His to Keep: A Medieval Romance

by Sherrinda Ketchersid

  Their horses awaited them at the inner gate, and they mounted, moving through the outer bailey toward the castle gate. A small company of Bardsley’s men followed them.

  “You were a powerful presence in there, Sir,” said James.

  “We may be small in number, but we shall compensate by bravado.” Was he daft to think he could get away with making such demands? Time would tell.

  “What do you suppose Bardsley will do?” Doubt crossed James’ face.

  “My guess is nothing.”

  “And once you take his sheep, where will you hide them?”

  Ian shrugged. “I know not.”

  They rode through the barbican and out of the castle as Bardsley’s men continued their escort. A shadow fell over Ian. ’Twas like they had passed through one fiery trial and were headed toward another. Nothing had been easy about his inheritance thus far, so he shouldn’t be surprised it hadn’t grown easier. Ian hoped the days ahead would be free of grazing conflicts and angry neighbors with swords aimed at his heart. But in any case, he would take each day as it came.

  Claire sat back on her heels and swiped at the lock of hair swinging before her eyes. Though the sky was overcast, sweat trickled down her chest. Scrubbing clothes in the stream outside the castle walls may have warmed her body, but her heart remained cold. After rising late and finding Ian had gone to see Bardsley, she had immersed herself in laborious chores to keep her thoughts from whatever havoc the Scot wrought with the neighbor. Claire rubbed the tunic against the rocks in the cool water—another task to tick off her never-ending list of chores. Her plan to distract herself with work hadn’t worked, as her mind furiously worried over the danger the Scot may have placed them in.

  “Be ye alright, my lady?” Leticia tossed a cleaned garment in the basket on the bank.

  Claire shook her thoughts aside. “Aye.” To share her fears would only stir discord and worry among her people. She must be strong. Fearless. Or rather, courageous in the face of fear. She slapped the garment against the rock.

  “As threadbare as our clothes are, it might serve ye to not scrub quite so hard. I’m not skilled with the needle, as ye well know.”

  Claire paused mid-scrub. “’Tis obvious I am not my normal self?”

  “Ye’ve had much to deal with.”

  “We all have. Our lives have been churned like butter—and I’m afraid there is more churning to come.”

  “The new lord might be good for Whitfield. He seems a nice sort, even as he leads with a strong hand.”

  Claire mused over the girl’s words. Good for Whitfield. While he may have had his nice moments, his dealings today would show what kind of lord he was—if he came back at all.

  Claire shot to her feet, and the soggy tunic dripped onto her apron. What if he challenged Bardsley and was run through with a sword? She would be abandoned once more.

  But she would be left with the Scot’s coin—that is, if she could locate it in the woods.

  “My lady?” Concern etched Leticia’s face.

  A pang of guilt shot through Claire. “I just had a thought, ’tis all.” How could she think of money when a life might be at stake, even if it was the life of her enemy, her betrothed? An enemy who had shown her compassion, even when she had not deserved his kindness. An enemy who would work to bring Whitfield back to the way it once stood. ’Twas what she most wanted.

  Dread seeped through her veins. If Ian perished, then Bardsley would most likely petition the king himself for the land. Nay! Should she ride to Bardsley’s to view the damage wrought? She blew a curl from off her face. Determined to do something—anything—she wrung out the tunic and tossed it in the basket.

  “Leticia, I’m sorry to leave you with the rest of the clothes, but I have something I must see about.”

  “Aye, I will see to the wash.”

  Claire wiped her hands on her damp apron as she hurried toward the stable. She should probably change her mud-splattered gown, but she cared not. First, she must know whether Ian survived his encounter with Bardsley.

  “Good morn, Mistress,” Toly said.

  “Can you saddle a horse for me? Quickly?”

  Toly saddled a mare and brought it to Claire. “Who else needs a mount?”

  “I shall take Phillip with me.”

  Toly paused. “He left this morning. Had provisions for several days.”

  “Truly?” Claire frowned. “Where did he go?”

  “I wasn’t told, even though I did pry somewhat.”

  Claire smiled. The man’s inquisitive nature was like that of a nosy woman. “I shall travel alone then.”

  “Nay, take one of the other guards. I will saddle another horse.”

  Claire mounted. “Do not bother. I am off.”

  “But my lady!” Toly’s voice called behind her. She had no time to wait.

  “Riders coming!” Ralph shouted from atop the battlement.

  Faith! Leticia was by herself outside the castle walls, still washing clothes at the stream. Claire urged her horse toward the gate. “Can you tell who it is?” she called to Ralph.

  “’Tis McGowan and James!”

  Claire pulled to a stop, wilting in the saddle. Leticia was safe.

  McGowan was safe.

  The thought of Bardsley striking Ian down had sent her into a panic. Without him, she’d be alone once again with no protection from Bardsley’s pursuit of her land. And, if she were honest, she’d grown accustomed to Ian’s presence and the security he brought.

  Ian rode through the gate and veered his steed toward her, his dark brows drawing close over his eyes. “Where do you go?”

  Claire lifted her chin. “After you.”

  Ian peered around him. “With no guard?”

  She remained silent but held his gaze in the midst of his scrutiny. Once again, her impatience made her look foolish in his eyes.

  “You were away so long I imagined Bardsley ran you through.”

  “So you reasoned you would go alone to assess the situation? Had you considered the ramifications had I been killed and you arrived unattended?”

  “He’d have received a tongue-lashing unlike any you have heard.”

  “Or worse. He might have handfasted to you himself and bedded you in the process.”

  Claire gasped. “How dare you speak to me thusly?” She tugged on the reins to return to the stable, but he gripped her hand.

  “I understand you have dealt with him this past year and did well in staying his advances, but you must realize how daft it would have been to go to Bardsley’s without protection.”

  “One guard would hardly be enough defense should he have forced himself upon me.”

  “Aye, but—”

  “You should have taken me with you.”

  Ian dropped her hand. “How would that have profited me?”

  “I know Bardsley. I have dealt with him before.”

  “’Tis what he said.”

  Claire lifted her brows in surprise. “What did he say?”

  “That you allowed him to run his sheep on Whitfield’s estate.”

  “I never suggested he could use my … our ... land.” She paused and glanced away before meeting his gaze. “Though I never told him to leave once he began using the pasture.”

  “So you knew he was on the land. Why didn’t you say so?”

  “That is not what you asked me yesterday.” Claire shrugged a shoulder. “I did not see how it made any difference.”

  “Except I was caught off guard when he told me.”

  Claire’s horse shifted, pulling her attention from his intense stare. She took the opportunity to change the direction of Ian’s focus. “How did the meeting end?”

  Ian dismounted. “We shall discuss it later.”

  Claire wanted to pummel the man on the head. “Let us discuss it now.”

  He led his horse to the paddock and called over his shoulder, “I shall explain it once your temper has cooled.”

  Claire sucked in a breath.
Ill-mannered brute! She dismounted and followed him, pulling her horse behind her. “I do not need your patronizing, boorish treatment. I want to know what to expect from Bardsley.”

  “No need to fash yourself about it. The matter is settled.”

  “How?” Claire hurried beside him. “How is it settled?”

  Ian stopped and faced her. “I gave him the two options we discussed yesterday.”

  “Lease the land or remove his sheep?”

  “Aye.”

  “And if he doesn’t do either?”

  “I told him I would remove sheep as payment.”

  “How did he respond to that?”

  “He said he would take them back.”

  Claire blinked. Her fears of discord with Bardsley were being realized.

  “Of course, I said he could try to retrieve them before I slaughtered them for food.” Ian grinned.

  “Nay,” she breathed. “You did not speak such words to his face.”

  “I did and meant every word.” He turned away, but she seized his arm.

  “What if he comes to destroy us all? We cannot fight back.” They were doomed.

  “Over a few sheep? Bardsley has enough to deal with without bothering with such. He knows that destroying the owners of Whitfield would violate the king’s decree.” Ian glanced at her fingers clutching his arm.

  Claire pulled her hand away as heat stole up her neck. “I don’t feel good about this.”

  “What I desire, if I am forced to take action, is to hide the sheep, but I dinna know the land well enough to ascertain if that is a viable option.”

  “Aye! There is a clearing within the woods with a small spring-fed pool.” Claire’s mind raced with possibility. Though Bardsley might remove the sheep altogether, this could prove profitable for them in the end. ’Twas difficult to imagine, knowing Bardsley’s personality and tenacious spirit, but should he refuse Ian’s directive, hiding sheep in the woods was a good option—at least, the safest.

  Ian smiled. “I was hoping you had a solution. Well done.” He continued toward the stable.

  Well done. His praise fluttered her belly, a new sensation to be sure. Approval had not been forthcoming since the loss of her parents. Claire watched his tall form walk away, his broad shoulders straining against his tunic as he reached out a hand and rubbed his horse’s neck.

  The small act of kindness toward his steed gave her pause. ’Twas said a person’s character might be seen in the way he treated animals. Once again, her assumptions regarding the Scot’s character confronted her. It was something she must examine further.

  She turned and traversed the bailey toward the keep. As she neared the door, Ian fell in step with her. His silence unnerved her. “Where did Phillip go?”

  “He is doing an errand for me.”

  That was not informative. “What kind of errand?”

  “An important one.”

  Claire huffed and halted, clenching her hands by her sides.

  Ian threw his head back and laughed. “By the saints, you are easy to rile.”

  She glared at the man and wanted to scream in frustration. “Why can you not answer with greater detail? I would know your plans.”

  “How I spend the coin I earned is my decision. I did ask your ambitions for Whitfield, which you revealed to me, and I will take those into consideration as I prioritize what must be done first.”

  “Which is?” She tilted her head and raised a brow, challenging him to keep speaking.

  “Phillip is scouring the land for guards to hire.”

  Claire put a hand to her chest, conflicted by his admission. While they needed the extra protection if Bardsley became a threat, the physical constraints of more people to care for should be considered. “But how shall we house them? Feed them?

  “They can sleep in the great hall.” He continued toward the keep and threw a grin over his shoulder. “As for food, we can always feed them sheep.”

  Claire snorted. Faith, the man’s sense of humor slew her. ’Twould come in good stead if their circumstances turned for the worst.

  Chapter 14

  Two days had passed, and Ian began to assess and train Whitfield’s present guards while Phillip gathered more to aid their garrison. They practiced their swordplay in the open yard of the bailey. Ian’s sword reverberated in his hand as the steel clashed against Ralph’s blade. Ian forced him backward, hoping the man would gather enough strength to stand his ground, perhaps even to take the offensive. But with each step, Ian’s frustration grew. Every move marked the reality that his small band of guards sadly lacked strength and stamina.

  When Ralph’s back pressed against the bailey wall, Ian lowered his sword. “You have the strength, but you must work on your endurance.”

  Ralph wiped the sweat from his brow. His jowls quivered with each breath. “Aye, my lord, I shall,” he wheezed.

  “My lord!” Ian turned to see James running toward them from the gate.

  “My lord, a large group approaches Whitfield.”

  Ian sheathed his sword and ran up the outer stairs to the battlement. He joined Simon at his post above the barbican.

  “I can’t see as far as I used to,” said the old guard, “but it looks to be a good twenty, mayhap thirty people.”

  Ian shielded his gaze from the blinding sun overhead. “Aye, but … it looks as if some are children.” Who would be coming to Whitfield? All on foot? Should he get Claire? Perhaps she might recognize them. Nay, she had avoided him the past couple of days, hard at work with the women.

  As the crowd drew near, one of the men stepped out in front, leading the way. Ian squinted at the familiar face. Silas, the man he had found hiding in the tenant homes.

  Ian’s heart quickened. Were these the men—the families—Silas had found to work the fields? By the saints, he had asked him to bring him only five men. How would he support this crowd?

  “Open the gate,” Ian called as he headed down the stairs.

  James met him at the bottom, his sword drawn. “You know them?”

  “Put your sword away. These are our new tenants.” Ian moved through the barbican as the gate opened wide. He stood at the opening and watched the group draw near.

  Silas moved ahead of the crowd and bowed before Ian. “My lord, I have brought you twelve men, including myself.”

  “I said five men.”

  Silas’s proud expression fell. “My pardon, Sir McGowan. You said at least five men. I found so many in need of work …” Silas glanced behind him before giving Ian a shrug of his shoulder. “I could not turn them away.”

  “You brought more than just men, I see.”

  “Aye, seven wives and ten children. There are twenty-nine in all.

  Twenty-nine mouths to feed! How was he to manage the feat? And where would he house them while their homes were repaired? Ian blinked. There were not enough homes for them all. They would need to build more.

  By the saints! What was he to do?

  Ian’s gaze traveled over the group. Their clothing was worn, their bodies thin, their faces weary. He couldna turn anyone away.

  “Come. Follow me.” Ian led the group through the bailey and into the great hall, feeling like Moses leading the people into the Promised Land—or was it the desert? That remained to be seen.

  As he entered the hall, Claire and Edith paused their mending. Seated before the hearth of the roaring fire, both women registered surprise. As he traversed the room, he watched the play of emotions across her face when she witnessed the crowd file into the hall.

  Claire shot him a look of alarm and rose from her chair.

  “My lady, these are our new tenants, come to work the fields.” Ian knew before she spoke what she was thinking. Wasna his very own thoughts as well?

  A look of horror passed over her face. “We cannot feed or house this many people,” she hissed.

  “Listen to my plan.”

  “There is no plan that would accommodate this number of people.”

&n
bsp; Ian ground his teeth. “You forget yourself. I have coin.”

  “You forget yourself. Not three days past, after seeing the tenant homes, you lamented that you did not have enough coin for all the repairs.”

  Ian regretted the words he had uttered that day. While he didn’t have enough coin to do every repair needed, he had enough for a grand start. He must spend wisely. “I have enough for now.” That is all he would offer her. Assurance for today.

  “But you—”

  “Not now, Claire.” Ian turned, ignoring her gasp of outrage, and directed the people to sit at the tables. Children ran to their mothers, while the men sat at the tables nearest Ian.

  “I appreciate your willingness to come and work at Whitfield. I hope Silas told you that before you will work the fields, you will work to repair, or build as the case may be, your homes.”

  The men nodded and a few murmurs of assent filled the air.

  “We were not expecting this many of you, so here is the plan. During the day the men will repair and build homes, while the women will take turns watching the children and helping my lady with whatever needs done around the keep.” Ian motioned toward her. She managed to smile and nod, even though he knew her ire was stoked to the point of a wildfire. “That includes cooking, cleaning, serving—anything she needs accomplished will be your duty.” He hoped the prospect of having more help would tamp her temper somewhat.

  “As for sleeping arrangements,” he continued, “everyone will bed down in here in the hall until the homes are completed. Are there any questions?”

  “What about food?” Claire crossed her arms across her chest.

  By the saints! Must she challenge him in front of all? “We shall send out a couple of men each day to hunt the woods for game. Some of the women can forage for roots, berries, and the like.” He sucked in a breath. “Food may not be plentiful now, but as Whitfield grows and becomes prosperous, we all shall have more than enough in the days to come.”

  Claire cocked her head to the side and pursed her lips. Was she satisfied with his answer?

  He hoped his plan was sustainable and would benefit both Whitfield and the people. “If the men would meet me in the bailey, we will view the homes and get to work.”