“I...I see,” she stammered, not sure what to say. Then she thought of Roland. “I thank you for your concern, Arnhelm,” she said, meaning it with all her heart, “and I do appreciate your warning, but I’m sure my husband will protect me from anything his brother might do.”
Arnhelm nodded and she could see he was trying to look as if he shared her confidence. “Aye, my lady. But a word o’ warnin’ nonetheless.”
He said no more, for Roland appeared at the door to the hall and came to join them. After bidding them farewell, Roland took Mavis’s hand and she held it tight. Whatever Arnhelm had seen or heard while he was at Dunborough, she truly believed Roland would keep her safe from any foe.
Including his bitter, angry brother.
* * *
A short time later, an irate Gerrard lurched into the solar, where Roland was again trying to make sense of the accounts. Gerrard’s face was pale, there were heavy bags beneath his bloodshot eyes and he had bits of straw in his hair.
“What have you done with my friends?” he demanded as he put a hand on the back of a chair to steady himself. “I heard you had them brought to you this morning even though they could barely walk.”
“If they could barely walk,” Roland replied from where he sat on the other side of the table covered with scrolls and lists and worn-down quills, “it was because they’d gotten drunk the night before with you.”
Gerrard straightened his disheveled tunic, ran a hand through his messy hair and licked his obviously dry lips. “Where are they? The dungeon? What for? Being my friends?”
Roland leaned back in his chair and regarded his brother with the inscrutable expression that drove Gerrard nearly mad. And ever since Roland had returned, there’d been something else about it—a sort of proud satisfaction that grated even more.
“Your so-called friends are gone, never to return.”
Gerrard gasped. Roland was a coldhearted fellow, but even so— “You killed them?”
“Of course not,” Roland replied with disgust, and as if Gerrard was a dolt.
“I offered them twenty marks in silver if they left Dunborough and didn’t come back. James and Frederick grabbed the coins without a moment’s hesitation. Walter took a little more convincing, but not much. They’re probably halfway to York by now.”
Gerrard splayed his hands on the table and leaned toward his brother. “Are you telling me you paid my friends to go?”
“Yes, and they went,” Roland freely admitted. “What kind of friends were they, after all, if they could be so cheaply purchased? At least it was your own brother who bought them, not an enemy. If you truly considered them your friends, you should be ashamed you chose so unwisely.”
Gerrard regarded his brother with scorn. Once again the clever, sly Roland had outmaneuvered him and he could guess what his plan was. “This is another part of your scheme to get me to leave without my due, isn’t it, so you can claim I forfeited any rights to either the title or the estate.”
“I have no such plan,” Roland replied with infuriating calm.
“What about your wife? I’m sure she wants me gone.”
“Mavis understands that is my decision to make, or yours, if you so choose.”
Gerrard drew himself up. “If I stay, am I still the garrison commander, or will you take that from me, too?”
“You are still garrison commander until I say otherwise.” Finally an expression came to Roland’s stony visage, and as always, it was critical. “Getting drunk is not likely to enable you to remain in that position.”
“Getting drunk is the only comfort I have!” Gerrard retorted, hating his brother’s haughty manner. “You’ve taken everything else—money, title and now even my friends!”
Roland rose. “I’ve taken nothing from you, and I’ve earned what I have.”
“So you say!”
“So I have!” Roland returned. “While I did my duty and tried to protect the people, you were off drinking and wenching and gambling. When Father and Broderick were at their worst, you disappeared and left me to bear the brunt of their displeasure. So, yes, I’ve earned what I have, and if you lose your position, it will be because you’ve shown me that you aren’t fit for it.”
Roland spoke with anger in his eyes and in his voice, sounding so much like their father, Gerrard had to forcefully remind himself he was no longer a boy, but a man capable of defending himself if need be.
And this was not his father, but the brother who had gotten everything. “And thus you have it all—title, estate and a beautiful bride—while I have nothing. Very well, brother mine, but I have every right to stay in Dunborough and by God, I will, whether I am the garrison commander or not!”
“Have you listened to me at all, Gerrard?” Roland demanded, frustration spilling into his words. “I am not taking your command from you.”
“Not yet.”
“Not ever, unless—”
“Unless I humble myself before you? Unless I become as grim and stern as you? Or I turn into a groveling toady like Dalfrid? That will never happen, Roland, so I’ll spare us both the wait. I will no longer command the garrison. I give that task back to you—or perhaps you’ll give it to your charming wife. I’m sure she’s quite capable of giving orders. I have no doubt that she already rules you as much as our father ever did.”
“No one rules me!”
“No?” Gerrard charged. “Not even in your bed?”
Roland came around the table just as his wife appeared on the threshold. He stopped as if she’d shouted that order, while she looked from one man to the other with puzzlement before her questioning gaze settled on Roland. “I’m sorry, my lord. Am I interrupting? I can return later.”
Gerrard watched as his brother’s rage seemed to melt away, while her eyes shone in a way that made Gerrard feel even more lonely.
At first he’d been completely certain their marriage had been made for gain, whether political or financial, but that certainty had been diminishing every time he saw them together. The way they looked at each other, the way she’d rushed to defend Roland, her clever, cutting remarks at Gerrard’s expense...
Whatever they felt for each other, nothing gave her the right to force him from Dunborough. “No, I will leave the chamber, my lady,” he said, smiling as if their happiness didn’t disturb him. “You may think you’re winning, but the battle isn’t over.”
His expression as stern and grim as his brother’s, Gerrard marched past Mavis and out of the chamber, slamming the wooden door behind him so hard, he nearly tore the leather hinges from the frame.
* * *
When Gerrard had gone, it was like the calm after a storm, at least for Mavis. But she could see that Roland was still upset and was sorry that she’d intruded. Perhaps she’d even made their quarrel worse by interrupting. “I didn’t realize Gerrard was here, or I would have stayed away.”
Roland sighed. “It doesn’t matter. He would have been angry anyway. He wasn’t pleased that I paid his friends to leave Dunborough and he refuses to continue as garrison commander.”
“He’s leaving Dunborough?” She tried not to sound pleased, but in truth, she would be relieved if he was.
Roland shook his head, then came around the table and gathered her into his arms. “He won’t go as long as he thinks I’m trying to force him to leave so I can say he forfeited any claim to the title and estate.”
She laid her head against her husband’s chest. “I’m sorry, Roland, if my suggestion about his friends made things worse.”
He cupped her cheeks so that he could see into her lovely, shining eyes. “It isn’t your fault Gerrard is as he is. He is as our father made him.”
“Sir Blane was your father, too,” she pointed out, “and you’re a good and honorable man.”
He gave her a little smil
e. “Which is why I have hope for Gerrard yet.”
Mavis said nothing before they shared a kiss, despite her dread that he was wrong about his brother.
“Now, what brings you here?”
“I came to tell you the cloth merchants have come, and since Dalfrid has not yet returned from York, to ask you how much I may spend.”
“As much as you think necessary.” He ran his gaze over her and gave her a rueful smile. “I must confess, even I am growing weary of that gown.”
* * *
When Mavis returned to the hall, she could hardly believe her eyes. The dais looked as if it had been transformed into an exotic bazaar. Bundles and bolts of brightly colored fabric lay upon every chair and table. Caps, scarves, belts and veils were there, too, and slippers in what looked like every color of the rainbow.
A tall, thin man dressed in a long, bright green tunic with a belt of golden links and a stout man in a short scarlet tunic belted over black breeches came hurrying toward her from the dais.
“What a pleasure, my lady!” the thin man cried.
“A delight!” the plump one exclaimed, bowing. He turned to his companion, who had linked his fingers over his slender torso. “She is as beautiful as they said, isn’t she, Marmaduke?”
“Lovely!” Marmaduke replied. “Bartholomew, we are indeed honored to offer this lady our merchandise—although it is the finest to be had outside of London.”
Bartholomew looked as if he were about to weep. “We have heard of the fire and your misfortune.”
“But help has arrived, my lady!” Marmaduke declared, raising a pointed finger heavenward. “We have brought all our finest fabrics and accoutrements for you to choose from, although you make even your current unfortunate attire look wonderful.”
Mavis had to smile as she looked at the two beaming merchants standing with their wares. “Thank you.”
Bartholomew gestured toward the dais. “This way if you please, my lady,” he said as Marmaduke hurried to display a bolt of brilliant red fabric.
Mavis had intended to spend very little, but their offerings were of very fine quality, and she had to have a special gown for the wedding feast, or what would people think? She also needed at least two more gowns for other days, and the slippers were so comfortable, and there were two caps she simply couldn’t resist...
* * *
Sometime later, Mavis headed to the solar, where she found her husband still sitting at the table. His hair was disheveled as if he’d ruffled it more than once. His brows were wrinkled with consternation until he looked up and saw her, and a smile bloomed upon his face.
She hoped he would still be happy when he found out how much she’d spent. “I’m sorry to bother you, Roland, but—”
He leaped to his feet and hurried around the table. “Never have I been so glad to be interrupted,” he said, pulling her into his arms and kissing her with passionate enthusiasm.
The reason for her visit temporarily forgotten, Mavis leaned into his strong body and gave herself up to the pleasure of his embrace—but only for a moment. “You’re so busy...”
He glanced at the table and grimaced. “It’s like being lost in a maze trying to figure everything out by myself. Unfortunately, my father kept his sons in complete ignorance about the estate’s financial affairs. Only he and Dalfrid knew everything.” He sighed. “Maybe that’s why I dislike the man. He reminds me of my ignorance daily, if not in words, with his expression. I’m going to dismiss him once I’m familiar with the tithes, taxes and accounts.”
“I have to say, Roland, that I don’t disagree,” Mavis said, not hiding her relief. “There’s something about the man I don’t like and I can’t trust him.”
“Then I had better to hurry to understand all this,” he replied, making a sweeping gesture that encompassed everything on the table, in the process knocking off a few of the scrolls.
“God help me, just what I need!” he muttered as he bent down to pick them up. She leaned over to help him and their foreheads collided.
“Ouch!” Mavis cried, rubbing hers.
“Did I hurt you?” Roland asked as he helped her up. “I should have given a warning.”
“It was an accident,” she said, “and no harm done. I won’t even have a bruise.”
“Nevertheless, perhaps a kiss will make it better,” he said, brushing his lips across her forehead. And then her lips.
“I beg your pardon, my lord!”
At the sound of Dalfrid’s startled voice, Mavis and Roland sprang apart.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt, my lord,” the steward continued with one of his smooth smiles while wringing his hands, although his eyes displayed no real regret.
“Ah, Dalfrid,” Roland said. “You’re back. Did all go well in York?”
“Indeed it did, my lord. I’ve secured buyers for all our wool next spring.” He gave Mavis a smile. “Good day, my lady. You’re looking even lovelier than when I left.”
“I’m wearing the same gown, too,” she wryly noted, “but not for much longer, I’m happy to say.”
“Then I would be right in thinking that was Bartholomew and Marmaduke’s wagon I saw leaving?”
“Yes. I was just going to tell Sir Roland how much I spent on new garments. Eight marks for the fabrics, ten shillings for some slippers, five each for two caps and some veils for two more.”
Roland’s brows lowered and she felt a twinge of guilt for spending so much until he said, “Is that all?”
“All, my lord?” Dalfrid exclaimed. “That is a considerable sum for so little!”
“It is small enough considering what she lost in the fire.”
Dalfrid sighed. “If you approve, then there is no more to be said, my lord.”
“No, there is not.”
Lizabet appeared and knocked tentatively on the frame of the door. “Beggin’ your pardon, my lady, Florian has a question about the bread for the feast. He says he forgot to tell you that he’ll have to send word to the miller about the amount of flour tomorrow.”
“She’ll be there soon,” Roland answered for her.
The maidservant dipped a curtsy and hurried away.
“It is a fine day today,” he observed, “and I feel like I’ve been cooped up here for a month. Will you ride with me after the noon, my lady?”
“Gladly!” she replied. “I, too, would enjoy being out in the fresh air.”
Dalfrid didn’t look pleased, but she didn’t care what he thought when it came to spending time with her husband.
“Meet me in the stables after the noon meal,” Roland said, giving her a little smile that delighted her and made her wish it was already past the noon.
* * *
After Mavis left the solar, Roland gestured for Dalfrid to sit. “I’ve been going over the accounts, Dalfrid, and there are still a few things I don’t understand.”
“I shall make all clear in time, my lord,” Dalfrid replied. “Your father’s affairs were very complicated.”
Roland took a seat across from him. “I should also tell you that you’ll find there is less silver than before you went to York.”
“Oh?”
“Sixty marks less.”
Dalfrid looked as if he’d swallowed a burning poker. “How...how much, my lord?”
“Sixty marks.”
“May I ask what required such an enormous sum?”
“Peace of mind. I paid those three rogues who’ve been leeching off Gerrard to go.” Dalfrid still looked horrified, so he added, “I’m sure they would have cost us more if they’d stayed.”
The steward tried to look as if he agreed. “I daresay, my lord.”
“Speaking of Gerrard,” Roland continued, “he’s no longer the commander of the garrison, so you will give him no more m
oney.”
“None at all, my lord?”
Roland hesitated a moment. It wasn’t easy to cut off his brother so completely, but perhaps the time had come. “Not another farthing.”
“As you wish, my lord.”
There was something else Roland decided to make clear. “And you will never again complain about what my wife spends in her hearing. If she spends too much, tell me and I will speak to her about it.”
Dalfrid swallowed hard. “Yes, my lord.”
“Now I wish to hear about the merchants who want to buy my wool.”
* * *
“My lord?” Mavis called out as she entered the dim confines of the stable after the noon meal was over and the tables cleared and taken down. “Are you here, my lord?”
A few of the horses shuffled and whinnied, and Hephaestus tossed his dark head. She went toward his stall, thinking Roland would likely be there.
Instead, he came out of a stall at the far end, leading a lovely light brown horse.
“Is Hephaestus’s hoof still too sore for you to ride him?” she asked with concern.
“A little, so I’m taking another.”
“That’s a very pretty beast,” she said, running her hand over the animal’s soft muzzle. “What’s its name?”
“Icarus.”
“That seems a name likely to lead to disaster!”
Roland laughed softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that few others likely ever saw. “I shall be sure to take care. After all, I have every reason to want to live,” he said before he called for a groom to saddle Icarus and Sweetling.
As the groom led Icarus away, Mavis leaned back against a post. “I missed you when I woke up this morning. When did you leave?”
“Early. I didn’t want to disturb you. You looked so peaceful.”
“I was exhausted,” she admitted. “After...last night.”
His lips turned down ever so slightly and she hurried on. “Not that I regret it,” she said, grabbing hold of his tunic to bring him closer.
“Have a care, my lady,” he warned with another little smile playing about his lips that she was glad to see. “I may forget that we are not in our bedchamber.”
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