Ilsa looked down at the dust pile then back at her lady. "You’ll have yourself a bit of a task with this keep."
"So I've noticed, but I am equal to it." She tried the exposed latch. "It's not locked, only caught. Push with me." They threw themselves against the door.
With a shuddering creak it swung open. Rowena stepped within and gasped in pleasure. Although the air was cold and musty, dust motes danced along a row of windows where the newborn day pried through the shutters. She stepped quickly to the wall and threw back the wooden panels, then turned a slow studious circle to memorize every detail while hardly daring to believe what she saw. The jeweled tints on the walls glowed to life in this little bit of winter-weakened light. From the pleasant herringbone pattern of the stonework above a hearth that was the twin to the one in the bedchamber to the small chairs pushed to one side, this was a room meant to please a beloved wife not confine a woman. A quick brush of her hand through the layer of dust and cobwebs on the wall revealed an elaborate crisscross pattern painted in reds and greens on the plastered wall. From each cross a bluebird darted upward, as if startled.
"It is so beautiful," Rowena finally breathed. "Why should a room such as this be neglected? Such a treasure shouldn’t be so abused."
Ilsa shrugged. "Lord Rannulf's second wife, Lady Isotte, said the windows let in evil humors, and she sickened each time she entered. Methinks the sickness was within herself." This was a quiet breath." After her death, Lord Rannulf left only my lady's things in the room and ordered it locked."
The old woman crossed the room to open the far door, then smiled at a serving woman's startled gaze. "Here are the woman's quarters."
Rowena opened the door opposite the windows. Maeve stopped short in the passageway with a cry of feigned surprise. "Oh my, you startled me." She stepped inside and peered curiously around, not seeming to notice that all the serving women, including Ilsa, backed away from her.
Graistan’s new lady ignored the gentlewoman as she addressed her maids. "I want to use this room yet today, so your cleaning must be both thorough and swift. Take care you don’t leave even a single strand of spider silk for me to find. Move the long table over there and set these two chairs before the hearth." She pointed at the moth-chewed cushions lying on their seats. "Can you replace those?"
"We’ll find you something," said Ilsa, already brushing dust from the table. "And you’ll have the room before midday."
"So be it," her lady said with satisfaction. "Oh, waiting in the carts below is a bed. I want it set up in my chamber since it’s the better piece. Store that one." She pointed to her husband's bed.
"But it belonged to Rannulf's mother." Maeve's silky voice brought all attention back to her. "Why, how often he shared the story of that bed." She looked through the door into the chamber beyond it. "I’ve often admired its beauty."
Rowena stared hard at the woman with her painted face. It would hardly surprise her to learn her husband had slept with the sultry bitch despite the threat of incest. But if the creature thought that gave her some claim here, she was greatly mistaken.
"Since you admired it so perhaps we could give it to you for your use.”
The serving women tittered their amusement, but the comment didn’t give Lady Maeve even an instant's pause. "Why thank you for offering, sister, but there’s hardly room for it in the women's quarters."
"Well then, it must be stored. Oh, and by the by, does your offer of assistance still stand? There’s much to do this day." Rowena waited, knowing full well what the answer would be.
"How I’d like to," the gentlewoman replied with a sigh meant to convey consternation, "but I did promise the girdler I’d be at his shop this morn. Perhaps when I return?" She let the question hang in the air while she nodded her farewell and left the room.
Rowena's laugh was short and hard, then she turned to the women. "Now, since you know what you must achieve, I’m off to the kitchen to see what I can do with the food in this place."
She retreated to her bedchamber and removed her cloak. Practicality won over image; it was going to be a long, dirty day and was much better faced in something she didn’t mind ruining. As Rowena made her way slowly from her bedchamber to the hall, she cataloged in her mind the chores to be done and who’d do them. How odd that the removal of a single bed could make her feel as if this place was home.
Hours later found her at the foot of the steep twisting stairs in the keep's northwest corner. Far above her on the tower's third floor lay a tiny wall chamber and her destination. None of this made any sense. If Rannulf so prized his bastard son that he gave the lad an estate, why did he keep the poor child trapped in this room away from hearth and kitchen?
Well, no longer. A man-child, even an illegitimate one, was the promise of the future and needed to be carefully guarded. She glanced down at herself and wiped dirt-streaked hands on her skirt. The filth of Graistan was horrendous, and it seemed as if most of it now coated her. After the noon meal, she'd donned a servant's rough overgown to protect her clothes. She could hardly wait to be out of them and soaking in a tub of warm water. Well, as soon as this chore was finished so was her day.
With a tired sigh, she climbed, her mind wandering to organizing tomorrow's chores by their importance. The darkness in the stairwell was almost complete except where the orange sunset exploded through the two west-facing arrow slits. So deep in her thoughts was she that she heard nothing until he flew into her.
For one breathless moment, Rowena teetered backward. Smooth stone wall offered no handhold for her clawing fingers. With a desperate lurch, she regained her balance. Heart pounding, she leaned against the wall, her fingers shaking with the knowledge of how close she’d come to falling.
"Pardon. I didn’t see you," whispered her assailant as his small hand touched hers. "Did I hurt you?"
She breathed deep to steady her nerves. "Nay, by the grace of the Lord God. What of you?"
"Nay," he said in a voice as small as he.
With relief came a bolt of anger. "Has no one ever told you not to run on these stairs?” Rowena chided the lad. “We could both have been killed."
He drew himself up with a start. “I said my pardon and you’re not to speak so to me. Alais says all the maidservants must speak to me with respect, and you’ve not been respectful."
How old had the maids said he was? Five? Surely no more than that. Rowena snorted in indignation. "I don’t need to be respectful to little lordlings who endanger my life. I should take you over my knee and show you how much I respect you with the palm of my hand. Come, better that I return you to your Alais and tell her what you've done."
“Nay, please.” There was a tremor in his voice. "I’m sorry I was mean. Don’t take me back. I’m running away.
Rowena stared into the shadows, trying to better see his features. "Running away? But, where to and why?"
"To the kitchen. I’m so hungry, but Alais says we cannot have anything to eat until after nightfall when the new lady will be abed." The boy gave a small sob. "Why did my papa have to get a wife? Now Alais says we must hide from the dragon while my papa is gone."
Rowena’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Dragon?"
"That’s what Alais calls the new lady because she’ll send me away to be a beggar if she finds me."
"Nay, you’re mistaken. You’ll never be a beggar." Had she unknowingly said something that was taken as a threat toward the boy?
"Do you think so?"
Rowena gave a quiet breath of a laugh. "Oh, of that I’m certain. You’ll someday be the lord of Blacklea."
"Jordan!" called a woman from above them, her voice at once angry and worried. "Jordan!" Slow, plodding footsteps followed.
"Alais comes,” Jordan whispered, grabbing her hand. "Don’t let her take me back there. I hate that room. I want my own bed. My papa will reward you if you take care of me," he generously offered. His eager fingers tightened around her palm.
"I can help you more than you think,”
Rowena replied, “but only if you do not act like a coward and run away."
"I don’t want to be a coward," he said, "I want to eat."
That made Rowena laugh out loud. "Jordan is here," she called upward. "We come."
The footsteps above them stopped. "Who’s there?" The woman's voice was harsh and accusing.
"Only a dragon," Rowena replied. There was a loud gasp, the footsteps hurried back up the stairs. Rowena clasped the boy's hand in hers. "Come with me."
They climbed a few stairs before Jordan spoke. "Why did you tell Alais you were a dragon?"
They paused beneath the second arrow loop. The dusky glow of the setting sun burnished the boy's hair with the same auburn lights Rowena had seen in his father's. Still holding his hand, she studied him, then shook her head in wonder. Jordan was his father's very image. His eyes were the same, clear gray; his mouth had the same bend. No wonder Lord Rannulf had claimed him as his own; he could not deny him.
"Who are you?” the child demanded, his eyes narrowed. "I’ve not seen you before. Are you a servant to the new lady?"
"Worse," Rowena said with a smile. "I am the new lady herself."
Jordan considered her a moment, then he smiled. Rowena caught her breath. It was her husband grinning at her irate protests of innocence.
"You like lads,” Jordan informed her, “I can tell. You’ll help me with Alais." He tugged at her hand as he hurried them up the stairs.
A few more turns and they entered a small chamber. The room was cold and damp, cut as it was from the very thickness of the walls. Two straw mats lay on the floor with only a few, thin blankets to make them into beds. A small horse carved from wood lay on its side in one corner, while scattered in another were tiny wooden men from a chess set. And then there was Alais.
Jordan’s nurse sat on a stool, her massive thighs pouring over the edges. Fine, light hair straggled from beneath her stained and untidy wimple. The plain gown she wore was patched and stained. This slovenly creature was hardly the sort Rowena would have expected as a nobleman's nurse.
"Look, Alais," Jordan called, "I’ve found the new lady, and you were wrong. She likes lads. Now we can go back down; we can eat." His enthusiasm made him jump. "Tell her we can eat," he said to his stepmother.
"I cannot tell her anything until you’ve properly introduced me to your nurse, Jordan," Rowena chided gently. "You must ask me my name, then you must tell it to your nurse so that she may know it. Someday, you’ll be a knight, and a knight is always careful to observe proprieties, even where servants are concerned."
The woman frowned at this, her beefy arms crossed over her pendulous breasts. It was obvious she didn’t consider herself a servant.
"I am Jordan FitzRannulf," he replied with a half attempted bow toward the newcomer. "What is your name?"
Rowena was pleased to see someone had tried to teach him manners. "I’m the Lady Rowena of Graistan and your new stepmother. It’s very nice to have you in my family. Now, you must introduce me to Alais," she prompted.
Jordan nodded, then tightened his mouth in concentration. "Alais, I have brought the Lady Rennena-Ronnena." He whirled back to his stepmother and whispered, "What is it?"
Again, Rowena laughed, charmed by the child if not his sire. "It’s an English name, and some find it hard to say. Those whose tongues refuse to spill it call me Wren. So may you do if you like."
Jordan grinned again. "Alais, here is the Lady Wren. Now, we can go eat." He grabbed at his nurse's hand as if he by his tiny size could lift the huge woman.
"Alais," Rowena said, all the warmth gone from her voice, "immediately return Jordan's belongings to the women's quarters. Come lad, I’ll find you something to eat." She held out a hand to the boy. "Your nurse has work to occupy her just now."
The heavy woman leapt up with surprising quickness from her stool. "Be gone with you," she cried out, snatching at the boy and missing. "He’s in my charge until Lord Rannulf returns. The Lady Maeve has told me of your ilk and vowed to help me protect him from you."
"Is this your protection I see here?” Rowena demanded. “Hardly protection. I say you threatened this boy's well-being and find you incompetent in your position. Against that, I hereby relieve you. Run to Lady Maeve if you wish, but she'll be no help to you. Now, go find your living elsewhere."
Alais screeched out her denial, tears bursting from her eyes. "Don’t take my baby from me," she sobbed. " He needs me!"
Jordan stared between the two of them. "Alais must leave?" he asked quietly.
Rowena nodded. "She was far too careless with you."
His bottom lip trembled. "But who will care for me while Papa is gone?"
"I will," Rowena replied firmly. "Do you know Ilsa, my maid?" When he nodded she continued, "She will help."
"But what if I need to see Alais?" Tears filled his eyes.
The twist of his face made Rowena’s heart ache. "Do you need her?" she asked with a sigh.
He nodded. "She’s my Alais," the boy replied.
The Lady Graistan turned to the massive woman. "For his sake, you stay. However, from this day forward anything you do with him will be by my command. Disobey, and you’ll go despite his pleas."
"Thank you, my lady," the nurse sniveled. "Thank you."
Again, Rowena held out her hand. "Alais stays because you love her,” she told the boy.
This time, Jordan took her fingers without hesitation. The warmth of his hand against hers made her smile. "Now, boy, shall we find you something to eat?"
"To eat, to eat, to eat," he sang happily as he bounced alongside her out the door and down the stairs.
It was well past Compline when Rowena finally crawled beneath the bedclothes. While Graistan had yet to offer up its secrets, she already knew something was very wrong here. True, not so long ago, every castle, abbey, and town had been stripped virtually bare to ransom England's King Richard from the German emperor. That still couldn't explain why this keep lacked enough in store to withstand even the briefest siege. And, what little was in store was of the poorest quality.
For now, Rowena would buy what she needed from local merchants with a promise to pay when Lord Rannulf returned. That would give her the time to learn more about Graistan's resources before she reviewed the accounts kept by Hugo Wardrober. Content, she slipped down beneath the bedclothes.
A smile quirked at her lips as she reached out to touch a bedpost. How odd that two days ago she despised this piece. Now it marked this room as hers, shared with no other, just as the rest of Graistan would be hers after she was finished. She would put her mark on it all. She dropped quickly into a deep and restful slumber.
Rannulf sighed and paused in checking the links of his mail hauberk. He'd not had a squire with him in two years and had become accustomed to doing this chore for himself. Outside his tent door, a steady drizzle fell as it had for the past two days. The rain temporarily stilled the terrible noise of the siege engines and sent men to gather quietly around their fires or in their tents. For the time being, the world was once again a peaceful place filled with the contentment of a newly awakened spring.
He held his hands above the glowing coals in the brazier's flat pan before returning to his task. Stretching awoke the tiny creatures that had taken up residence on his body. His skin crawled with their movements.
He was tired; tired of his tent, tired of being filthy, and most of all, tired of pitting men and machines against unyielding walls. The siege had been under way for nearly a month without any success. However, news was that Richard had departed the Low Countries for England. With the king once again in his realm, Nottingham Keep would have no choice but surrender.
"My lord, may we enter?" asked Temric from the door.
When Rannulf looked up, he all too quickly recognized the mud-bespeckled man behind his master-at-arms. "God's teeth, what now?" An irritated gesture of invitation brought both men into the tent.
With a cockeyed grin and an abbreviated bow, the messenger fro
m Graistan stepped forward and handed his lord the leather wallet he carried. "It contains a message from Master Hugo and one from your lady. There is also a message to you from Sir Gilliam. He says: `I hope you are tolerably well but know you cannot be happy without your bathtub. Your lady does a fine job, but she raised Hugo's ire when she set me to gathering information from your bailiffs. We discovered there should be more supplies within Graistan than we presently have, and we cannot yet account for the lack. As for your lady’s request of you, I can only say that I find her to be levelheaded and having the greatest care for those things that are yours.' That be all, my lord."
Lord Graistan rubbed a hand against his unshaven chin and considered his brother's words. Aye, his lady was doing a fine job driving his wardrober mad with her changes. "Tell me, Boudewyn, how do you find Graistan Keep?"
The messenger shrugged. "All seems well to me, my lord. For myself, food's better than it's been in a long while."
Temric gave a short, harsh laugh. "Then, you'll be less pleased with what you'll find in yon pot, but go eat your fill. I'll call if there's to be a return message."
Boudewyn gave a jaunty salute and went to join the ring of men sitting about a fire just outside his lord's tent. Rannulf waved his man to a stool at the other side of the brazier. "Stay a moment. I’ve need of your strength to face yet another of my esteemed wardrober's harangues. Temric, what is she doing to my home?"
His master-at-arms only grinned wolfishly. "Cleaning house, no doubt."
"Cleaning or destroying?" his lord retorted, and opened the leather packet. He chose the folded parchment marked with Hugo's seal and read aloud, "`Greetings to my most feared lord from your humble servant on this the eleventh day of March. Your new lady, may the Lord God bless your union, is most adept and conscientious in the direction of the menial servants. I seek to keep you abreast of her doings in the case that you might wish to lend your guidance and wisdom in her efforts. You must also know when she extends herself beyond her ability.
The Seasons Series; Five Books for the Price of Three Page 8