Domning, Denise

by Winter's Heat

  Instead of meek submission, she shot him a hard smile. He'd never met a woman so bold. "What little bird gave you to understand that you might say what you please to me without offering me the same courtesy in return?"

  "You dare too much," he muttered, his words harsh and dangerous as anger rapidly seethed beyond his capacity to control it. "Is it your wish to goad me into violence?"

  "No, my lord. Perhaps I do dare much, but then, I have nothing to lose. In just one day's time all I've been taught to hold dear has been taken from me. Now I am asked to accept, without comment or complaint, a life that is wholly foreign to me. I know nothing of being a wife, but I have learned much about the running and maintenance of an estate. It may be you will find my manner too straightforward for your tastes, but, my lord, it is just that—my manner. Would that I die before I give up that part of me."

  Outside, the wind howled and sleet spattered the shutter. Unexpectedly, Rannulf felt the stirrings of respect amid the bitter dregs of his disappointment. Perhaps if he had never married Isotte, things could have been different for them. His shoulders drooped under the burden of his pain. It was too late for that. "I will not argue with you." There was nothing but dullness left in his heart. He turned his back on her and shoved his feet into his boots. "Graistan keep will be at your disposal, even if its lord is not. Be ready to leave within the hour."

  "As you wish, my lord," she said quietly, almost meekly. He spun on his heel and jerked open the door. A maid nearly fell into the room. The hapless woman cried out in surprise as she dodged him, but he did not pause in his haste to be away from his wife.

  Rowena listened until she was sure her husband was beyond earshot. Then, she dropped her blanket and reached for her robe. Had she meant to goad him into violence? Was it disappointment she'd felt when he hadn't struck her as she had expected? It was as if she'd wanted to see his passion, any passion be it even hate, rather than the dullness he showed toward her.

  "My lady," the maid cried out, "do not rise yet. The sheets! I must call your mother to witness."

  "Sweet Mary, there can be no doubt of my purity, whether I remain upon the bed or not. Bring me water for washing and fresh, warm clothing. I am not wont to wear my wedding garb again this day." She paused to add beneath her breath, "or ever." Then, she continued more loudly. "There is much to be done. Inform the Lady Edith my husband desires to leave within the hour."

  "What?!" the maid squeaked.

  Rowena yanked on her bed robe and cinched the belt tight. "I've got no time to waste, woman. Move!"

  The poor woman leapt to do her bidding, not even bothering to close the door behind her. Rowena almost smiled as she shut the door. At least she had clarified the terms of their marriage.

  Rowena huddled more deeply into her cloak, cold beyond complaint. Even protected by thick, leather gloves, her hands had lost all feeling. Her hair, though covered by her wimple and a fur-lined hood, was damp with the icy rain.

  Her husband pulled the bay he rode into line with her little mare. She glanced up at him. Where his cloak and surcoat did not cover it, his chain mail gleamed with the moisture it collected. "How much farther, my lord?" Her voice was hoarse.

  "Too far," he snapped.

  The continuing drizzle had turned the road into naught but thick and frigid mud, it being not quite cold enough to completely freeze. Burdened as they were with the ox-drawn carts, their progress had been at a snail's pace. After a moment's angry silence, he called back to his master-at-arms who rode a short distance behind them. "Can we move them no faster?" He stared in disgust at the peasants and their beasts of burden.

  In those carts was her new wardrobe along with the massive bed that had once been her mother's. Her father had actually threatened to throw everything from the top of Benfield's wall if they did not take it with them. Although her husband had protested vehemently stating his need for haste, he could not afford to refuse; the bed was too rich an item to risk. He had agreed.

  She turned slightly on her saddle to consider Temric, her husband's man. His expression remained stonily impassive beneath the hood of his plain, woolen cloak. The taciturn man wore armor of the plainest sort with no sign of decoration. Bearded and of medium height, his even features spoke of common ancestry. But, although he could certainly be no knight, Lord Graistan treated him as if he were, even giving him command of his true knights, men of noble birth.

  Briefly and without the slightest change of expression, Temric's brown eyes met hers. "My lord, if we push any harder the thing will mire in the mud at every turn of the wheels rather than every third turn."

  "God's blood!" Rannulf managed to make the low-voiced utterance sound like a scream.

  Temric straightened slightly as what might have been impatience flashed across his face. "Have you not yet tired of souring your stomach? And if you have not, I beg you to spare the rest of us."

  Rowena caught her breath. Surely, her lord would cut the man down for daring so much. She would have never have tolerated such impertinence from one of lesser rank. To her astonishment, her husband only groaned. "Has there ever been such an ill-fated venture?"

  "I agree," she snapped, "that our wedding was not what I desired, but do not curse God and call it ill-fated."

  "A poor choice of words," he said by way of apology. "Temric, I can afford no more time lost. Do I remember that nearby here lies a small hamlet? Let us pay some husbandman to keep the carts and be on our way. Have Gilliam send someone to fetch it later."

  "Should you push your lady so hard?" Once again, the commoner dared to criticize his lord. Were all the servants at Graistan accustomed to such freedoms? She frowned. If this was so, the advent of her rule would bring them all rudely back to earth.

  "I have no choice," her husband responded. "Unless"—here he paused in thought—"unless... it is not the best of options, but it will work.

  "If we could locate a dwelling there that is a suitable place for my lady, you and four men could house the carts for the night. Early on the morrow the roads will still be frozen, and it will be easier for you to finish the journey to Graistan. Aye," he continued, a new enthusiasm infecting his voice, "then, I will be free to continue on to Nottingham. Even better, this will give you the chance to escort from Graistan those supplies this impromptu wedding prevented me from obtaining." Rannulf eased back into his saddle, obviously pleased with his plan.

  It was equally obvious to Rowena that a suitable dwelling would be found, be it house or shed. "And what of me," she asked. "Am I to introduce myself to your servants without their master at my side to confirm my rights as their lady? How will they even know me?"

  His glance was disinterested. "The needs of my king must come before those of my wife. My half brother, Gilliam, who is my steward and holds Graistan during my absence, will stand in my stead." He gave it no further consideration; his difficulties had been solved. With that, he urged his horse forward.

  "You have all my gratitude," she bit out beneath her breath. Temric glanced impassively from one to the other, then repeated in the English language his lord's commands. The troop turned off onto the narrow lane.

  Fuming silently to herself, she followed him as their party made its way along the track. She cursed this arrogant husband of hers as well as her father. Never had a man done her a favor, nor did she foresee any such an occurrence in the near future.

  She heard the place well before they arrived. In the utter stillness of the winter woods, the gentle lowing of cattle and the bleat of sheep echoed eerily through barren branches. It was not much, only a knot of tiny buildings around which stood a helter-skelter wall of tree limbs woven with branches. Smoke drifting from the rooftops was absorbed into the heavy, leaden sky.

  At Temric's call a man appeared from the nearest cottage. Although he bowed and scraped before them, his eyes were narrowed and suspicious until he understood what was required and that coins would be offered. After a few minutes of fervent bargaining, during which the man displayed a
greedy smile, Temric turned to Lord Graistan.

  "He says they will house the carts, and the men can use the shed"—he pointed to a lean-to—"while your lady may have the use of his home."

  Rannulf interrupted, "At what price?"

  "Do you not think it wise to ask me if I intend to stay in this place before you open your purse and waste precious coins?" she asked sharply. "How far are we now from Graistan?"

  Her husband shot her a calculating look. "Perhaps four hours if you travel without the cart."

  "Then I intend to be on my way." She resettled her gloves between her fingers and straightened her wimple. "If you will not see to my needs, I shall have to attend to them myself. Besides, I have had the opportunity to visit places such as this. At night the beasts of the fields share these quarters with their masters. The warmth might be welcome in winter, but the stench is enough to make breathing impossible. Temric, do you ride with me?" For the briefest instant, Rowena would have sworn that she had astonished the man, but, if she had, his face immediately fell into his usual closed expression.

  Rannulf turned angrily toward her. "Do you think to shame me in front of my own men? If so, then you have sadly misjudged them and their loyalty to me. Spare me your venom and your claws."

  "My dear lord husband," she snapped, "I refuse to stay in a filthy hovel when in hours' time I could be where I can bathe, eat, sleep, and breathe in comfort."

  For a moment, it appeared that he had more to say, then his mouth shut into a hard and narrow line. "As you wish." He turned to his master-at-arms. "If my lady wishes to ride, let her ride."

  "As you say, my lord, but let the lady know that there is no place to stop between here and Graistan more suitable than this for one such as herself. Also, let her know that the ride is not an easy one."

  She smiled archly. Convent life, if lived true to the principles of the Roman Church, taught inner strength and stamina. Oh, there were those to whom a nunnery offered softness and shelter, but she had not been one of that ilk. "You may tell your master-at-arms that he will have no burden on his hands."

  Temric nodded curtly, no longer giving service to the customary protocol and now speaking directly to his lady. "Then, give me a moment, my lady, to see to the carts. My lord, it appears that it will cost you only two pence to store the carts and feed the oxen and their drivers. For another two pence, he and his sons will assist in bringing them to Graistan on the morrow if we leave men to guard them on their way."

  "Then, let it be so." Rannulf nodded.

  Temric dug the coins from the purse he wore at his waist and tossed it to the man, then unfastened the purse and threw it to his lord. At his command, four men sent their horses through the gate. The peasant called his sons from the hut to help the drivers guide the oxen and carts into the compound.

  Rannulf stuffed the leather pouch into his glove's cuff. "Gilliam knows what I need and, by all rights, it should be ready and awaiting your arrival. Take your ease for a day if you wish. There will be supplies enough with Ashby's company to see to all our men." He laughed, and Temric nearly smiled as they shared some private jest, then her husband turned to her.

  "Tell Gilliam that I said you are to do as you wish with the servants and that they are to obey you as they would me. No, do not say that." He held up a hand and briefly closed his eyes. "Say to him that you are to be obeyed in all things as his mother would have been obeyed. Temric"—he glanced around—"bear witness to any who question that I have said so."

  For a moment, there was silence between them while he stared off into the forest. When he turned back to her, he shrugged and said, "Your lands are too well matched with mine, I could not allow them to slip into another's hands. You will not be alone at Graistan. Gilliam will see to it that you are well treated."

  Was this an apology? It was better to assume it was. She cleared her throat, then finally said, "May the Lord God keep you safe in your endeavors." It sounded like the wifely thing to say.

  "And you, yours," he returned. But, he offered no gesture of farewell, only sent his bay crashing across the frost-crusted field. He and the men who followed disappeared quickly into the tangled branches and dead bracken until nothing but silence once again surrounded those who stayed behind.

  Chapter 4

  Temric set a brutal pace, but Rowena's presence slowed them not one whit—although she well knew he'd expected it. Still, pride in her achievement did not thaw frozen fingers and toes or make the misery pass more quickly. It was only when day had fallen into an icy, blue twilight that this wide, well-traveled road led them to Graistan, her new home.

  Set atop a sharp lift of land guarded by a river's bend was a tall stone keep. Surrounding the great square tower was a massive wall with defensive towers at its every turn. Proof of her husband's might and prominence lay not only in this powerful keep, but also by the town below the castle. This fledgling enterprise nestled safely between castle and its own walls. Rowena's heart soared at the sight. Where there was trade, there was wealth.

  They thundered past outlying farmland, meadows, and orchards, then through the town's gate. Here, their pace slowed along the narrow lanes that twisted and curved at will and with no apparent reason. With night now closing in, only a solitary few remained out and about. The eerie wail of yowling cats shattered the chilled quiet. She glanced upward, searching for the source.

  The tall houses were framed in dark, thick timbers. Some were freestanding while others were crammed, cheek to jowl, against their neighbors. Although twilight had grayed their colors, each house bore painted wood trim, some carved into fanciful designs. Merchants' homes were easily identified by the emblems that hung over their doors. Each proclaimed the nature of their owner's business, be that carpenter, potter, or wine seller. Butchers, tanners, and fishmongers were easily identified by their reeking odors, as were the bakers, cookshops, and chandlers with their sweeter smells.

  As they turned a sharp corner, Rowena caught her breath. There, nestled in a corner was a goldsmith's shop. Wealth, indeed.

  Excitement pushed aside exhaustion. She spurred her mare through the armed entrance of Graistan keep, then past the byres, barns, sheds, and stables of the outer bailey. They did not hold her interest. What she wanted lay within the close, inner walls. To become lady of this hall and town would challenge all she ever learned, a challenge she gladly accepted.

  Once past the inner gate, Temric's piercing whistle brought a tumble of grooms from the stables. Serving boys, heralded by a pack of yelping, snarling dogs, flew down the stairs from the hall door into the courtyard.

  A blond giant of a man, taller even than her husband yet barely older than she, pushed his way past the dogs and boys toward them. Worry creased his brow and touched his guileless blue eyes. "Temric, where is Rannulf," he called out, his voice, deep beyond his youth, reverberating against the overshadowing walls.

  Rowena peered up from beneath her concealing hood at him. Where her husband's features were all sharp angles and deep plains of life's experience, his face seemed boyish in its softness. Only the fine embroidery that trimmed the neckline of his bright red tunic and the richly decorated leather of his belt indicated he might be Lord Rannulf's kin.

  Temric dismounted, kicking away the dogs as he did so. "Gone on to Notthingham. Sir Gilliam, come give your new lady your hand."

  "New lady?" the boy blurted out in surprise before he caught himself. "But, I thought—"

  She bit her cheek to keep from smiling at his consternation as his fair skin colored. My, how quickly the potential loss of her dowry had turned a reluctant bridegroom into a husband. This Gilliam ran a distracted hand through his curly mop of golden hair and yanked at his tunic to hide his discomfort as he came to stand by her side. He was so tall, she nearly looked him eye to eye from her perch atop her mount.

  "Sir Gilliam, I was Rowena of Benfield until yesterday." She had to introduce herself since her husband was absent and there was no one of rank to do it. "You are my husband's br
other?"

  Tongue-tied in his embarrassment, he nodded and lifted her from the saddle to set her on her feet in the frozen mire. The sudden pinprick sensations in her legs made her grit her teeth against a yelp of pain. Not for the first time, pride had driven her where common sense had well known she should not go. She tried to take a step and faltered. Only Sir Gilliam's powerful arm kept her from falling face first into the mud.

  She grimaced and glanced up at Temric. "Such is the price of my arrogance," she said to him. "From now on I shall remember to be more humble when you state that the ride is to be a hard one."

  The commoner made a noise that could have been either a cough or a laugh. His brown eyes mellowed to nearly golden as his face softened, and he smiled at her. "Welcome to Graistan, my lady." Even as she blinked in surprise at his sudden friendliness, his features hardened once again into his usual flat expression.

  He turned to his lord's brother, "Are the supply wains loaded and ready to go?" The young knight gaped at him as she glanced between them. "Well," he growled, "have you or have you not got the wains?"

  His demeanor and harsh words left no doubt that he accorded this young nobleman only meager deference. So, it had been either her husband's whim or his liking for his brother and not this knight's skills that made him Graistan's steward. In that case, it was doubtful Gilliam would be of any help to her in making Graistan's servants hers. She would do better to carve out her own niche.

  "Nay," the tall man managed at last. "Henry and his men left here with them yestereven, thinking to meet Rannulf along the road from Benfield. He took the wagons with him."

  Temric grunted. "Then, he'll not meet him 'til Nottingham. I'd best be gone at first light to see if I can catch him." He took a step away, then turned back. "Your lord sent you a message. He says that the servants are to respect their new lady's wishes as they would have your lady mother's. My lady"—he directed a brief bow in her direction—"I wish you well in your new tasks. I have no doubt that Graistan is once more in good and capable hands." With a final, short bow, he spun on his heel and started toward the hall stairs.