by Robyn Carr
He pulled her near and placed a light kiss on her cheek. “I saw Medwin and he sends his best to you. News of the child brought him joy.” He looked down at her barely swelling tummy. “Are you well?”
Edwina smiled. “I am well, my lord,” she said softly. “Water for your bath is drawn.”
“My men would eat, lady. Have trenchers of meat brought and bread. The road was cold, and I for one am more hungry than dirty.”
“I fear more time is needed in the cooking, Conan.”
“Let the others wait that these men may eat.” He turned from her to draw an ale.
“Conan, your messenger arrived only this afternoon, barely ahead of you. The meat is being cooked now, but our provender is low.”
Slowly he turned and looked at her in some confusion. “What is low?” he asked.
“There were many mouths to feed in your absence. You left more men than you took.” She shrugged and her eyes began to tear. “There was little I could do.”
Mallory and Thurwell entered the hall and stopped short, sensing a problem. Both went for ale, trying to bring little attention to themselves.
Conan stepped closer to Edwina, keeping his words hushed and trying to keep from showing any anger. “Edwina, tell me what has happened to affect our supply of food in my absence.”
“Come to our chamber, Conan, and let me aid you in your bath,” she said.
He could clearly see her upset, the emotion entering him as it seeped from her. Something was amiss in this hall. “Tell me what you can. Tell me what has happened here.”
“I was ill, Conan, but I am better now. While I was abed the food was prepared and served without my presence, and when I rose again I found the supply low, and the huntsmen complained that the game was too far into the forest for good meat.”
Conan could feel his muscles tense. “How have you fared?”
She shrugged. “Much on porridge of egg and pork and bread, Conan. I fear I have failed you.”
“You have not failed me, lady,” he said, turning slowly to look around the hall. His men were entering and sitting heavily, tired and hungry. The servants moved about the hall with speed and nervousness. Not one dared look in his direction.
“They do not fear me as they do you, my lord,” she said.
He looked at her closely. She did not appear to be in the best of health. She seemed thinner at a time when she should be adding weight to her frail frame. “Edwina, tell me truly, are you feeling fit?”
Her eyes held a dull cast, but she smiled again. “Conan, I so wanted you to be pleased upon your return. Don’t worry for me, I am fit. These people, I fear, serve you poorly.”
“What do you hear in the keep? Do they mourn for Rolfe?”
“I am not certain, Conan. I hear nothing. They do not slight me in any way, but they move slowly to my requests.”
“That will change,” he said in a low voice.
“I fear it is my fault. My manner is too quiet. Their lady needs be of a stronger--”
He lifted her chin with a finger and smiled consolingly at her, though the condition in which he found his wife and his hall was causing his anger to build. “This is my hall, Edwina, and you are my lady. Your order is law in my absence, and whether you appeal to them softly or harshly, it is their lot to hearken to you quickly and without question.”
Edwina smiled and touched his bearded cheek. “I have no doubt you can see them better trained, Conan. Sometimes I think you would have it easier with a stronger woman at your side.”
“I have chosen the woman to stand at my side, cherie,” he said gently. “I have not asked you to change, and what is amiss here is not because of your manner. These serfs must learn their good fortune. It is not often the lady they must serve is so forgiving and gentle. They will learn.”
“I had not wanted to bring complaints to your ears, my lord.”
Conan laughed softly, but in his eyes there was a cold gleam. Edwina knew that he was angry.
“It is unfortunate for these serfs that I understand things here must have been much worse than you will tell me. I hope it is the last time I leave and return to find this hall so poorly kept.”
Conan turned to the men in the hall. “Tonight will see a meager fare. Fill your stomachs on what is put before you and tomorrow we will hunt. Then you will see a feast worthy of your work.” A slow moan filled the room, for there was not one eager for yet another hard day. “Whoever wishes to feed through the winter on bread and honey is welcome to stay in this warm hall on the morrow.”
“Conan,” Edwina beckoned softly. “What will you do?”
“I will instruct these serfs carefully on the manner in which I wish this hall to be kept, and tomorrow they will be allowed a test of their efforts. They will not fail me again. They will see the lash the next time.”
“I fear they will hate you,” Edwina said.
“They may indeed,” he said, taking her hand. “Come, you need not worry with it now. It is important that you rest.”
Edwina pulled back. “Whatever your intent, my lord, I will not lay abed while you dole out punishments. I will stand at your side.”
Conan felt a certain pride in Edwina’s support and looked at her with pleasure. “Very good, lady, but there will be no lashings tonight. On the morrow, before I leave this hall, they will know better how to serve their master.”
Conan could see Edwina relax. The tension he had noted etched into her fine features was disappearing, and he could see how tired this left her. She had worried over the many problems he would find on his return, unable to mend the ways of these serfs and unable to give the impression all had been well in his absence. She wanted to please him. And Conan felt the weight of his responsibility to her grow heavier.
“Lady, I think it best if we retire to our chamber now. You have grown tired. I was too long away.”
Edwina smiled and reached for his hand. “A day would be too long, Conan. And I am weary.”
The tub stood ready in the lord’s chamber and Conan began to remove his clothing. Edwina moved around their chamber in a slow and docile manner, putting things away and laying out a fresh linen shirt for her husband. He felt a flicker of emotion as he removed the linen gamberson that Chandra had mended for him while they stayed at Cordell.
He turned his thoughts toward Edwina. There was much about her to love: she was loyal, kind, and there was no doubt that she loved him. She did not respond to his ardor with the enthusiasm that he had hoped she would show, but it was not her way to respond to any situation with great passion. She was gentle and slow, a soft and delicate flower that would sway with the breeze. She was made to be respected and protected, to be held on a pedestal and carefully tended.
But there was that other one, the younger sister that he could never put out of his mind. It was she who stirred not only his blood, but his mind and his very soul. Chandra could show a gentle and feminine side, but there was little about her that required a man’s protection. Yea, she could smile and move in that same soft and delicate manner, but under that feminine mien there was a strength that could not be ignored. Conan doubted he would have returned to such confusion in Stoddard Keep had Chandra been managing during his absence. She would have found a way to make these people work hard to please her.
He sank into the tub and reminded himself for the hundredth time that it was an unfair comparison. These people would come to adore their lady’s compassionate nature and work to please her because they would soon come to love her. That she was not energetic and tough did not mean she was not strong. There was strength in her kindness and loyalty. He would be her strong arm, and they would, together, make a prosperous life.
He leaned back into the tub and closed his eyes. He wished she were as bright and eager as--
“Conan?”
He opened his eyes to find Edwina kneeling near the tub. When had she come? Could she see in the depths of his eyes that he had been thinking about her sister? Did she see now that he was tortured with
in because he had violated his own heart and could not feel passion for the woman he had pledged his life to love?
“I’ve brought you a trencher of bread and meat,” she said with a smile.
He nodded once and sat up to scrub weeks of grime from his body. “Good. There was precious little upon the road.”
Edwina took his sponge from his hands and wrinkled her nose as she lathered it. “You may be hungry, my lord, but you are in sore need of bathing.”
Conan leaned forward that she might scrub his back. “What you smell is the odor of hard work, my lady. With luck it will keep you fed and well gowned. Show respect as you scrub.”
“Yea, lord,” she said in feigned chagrin.
Conan would have preferred a quiet evening, but the lord of the manor was allowed little leisure and less privacy. He ate quickly and donned clean clothes to begin making his rounds. He spoke to nearly every servant, stable hand, and huntsman within the keep. He rousted some from what they thought would be a long, restful night. He explained, with careful precision, what he expected when he left the keep on some pressing business. While he spoke he smiled, but his eyes held theirs and most shrank back from him a little. There wasn’t a person here who had not heard of his reward for Rolfe.
“You and your family reside in this village and have for a very long time?” he would ask the serf he was speaking to.
“Yea, lord,” came the expected reply.
“And you reside here, earn your bread here, for as long as the lord chooses.”
“Yea.”
“And you work hard on my behalf?”
“Yea, lord,” they would answer, tension building in the reply.
“But I am returned to find that service to this hall and my lady has been poor. The serfs are lazy and do not worry with their chores. I consider this to be a treason to my rule.”
“Not I, my lord!” every worker questioned would reply. “Nay, I have not erred! I worked ‘til weary while you were away. Perhaps another, but not I!”
Conan would smile snidely in every case, as if he knew otherwise. “That is good. Good. I am glad to know there is at least one in this hall that I can trust. But there are so many. I dare not ride away again lest every man sleeps in the sun while I am gone and this hall goes to ruin. From now on, I leave at least one knight with my privy order to manage this hall and see my lady well cared for. But you need not fear this one whom I will choose, for he will punish no one. All punishments will be dealt by my own hand.”
“Yea, lord.”
“I am glad to know that it will never be necessary to have your back bared for the lash. If you have always worked hard for the lord of this hall, you will do so again, without question.”
“Yea, lord.”
“Tis good. I weary of warnings. I am known to give but one.”
The business had not been unpleasant, but bothersome. And Conan did not assume that his warnings would be heeded. He thought perhaps he would return from the hunt with beatings to dole out. Because of his youth and routinely calm behavior, the serfs were unprepared for the fury he could display when angered. He did not storm and shout at those in his service; it was not his way. He walked softly, saying little, making his demands in a quiet but determined way. These people would learn, before too long, that his rule here was not to be ignored just because he behaved in a controlled fashion. Sir Conan would not hesitate to use his strength when necessary.
When he returned to his chamber, Edwina had been prepared for bed and he warmed at the sight. He had not had the slightest taste of any woman upon the road, though his men had done their share of wenching. He dismissed Edwina’s servants and drew her close to taste the lips he owned, but when she was near enough for touching she turned her lips away, and his kiss fell on her cheek. She withdrew from him and climbed into the bed.
He disrobed clumsily, tossing his clothing aside. He no longer cared one whit about the disorder in the hall, nor did he feel the anger that earlier had possessed him. He hungered for her, and all other thoughts fled his mind. The fact that he found little invitation in her lips did not hinder his advances, for it was often this way as he approached her. He kissed her neck, her eyes and her temples, and when he imagined she might be of like mind, he asked her to remove the soft linen nightdress she wore.
“I beg to decline, seigneur,” she whispered faintly. “I do not feel well.”
Conan raised himself onto one elbow and looked down at her. “What troubles you?” he asked as gently as he could.
“I beg your forgiveness, Conan,” she said softly. “I would not torture you. Truly, I feel ill.”
Concern for her health caused his brow to wrinkle. “What is it, love?” he asked. “What has made you ill?”
“It is naught to trouble yourself with, Conan. This sickness that comes with the babe often passes when the child begins to move. The castle women tell me that it is a passing thing. I do not fear. But I cannot give you ease. I fear the sickness. I trust it will pass.”
“Can I help you? I can bring you herbed wine or--”
“Oh, please,” she moaned. “I dare not think of eating or drinking.”
Conan withdrew slightly. He gave her hands an understanding pat, though his frustration by now was complete. He relaxed into the feather tick and lay quietly beside her, knowing she did not sleep any better than he. He could not lash out at her--it was his child that made her ill--but it took every ounce of his composure to keep from stomping like a spoiled child. Making love to Edwina would have been the one solace in an otherwise troubled day.
Visions of himself as the landholder and warrior flashed through his mind. His shield was respected and often praised in these parts. His handsomeness was declared by many women who openly swore their desire. His chivalry and courtly manners brought him attention from earls and dukes. But here, in his own home, he met with discord. His keep was not well managed in his absence, when he was hungry he could not find food, and when he sought to ease his troubled mind even his seduction could not be answered here. He held himself back from cursing this marriage and his hopeless lot, for the child growing in his wife’s womb was the start of a promise that answered a vital need within him. For that reason he could not be angry with Edwina. He held dear the fact that she suffered bravely with his seed.
He rose from the bed carefully so as not to disturb her sleep.
“Conan?” she questioned softly.
“Rest, love,” he murmured.
“Where do you go?”
He turned to her guiltily, leaning over to place a kiss on her brow. “I find it difficult to lie beside you, love, and not take you in my arms. I will walk about the hall for a time.”
“Conan, I know I have failed you,” she whispered. “I will not question you. Go where you will.”
“Edwina, I do not leave your side to seek out another woman.”
“I could not be angry with you--”
“But have I shown myself to be a man of little faith? Have I given you cause to think I do not hold my vows dear?”
“Never, Conan. But neither were you faced with so many disappointments in earlier days. I tell you now that I understand.”
“Then understand this, lady. I care only that you are resting and nurturing the life I gave you to carry. My other problems I will manage without ever bringing a slight to your name.” And as he spoke the words, he felt them in his heart. He knew he could never hurt her. She, who would willingly give him to another who could serve his needs better, had learned the way of truly unquestioning love. Would that I could return it, he thought with some discomfort. But his mind was firm. He would do all he could to show her the same unselfish devotion she showed him. “I would do nothing to dishonor you, Edwina. Rest easy.”
“You are a good man, Conan,” she said sleepily. “I could not have known how fortunate I would be.”
Wearily Conan made his way to the lower level of the hall, feeling more than seeing his way, for he had no torch or candle. T
here were a few who had made pallets in the hall, but many had found other lodgings for the night. There was one man still awake and sitting before the hearth, his dark mantle shrouding his face. As Conan approached, Mallory turned and looked. Neither seemed pleased with the other’s company.
“The fire has died down,” Mallory said.
“Dawn will come soon enough. Will you be ready to ride with the rest?”
“Have I ever made you late, my lord?” he returned somewhat angrily.
“Never,” Conan replied, staring back into the glowing embers. “The game may already be deep in the forest. It will be a long day--longer still to ride with a man plagued by some reluctant maid.”
Mallory’s head snapped up in surprise, and the look he gave Conan was not one of fondness. “What makes you think I am troubled by a woman?”
Conan laughed and drew himself up. He rummaged about a bit to find two mugs and filled them both from the pitcher. It was a sight that would have left a simple serf bemused, for to see two great knights sitting upon the rushes before the fire quaffing ale was a rare sight. Conan was usually surrounded by much aplomb, taking the highest place in the hall, the lord’s chair. Serfs and peasants were the ones to sit on the floor.
Conan took a long pull on his drink. “You have no family to worry you, and Thurwell is no more surly than ever. He has found some wench from the village to warm the night, but what of you? The women upon the road never saw your smile, and you turned no favors their way--to their good fortune I am sure, for no doubt you would have disappointed them greatly.”
“You should pay such close attention to your horses,” Mallory grumbled.
“Who is the fair dame?”
“Do not burden yourself, my lord. I have not touched the maid.”
Conan laughed and then whistled low. “More the bite! Will she have none of you?”
Mallory trusted in Conan’s friendship and understanding, but those could easily give way to wrath once Conan learned ‘twas Edythe that dwelt in every corner of his mind. He sighed. “Her family is wealthy.”
“Ah,” Conan acknowledged. “Does her family not see the merits of having a knight of Henry in their household?”