
Mayhap he should just take Elena away from here—tonight. If they fled back to Ireland, would Kent pursue them? Would it cause a war?
Knights of Valor Page 11