by Ling, Maria
"Are you hurt?" Mary's eyes darkened with worry.
"Did you kill someone?" Will's lit up with awe.
"No," Hugh said. "I'm not hurt." He ached a little here and there, John's blows had been strong. "And yes. I did kill a man. John de Bois is dead."
"Thank God," Mary said, viciously.
Hugh fought back a smile. "He lent me strength, certainly. Now I have a problem to solve. John's men are my captives, but his force waits beyond the walls. I'll have to parley with them, see what they choose to do now. We may face a battle. I'll tell them it was a personal quarrel, that's true enough. If they're men of sense, they'll see the reason of that and not make a fight of it. But I can't promise. Stay here and be easy until I get back." He kissed Mary, ruffled Will's hair, strode off before he could yield to the temptation to linger. One day, he promised himself. When all this was over. When there was no more war in England, and he had time to spend with his wife and son.
John de Bois' right-hand man came to the walls willingly enough, but his face grew grimmer and his voice harsher as Hugh called down the news.
"We can make a fight of it if you like," Hugh shouted down. "But I'm well ensconced here, as you know. And we both fight for the same man, for the king of England. A private matter ought not to come between us. I'll release your men to you gladly, entirely unharmed, if you'll give your word to march away and leave us in peace. Or I'll have them sent back to you in pieces, if that is your wish. Choose."
The men withdrew, consulted at length, appeared -- from the snarl of competing voices -- to pursue an argument. But when they approached again, it was with a settled air.
"We will not fight," the man in charge yelled across the ditch. "Do you give your word that you are still loyal to the king, and that you hold this castle for his his cause?"
"I do," Hugh replied.
"Then send back my men, and the body of John de Bois also, and I give my word to make no assault on you. The king's friend is my friend. God knows he can use us all."
Hugh nodded to a couple of the guards, who set off to ensure compliance.
"I have news for you also," the man continued. "A force under command of Martin of Wode is camped out not a day's march from here."
"Again?"
"Looks like they've licked their wounds and come back for more," the man said. "Can you handle them or do you want me to stay? I'd rather leave, truth be known. There's been fighting at Oxford, and I don't yet know the outcome. Our numbers are small enough, but they might make a difference."
"Go," Hugh called down. "I'll hold Rowes Castle against Martin of Wode, or any other man who tries to take it."
The man laughed. "I believe you," he said. "John always said you were a fierce one. Pity you had to prove him right."
"He was after my wife," Hugh said. "Would you have done less?"
"I don't know," the man replied. "Depends if she was pretty or not. Yours, now -- yes, I suppose I can see it. Shame, though."
"That's war," Hugh said with an indifferent shrug. "We'll lose plenty more good men before it's all over." And women and children, too, he thought, in greater numbers still. Always the first to die, children were. And the women followed after, once the men had finished with them. There must be some better way to run a country.
"If you say so," the man said. "Well, I leave you to contemplate it in peace. Let me have my men and my lord's body, and we'll be off."
"You shall have them," Hugh promised.
***
"Do you think he told the truth?" Mary asked that evening, as they lay close together in bed. Will was out of hearing at long last, tucked up comfortably enough in a corner of the antechamber, where the guards had strict orders to leave him be and see that he was not troubled. Hugh trusted the men, they'd grown up with him from a boy, he knew them for honest and decent souls. Still he kept one ear pricked, just in case. In time he'd fuss worse than Mary did.
"I think so," Hugh said. "They did move off as promised. I had scouts keep an eye on them until dark. The men on the walls have been warned to stay alert in case there's a surprise attack at night. But I doubt it. We're on the same side, there's no sense in brawling amongst ourselves. He understood that, as John used to do."
Mary shivered and clung to him tighter. "I'm glad that man is dead."
"So am I," Hugh admitted. "Though it's not an ending -- there are plenty more men like him in the world, sad to say. I can't kill them all, much as I'd want to. God's grace is all we can hope for there." He cuddled her to him, he loved to feel her soft body against his own. "But we have some respite now, here at Rowes Castle. Assuming our friends hold to their word and leave us be, which I do believe they will, and assuming their estimate of distance was accurate when it comes to Martin of Wode, I'd say we have a day or two of peace. We'll see to stores and equipment in the meantime, and get some sleep." He raised himself on his elbow, and leaned down to kiss her. "And other things," he murmured against her mouth.
Mary's hand drifted up over his arm and shoulder. Her fingers nestled in his hair. Her tongue lay sweet and soft against his own, yielding, caressing. He was getting less clumsy with her, better skilled. It would take time, as all things did. He'd told Will as much that afternoon, when the boy fumbled the practice sword. It was well to remind himself of it now and then, too.
But he hated feeling like a young boy, lost and uncertain. He hadn't felt that way in years. It exposed some part of his core that he preferred to keep hidden. He wanted Mary to respect him, admire and look up to him, not patiently tutor him as if he were a child. Yet it didn't seem to trouble her, that he had so much still to learn.
She pulled him over her now, made no protest as he slid his hand up under her shift and stroked her skin, her breasts, her nipples that hardened under his touch. That made him harden too, his limb was aching now, he longed to plunge it inside her. And he could, she was his, she would make no move to stop him. This in truth was Paradise itself.
"Do you want this?" he asked, with his mouth so close to hers that their lips brushed. He didn't really doubt it, but he wanted to feel the shiver of delight as she whispered, "Yes" and pulled him into another deep long kiss. Then she eased her legs apart and embraced his hips, tucked herself up to let him enter her, and he was lost to all thought but the intensity of pleasure that rode him and carried him and raised him up on a great wave and finally plunged him into ecstasy again.
They lay with their arms around each other, shuddering together, until the last delicious spasm passed. Hugh buried his face in Mary's hair, he couldn't reach to kiss her lips, but he kissed her hair as it lay tangled over the sheets, nuzzled the top of her head, whispered that she was the most delectable wife any man ever had. She laughed at that, and the bubbling joy in the sound make him laugh too, quietly, for sheer delight.
"There." They came apart, not far, just enough to let him reach down to kiss her and wrap his arms around her waist. "I meant it," Hugh added, more soberly. "You are."
"And you," Mary said, "are the truest knight any woman could ever dream of for a husband."
"God knows I've paid for the privilege," Hugh said, thinking of horse and armour and sword, all paid for out of his own money. That made him think of her steward and the two thousand marks. "Have you had word from your own manor yet?"
"No." Mary snuggled against his shoulder, kissed his skin. He loved the touch of her, she could stay there all night and he'd never move. Though she'd fall asleep in the end, he guessed, best to stir after all and kiss her in return, she liked that and he did too.
"Even if he can find the money," Hugh mused, "I doubt he'll find the means to transport it in safety. I might send word for him not to trouble. Much as I'd like to see such a fortune here, most likely it would fall into robbers' hands, or Angevin hands which would be much the worse."
"As you say," Mary said in a drowsy voice. She'd fall asleep now, he guessed, he'd learned to spot that shift in her breathing. Good notion, he might as well follow. But he waited un
til she was under before he moved, and then he slipped out of her arms and ventured out into the antechamber to check on Will. The boy was fast asleep, content with some cushions and a velvet cloak of his father's. Hugh exchanged brief words with the guards, got their assurance the boy would be let well alone and admitted at once if he woke. Then stole back into bed, snuggled close to his wife, and let sleep capture him.
***
"They still haven't seen him." Hugh turned away from the scouts. Mary had got used to seeing them, every few days, as they brought news into the castle. She still did not know their names.
Now they made a brief reverence and left. Hugh stood with his arms crossed, weighing slowly back and forth on his feet, in a manner she had grown accustomed to. From the far end of the hall came the thwocks of wooden swords, and occasional murmurs. Hugh's men had taken on the training of Will. She didn't care for that, she wanted her boy safe and sheltered in her arms. But Hugh wished it, and she could not go against her husband's commands. Besides, Will had run off without stopping to tell her goodbye. It was only thanks to the downpour outside that she got to see him at all. In fair weather, he'd be practising outside.
"As for Martin of Wode," Hugh said, "I imagine he's waiting the weather out. No one chooses to march in heavy rain. We'll see him when it dries up a bit, unless he decides we're too small to trouble with. Which I doubt, but you never know. He might have had news from elsewhere."
"The messenger might not even have reached my steward by now," Mary said.
"It's possible," Hugh conceded. "Though he should have done -- should be on his way back with an answer. Of course, it may be that he's been waylaid. In which case we don't have anything coming to us. Or your steward is taking time and care over the answer. Time will show us the truth." He uncrossed his arms, gripped the stone edge of the window as if about to push himself away, thought better of it. "I've sent word to Martin of Wode," he said. "I've heard of him as a reasonable man. It may be he could be turned to our cause."
"Do you believe that?" Mary asked, startled. "After so many of his men died?"
"It's possible," Hugh repeated. "Men have turned before now. Once they saw the wind blow in the king's favour, or once the Angevins got too high-handed with them. The reasons vary with each man's heart. But it can and does happen. I'd be glad to have his strength with me, if he's determined to camp out in the neighbourhood."
"But would you trust him?" Mary asked.
"Not closely," Hugh admitted. "And not at first. But if he comes in willingly to join the king's cause, and if he waits on Stephen in person and makes the proper obeisance... well, if the king accepts him into service, who am I to question his loyalty? We'll see. Worth putting a word in, at least, if he'll meet with me and hear what I've got to say."
"And will he meet with you?"
"I don't know. I've sent a messenger to find out. We'll know by his answer, or by whether he returns at all."
"But they wouldn't -- " Mary gasped.
"They would." Hugh's face was grim. "Or they might. Some men would, I know that for a fact. Whether Martin of Wode is such a man, I have yet to discover. We'll see." He grinned at her, bleak thoughts pushed aside. "In the meantime, there's still a bed upstairs."
"It's barely noon," Mary protested.
"Best time." He glanced down the hall. "Since your son is otherwise engaged, and likely to remain so for a while -- "
"Hugh!" Will cried, in a voice that echoed between the white-plastered stone walls. "Look at me!"
"There," Mary said and grinned back at her husband. "Don't think parenthood can be cast aside so lightly."
"Apparently not." Hugh watched the boy for a while. "He shows some promise. I doubt he'll ever make a great swordsman, but that's seldom necessary. If he knows how to fight, and how to kill, it's enough."
Mary shivered. "Don't say that."
"Be glad of it," Hugh replied. "It's kept you in my hands and out of those of worse men."
"I suppose so," Mary conceded. "But I'd rather he never had to fight at all."
"He will," Hugh said. "Every man does. He ought to know how to handle himself, or he'll be the one who loses. Which means death, or worse. You don't want that for him either."
"No. Of course not."
"There you are, then."
Mary pressed against him where he stood, felt his reassuring bulk and strength against her own body. He put his arm around her and hugged her to him, and she felt safe and protected and at peace.
"I don't want you to lose either," she said.
"I won't," Hugh said with cheerful confidence. "I seldom do."
The outer door swung open. A messenger strode in, crossed the expanse of straw-covered boards, made his reverence to Hugh. "Martin of Wode says he'll meet you, at a time and place of your choosing. He also says he has something that belongs to you." The messenger glanced at Mary. "Or rather, to your wife."
***
"So," Martin of Wode said. "You're willing to talk terms."
"Terms for your surrender," Hugh said. "Absolutely."
"An army in the field does not surrender," Martin replied. "Castles, on the other hand -- "
"You had something to tell me?"
"I had something to show you." Martin lifted a small bag from his feet and dropped it on the table. It clinked.
"Money?" Hugh said. A dreadful suspicion stole over him.
"Plenty of it," Martin said. "Now, I could just send it to my overlord, as is my sworn duty. But it looks so pretty, don't you think?" He loosened the thin leather straps, upended the bag and tipped a stream of thin gold discs onto the table. "And I thought, well. If the man to whom this was being sent is in the habit of receiving such things, I could do worse than offer allegiance to him. For a share."
Hugh battled temptation, and lost. "A twentieth part is yours, if you pass on the full amount to me now. And the men who carried it, and the strongbox they carried it in, and the letter that came with them."
Martin drew out a parchment from a fold of his cloak and flicked it across. Hugh noted the seal, scanned the few lines from Mary's steward, nodded approval.
"I'll have men and box sent up to the castle," Martin said. "Though a twentieth part sounds narrow to me."
"It's for the king," Hugh said. "Payment for the widow Rowes and her son."
Martin whistled. "They didn't come cheap."
"They did not," Hugh agreed. "I'll keep back a little to restore the surrounding area, make a small donation to the Church, that sort of thing. Grease the wheels. But the main share is Stephen's, and he shall have it. You could prove your loyalty in no better way than by offering the money to him."
"While your own share is -- ?"
"None for myself," Hugh said. "I'll take a tenth for repairs and maintenance, and a further tenth for contingencies."
"I'll match your share," Martin said. "One fifth for you and one fifth for me, and the rest for the king."
"Done," Hugh said. "I'll take the bags now, if you'll allow me."
"Trust between allies?" Martin queried.
"Let's say I feel safer with my own hand on the strap."
Martin laughed aloud, his stubbled face twisting with honest amusement. "Well, I won't make long speeches praising my own fealty -- especially since I've just exchanged lord for lord at a price. You'll find me loyal enough, if I'm paid promptly and well. Like most men, I'll wager."
"You'd win," Hugh admitted. "I'll take your oath, such as it is, and be glad of it. Dearly bought though I find it to be."
"I come cheaper than your wife," Martin observed. "Be grateful for that, at least."
***
"Well, I got it," Hugh said with a sigh as he slumped onto the bed. "Rowes Castle is secure, your lands -- as best I can ascertain -- are still undamaged, John de Bois is dead and his men appear to carry no grudge, I've got money enough to satisfy the king, at least for now, and Martin of Wode is sworn to the king's service, for what little that's worth. He shouldn't be a thorn in my side
here, at any rate. I think that's everything."
"What about Will?" Mary challenged. "You keep threatening to send him away."
"Well, not right at the moment," Hugh said. "Not as things stand. Next year, perhaps, or the year after."
"Or not at all."
Hugh reached out with one hand, and grinned at her.
"Come here," he said, "and convince me."
***
"He offers it as payment for the widow Rowes and her child," Martin said. "And I'm happy to bring it, as Your Grace's most loyal servant." He shifted a little, the packed earth floor lay hard under his knee, but it was well to show submission to his king. Especially just now.
"A rather sudden conversion," Stephen said with a scowl. He sat splay-legged on a wooden stool by a plain hewn table, with the gold tipped out over the rough surface. As he spoke, he fingered the coins, like a man wondering if they were genuine.
"I admit I was misled for a while," Martin replied. "It is the way of mortal men to fall into error. True nobility, as Your Grace will be aware, lies not in achieving perfection -- which is never possible here on earth -- but in owning and acknowledging our faults. I do most humbly confess that I have wronged Your Grace, and I do yearn to make reparations."
"Really?" Stephen eyed the gold that spread across the table in front of him. "In what manner?"
"If I may serve in battle, that would suit me well. Or perhaps Your Grace has other needs. I note the preponderance of Flemings within your army." Martin risked a glance around at the guards who surrounded him. "Good fighters, so I hear, but expensive. Such wealth as I have, from the few manors and little land that I command, is entirely at Your Grace's disposal."
Stephen's face cleared. In place of the scowl, a chilly smile descended.
"Tell me," he said. "Exactly which manors do you command?"
***
About the Author:
Maria Ling is the romance pen name of fantasy author M P Ericson. She lives on the edge of a moor in Yorkshire, England, surrounded by ruined abbeys and haunted caves. Visit her Smashwords author page for more stories.