“My bed,” Alinor replied. “Aubery de Vere is in yours.”
“Oxford?” Ian exclaimed, totally mystified. “What is he doing here? Did you invite him?”
“Salisbury brought him, but I did not wish to ask why. I only thanked him for doing us such honor. Well, I could not ask an unexpected and uninvited guest why he had come, could I?”
“No, of course not. But did he not say anything? Surely—”
“He might have done so, but I was more exercised to find a place to put him and his servants than to press for explanations, which I knew he would give you without asking.”
“So that was why you sent so urgently. Yes, I see. Thank you.”
That was not why Alinor had sent Beorn to look for Ian, but she did not bother to correct him, merely asked again about carrying him to bed.
“You cannot have a herd of servants tramping back and forth and waking everyone,” he replied irritably. “Let me rest a little and I will make shift to get there, but why can I not sleep here on a pallet. Really, I am tired enough to sleep on the stone floor without the pallet.”
“Because I do not wish to spend the whole night on my knees tending you and because you are a fool if you do not realize it will kill you to lower yourself to the floor and rise up again when it is necessary. And why did you not return as soon as you had taken that band of outlaws? This would never have happened—”
“Scold!” Ian exclaimed.
Alinor turned on him, color mantling her cheeks, but he was laughing. She put out her hand and touched his face. “Do you not deserve a scold for a wife? I was worried about you, Ian, but I did not like to keep sending messengers after you. After all, perhaps the less of my company you have, the easier your heart is. How can I know?”
“My heart? My heart is not in question. It has long been—”
He stopped abruptly as Gertrude hurried in with a flask of water in one hand and strips of cloth in the other. There was, of course, no reason why Ian should not tell his betrothed wife he loved her in her maidservant’s presence, but Ian had never before been in such a situation. All the women to whom he had made love to in the past had been someone else’s property. To put them or himself into the power of a maidservant would be both foolish and dangerous. Long practice checked his tongue before thought could correct him.
It was impossible for Alinor to decide whether she wanted to hear the rest of the sentence or not. His heart had long been—what? Dead? Given? Would he have told her to whom? Alinor had dropped her hand from Ian’s face when he stopped speaking. With the motion, she decided she did not want to hear. Heart or no heart, there was that in Ian’s eyes, even now, lurking behind the pain, which gave her more cause for amusement than despair. Poor Ian. Was he a believer in amour courtois? Had he professed his devotion to some great lady in a profusion of sickly verses? If so, his loins were surely at war now with his elevated sentiments. But if she allowed him to say he loved another, or could not love, that would lie between them. What was unspoken was easier to forget.
“It does not matter,” she said briskly. “Now I have you safe, that is all that is of importance. I still say you were a fool to ride with a knee like that.”
She went to get a pair of shears with which to slit open his chausses. The knee was awful, hugely swollen and darkly discolored. Ian looked at it ruefully.
“But it was almost down to normal this morning,” he said. “I intended to ride in tomorrow. It is only that we rode too far, I think.”
“Too far? Did you not come from the northwest farm?”
“No. Did I forget to tell you that there were a pair of sly weasels who, too cowardly to seize what they desired, were exacting tribute on the pretense they could keep the reavers away? I had told the bailiff of the Long Acres to seize them, and he sent word they were taken. I set out for the Long Acres before your messenger came, and he followed me—which is one reason everything was so delayed. Those two are for hanging, I think. I brought them and sent them into prison in the town. I was sure you would have no room for prisoners here. By the by, what did you do with Sir Guy?”
“Took him into service. Is that not what you expected me to do? What else could I do with such an honest fool? I have sent him into hiding. You heard his tale, did you not? I feared one of our guests might know his face.”
While she was speaking, Alinor had set a basin below Ian’s knee, placed a thick pad over it, and trickled the cold water onto the pad. Ian sighed with relief and closed his eyes. He had been right to trust her judgment in Sir Guy’s case. This marriage would be perfect, if only— Well, she had not allowed him to finish when he started to tell her how long he had loved her, but she had not withdrawn from him either. There was something he had to ask—something—oh yes, the king’s messenger. Wearily, he forced his lids open, but it was Gertrude who held the flask so that the coolness flowed softly over his throbbing knee. Later Ian woke with a cry of pain when the chair was lifted, but his leg was held rigid on a board, and the pang was brief. He remembered mumbling something about being full of fleas, and Alinor made some soothing response. The bed was soft and warm as heaven. Ian slept.
Morning brought disorientation and a moment of panic. From the exquisite bedcurtains, it was plain that he was in some great lady’s bed—but whose? Full wakefulness resolved the panic into clear memory and a roar of laughter. Alinor pulled the bedcurtains aside.
“That is a pleasant sound to start the morning.”
“And you are a pleasant sight to start the morning.”
“How gallant. But you laughed before you saw me. Why?”
Ian hesitated, then grinned. “Because at first I could not remember whose bed I was in— And it is a gentleman’s first duty to remember in the morning—”
Alinor giggled delightedly. It was the first sign she had that Ian was not a pious-mouthed prude. “Wretch! Well, you will not be troubled with that question again—not if you wish to keep intact the wherewithal to make a bed a place for other than sleep.”
“Alinor!”
“Did you think I would not be a jealous wife?” she asked provocatively. “I have not a complaisant nature.”
Somewhat dazed by that miracle of understatement, Ian had only strength enough to murmur, “I would never have guessed if you had not told me.”
“I thought so.” Alinor replied with enormous gravity as she put back the bedclothes to look at Ian’s knee. “My disposition is so mild and yielding in general, that I was sure you would need this warning.” A sidelong glance did not meet the indignation Alinor expected. She had underestimated her opponent.
With a totally bland expression, Ian agreed warmly. “Of course. Have I not had repeated demonstrations of your gentleness? I know you so meek and mild that a single angry word is too great punishment. I am sorry to hear of your jealousy, of course. However, since you are so biddable, so amiable, in all other ways, I needs must make the best of this small crotchet.”
Beaten at her own game, Alinor could only laugh. She was relieved to see that the swelling was greatly reduced, although the blue, black and green discoloration seemed greater. Very gently, Alinor probed Ian’s kneecap. He stiffened but did not wince away or protest. As well as she could feel, the bone seemed whole. This news was very welcome. Ian confessed he had felt it himself two days before but could make nothing of it. Then a lively discussion ensued. Alinor proposed that Ian remain abed; he swore in response that he would have his clothes off and bathe if it cost his life. Although Alinor knew this was the thin edge of the wedge, his need was very apparent. His skin was caked with dirt; she could see the lice in his hair; and he stank to high heaven—even to Alinor’s hardened nose. Ian’s proposal won.
The movement from bed to bath and out again seemed to do so little harm, even though Ian had to bend his leg a little in the tub, that it was far less unreasonable when he said he would go down to his guests.
“I must, you know,” he insisted, forestalling Alinor’s objections. “I dare no
t ask this one and that one to come up here to talk. Each will wonder what the other said, and also that would be an unhealthy tale to carry back to the king—and someone is sure to carry it. Worse yet would be for all the great lords to come together away from the tale bearers.”
A compromise was reached. Alinor bound Ian’s leg to a splint that would prevent him from bending his knee, and he agreed to use a crutch. With this protection and the help of two sturdy menservants, he was got down the stairs in time to break his fast with the guests. As was natural, his arrival was greeted with loud and ribald jests about his reluctance to yield up his single state for married blessedness. Several warm offers to take his place were proposed, and various inducements were offered to Alinor to throw over so reluctant a groom and choose one more eager.
To the company’s huge delight, this brought Adam to his stepfather’s defense. He bounded up from where the young people were seated and proclaimed sturdily that Lord Ian did wish to marry his mother. Lord Ian had said so, and he was no liar. What was more, Adam insisted pugnaciously, Lord Ian had been occupied upon his mother’s business, and that was what made him late. Ian’s voice, gravely thanking his ardent supporter, overrode various sounds of strangulation as the good-natured crowd smothered its amusement. Satisfied at routing the enemy, Adam returned to his proper place again, but that was the end of that sort of joke. Whatever animosities those in the group had for one another, few were directed at the bride and groom and, even if small spites that could be relieved by a jest existed, no one wished to distress Alinor’s children.
Unfortunately, the next shafts of humor were less harmless. It started innocently enough with Robert of Leicester rolling his goblet of wine between his hands and complimenting Ian on the entertainment they were being offered. Ian raised a quizzical brow, unsure of whether this was a sincere compliment directed at Alinor or a prelude to some teasing remark. The lively, laughing Robert of Leicester seemed to be unlike his father, who had been a grave, ponderous man, slow of movement (except on the battlefield) and heavy of appearance. In actuality, both had the same keen, quick mind and the same steady, single-minded devotion to the quiet development of their own property and power. This apparently selfish motive produced really excellent results.
Neither of the Leicesters were violently acquisitive men, the younger Robert more because of the example of his father than from his own peaceable intentions. Thus, they were not prone to attack their neighbors for an imagined insult. This mildness had brought them huge increases in wealth and influence. During the violent upheavals of the civil war, when Henry sought to wrest the throne from Stephen, their lesser neighbors had voluntarily begged for their protection and had taken vassalage under them. Stephen, wishing to have at least one great baron who was not ready to leap to arms, confirmed these arrangements and even seissined more estates upon them. Because the restrained behavior was accompanied by a lively intelligence, a good strong arm when challenged, and a deep understanding of affairs, the property had remained intact and had even grown under Henry’s and Richard’s rules.
The Leicesters had always done the king good service and had been decently rewarded. What was often forgotten was that their loyalty, like Alinor’s, was to their own lands and not to any king. Old Robert had been a favorite of Stephen’s for many years, yet when he saw that Henry was the stronger and that, if a strong king did not soon curb the realm, complete chaos would result, old Robert changed sides and gave his strength to Henry. There had been no need to shift between Henry and Richard; that war was fought on the continent, and old Robert was a past master at evading his military feudal duties.
It was young Robert who faced the choice between Richard and John. He had not set a foot amiss. Sweet words were offered to both—and nothing else. Young Robert watched his herds increase, watched his serfs garner rich crops, listened to the contented talk of his vassals and thought to himself that his father’s ways were good ways. Because he was a young man and strong of his hands, he fought gladly in the Crusade and in the wars Richard waged against Philip of France. England lay at peace, and it was cheaper to fight himself, leading his own vassals and men-at-arms, than to pay knights to take his place. When John continued the war so lamely that he lost Normandy, Robert was not among the army. And when the treaty had been signed with Philip, Robert went to France and made his own arrangements. Unlike nine-tenths of the English barons who had lost their Norman lands, Leicester’s still belonged to him.
Needless to say, Robert of Leicester did not approve of John’s desire to invade Normandy in 1204. He had supported the barons’ refusal, although he had not been among their spokesmen. Thus King John’s wrath did not fall directly upon him, as it had upon William of Pembroke. Still, he could see the handwriting on the wall, and each year the taxes pinched him harder and took a larger number of cattle and sheep from his herds and a larger number of bushels from his gram.
“I make special remark of the richness of our entertainment,” Robert said innocently in reply to Ian’s half-cautious, half-questioning look, “because if you had delayed a few weeks in your wedding, I am afraid you would not have had the wherewithal to furnish us food and drink so lavishly.”
Ian’s eyes flew to Alinor and hers to him. Did Robert know of the grudge King John had against her? And if so how did he know?
“You must think me a poor housewife to be so ill-prepared for the lean months of winter not to be able to feed my guests,” Alinor responded with a laugh.
“Lady Alinor, I meant no such thing, and you know it,” Leicester replied, more seriously than Alinor liked. “I have guested here often enough, and I know well your matchless skill at management. However, you cannot feed guests with that which has been taken away to enrich another’s store.”
“None can take—” Alinor began, bristling, but Ian laid his hand over hers.
“Are you trying to insult me, Robert?” he asked, grinning. “I never knew you to be so unkind or to add shame to a man already stricken down. Just because I fell victim to a child’s trick and scraped my knee—”
“No,” Leicester drawled, “I do not think a scraped knee, nor a broken one either, could hold you back from guarding your own—except against one single force. I have heard—from a good and reliable source—that the king will demand a thirteenth of our goods when he comes again to England.”
Not only the high table fell silent but the tables at which the vassals and castellans sat also. As the words were whispered to the lower tables, farther and farther away down the hall, silence fell upon them also. This touched every man, down to the serfs, who were not present but would ultimately pay for all. The eyes of the silent faces were not turned toward Leicester, who sat three places down from Ian on the left of his own wife, who followed Lord Llewelyn and Joan in the seating, according to protocol. Everyone looked toward the Earl of Salisbury, who sat at Alinor’s right hand.
He shrugged. “I cannot deny there was some talk of it. What was decided, I do not know. My wife sent me an urgent message that I must come home.”
“I was very ill,” Lady Salisbury’s whining voice confirmed from her husband’s side. “I had such beatings of the heart, such pains of the eyes and dizziness of the head that I could not lift myself from my pillow.”
Alinor did not doubt that Salisbury had received such a letter. Probably he had received one exactly like that twice or thrice a week the entire period of his absence. Perhaps, Alinor thought, with a flash of amusement, she had overestimated Salisbury’s good nature. It would be a shame to rid oneself of such a good excuse to come and go from the king’s presence. While Salisbury wished to be with his half brother, he had only to commit Lady Ela’s letters to the flames. When he wished to go, it was only necessary to present the pathetic missive.
That was all less to the point than why Salisbury had left John. It was possible he came early to England out of love of Ian, to lend his presence to the wedding and thus soften John’s spite. Certainly, he had asked sincere and
anxious questions about Ian’s lameness. There were, however, more interesting reasons that could be suggested. Had Salisbury come to spread the news about this new tax so that the shock when John announced it would be less? Had he opposed his brother’s will in this matter and left either in pique or in disgrace?
“Of course it does not matter to me,” Lord Llewelyn remarked. “A thirteenth of nothing is still nothing. North Wales is a poor land, and any man who wants a thirteenth—or any other portion—of its wild flocks can come and hunt them through the hills. Still, I send my people out to hunt before a war, not after. Money is needed for fighting, not for peace. I understand, moreover, that the king had great success in this campaign. Was there no booty?”
“Llewelyn,” Joan murmured, “do not be so mischievous. This is not the time or place to make trouble.”
“There could not be much booty,” William of Pembroke’s deep voice rumbled from the right of Lady Salisbury. “Since the lands were his to begin with, the king could have no profit in stripping them.”
Salisbury looked down the table. “That is generous, Pembroke,” he remarked.
“It is just,” William replied stiffly.
“Still, there must have been rich ransoms,” Leicester commented. “I heard Montauban was stuffed with Philip’s nobility.”
“You heard aright, but the ransoms did not go to the king, beyond a moderate share,” Ian pointed out pacifically. “I had my portion, as did all who took part in the assault.”
“Well, that is true enough,” Leicester agreed. He had made his point and did not wish to embarrass his host and hostess.
“It was kind of you to warn me, Robert,” Alinor said swiftly, before anyone could introduce another sensitive topic. “Now that I know, I shall put you all to work for your dinners. My huntsman has reported a fine boar lies up only a mile or two into my forest. Who will come with me to bring him down for the table?”
A chorus of enthusiastic response covered Ian’s startled oath. “You will not go to hunt wild boar!” he exclaimed.
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