Fawkes spoke wearily, “Given how truly despicable Mortimer was, you would think everyone at Valmar would take Lady Nicola’s side and raise her up as a paragon of virtue. Unless some of the things said about her are true. Perhaps people had reason to condemn her as well as Mortimer.”
“But do they condemn her? FitzSaer told you the story of Nicola killing the babe. What we need to find out is what everyone else thinks.”
“How are we to discover that? They aren’t likely to speak openly to me.”
“But they might to me,” Reynard motioned back to the stables. “It was Gillian, the maid up in the hayloft, who told me the sad tale of little Edwin. Perhaps I should ask her opinion of Lady Nicola.”
Fawkes made a sound of disgust. “Being a woman, she’s probably sympathetic to Nicola’s plight, wed to a loathsome man like Mortimer. She might well lie to protect her lady.”
“Or, she might be jealous of Nicola and eager to spread gossip besmirching her. That’s why we must seek out the opinions of several people in the household, of different ranks and sexes. That’s the only way we’ll gain a sense of Lady Nicola’s true nature.”
“But doing that will take time. Not to mention someone is bound to go to Nicola and tell her what we’re about. Then she’ll know I don’t trust her.”
Reynard guffawed. “Believe me, Fawkes, she already knows you think the worst of her. By now news of your visit to the village wise woman has already reached her ears.”
Fawkes clenched his jaw. Damn it all. Reynard was right. What if it turned out that the rumors were false and Nicola was innocent of everything? Then his treatment of her was unforgivable. What sort of man berated a woman with questions regarding her dead child? Maybe he should forget the stupid rumors and assume all was well. And yet… There was something, some lie or secret Nicola was holding back. All his instincts told him that. What was it?
The high stone walls of Valmar Castle loomed ahead. Gazing at them, Fawkes wondered gloomily if he would ever find true satisfaction in the prize he’d won, or if doubts about Nicola would continue to poison his dream.
Chapter Nine
Nicola woke early, after a long and restless night. She’d lain awake for hours hoping Fawkes would come. Of course, once she’d learned he’d been to see Glennyth, she should have known better than to expect him. He thought she was lying and had immediately sought out confirmation of her story. By now, the whole castle and the village were probably buzzing with the news that the new lord had done his duty by his new wife, but naught else. He might despise her and think her a child-murderer, but he could have at least tried to keep up appearances.
Of course, there was no reason for him to care about such matters. His rejection of her did not affect his reputation, only hers.
She climbed slowly from the bed. Was this what her life would be like from now on? Would she have to sit beside Fawkes in the hall for the evening meal and exchange polite, meaningless conversation, then go to her bed alone? Was he sleeping in the lord’s chamber in the tower opposite? Or some unused guestroom elsewhere in the castle? Had he slept alone, or found an agreeable serving maid to warm his bed?
Perhaps Old Emma knew. She seemed to keep abreast of the latest castle gossip. Nicola put on her plain blue work gown and covered her braided hair with a linen cloth. Then she sought out the small alcove on the lower level where the servant had moved her pallet in anticipation of Fawkes sharing Nicola’s bedchamber.
Old Emma sat up. “Milady, what is? Surely it’s not morning yet.”
“Aye, it is.” Nicola sank down on the end of the pallet. “I spent another night alone. Do you know where Fawkes is sleeping?”
Old Emma got up stiffly. “He sleeps in a chamber in the north tower. It’s mainly used for storage, but there’s a small pallet there. Similar to mine.”
“He said he was unused to creature comforts,” Nicola mused. “Still, it seems odd he doesn’t use the lord’s chamber with its big bed and the solar so close by.”
“I presume he chose the place he did because he thought he would not be found there.”
“A futile plan. Tell me also, have you heard if he sleeps alone?”
“He does. Apparently several of the maids offered their services, but he turned them all down. Indeed, I heard a tale from one of his men that Fawkes had a reputation for being celibate long before he arrived here. When the other men visited whores and such, Fawkes never went along.”
“It would seem he tries to be discreet. Although it’s a waste of time here at Valmar, where gossiping is a fine art. I had two people tell me yesterday that Fawkes went to see Glennyth. Clearly, he doesn’t believe anything I say and sought out confirmation of my account.”
Old Emma nodded. “He’s also having his red-haired captain ask everyone in the castle what they think of you.”
“I’m certain he will find plenty of people who will speak ill of me.” Nicola could not keep the bitterness from her voice.
“Oh, not so many.” Old Emma patted her shoulder. “A few men, like that FitzSaer bastard, who dislike the idea of a woman having a position of authority. And of course, the young maids who are envious of you and your handsome new husband.”
“Aye, Fawkes is fine to look upon. But if that is all I am to have of him from now on, I would almost rather he was ugly.”
“Don’t be so discouraged, milady. De Cressy will come around. He’s not an unreasonable man. Nor is he blind. I’m sure having to look at you and keep his distance is causing him plenty of frustration.”
“Then why doesn’t he give me a chance? Why does he insist on acting as if I am some fiend he must avoid at all costs?”
“He’s being careful, I think. Fearing to make a misstep and lose what he’s fought so hard for. You must admit, to someone coming from the outside, what happened to Mortimer is rather disturbing. Enough to make any man wary.”
“I’ve told you a dozen times, I only gave Mortimer that elixir a few times. If he struggled with impotence later on, then it must have been his own guilty conscience getting the better of him.”
“’Twas not the elixir. ’Twas the curse you laid on him.”
Nicola gave a humorless laugh. “Aye, the curse. The one I made up in the moment. The claim that I would make his balls wither and his shaft go soft. Words, that’s all it was. I had no power to do such a thing.”
“But he didn’t know that, and so all you had to do was make it appear to work a few times, and it became real to him.”
“Well, now I am paying for it, aren’t I? I have a virile young husband who has no interest in sharing my bed.”
“You should speak to Glennyth. Mayhaps ask her for a love potion.” Old Emma snorted.
Nicola ignored the jest. “I would like to talk to her, to know what she and Fawkes spoke of. But there will be gossip aplenty if I go see her now.”
“Can it be any worse than what is already being bantered about?”
Nicola nodded. “You’re right. I should go. Now, before all the castle is stirring.”
“I’m on my way to break my fast. Do you want me to get you anything, milady?”
“What I yearn for is not something you can find in the kitchen.”
“Don’t give up hope. You’ve not been wed to the man even a sennight.”
Leaving Old Emma, Nicola moved rapidly through the still-quiet castle. Outside in the yard she passed two groggy kitchen boys fetching wood to start the day’s cooking and a scullery maid carrying a pail of water from the well.
She continued to the gate, halting when she saw the portcullis was down. Although the gate was closed at night, by this time of day it would normally be raised. Soon workers from the village would begin to arrive, along with fresh produce.
She called up to the guard. “Open the gate, please. I have an errand in the village.”
A man poked his head out of the tower, his features indistinct in the dim light. “Who are you and what is your errand?”
“I’m Lady N
icola. And I do not believe I need state my business to you.”
She heard hushed, intense whispers, followed by the creak of the portcullis being raised. After passing through the gate, she turned and called up. “I would advise you to leave the gate open. There’s always free movement between the village and the castle during the daytime.”
“No offense, milady, but that is for Lord Fawkes to decide.”
As she made her way down the trackway, the world seemed to brighten moment by moment. Colors crept out of the darkness, grew sharper and more vivid. Halfway down the hill, she paused to enjoy the splendor of dawn’s arrival. The mist along the river glowed pink and golden, floating over the valley like some fairy magic. The sun rose as a coppery ball of fire over the blue-green countryside.
She indulged herself a few seconds before continuing on. The village folk rose earlier than those who dwelled in the castle. Men who toiled in the fields depended on the light, and at the first sign of it, they set about their tasks.
The mist had still not burned off as she neared the hamlet. She heard a dog bark and a rooster crow, but could not see either. She skirted the village and sought out the thatched cottage beyond the common. At the doorway, she groped for the rope hanging from the eaves. Finding it, she rang the bell on the end. Glennyth was often summoned in the dark of night, so she’d arranged the bell as a signal that she was needed.
“Enter,” Glennyth called.
Nicola opened the door and slipped inside. Immediately a miasma of scents assaulted her; herbs, some sweet, some pungent, filled the dwelling. They hung from the rafters, covered every inch of the walls and overflowed from baskets on the dirt floor. Nicola wondered how anyone could grow used to such a smothering atmosphere of scents. Of course, it was probably more pleasant than the reek of dung, garbage and cooking smells that permeated most village houses.
Glennyth knelt by the fire, grinding some greenish paste in bowl. She looked at Nicola questioningly. “Lady, what do you here?”
“I heard Fawkes has been to see you.”
Glennyth’s mouth quirked slightly. “You mean your new husband?”
“Aye.”
Glennyth sat back and regarded Nicola shrewdly. “He did come here. Asking me questions about the babe that died.”
“What did you tell him?”
“The truth, of course.”
Nicola exhaled sharply. Her heart seemed to stop. “Why would you do such a thing?”
“Don’t be alarmed. I merely answered his questions. He asked how the babe died and I told him it was born dead, strangled by the birthing cord.”
Nicola sank on the stool near the fire. “Oh, thank the saints. I thought you meant you’d told him about Simon.”
“And if I had, would that be such a calamity? Simon is de Cressy’s son.”
“That has no bearing on the matter. Fawkes has already heard the babe was born dead, and I have confirmed it. If I suddenly change my story and produce a living child, a child who looks nothing like him, he’ll never believe he’s the father. I should have told him when he first asked me. Then there might have been a chance he would accept Simon.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“When he brought up the matter, we scarce knew each other, except in bed. And the way he questioned me, the harshness of his tone, I felt like he already believed the worst of me. The man has been cold and wary from the very moment he walked into the castle yard and claimed Valmar.”
Not true, a niggling voice reminded her. She remembered Fawkes’s sweet, boyish manner as he gave her the ring at the wedding feast. But surely that had been another man. That shy, seemingly adoring knight clearly wasn’t the real Fawkes de Cressy.
“The man I wed is nothing like the one who fathered Simon. The horror and violence of warfare have changed him. He is hard and bitter now, and suspicious of everyone. I might have trusted Simon’s life to the Fawkes of the past. But I can’t risk my darling son’s life to the cold, suspicious stranger his father has become.”
Glennyth nodded thoughtfully. “De Cressy does seem angry and dissatisfied. But perhaps he acts that way because he fears being found weak. He’s seized control of Valmar, but he doesn’t feel worthy of what he’s won. He fears to make a misstep and look foolish and unfit to be a lord.”
“He is not fit!” Nicola stood, overcome by her resentment. “I can already tell he knows next to nothing about running a castle or overseeing a demesne. All he knows is warfare. How to win a territory in battle, but not how to rule it. He’s not as arrogant as Mortimer was. And he certainly isn’t as lazy and stupid. But at least Mortimer came from a noble background and knew what was expected of him, even if he failed to do it. As far as I can tell, Fawkes is the son of some hired knight and is far over his head in this thing, yet too proud to admit it. And so, he is suspicious and wary of everyone and willing to listen to any foul gossip he hears.”
“I am glad we agree in this. You pretend you don’t understand this man you have wed, but I think you understand him very well. He needs the very thing you can give him. You can teach him how to be lord. You can show him how to rule Valmar.”
Nicola exhaled in disgust. “You think he will listen to me? He thinks I’m some evil creature who killed her own child!”
“I doubt he really believes that. Give him time. Go about your duties as chatelaine. Show him what needs to be done. He’s obviously sharp-witted and shrewd. Otherwise he’d never have risen so high. Eventually he will see you for what you are and forget the foolish rumors. And then when you have won his trust, you can tell him about Simon, and all will be well.”
“But what about…”
“About what?”
Another spasm of anguish twisted through Nicola. She didn’t want to speak of these things with Glennyth. But the healer seemed a more likely source of advice than Old Emma, despite the servant’s claims.
She turned away and spoke quietly. “There is fire between Fawkes and me. There was the first time, and nothing has changed. When we lay together on our wedding night, ’twas like a pot of oil poured on a blazing hearth. And yet, he left soon after, claiming he couldn’t sleep in such a fine bed. The last two nights he didn’t even bother coming to my bedchamber. I fear he will avoid me from now on, having done his duty.”
“And you don’t wish him to avoid your bed, is that it?”
Nicola grimaced. Women weren’t supposed to be prey to such base desires. At least not noblewomen.
“I could give you a love charm.”
“Do such things really work?”
“I sell dozens. If they didn’t work, why would people continue ask for them?”
Nicola shook her head. “Given the rumors about me, I shouldn’t risk doing something like that. I fear Fawkes already believes I dabble in sorcery.”
“Then you will have to rely on the tools you already possess.”
“Which are?”
“Your beauty. His memories of what you’ve already shared. The fact that he is a man, a young, virile man.”
“In the meantime, while I wait, I wonder if you could make me a sleeping draught.”
Glennyth lit a candle from the hearthfire and carried it into the back portion of her house, which served as her stillroom. Nicola followed the wise woman. She’d always been fascinated by Glennyth. The wise woman knew dozens of herbs and how to mix them, plus the way they should be swallowed, applied to the skin, brewed in a decoction, or otherwise ingested.
Glennyth set down the candle and cleaned off the wooden table, leaving one bowl for mixing. She went to the row of pottery jars on the shelves on the wall and selected several. She placed a fingerful of several kinds of dried herbs into the bowl, then crushed them with a stone pestle.
“What’s in the sleeping draught?” Nicola asked.
“I don’t give away my secrets, at least not until the time comes for me to pass them on.”
“And who will you pass them on to?” Nicola fingered one of the jars on a shelf buil
t into the wall. The strange markings inscribed on the sides meant nothing to her, although she could read and write Latin.
“Maybe I will have a daughter someday.”
“But you’ve vowed never to wed.”
“It doesn’t require a husband to get with child, nor to raise one either.”
Nicola thought of Simon, being raised at Mordeaux. Traveling there to see him would now be more difficult. She’d have to find some excuse, some pretext that would make a journey there believable.
Nicola sighed again, and Glennyth gave her a canny look. “Don’t fret. It will give you wrinkles.”
****
“What do we do today?” Reynard asked, as he and Fawkes broke their fast in the great hall.
“First, I want to explore the whole castle, inside and out. Assess any areas where there might be weakness.” Fawkes took another swallow of bread spread with fresh cheese. “Then I intend to go through all the storerooms and see what sort of supplies we have in case of a siege.”
“Is that really necessary? Do you think we’ll have to defend the castle this summer?”
“How can I know? I have the writ from Richard. But the longer he’s imprisoned, the more likely John and his supporters will try to seize power. I must be prepared for anything.”
“I imagine this is also a way to keep busy and not think about Nicola.”
Fawkes shot Reynard a warning look and motioned with his head to the serving girl pouring their ale. When she’d moved away, he said, “To assess supplies, I need to spend time with the steward. I hope from him I can gain a better assessment of my wife’s character.”
“What would you like me to do while you are so occupied?”
“Meet with FitzSaer and try to get the measure of the man. I need to know whether he truly accepts me as his lord. I can’t help wondering if the tale he told me about Nicola and the babe was a ploy to set me against her.”
“Why would he do that?”
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