They donned their cloaks, Nicola taking up a lamp, and started from the hall. The men in the corner burst into great bellows of laughter.
"My lord," Walter called as they passed the gamblers, "Seger, here, wants you to know that the first year of marriage is but a process of ringing. Whilst you give your ring to your wife, she fixes one in your nose. Once a woman is sure her ring's in place, your nights become all sleep and no joy. Seger says you must enjoy this now for it will not last."
Gilliam grinned wickedly. "I am, Walter. I am."
Nicola lifted her head. In English, she said, "The only reason I can imagine our nights to be all sleep is that my lord lacks staying power." That sent the men rolling on the floor. Cupping the lamp's flame against the wind, she preceded her husband out the door. "Now, what did I say to them?"
"You spoke too quickly for me to catch it all, but I recognized the words reason, night, sleep, and power."
"Well done," she complimented him, choking on her laughter.
"You'll pay later, trust me," he warned. "They'll tell me in the morn, and you'll pay."
He climbed the keep stairs and pushed open the door. Nicola stepped inside. Although the sun had made no appearance this day, the growing dimness in the room said it was descending. She looked about, but saw nothing within the walls save the usual: the nightcandle and the bed, curtains tightly shut. She went to light the candle with her lamp, then turned on him.
"Well, where is this gift of mine?" she asked.
"In the bed." He grinned again.
"Gilliam!" She gave a frustrated breath at his game and threw open the curtains, then stared.
Gilliam came to stand behind her and look over her shoulder. "This is so we can spar in earnest, my love. I am tired of using those wee playthings."
Lying atop their bedclothes was a pair of armed gloves and a steel sewn hauberk. Folded beside it was a quilted tunic to wear between it and her skin. The conical helmet worn by ordinary soldiers lay to oneside along with the cap that went beneath it. Curled at the other side was a belt, a leather scabbard, and a plain shield. And there was a sword.
Nicola breathed in surprise and reached for the weapon. "My father's sword," she cried softly. "Oh Gilliam!"
She lifted the blade in her hands, testing its familiar balance. The grip had been wrapped with new leather that wanted forming to its owner's hand.
"It survived the fire. I set it aside thinking we might someday have a son who would wish to carry his grandsire's blade." He put his arm around her and drew her back against his chest. "If it is too heavy or too long, I’ll have another made for you."
Tears filled her eyes as she laid the weapon back on the bed to turn in his embrace. "Until last month I was screaming over how I hated you. How could you plan for our children against my hatred?"
Gilliam shrugged slightly and smiled. "Perhaps it is because I’m an extra son, the youngest of four brothers, who never dazed dream of marriage or home or family. When I agreed to marry you, I allowed myself to hope that, having achieved one impossible thing, you might someday accept me and we might make a family. Keeping the sword for a future son was like a promise it would happen."
Her tears spilled over. "I cannot believe how fortunate I am to be wed to you. Thank you for honoring my sire this way," she managed. "In doing so you honor me in all ways." She touched her mouth to his, the kiss soft and full of her love for him.
He let her lips cling to his for a moment, his arms tightening briefly. Then he stepped back. "Ah, but you have not counted your gifts."
Nicola wiped away her tears and turned. There were ten items on the bed. "Are you saying there are two more?" she asked with a shaky breath.
"Aye." He reached over her shoulder and fastened her pin to her mantle. The garnet-encrusted surface gleamed in the candlelight. "You have been nagging me over a pin for so long, I have decided it’s time to relent and give it back."
Nicola closed her eyes. She was dying, overwhelmed by the strength of her love for this man. The tears spilled again. When he turned her in his arms, she lay her head against his shoulder, incapable of speech. He held her for a long moment, the movement of his hand on her back soothing.
"The last one I must beg you to take, as you have refused it once before." He caught her hand and set a golden band on the finger leading to her heart. "This was my mother's ring, the one my father gave her upon their wedding day. Although I never knew my mother and cannot remember my father, Rannulf tells me theirs was a great and enduring love. It would honor me if you would wear it."
Nicola threw her arms around his neck. "For all my life," she whispered, and sobbed like a babe.
Low Sunday's mass had just finished. Nicola and Gilliam were standing before Father Reynard's church as all their folk dispersed, Gilliam's expression trapped in worried thoughtfulness. April's newborn breath lifted his hair. Even on an overcast day, the heavy strands shone like gold.
That gay breeze swirled around Nicola, tangling in her wide sleeves. It brought with it the sweet songs of mating birds and the joyous fragrance of a pregnant earth. Proof of this fertility showed in the fairy green leaves appearing on barren branches and was scattered in happy abandon along Ashby's ditch. Daffodils nodded at her, their yellow flowers vibrant against new grass.
It had become their habit to dress well for Sunday services. Gilliam wore his new blue gown, the one she made to replace what she'd ruined, while she wore her fine green set with its trailing hems. Her head was covered in but a simple cloth, her yet-short locks escaping confinement to curl around her face. This she did to please Gilliam, who disliked any attempt to cover her hair. She'd only agreed to wear this skimpy head covering to church once she understood how much the informality of bared locks annoyed Ralph and Emotte by Wood.
Jos dashed up, also wearing his better gown with red chausses on his legs. "My lord, the lads would like to come watch me shoot at the target. It’s Sunday, and there'll be naught else for them to do. Might they come within and see?" Jos's sudden grin was full of mischief. "I've wagered them I can hit the target's center at two hundred yards."
Gilliam bestirred himself from his heavy thoughts to respond. "You did? That is your bow's limit, I think me. What do you stand to win?"
"Alexander knows where a hawk nests, and he'll show me. Dickon has four stones that gleam red. John has a carved stick. The rest come only to watch."
"Ah. Treasures, indeed," Gilliam said with a smile. "And, what will you lose if you cannot do the deed?"
Jos only laughed. "I will not lose. I've done this a dozen times."
"Boy, what did you promise?" Gilliam's tone demanded an answer.
"Only to let them pet the pups," he hesitated, "and they may have one of my arrows, the ones Lady Nicola gave me. My lady, I will not lose it. I vow I will not."
Gilliam laughed. "There is no guaranteed outcome to anything, Jos. You must never wager what you’re not willing to lose. Now, go, but change into your everyday tunic first."
"I will, my lord," he cried out, racing toward Ashby. The three boys he planned to hoodwink joined him at the lift of his arm, the others following eagerly behind them. Although Jos's English was yet as halting as Gilliam's, he seemed to have no difficulty in making his meaning clear to the village lads.
"He has grown again," Nicola said, watching him dash away. "That gown of his is now too short."
"Aye," Gilliam said. With Jos's departure, the worried tone returned to his voice. "Give him another half year and he'll be the size he should. So does his voice deepen. Soon, girls will no longer be so boring. It will be your job to tell him why he must continue to keep his distance from them."
"Why mine? Is this not a man's province?' Nicola laced her fingers with his, catching her other hand in the bend of his elbow. She leaned her arm against his.
"It’s yours because I would not lie about pleasure;" her husband said with a quick smile. He would have started forward once more, but Nicola held him where he stood.
"Gilliam, talk to me. Two weeks without a violent incident says to me that the damage was caused by nothing more sinister than thieves in our forest. We have peace now because they had moved on to some other area." Holy Week had been the first week to pass without some incident since November. So too, had the week after Easter now passed without an assault against folk or property.
He shot her a glance filled with frustration. "More likely our neighbor gave up taunting us to celebrate Easter like the righteous man he is. May God damn his persistence. I was praying he would have admitted defeat by now. The stone cutters and masons come at May's start; I cannot be chasing de Ocslade and protecting our quarry at the same time."
"How is it you are so sure it’s de Ocslade. Convince me."
Gilliam shrugged as if he were surprised at her. "Because he’s doing exactly what I would do if I wanted to destroy a man and take that man's wife and home."
She frowned at him. "If you are so certain, why not go to Ocslade and call him out? We’ve been helpless long enough."
He laid a finger to her temple. "My sweet wife, you are thinking in straight lines. Let me show you. Say that I was de Ocslade and your father yet lived. Say also that your father and I met on the road one day to exchange heated words. I then warned your father I intended to steal Ashby from him. Several days later, a few sheep disappeared. Later, more sheep were taken, fields were trampled, houses broken, and the rest. Now, I left you no sign that 'twas me who did these deeds, but you remembered my words and believed I was but fulfilling them. Tell me now, since de Ocslade assumes I am like your father, what would John's reaction have been?"
This question had a simple answer. "Papa would arm and ride for Ocslade, shouting for you to come out and meet him as honest men should," Nicola said, then exhaled a soft "Oh," of understanding.
"Aye, you have it now. See how if I go to Ocslade our neighbor can openly attack me, goaded to it by what he calls my insult. As you say there’s no proof that he has a hand in what is happening here. With de Ocslade's greater number of men, it’s not impossible that I might fall beneath his blade. In that case, I seem naught but a hotheaded youth who overstretched himself. At Graistan, our neighbor hinted to my brother that he no longer wanted you or Ashby. Because he can blame the confrontation on me, de Ocslade believes he can avoid Rannulf's animosity. Thus, he will keep you and your lands after my death."
"If this is so, why has he now ceased his attacks? I am your wife still." And would be for all her life, so help her God.
"I think the growing season has him stymied. He’d rather not harm fields he already thinks of as his own. Nay, he has retreated to find some new strategy that will drive me to my death without appearing to stain him." He gazed off into the distance, but his focus was inward as he wrestled with his thoughts.
Nicola looked up at him, her heart quaking. The briefest imagining of life without Gilliam made her ache. Her hand tightened possessively on his arm.
"I should be insulted that you worry over me as if I were but a child," he said without looking at her, a touch of laughter in his voice. "This is womanish thinking, my sweet."
She made a face, no longer surprised that he knew her so well. "I cannot help it. De Ocslade has more men than we and a better stocked armory."
"Ah," he laughed, "but Ashby has me." His eyes gleamed as he looked at her. "And after me, there is you." His amusement died in the face of his frustration. "Would that I could afford the patience to let him continue his games until he decides his cause is lost, but building begins in three weeks." He fell silent as if what he said to her should be perfectly clear.
Nicola waited, then finally prodded, "Aye, and so?"
"When de Ocslade learns of the project, he’ll fly between attacking the workers at the quarry, both villages and the fields, knowing I cannot protect all of them. I must confront him to stop him. If I do not, we will starve this coming winter."
"Then we must delay building until another time." Nicola leaned up against him.
"Nicola, we need a hall. You better than any know that."
"We could put up another wooden building like the last." It was a hopeful suggestion.
He only shook his head. "My neighbor is nipping at my heels the way the kennets nip at Roia. I have set aside the coins to pay the workmen. If I send the masons away and de Ocslade continues his harassment, what I have set aside for our stone hall will be eaten up by replacing our losses. I cannot let this man destroy what I have planned."
"I suppose this also means we cannot borrow soldiers from your brothers to guard the workmen and prevent a confrontation?"
"Aye, we could borrow them, but what would they eat?" he asked in helplessness. "Between last June's fire and this past winter, our larder holds barely enough to feed the workmen and see us through until the harvest."
"Can we not buy food?" It was plea, made without much hope of being heeded.
"If we do, we cannot afford to build the hall; and do not ask if we can borrow to feed them. To do so means de Ocslade drives us into penury so deep I fear we'll not recover. With what we yet owe for our king's ransom, the new hideage, our marriage fees and the costs of rebuilding, we’ve already exceeded our income for years to come. None of this is insurmountable except that our neighbor continually destroys what we work so hard to build. I must find a way to free us."
She rested her head against his shoulder. "Forgive me, Gilliam. I wish I had never offered myself to Hugh." He opened his mouth to reply, but she held up her hand to forestall him. "I know. I take more responsibility for this than belongs to me. Nonetheless, I participated, and I am heartily sorry I did so."
Gilliam smiled at her. "Just so. Now instead of blaming yourself, help me answer the question that plagues me. If you could get no reaction from your enemy, what would your next step be?'
"I would quit and go home to spend all my time with my husband," she said quietly. He only smiled and turned as they started for their own gate.
Even at this slow pace, they matched each other, stride for stride. Nicola stared at her toes as they kicked out her long hems before her with each step. Her husband stopped suddenly.
"Now here is someone I have seen before, and I liked not the company she kept. I think me you know this girl. Tell me why de Ocslade has sent her here."
Nicola followed his gaze to the short plain that marked the distance from the forest's edge to Ashby's walls. "Tilda," she breathed in astonishment.
The reeve's daughter was coming over the green grass, her cloak flying behind her with each step, hood thrown back to reveal her wealth of tawny hair. Beneath her outer garment she wore a rich blue-gray gown. If distance made it impossible to read an expression on the girl's pretty features, there was no mistaking the sultry way she moved.
Rage roared through Nicola. Tilda had thrown over de Ocslade and now came to fetch herself another lord with whom to toy. She whirled on Gilliam. "This is Tilda, Thomas's daughter and my suckling sister, and I will kill her if she touches you."
Her husband laughed at that. "Not likely I'd give her the chance, my sweet. I would have to be a mindless idiot to jeopardize what we share between us. Besides, you have ruined me. Were I to now lay with a smaller woman, I'd break her for certain." There was still laughter in his eyes.
Despite Gilliam's assurances, anger seethed in Nicola. He did not understand how vulnerable men were to Tilda. "Thomas will be none too pleased to have her home. He says she is his shame."
Gilliam wasn't listening. His eyes narrowed in thought then his face lightened. "Hah!" It was a soft sound of triumph. "I would send one capable of penetrating my enemy's defenses to seek the possibility of betrayal from within. De Ocslade has erred now, thinking things have not changed here." He caught her arms. "See how he, himself, delivers us from purgatory?"
"What, by sending Tilda? Nay, I'd not let you recruit her to aid us. We could never trust her." She tried to push away from him, but he did not release her. "Gilliam, the last time I trusted her it
was to learn she had been promised coins to deliver me to de Ocslade."
"Better and better," he said mysteriously, his smile broadening. "You must run and greet her. It’s for you she comes."
"Nay," Nicola said firmly. "Why should I welcome her into my home when she may only want to sell me to de Ocslade, once more? Besides, I wouldn’t know what to say."
"Let me tell you, then," Gilliam replied with a quick lift of his brows. "First, you must take her to her father's house and find some way to twist Thomas into keeping her. If he fights you, send him to me. Once you have your friend's ear in private, tell her you have only escaped my prison for a few moments and must hie on home soon. Cry over how I have beaten and abused you, and beg her to help you escape me as she has done once before. Say whatever tale will make her think ill of me."
Rage died in astonishment. This time, when Nicola pushed against his hold, he released her. She stared at Gilliam in confusion. "I would not defame our love with lies. Why would you ask this of me?"
"Because she will relate to de Ocslade how little care I have for you. This guarantees that, should the worst happen and I be killed, he’ll not seek to harm you to spite me." He lay a hand against her cheek, his thumb smoothing over her brow.
Nicola stared at him for a long moment, and slowly smiled. "This cannot work. You’re not subtle in your affections for me nor me for you. She will know I lie if she speaks to anyone about us. Oh Lord, but if she asks Emotte, she'll get an earful of our brazen displays."
His amusement matched hers, but he shrugged nonetheless. "Ah, but this is not just any woman. You look at her and see one who thinks no man capable of resisting her. Her arrogance will make her believe she can turn me from you. Am I right?"
From Nicola's memory came Tilda's words, telling her she was a hopeless woman that no man could love. "Aye, that is so."
"After you have convinced her of my hatred for you, you must beg her to give you to de Ocslade. By offering de Ocslade what he most wants—control of you—we draw him into the open. He will try to set the trap that finishes me."
The Seasons Series; Five Books for the Price of Three Page 93