With a tired sigh, she started climbing. Her mind wandered to tomorrow's chores as she began organizing them by their importance. The darkness in the stairwell was almost complete except where the orange sunset exploded through the two west facing arrow slits. She heard nothing until he flew into her.
For one breathless moment, she 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 came to falling.
"I did not 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."
"Has no one ever told you not to run on these stairs? We could both have been killed." Her voice was harsh with fear.
His trembled briefly. "I am sorry," then, as if suddenly remembering, he continued more strongly, "and you may not speak so to me. Alais says all the maidservants must speak to me with respect. You have not been respectful."
How old had they said he was? Five? Surely no more than that. Rowena snorted in indignation. "I do not 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."
The tremble was back. "No, please, I am sorry I was mean. Do not take me back. I am running away."
She stared hard into the dark, trying to better see his features. "Running away? But, where to and why?"
"To the kitchen. I am so hungry, but Alias 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."
Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Dragon?"
"That is what Alais calls the new lady because she will send me away to be a beggar if she finds me."
"A beggar? Nay, you are mistaken." Had she unknowingly said something that had been taken as a threat toward the boy?
There was a long pause. "Do you think so?"
"Oh, of that I am quite certain. You will never be a beggar. Someday, you will be the lord of Blacklea."
"But," he said, the tremble gone again from his voice, "Alais said."
"Alais is wrong," she retorted.
"Jordan," called a woman from above them. Her voice was at once angry and worried. "Jordan!" Slow, plodding footsteps followed.
"Oh, no," Jordan whispered, grabbing her hand. "Do not 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. Eager fingers tightened around her palm.
"I can help you more than you think, but only if you do not act like a coward and run away."
"I do not want to be a coward," he said, "I want to eat."
Rowena laughed out loud. "Jordan is here," she called upward. "We are coming up."
The footsteps stopped. "Who is there?" The woman's voice was harsh and accusing.
"Only a dragon," she replied. There was a loud gasp, the footsteps hurried back up the stairs. She 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?"
She paused beneath the second arrow loop. The dusky glow of the setting sun burnished the boy's hair with the same auburn lights she'd 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.
"Why," he demanded, then his eyes narrowed. "I have not seen you before. Are you a servant to the new lady?"
"Worse," Rowena said with a smile. "I am the new lady herself."
His eyes widened, then he smiled as if they were sharing a jest. She caught her breath. It was her husband grinning at her irate protests of innocence. "You like lads, I can tell. You will 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.
She was seated 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 have 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 have properly introduced me to your nurse, Jordan," she chided gently. "You must ask me my name, then you must tell it to your nurse so that she may know it. Someday, you will 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 did not consider herself a servant.
"I am Jordan FitzRannulf," he replied with a half attempted bow toward the newcomer. "What is your name?"
She was pleased to see someone had tried to teach him manners. "I am the Lady Rowena of Graistan and your new stepmother. It is 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?"
She laughed. "It is an English name, and some find it hard to say. Those whose tongues will not do it often call me 'Wren.' So may you, if you like."
He sighed in relief. "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 will 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 is in my charge until Lord Rannulf returns. Do not interfere. The Lady Maeve has told me of your ilk and vowed to help me protect him from you."
Rowena's eyes narrowed. "Is this your protection I see here? Hardly protection; instead, I say you have threatened this boy's well-being. I find you incompetent in your position and hereby relieve you of it. 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. "Do not take my baby from me," she sobbed. "Nay, you cannot force me to leave him. He needs me!"
Jordan stared between the two of them. "Alais must leave?" he asked quietly.
His stepmother nodded. "She was far too careless with you."
"But, who will care for me while Papa is gone?" His eyes were wide with fear.
"I will," she replied firmly. "Do you know Ilsa, my maid?" When he nodded she continued, "She will help."
"But, what if I need to see Alais?" There were tears filling his eyes now.
"Do you need her?" Rowena asked with a sigh.
"Oh, aye, she is 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 will go."
&n
bsp; "Thank you, my lady," she sniveled. "Thank you."
"Alais will stay with you because you love her." She held out her hand, and Jordan took it without hesitation. The warmth of his fingers in 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 there was of the poorest quality. For now she 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.
With a yawn, she slipped down beneath the bedclothes. A smile quirked at her lips as she touched her bedpost. How odd that two days ago she had despised this bed. 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 contented slumber.
Chapter 6
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 had 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 he 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 from Graistan stepped forward and handed his lord the leather wallet he carried. "In that lies a message from Master Hugo and one from your lady. There is also a message to you from Lord Gilliam. He says: 'I hope you are tolerably well but know you cannot be happy without your bathtub. Your lady is doing a fine job, but she raised Hugo's ire when she set me to gathering information from your bailiffs. We have discovered there should be more supplies within Graistan than there presently are, and we cannot yet account for the lack. As to her 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, lord."
Lord Graistan rubbed a hand against his unshaven chin and considered his brother's words. Aye, she was doing a fine job driving his wardrober mad with her changes. "Tell me, Boudewyn, how do you find Graistan keep?"
"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."
The messenger gave a jaunty salute and went to join the ring of men sitting about a fire just outside his lord's tent while Rannulf waved his man to a stool at the other side of the brazier. "Stay a moment. I have 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, Year of Our Lord eleven hundred ninety four. 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 wish to lend your guidance and wisdom in her efforts. You must also know when she extends herself beyond her ability.
" 'Just this day I have learned that over the last week your lady, may the Lord God preserve her, has had Lord Gilliam promise in your name payment to merchants within town for purchases beyond the present means of this keep. These expenditures have been made without my approval or foreknowledge.
" 'I did then beg to explain to her why such purchases could not be made without consultation. Rather than comprehending, she requested that I show her the account book.'"
Rannulf leaned back with a laugh and glanced up. "Can you imagine the look on his face?" he said, then continued reading. "'It is aberration enough that she reads and writes. Do not allow her to insult the Lord God by letting her meddle with what is a man's work. For a score and ten years I have been your family's faithful servant and you have come to know me as a careful man with your best interest always in my heart and mind. Never have you or your father before you felt it necessary to question my ability to keep the accounts for Graistan.
" 'I most humbly await your decision as regards this matter. Your devoted servant, Hugo, son of Walter, wardrober to Rannulf FitzHenry, Lord Graistan.'"
The same Lord Graistan picked up the other message. The wax was blank as she had neither access to his seal nor the time to have had her own made. He briefly held his knife's blade over the brazier. The warm steel slipped easily beneath the wax. This simple motion rekindled the haunting memory of how their bodies had melded that night.
He flushed with a sudden heat. Like it was yestereven, not over a month ago, he recalled the sweetness of her as she lay beneath him. His fingers curled as though he were once again holding the womanly fullness of her breasts. A tremor shot through him at the memory of her soft touch on his nape. Then, he remembered the deep hurt in her eyes when he had drawn away. His knife slipped from his fingers.
"Rannulf?"
"I am a fool, brother," he said, turning to look at his elder, if bastard, sibling. "I should never have married again."
"So you have said," Temric replied gently, then paused. "She is a good woman."
"You know this by virtue of a single ride with her?" His sarcasm was biting.
"Just as you know it from your ride with her."
He jerked as though struck. "Damn," he whispered. As usual, his brother went straight to the heart of the matter with unerring truth. Silence lay heavily between them for a moment, then he spoke. "Temric, do not leave me, I need you. What is it your mother offers now that I have not offered to you these past years?"
His brother's laugh was rich with irony. "Certainly none of the heartache and work that would come with the lands you keep trying to force on me. And, I'd have barely settled in before you'd be finding me a wife as well. Who knows," he said with a shrug, "perhaps I will find my mother's life is not to my taste and be back begging at your door once again."
"Think on it. Those lands are in Normandy. You could start afresh there, if you wish your past to be unknown to your neighbors."
"No, Rannulf. My response to your offer has not changed in seventeen years. Leave it be."
"I cannot. You are no merchant, you were trained as a knight, just as I was. Our father meant that you should have those lands, just as he meant for Gilliam to have an inheritance."
"You put words in t
he mouth of a dead man."
"So, he is dead; I am not. Why should you not accept what I offer?"
Angry golden lights exploded to life in his brother's eyes, smothering their usual placid brown color. "If our father wanted me to be more than his unrecognized bastard son, he would have remembered me." He leapt to his feet and stormed out of the tent.
Rannulf stared at the fold of parchment in his hands. As much as he needed Temric, he could no more force his brother into acceptance than he could ease the hurt he'd done to his wife that night. At last, he opened the missive and began to read:
" 'My most feared lord and husband, I, with a heart full of trepidation, do recommend myself to you on this the eleventh day of March in the Year of Our Lord, eleven hundred ninety-four. In this last month I have been most busily occupied coming to know Graistan. Your folk have been helpful in all ways with this task of mine. It is our hope that you will be pleased to see what has been accomplished when by the grace of our Dear Lord you return to us.
" 'Early in my residence here, I didst become aware of shortages in our foodstuffs. To that end I have asked Sir Gilliam to purchase from local merchants what is needed.'"
He skimmed her list of purchases and their costs. The supplies were mundane, the prices average. What stunned him was that these items were not presently on hand within the keep.
He frowned. Could Hugo's hysterical letters be an attempt to hide wrongdoing on his part, not his usual pompous jealousy? While this seemed impossible in one so loyal, what harm could come from a new eye on his work? Was his wife capable of such a task?
He looked back down at her letter. Her script was small, neatly formed, and without flourish or embellishment. The purchases were itemized, all weights and costs were carefully noted. She'd certainly had some schooling in keeping accounts.
" 'When I did question Sir Gilliam with regards to this situation, I was informed that he had been your steward only a short time and knew of no reason for shortages. He didst then visit your many holdings to gain an understanding of their contributions of this past year so a true accounting could be made. At the same time he has asked your bailiffs to speculate on the size of your portion in this coming harvest since the planting has far enough advanced to make such a projection possible.'"
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