by Anton, Shari
Richard got up, intending to dip his cup into the ale keg. The lightness of his head—and the sight of the bottom of the keg—stopped him.
“I need food, Gerard.”
“Evening meal is some time off, but I am sure Ardith can provide something to put in your stomach.”
Richard followed Gerard down the passageway and stairs that led from the bedchambers down to the great hall. Boyhood memories sprang up, prompted, he supposed, by the changes he noted along the way.
Ardith was now chatelaine of Wilmont. She’d made small changes, here and there, to the interior of the castle. Added candles in more ornate stands. Tapestries—which depicted peaceful pursuits instead of glorious battles—now blocked drafts. Banners in bright colors graced the rafters, hung beside the ancient weapons of Wilmont forefathers.
The place seemed warmer and more friendly, more tolerant Even Gerard’s mother, Lady Ursula, had lost some of her old bitterness, which might be the greatest change of all. She sat near the huge hearth, working spindle and distaff, and managed to acknowledge his presence with a slight nod of her head when he and Gerard approached her.
“Mother, have you seen Ardith of late?” Gerard asked. “Richard’s stomach grumbles.”
Without missing a beat in her spinning, she smiled wryly and said, “Your sons, Gerard, have a fondness for rummaging about in the stable. Shortly after you and Richard went up the stairs, they came in fairly reeking of horse droppings. Ardith decided to cleanse both the boys and their clothes by taking them down to the stream.”
Roaring a string of blistering oaths, Gerard turned heel and ran out of the hall, Richard close behind.
Lucinda sat on a log, her bare feet soaking in the stream. She wished she could shuck more than her hose and shoes and wallow in the crystal-clear water. Mayhap later, if Edric allowed her the privacy, she would. For now, she kept watch over Philip, who’d waded out to his knees, the hem of his tunic getting wet.
She harbored no illusions about her status. Somewhere in the woods behind her lurked a guard, watching her and Philip to ensure they remained safe, and safely within reach. She surely wasn’t welcome at Wilmont; Gerard had made that quite clear. Not that she wished to enter the man’s lair. Nor, she knew, would the people of Collinwood be pleased to see her. That, too, she could accept.
In less than a fortnight, since leaving the village where she’d found a measure of contentment, her entire life had turned upside down and sideways. The king had granted her petition for a protector, and she had to admit that though hardship lay ahead, Philip’s future looked brighter. And though she had reservations about placing Philip in Wilmont’s care, she conceded that, of all the brothers, Richard was the best choice. He’d already taken measures to see Philip’s inheritance secured, and would likely raise Philip the best he knew how.
’Twas her feelings for Richard she wrestled with now.
She’d thought her marriage had soured her for all men for all time. Basil’s brutality should have purged her of kindly thoughts for any male. She’d truly thought it had, until getting to know Richard.
Lucinda drew up her legs and hugged her knees, in a vain attempt to still the yearnings that simmered within at the thought of the man who’d awakened them. She burned with deep desire for the strong, handsome, intelligent man who’d, too quickly and thoroughly, besieged her senses.
She would never let him know, of course. He would be horrified to learn that she longed to slip into the shelter of his powerful embrace. Shocked to hear that the widow of the man who’d nearly caused his death yearned for a kind word and tender caress. Appalled at the knowledge that if he crooked a finger in invitation to his bed, she would go to him.
Richard was aware of her, as a man to a woman. She’d known it the day he’d looked her over, and she’d retorted that she would make a poor bedmate. Damn, ’twas galling to admit that she desperately wanted to prove her statement wrong. With Richard.
She shook her head at her foolishness. ’Twas sheer folly to hope for more than Richard’s tolerance of her presence.
Behind her, she heard voices. A man’s, a woman’s and…children’s giggles?
“Be sensible, Edric,” the woman said. “You cannot bar me from the stream. Look at the boys. Smell them!”
“My lady, you should return to the hall. Consider your…condition. Lord Gerard will not approve of—”
“Bah! I am merely with child. One would think me on my deathbed the way Gerard hovers. While the boys wash, you can explain to me why you and these men camp here while Richard and the others enjoy the comfort of the hall. Daymon! Everart! Get into the water.”
Several yards downstream, two boys—one blond and as tall as Philip, the other auburn-haired and smaller—broke through the brush and ran for the stream. They stopped short of the water to shed their shoes, then plunged in, garments and all.
Daymon and Everart. Gerard’s children. Which meant the lady who Edric so earnestly tried to dissuade from coming down to the stream must be Ardith. Lucinda guessed at Gerard’s reaction to a chance meeting, and started to call Philip out, intending to leave before being noticed.
Then wondered why the devil she should. No one had given a care for her feelings—not the king, or Richard, especially Gerard. Still, the woman was with child and innocent of any wrongdoing. Lucinda rose from the log, but it was now too late to escape.
Ardith of Wilmont stood at the edge of the brush, gowned in fine yellow linen, clutching dry tunics for her boys against the swell of her belly. She stared at Lucinda for several heartbeats, then noticed Philip. Quite beautiful, with auburn hair and startling blue eyes, she appeared fragile. The look she turned on Edric, however, was anything but frail.
“Edric, explain,” Ardith said, in a unyielding tone.
Lucinda couldn’t hear Edric’s words, but she could guess at what he said from Ardith’s reactions. Poor Edric shouldn’t be the one revealing her and Philip’s identity, of how they’d come to be camped so near Ardith’s home. Her heart went out to Ardith, who shouldn’t have to suffer a reminder of what must have been the most horrifying days of her life.
Squelching the urge to approach Ardith and apologize for whatever harm Basil had inflicted on the woman, Lucinda resumed her seat on the log. Somehow, she had to get over wanting to make amends for every nasty, vile thing Basil had done in his life. It couldn’t be done, not in a lifetime. Nor had she been responsible for, or able to control, Basil’s actions. She and her son were blameless. ’Twould take time and patience, unfortunately, to convince the rest of the kingdom.
Philip stared at the boys, who busily scrubbed at their tunics. He then turned to her, a plea in his eyes. She shook her head and mouthed the words, “Stay where you are.”
Her son’s disappointment broke her heart, but ’twas for the best if he didn’t try to become a playmate to Gerard’s sons. Or she. an acquaintance of Gerard’s wife.
However, Gerard’s wife had other ideas. Ardith’s steps were slow but purposeful. Lucinda braced for the woman’s outpouring of outrage. To her surprise, she saw no hatred in Ardith’s eyes. They’d gone carefully devoid of emotion.
“I did not know you or the boy existed,” Ardith said. “No one spoke of a wife or son, at least not to me.”
The statement didn’t require comment, so Lucinda simply acknowledged it with a slight nod.
“Edric says that Richard is to be Philip’s… protector. If that is so, then we should get to know the boy. ’Tis inevitable that we will be in each other’s company from time to time and—” She turned away, unable to hide a sudden tear. “Sweet Mother, I had not thought this would be so hard!”
Lucinda pursed her lips, unsure of whether to be outraged or sympathize. One thing she knew. If she reached out, Ardith would either back away in revulsion or begin sobbing, and Ardith was trying so damned hard to be civil.
“Then be easy on yourself, Ardith. I have no wish to cause you further hurt.”
Daymon and Everart came r
unning up for their dry tunics. Heedless of Ardith’s upset, they stripped. Everart needed a bit of help from Daymon in getting the clean tunic over his head.
Ardith seemed to rally. “Now find sticks to scrape your shoes clean,” she said in a tone used by mothers when expecting a protest.
Everart didn’t disappoint. “But they are…rank!”
“And whose fault is that, I ask you?” his mother rejoined. “If you had not seen fit to jump into the manure, Daymon would not have gone in to pull you out. By right, you should clean Daymon’s shoes, too.”
Everart stuck out his lower lip.
“I will help him,” Daymon said.
“You have your own shoes to clean. Everart needs to learn that he cannot depend on you to pull him out of every scrape he gets into and clean up his messes.”
Daymon shrugged a shoulder. “He is little yet.”
Ardith smiled, transforming her face. She wasn’t lovely; she was exquisite. And the warmth in that smile revealed her true character.
“Little, aye. But not too little to learn.”
“Might I help him, my lady?” Philip asked.
He’d come out of the stream, unable to resist the pull of companionship any longer, even if it meant cleaning manure from a littler boy’s shoes.
To Lucinda’s relief, Ardith’s smile faded but didn’t disappear. “If you wish,” she said softly.
Everart looked at Philip with open admiration and thanks.
“Who are you?” Daymon asked, in protective older brother fashion.
“My name is Philip.”
They studied each other for a moment, then Daymon declared that he knew where to find sticks and all three raced off.
Ardith took a long breath. “As I was about to say, I would like you and Philip to come to Wilmont for evening meal.”
Lucinda cringed. “Gerard will most surely object.”
Before Ardith could say more, a roar echoed through the woods. “Arr-dith!”
Ardith sighed. “That would be Gerard. Richard is likely right behind him. I promise you, no harm will come to you or your son from Gerard or Wilmont’s people. Will you come?”
Lucinda looked downstream to where the three boys bent over two pair of shoes, then into Ardith’s utterly guileless eyes. The thought of entering Wilmont terrified her, but she sensed that if anyone could aid Philip’s acceptance within Richard’s family circle, it would be Ardith.
“If your husband and Richard agree, Philip and I would be pleased to share your meal.”
Chapter Nine
At Gerard’s insistence, Richard sat with his family at the table on the raised dais, though he would rather be at the far end of the trestle tables with Lucinda and Philip.
Richard had always felt uncomfortable up on the dais, could never get over the feeling of being on display. He’d agreed to the placement tonight only to keep Gerard calm. So he sat beside Daymon, sharing his nephew’s trencher, waiting for the meal to be over so he could relax.
Richard could have spared them all the unease of this meal by forbidding his charges to leave camp. But Ardith had insisted that she would be upset if not allowed to extend some form of basic hospitality. Gerard’s agreement hadn’t come easily, but when it did, Richard deferred to Gerard’s judgment.
Philip ate as if the food were manna from heaven, and looked about him in awe at the splendor of Wilmont’s great hall. He seemed not to notice that nobody except his mother sat near him or talked to him.
Lucinda was a Norman noblewoman, her rank higher than any other woman’s in the hall save for Ardith and Ursula. Yet she sat at the far end of the tables—Gerard’s doing—pretending not to notice the insult. With a stiff spine and uptilted chin, she shared a trencher with Philip with the same dignity and grace as if she sat among her true peers.
“Father says Philip is the son of Basil of Northbryre, the man who kidnapped me and Ardith when I was little,” Daymon said.
“Aye, that he is,” Richard confirmed, smiling at Daymon’s opinion that he was now all grown-up. In some ways, he was. His position here at Wilmont, as the lord’s acknowledged but bastard son, had matured the boy beyond his physical age. Richard well knew how Daymon felt.
Even now, some of Wilmont’s people thought it fitting that the two bastards shared a trencher so no one else would suffer their taint. Others didn’t understand why their lord allowed the bastards at the high table. A few were horrified at how lavishly Gerard had gifted Richard with land, raising him high above what should be his proper station, as Gerard would one day also do for Daymon.
The people tolerated Daymon and gave their loyalty and love to Everart, the heir.
“I do not remember much of the kidnapping, just being frightened—and the dogs,” Daymon stated. “Father says I need not remember all of it, but to never forget that ’twas Basil who meant to take my life, and Ardith’s.”
Richard wasn’t surprised that Daymon’s memory of the kidnapping had faded. The boy had been only three at the time. Richard, however, well remembered Basil’s vile nature. While he hadn’t witnessed the kidnapping, Richard participated in the rescue. If they hadn’t stormed Northbryre when they did, neither Ardith nor Daymon would be alive.
“One must always ’ware one’s enemies.”
“Is Philip like his father? Is he my enemy?”
Northbryre had been Wilmont’s enemy for decades, going back to before Richard’s father had been born, fighting over land that Wilmont held and Northbryre wanted. No one of Northbryre, except Philip, now remained to contest ownership.
“You met him, Daymon. What think you?”
“Philip seemed nice enough. He scraped Everart’s mucked up shoes, and he did not have to.”
Basil would turn over in his grave if he knew.
“Not the actions of an enemy,” Richard said, wondering when he’d come to see Philip as merely a little boy and not so much the son of Basil.
Stephen maintained that blood would tell. Gerard probably held the same opinion. Once, Richard would have spouted the same sentiment, but something about the boy made him doubt. Did Lucinda have the right of it? Would upbringing win out?
“He looks lonely down there,” Daymon said.
“Mayhap Father will allow him to stay and play after meal.”
Richard felt a familiar pang. Both he and Daymon knew what it was like to feel the outcast. Philip and Lucinda must, too.
“Best not push your father too hard, Daymon. Leave it be, for now. Mayhap another time.”
Gerard rose, signaling the serving wenches to begin clearing away the remains of the meal, and the lads to start folding up the trestle tables. He then walked down to greet his knights, would give them each the attention due from their lord, then ensure that Wilmont’s guards were properly assigned for the night.
Ardith and Ursula headed for chairs near the brightly glowing hearth, where they would spend the evening hours spinning or doing needlework, attended by the castle’s womenfolk.
The hunting dogs snuffled about in the rushes, hoping for scraps. Daymon and Everart joined a group of children, and would likely find some loud, exuberant activity to engage in.
Richard headed for Lucinda and Philip, who stood alone and apprehensive in the middle of the hall.
Gerard stopped him. “I do not want them back in my hall, Richard,” he said quietly. “Take them away before Ardith becomes more involved with them.”
Briefly, Richard felt as if he were being sent away as punishment for having the temerity to do his duty. But he understood the reason behind Gerard’s order. Gerard protected those he loved most dearly in the best way he knew how.
Richard smiled, unable to resist teasing. “You could always say no to your wife, Gerard.”
Gerard rolled his eyes. “Some day I may learn how, but until then…”
“When I take them back to camp, I will order Edric to be ready at first light Do not give away my bed. I intend to enjoy it tonight.”
“When you re
turn, we should talk more.”
About Lucinda and Philip. About the lands in Normandy. About the king. All subjects Richard wished to forget about for a while.
Richard shook his head. “Why not wait until Stephen returns? We truly will not know how things stand until then.”
Gerard smiled wryly. “If you do not wish to talk, then mayhap we could have a practice bout.”
That appealed. “’Twill be dark soon. We will have to ring the yard with torches and wear hauberks.”
“Which will please Ardith to no end.”
“Then prepare to sweat, Gerard.”
Lucinda and Philip hadn’t moved. They waited for him in the middle of the hall, Lucinda’s hands resting on Philip’s shoulders.
“My lord,” Philip said, “might I say farewell to Daymon?”
Before Richard could answer, Lucinda said, “Nay, Philip. Daymon is busy with—”
“I have no objection. Do so quickly,” Richard said, overriding her denial.
Lucinda glared her displeasure. Richard stared back, willing her to let the boy go. Reluctantly, she let Philip loose. She watched her son go, anxious.
“We leave for Collinwood at first light,” he said.
“As you wish,” she said flatly.
Richard cupped her elbow and gently pushed her toward the door. “Come. Philip will be along.”
The now familiar shock when touching her raced up his arm. The sweet scent of her engulfed his senses. He hung on despite the effect of her nearness, knowing that if he let her go she would stop. As it was, she walked slowly, waiting for Philip.
Nor did her steps quicken until she heard her son’s youthful footsteps racing to catch her.
“Philip, come down from that crate. Another hard bump will toss you right out of the cart,” Lucinda warned.
“Lord Richard would let me ride up here,” the boy said from his unstable perch.
“That might very well be, but Richard is not here, and I say come down!”
Reluctantly, Philip obeyed, grumbling. Lucinda rejoiced that Richard rode at the head of the company so he hadn’t overheard her. ’Twould have been just like the man to counter her order.