His to Keep: A Medieval Romance

by Sherrinda Ketchersid

  “Or ’twill be our death knell.”

  “What would ease your mind at this point?”

  “I want to see your coin.”

  Ian blinked. “I dinna think that will reassure you.”

  Claire’s eyes narrowed. “You do not have any coin, do you? You have yet to produce any wealth thus far.”

  Ian tempered his retort. Her constant doubt wore on his own determination to reside in hope. “I do have coin and will show it to you this eve.”

  Claire relaxed in her chair, seemingly satisfied with his declaration. Mayhap she only needed proof he could at least begin Whitfield’s transformation.

  They ate the rest of their meal in silence, though the roar of talk and laughter filled the hall. ’Twas a far different atmosphere than when he first arrived at Whitfield—a change that pleased him immensely.

  Ian pushed away the empty trencher and stood. “I shall retrieve your proof.”

  Claire’s face clouded with confusion. “Proof?”

  “That I am not a speaker of lies.” Ian left the table. Showing Claire the extent of his coin would force him to expose his worth or lack thereof. He had a goodly amount of coin, enough to repair the tenant homes, purchase seed for crops, buy oxen for plowing, and perhaps begin repairs on the castle itself. He did not have enough to finish the castle or outfit the guards in the way he desired.

  In exposing the extent of his wealth, he would be laid bare before the woman he was to live with the rest of his days. She would either be impressed by the goodly amount or appalled because it was not up to her expectations. He only hoped she would be able to see with eyes of possibility instead of the reality of his lack of funds.

  The ease of his future depended on her outlook, for if she only saw bleakness in their lack, he would be doomed to endure complaint in the days to come.

  He wasna sure he was up to dealing with the lovely red-haired lass with the wicked tongue if she thought his wealth and management inadequate, but he went for his coin anyway.

  Chapter 16

  Claire watched Ian leave the dais, with Phillip hurrying after him. He paused and addressed the people seated around the great hall.

  “I need women to clear the tables and help clean the kitchen. The men who just arrived, move tables and benches against the walls so there is adequate space for everyone to sleep. The rest of the women, fix bedding with the extra straw brought in earlier.” Ian glanced at Claire. “Anything else you require, my lady?”

  “Nay, that is all.” Claire watched Ian leave the great hall, surprised he had directed the tenants and guards in their work. He had not left her alone like so many others in her life. She’d thought it was her lot in life. Left alone by the death of her parents. Left to her own devices by Whitfield’s daughters who refused to play with her. Left alone by her guardian who all but ignored her until she blossomed into womanhood.

  Lord Whitfield learned quickly enough to leave her be, but then she was left with managing the castle while he whittled away his time drinking. As he allowed their home and land fall into ruin, Claire became adept at overseeing the various responsibilities of the estate and grew close to the workers as if they were family.

  As the people began their work, she left the table and walked toward the kitchen. She’d keep busy while Ian gathered his money.

  Claire stepped into the stuffy kitchen and the heat withered what little energy she had left. Alma scrubbed pots while Leticia and Edith prepared buckets of water for washing. Women came in and out, carrying empty trenchers and cups.

  Claire and the women worked side by side, cleaning, drying, and putting away. Her mind whirled with preparations for the morrow. “Alma, do we have any meal to make porridge in the morning?”

  “Only enough for small portions.”

  “Do we have enough ingredients to bake bread to go with the porridge?”

  “Aye, but our supplies won’t last through the winter.” Alma swiped at her damp forehead.

  “We must stretch the food along, even if it means eating only two meals a day.” Claire rubbed a cloth over the wet trencher. How long would their stores last? The wee ones needed to eat. Perhaps they could purchase another milk cow.

  “The Scot is sending men out to hunt on the morrow,” said Claire. Poor Alma had slaved in the heat, trying to feed the mass of bodies in the hall. She needed encouragement. Claire’s own shoulders slumped as exhaustion crept through her limbs.

  “Will they be skinning and cleaning the game, as well?” Leticia’s forehead crinkled, no doubt concerned she’d be the one to do the deed. Previously, the distasteful task sometimes fell upon the women since there were so few workers before Ian arrived.

  Claire snorted. “I would hope so. In fact, we shall insist on it.”

  Alma heaved a heavy sigh and nodded. “Thank you, for if I had to skin a carcass, I might consider hiding in the woods for a long while.”

  “I would run away with you.” Claire chuckled, then wiped her hands on her apron. She rested her hands on her hips and surveyed the kitchen, noting everything had been put up. “I suggest you all go on to bed. I shall do the same.” Claire tossed her towel on the table and headed for her chamber.

  As she walked toward the stairwell, the great hall still rumbled with conversation, but families were settling down, seeking to get comfortable for the night. Claire climbed the stairs and moved down the corridor.

  Clinking sounded from the solar, and a light flickered from the doorway. She peeked inside. Ian sat at a table on the far side of the solar, counting coins taken from a dirt-caked chest.

  His coin! He had spoken the truth.

  Claire’s heart thumped with excitement at what this could mean for Whitfield—for her own future. She stepped into the room, and Ian’s gaze lifted.

  “I must confess, seeing you count your money eases my mind.” She paused and wrinkled her nose. “Your box is filthy.

  “I brushed it off before bringing it inside.” Ian flicked a clump of dirt off the edge.

  Claire came close, admiring the shiny coins piled high in the container. “It looks like there is plenty for Whitfield,” she breathed.

  “I am glad you think so, but …” He gave a slight shake of his head.

  “’Tisn’t enough?” How was it possible with the substantial coinage mounded in front of them?

  “I dinna ken for certain, but with all the repair needed, it willna be sufficient for everything.” Ian paused, his gaze fixed on hers. “Would you like to stay and see how much money there is? How it will be spent? I could use advice on prices, especially regarding food.”

  Was he truly asking for her aid? Claire didn’t know whether to be impressed or afraid. “Of course.”

  She slid onto the chair he offered her and gripped her hands in her lap. His nearness unsettled her. Perhaps ’twas the flickering light of the candle or the warmth of the fire, but whatever the reason, ’twas altogether too intimate for her peace of mind.

  Each coin Ian placed in piles designated for different purposes chipped away at Claire’s wall of resentment. His attention to detail for the tenant homes, seed for crops, and oxen for plowing was impressive.

  Ian leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through the waves of his hair. “What about meals for the workers? If I have a couple of men hunt and fish each day, what needs to be bought in the way of food?”

  “We have flour to last perhaps a month, but we will need to purchase wheat and barley to grind more. Our salt stores are low as well. We do have a small garden at the back of the bailey, which we recently planted with various herbs and greens. But it will be another few se’ennights until we can gather.”

  “What about ale? Mead? Wine?”

  “We have some stored in the cellarium and are continually making more, but there’s not enough for the number of people here now. At least not for long,” said Claire.

  Ian listened intently, nodding as she shared further information about supplies they purchased and those they made the
mselves. He asked intelligent questions, giving her things to ponder herself in regard to how they ran the castle.

  Ian set aside coin for a few horses for the new guards, something she had not considered. “Shall you get them new weaponry as well?”

  “Nay, I canna afford that. I looked in the armory and found old swords and chain mail. They need repair but will suffice for now.”

  “Will you hire a blacksmith to do the repairs?”

  Ian sucked in a breath. “That is next on my list.” He started another pile of coin, then relaxed in his chair. “’Tis finished.”

  Claire peeked over the side of the chest, seeing coins scattered about the bottom. “What about the rest? The castle wall must be repaired.”

  “I’m saving it in case an urgent need arises.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “We do have a wedding to consider and a priest to pay.”

  “While you must pay the priest, we do not need to spend coin on the wedding.”

  “Not even a grand feast to celebrate?”

  “We did that with the handfast. We do not have the means for another.”

  Ian reached out a finger and brushed a curl away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “What about purchasing material for a new gown?”

  Claire’s breath stilled as his gaze traveled over her hair, no doubt escaping from its braid. She resisted the urge to reach up and check. “Nay,” she whispered. She cleared her throat. “I would rather the funds be spent on Whitfield.”

  Ian smiled in full. “I assumed you would, for I ken your love for the land runs deep.”

  Heat rushed across Claire’s cheeks at the compliment, for Whitfield was everything to her. She rose. “I am weary and shall retire.”

  Ian came to his feet and took her hand as she turned to leave. “I dinna mean to run you off with my words.”

  Claire’s hand tingled within the warmth of his fingers. “I … I am tired from the day’s events and, since you finished with your calculations, I am ready to take my leave.”

  Ian gave her a small nod, his dark eyes glittering from the firelight—mesmerizing in their intensity. She pulled her hand from his; her gaze dropped to his lips. A hint of a smile played about his mouth.

  “Good eve, Claire.” His soft voice whispered chills across her skin.

  She blinked. “Good eve.” She turned, hoping her limbs wouldn’t collapse before she made it out the door. What was wrong with her? She couldn’t be won over by the Scot with a bit of coin, could she?

  Perhaps for the good of Whitfield, she could.

  Heaven help her.

  Ian rose before the light of day and by torchlight scrounged in the armory for suitable swords and chain mail. He managed to find enough armor to outfit the new men. The pile of metal pieces looked as pitiful as the pocked castle walls. But they would have to do until Whitfield turned a profit and he could supply his guards with the weapons and armor they deserved. Or would deserve once he got through with the training of them.

  Filled with determination, Ian hurried through the morning meal and rounded up the new guards for their first sword instruction. Claire’s guards would receive the training along with the new men, if only to correct previous poor tutelage. Ian put Phillip in charge while he pulled aside James and Ralph.

  “I want you two to check the pasture and see if Bardsley has removed his sheep.”

  “What if the sheep remain?” asked James.

  “Do nothing. Return and report what you find.”

  Ralph scratched his head. “You do not want us to tell Bardsley’s men to remove their sheep?”

  “Nay, do not engage them.” Ian didn’t need his best guards maimed, or worse, dead.

  “Very good,” said James. He and Ralph made for the stables.

  Ian returned to the task of training. He and Phillip worked with the men for hours, instructing them on how to hold a sword properly, how to strike from various positions, and how to defend oneself with the blade.

  The sun hadn’t passed its zenith when Ian glanced at the gate once more. He’d expected James and Ralph’s return long ago. What if there had been a confrontation? He should have gone in their stead.

  Ian returned his focus on the task at hand. ’Twould seem Phillip had a good eye after all when it came to potential, for most of the men he’d gathered learned quickly and showed promise. In time, they would be able to guard Whitfield with confidence.

  Ian went back to the men and noticed Simon, the oldest of the group and one of Whitfield’s original guards. His stooped shoulders drooped ever lower, though he kept at the practice, which was no doubt difficult for his aging body.

  “Simon!” Ian motioned him over. Once Simon approached, Ian continued, “I want you to take a guard with you—not one of the new ones—and go to the blacksmith shop in the next village. Persuade the apprentice there to set up his own smithy here at Whitfield.”

  Simon’s lined face relaxed. “Aye, my lord. Shall I leave today?”

  “Aye. You can see by the state of our weapons, we are in need. I will give you coin to procure the smith’s services.”

  Ian watched Simon shuffle off. If he did well in performing this task, Ian might make him overseer at Whitfield. Simon’s age limited him in his ability as a guard, but with his knowledge, he’d become a fine manager.

  “Riders approaching!” came the cry of the guard at the gate.

  Ian hurried toward the barbican as the wooden doors swung open. James and Ralph rode into the bailey, dismounted, and approached him. He couldn’t tell from their expressions whether ’twas good or bad news. “What did you find?”

  “The sheep remain,” said James. “We did not speak to Bardsley’s men, only scouted the area.”

  Ian wasn’t surprised. Bardsley had not been pleased by Ian’s ultimatum and even hinted he would not obey. “Very well. We shall take ten men after dark and seize six young sheep.”

  “Only six, my lord?” Ralph scratched his head.

  “That is enough for payment for a few months, at least, and it will show Bardsley we mean business.”

  “Why at night? Won’t we wake the shepherds?”

  “Nighttime gives an element of surprise. Bardsley only had two men watch the flock. We shall knock the men unconscious before we take the sheep. That way, they canna follow us, and we can hide the animals.”

  “Won’t they just follow our tracks after dawn breaks?” James’s brow furrowed.

  “Hence the ten men. My plan is to tie the sheep up, place them over the men’s shoulders, then disperse, leaving no sheep tracks and confusing Bardsley as to where our horses are heading.” Ian had thought long on how to proceed. ’Twouldn’t be easy carrying sheep like so, but it would keep them hidden once safely inside the woods.

  James nodded his approval. “Not a bad plan as long as we can obtain sheep small enough to carry.”

  “Pick the most able-bodied men and have them ready after dark.” Ian headed for the keep to share his plan with Claire. Would she consent to being his guide inside the woods? He gained the hall, but only found a few women stitching garments. Ian checked her chambers and then the kitchen. Alma and Leticia, along with two other women, kneaded dough for bread for the evening meal.

  “Where is Claire?” Ian asked.

  Alma nodded toward the back door. “Out in the garden, trying to gather enough to eat.”

  There wouldn’t be much to pick this early in the spring. Maybe ’twas the reason for the roll of Alma’s eyes. Ian headed out to the garden and found Claire slowly walking through the rows of plants, a basket nestled in the crook of her arm. Every so often she stooped, broke off greens, or pulled a small gourd, which she placed in her basket.

  “Are you finding much of anything?”

  Claire started and placed a hand over her chest. “Do not scare me thusly!”

  Ian spread his arms wide. “I was not attempting to frighten you. So engrossed in your concerns, you dinna hear my footsteps. What occupies your mind?” He felt sure he kn
ew the answer. ’Twas the same as what held his own thoughts captive—how to support the growing population of Whitfield.

  “Spending your coin.”

  “Truly? You have other ideas on how to spend it?” He thought she had agreed with his plan for the money last night.

  “Not so much different. Just how to stretch it.” She kneeled on the ground to snap more greens.

  Ian dinna see how the coin could stretch further, but he dinna want to get into an argument with her.

  “Perhaps later we can discuss your ideas, but right now I need to ask for your aid.”

  Claire’s looked up, a question in her eyes.

  “Bardsley’s sheep remain, and I am taking men tonight to claim my payment.”

  Her eyes rounded. “You need me to go with you?”

  Ian shook his head. “Not to get the sheep. I want you to meet me in the woods and lead us to the clearing near the water.”

  Claire stood and faced him. “You think Bardsley’s men will let you take the sheep? If you maim his men or his flock, Bardsley will come after you. It shall not bode well for Whitfield.”

  “We have the element of surprise after dark and will knock out the men, not kill them. I have a plan to hide our tracks so that they can’t find the sheep. Once inside the woods, they will be safe.”

  “Bardsley shall retaliate, regardless.”

  Ian hated that she was right, but he had to do something. He had to take a stand, and this seemed the best approach.

  Claire drew closer. “Is there not a way to take one sheep at a time so that they do not notice? Surely they don’t count the herd every day.”

  Ian blinked. He hadn’t even considered the notion. With flock as large as Bardsley’s, they might not miss one or two taken at a time. Sheep were noisy at night and if the shepherds slept, then it might not be difficult to take one unawares. “Claire, that is a good plan.”

  Her cheeks turned rosy, drawing his attention to the copper spots across her nose. “It might not work, depending on how well they guard the animals, but it certainly would be safer for us all if they don’t suspect that sheep are missing. At least until your guards are better trained.”