Lady of Steel

by Mary Gillgannon

  “To cause trouble. He likely resents me for taking away much of his power and position as castellan. Mortimer apparently gave him free rein of the place. I’m not going to do that.” Fawkes reached for another chunk of bread. “I also need your help in ascertaining the loyalties of the other Mortimer knights. Some may feel as FitzSaer does, that they’ve lost their position or been pushed aside by my men. If you can learn who those individuals are, maybe I can find a way to appease them and smooth their ruffled feathers.”

  “I find it interesting that you are so careful in your strategy in dealing with the Valmar knights, yet charge ahead blindly with Lady Nicola.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, have you ever thought of trying to woo her, to reassure her that you’re not the kind of man Mortimer was and let her know she has nothing to fear from you.”

  “I did that! I told her I would never strike her or abuse her physically, and that if I felt the need to punish her, I would not do so with my fists.”

  Reynard answered, his voice dripping irony: “How very reassured she must be. She knows that if you ever feel the need to punish her, you’ll be the very paragon of lenience.”

  “’Twas not like that! I was speaking rhetorically. I wanted her to know she doesn’t have to fear I’ll abuse her as Mortimer did.”

  Reynard shook his head. “It seems to me that if anything, you have convinced her that in some ways you are exactly like Mortimer. You act as if she is your property, a dog you must discipline, or a horse you’re training for the harness. Even dealing with a page, I don’t think your tone would be so harsh. Why bring up the matter of punishment at all? What do you fear she will do?”

  “Betray me, of course. She’s my wife now. Even if she’s seen fit to take lovers in the past, she needs to know I won’t tolerate it.”

  “Blessed Jesu, save us! Now you accuse her of adultery along with murdering her own child! ’Tis a wonder she sees fit to have anything to do with you!”

  Fawkes glared furiously at Reynard. At the same time, he had the sinking feeling that his friend was right. Curse Reynard! Dealing with people came so easily to him. For Fawkes, it was more challenging. “But what if these rumors of her are true? What if—”

  “What if they’re not? Then you will have destroyed any hope of happiness the two of you might have had.”

  “But I must know the truth. If I’ve married a deceitful, ruthless woman, I must be aware so I can protect myself.” He shot Reynard a resentful glare. “You were the one who issued dire warnings about her on my wedding night.”

  “I know. But I think now I reacted in haste. I was so startled when I heard the tale, I didn’t think it through. The fact is, even if she betrayed you to Mortimer, that doesn’t mean Nicola wishes you ill now. Why would she? She clearly despised Mortimer and is relieved to be free of him. Perhaps if you gave her a chance, you might find she is pleased to have you as her husband.”

  “But what if it’s true she killed my son?”

  “Then you must get beyond that. Accept that Mortimer’s abuse made her half-crazed. People do things under duress they regret terribly later. Besides, you can make other sons with her.”

  Could he? Could he ever bear to lie with Nicola if he found out she had killed an innocent babe?

  Reynard stood. “I’m off to assess things with the Mortimer knights. I have better hopes for the outcome of my plan than I do for your strategy with Nicola.”

  Fawkes finished his meal in glum silence and went out into bailey to set out on his survey of the castle. By late morning he had walked the perimeter of the castle and thoroughly inspected the exterior. But he still needed to find out if there were any secret ways out of the castle. FitzSaer would probably know, but he was reluctant to talk to the man. Sooner or later he would have to spend time with the castellan, but he didn’t want to do it today. Instead, he would find the steward and ask for his help in assessing the castle’s foodstores.

  At the gate, Fawkes asked if anyone had seen the steward. Someone suggested he might be in the kitchen and Fawkes headed there. As he drew near he smelled baking bread. Even though he’d already eaten, the rich, fragrant scent aroused his hunger and took him back to his days as a squire. He would wait outside the kitchen hoping to catch the eye of one of the maids who fancied him, so he could cajole a half a loaf of the heavenly manchet bread. Now that he was lord, he could go in and demand a dozen loaves if he wished. The thought soothed his mood.

  He didn’t find the steward, Warin, in the kitchen, although he did get a fresh loaf. As he munched on the soft, steaming bread, he decided to search for the man in the hall.

  A young maidservant was cleaning off the trestle tables. She looked up and smiled at him. “Milord, how may I serve you?”

  “I’m looking for the steward. Do you know where he might be?”

  “He went off with milady a while ago. I expect they’re in the solar. That’s usually where she meets with him.”

  Fawkes felt a flash of jealousy, but told himself he was being foolish. The steward was scrawny and gray-haired, and old enough to be Nicola’s father.

  He nodded his thanks to the maidservant and sought the stairs to the west tower. Despite his examination of the rest of the castle, he’d never been to the solar. In general, it was considered women’s domain.

  He reached the sunlit room and paused in the doorway. The opulent chamber oozed comfort, beauty and wealth. Tall windows of greenish glass on one end let in warmth and light. The rest of the space was draped and padded and carpeted with a variety of plush materials. Sheepskin rugs with bright braided edges covered the floor. Expensive Flemish tapes­tries overlaid every inch of wall space. Velvet-cushioned chairs and a carved wooden table stood by the hearth. Nearby, a tall iron pricket held glossy beeswax candles. A bronze brazier shaped to look like a fire-breathing dragon was pushed back against a row of chests and coffers.

  Nicola sat by the window with some sewing in her lap. The steward stood facing her. Fawkes heard the word “seed grain” and then “peas.” He cleared his throat to announce his presence.

  She started as she saw him, then her expression changed to the queenly mask that so intimidated him. The steward gave a nervous smile and clutched his bony hands together. “Lord de Cressy, how may I serve you?”

  Fawkes started toward them, halting as he remembered his mud-caked boots. For a moment, he considered walking defiantly across the luxurious floor coverings, leaving a muddy trail in his wake. Then reason overtook him. The carpets he would be despoiling now belonged to him.

  He bent to remove his boots and padded across the floor.

  “Milady and I were discussing the food stores,” the steward said. “I estimate we have two months worth of salted meat remaining and plenty of peas and beans from last year. But our grain supply is very low. This is always a lean time, until we get the harvest in.”

  “How long until harvest?” Fawkes went to the window and peered out. The glass was wavy and flawed in places. Since the solar was built on the inside of the ramparts, the view wasn’t much. But in the winter these windows would allow in sunlight without also letting in the cold, and this room would be a cozy, glowing haven from the chilly gloom of the rest of the castle.

  “Along the river, they’ve already begun harvesting,” the steward answered. “I’m not certain when they will start with the outlying fields. Over by Wilford, they’re always a week or so later.”

  “Wilford?” Fawkes turned. “Is it another village? Part of Mortimer’s…my lands?”

  “Aye, milord. It’s smaller than Valmar, and the harvest not so rich. But their sheep clip is excellent.”

  Although he tried to focus on the steward’s words, Fawkes was acutely aware of Nicola seated a few feet away. He turned to examine the rest of the room. On a table next to a black and white cowhide-covered chair was a chessboard, with the ivory and onyx pieces set up for a game. He immediately wondered if Nicola played. She had the face for it, giving
nothing away.

  He turned back to the steward. “I’m trying to assess how long we could withstand a siege.”

  Warin stiffened. “A siege, milord? Do you expect attack?”

  “There’s no immediate danger, but it’s important to be prepared. What about water? Is there more than the one well, in case attackers find a way to poison the main one?”

  “Nay. Only one well, but we have a cistern to collect rainwater and barrels for storage.”

  “What if it doesn’t rain?”

  Fawkes could see Warin becoming defensive. The steward threw a helpless glance at Nicola, before turning his rheumy blue eyes back to Fawkes. “Milord, I know what supplies are needed to keep Valmar fed and how to prepare for a bad harvest, although it seldom happens. But I have no experience setting aside stores to survive a siege.”

  Fawkes attempted to soften his voice, although he was losing patience. Warin had likely served Nicola’s father, Ruald Luvencote, and Old King Henry would never have allowed Luvencote to control two fine castles like Valmar and Mordeaux if the man knew nothing of warfare. “Why don’t you show me what supplies we have on hand right now.”

  “Of course, milord.” Warin glanced at Nicola. She nodded and rose from her chair.

  Fawkes stiffened. He had no desire for Nicola to come with them. After Reynard’s scolding, he wanted to avoid her. He couldn’t get over the gnawing sense that Reynard was right. “Milady, there’s no need for you to trouble yourself over this matter.”

  “But Lady Nicola keeps the keys.” Warin pointed to the half-dozen keys hanging from Nicola’s belt. “And when it comes to foodstores, she’s a better judge of what the cook will need.”

  Nicola clearly resented his attempt to evaluate the foodstores without her. Her gray eyes seemed even cooler and more distant than usual.

  He inclined his head to her. “Very well. Please proceed.”

  She moved past him in a swish of skirts, trailing the delectable perfume that never failed to affect him. He was glad he had the excuse of putting his boots back on to give him a few seconds to recover his composure.

  At the wedding banquet he had complimented her on her role as chatelaine of the castle. He had meant it as flattery, not realizing she truly was in charge. But that was likely the normal role of a noble lady, as any well-born knight would know. Once again, he’d been caught out by his base beginnings.

  ****

  “Most of the perishable foodstores are kept in the souterrain below the kitchen,” Nicola explained as they walked out into the yard, Warin trailing behind. “The kitchen itself was built a distance away from the keep. I know it seems inconvenient, but my grandfather once saw a kitchen fire spread through a manor house and destroy everything. He was determined that would never happen at Valmar.”

  “But the keep is built of stone and mortar. Would that not stop a fire?” Fawkes asked.

  “Most likely. But by the time the keep was rebuilt in stone, I’m sure my father was concerned with other matters than moving the kitchen.”

  All these questions, she thought irritably. Didn’t he realize that foodstores and the running of the castle were properly a woman’s domain?

  Hopefully his interest in foodstores and supplies was only in regard to defense of the castle. Although even that troubled her. Why did he have such an urgent need to make certain the castle was ready for a siege? Did he expect Valmar to be attacked?

  She thought uncomfortably of her conversation with Father FitzAlan. If her hints to him bore fruit now it would be disastrous.

  She turned to Fawkes. “Why are you so concerned about Valmar’s defenses? You’ve scarce been here three days. I would think there would be more pressing matters than assessing the castle supplies. If you have some reason to believe we might be attacked, you must tell me. I might be able to aid you in planning for our defense.”

  Fawkes’s dark eyes focused on her with unnerving intensity. “And how would you propose to do that, milady?”

  Nicola felt her jaw tighten. He thinks because I’m woman, I know nothing of warfare and defending a castle. She had to glance away to hide her bitterness. “I grew up at Valmar. I know the property as well as anyone. I was also privy to many of my father’s strategy sessions. I even went to London with him for Richard’s coronation. There I was exposed to many conversations between him and other barons, and many of their discussions were of warfare.”

  She would not mention her father had taken her to London primarily to dangle her and her dowry before the unmarried lords as a rich prize they might win if they agreed to support Richard.

  “Is that where you first encountered Mortimer?” Fawkes asked. “In London?”

  “Nay. But apparently he heard of the wealth of my father’s lands and when my father died, Mortimer asked Richard for the honor of Valmar and Mordeaux. Marrying me was an afterthought, as you well know.”

  By sounding so sour and embittered, she confirmed what Fawkes already thought of her. She must try not to make her disgust for Mortimer so obvious. As suspicious as Fawkes was, he probably saw her words as further proof she hated Mortimer enough to kill the babe meant to be his heir.

  As they went out in the yard and headed toward the kitchen, she grew despondent. It didn’t seem fair she had the misfortune of marrying not one man who loathed her, but two. And it was much worse this time. Mortimer she could despise unreservedly. But this man… God help her, as much as Fawkes sometimes infuriated her, her desire for him continually overrode her resentment.

  “We’ll need a torch,” she said as they neared the steps leading to the root cellar.

  Warin turned to leave. “I’ll fetch one.”

  “Nay, I’ll do it.” As Fawkes strode off, Nicola could not help perusing his slim-hipped, long-legged form. He reminded her of Gimlyn, the gray-and-white tomcat who prowled the upper portions of the castle, hunting for mice. Both cat and man moved with a lithe agility that belied their size and physical power. She sometimes held Gimlyn in her lap and petted his soft fur. What would it be like to do that with Fawkes? To stroke his glossy hair and caress his rough, whisker-darkened jaw?

  She recalled their wedding night. His impressive torso looming over her, his wide shoulders like angel’s wings, his heavily muscled chest shadowed with coarse black hair. His flat sleek belly—

  “What do you think of the new lord, milady?” Warin’s croaky voice shattered her reverie.

  She turned to the steward. “He seems to know what he’s about when it comes to castle defenses. With him commanding the garrison, and all the experienced knights he’s brought with him, we’re likely as safe as it’s possible to be in these turbulent times.”

  Warin nodded. “I’m certain that’s true. Although having all those knights to feed will put a strain our foodstores, at least until the harvest is in and the grain milled. And I imagine there will be stresses of a different sort as well. I doubt all of Mortimer’s men are pleased to have a new man giving them orders. Some will fear being shunted aside or having their status reduced. Sir Adam in particular.” Warin stroked his sparsely stubbled jaw. “It’s perfectly reasonable for de Cressy to put one of his own men in charge. But what is he going to do with Adam FitzSaer? He could send him to Mordeaux, I suppose.”

  “I had not thought of any of this. I appreciate your keen assessment of the situation.” His concerns added a new worry to her already overwhelming burden. She would be pleased to be rid of FitzSaer, but if he was sent to Mordeaux, he might cause trouble there. She did not want him anywhere near to Simon.

  Fawkes returned with the torch and led the way down the stairs. When they reached the bottom, he moved aside so Nicola could get the key from her belt and open the door. Once it was open, he led the way in. Nicola and Warin followed.

  Fawkes shone the torch on the many baskets, barrels and piles of vegetables. “This room holds the dried vegetables and root vegetables,” Nicola said. “We still have a supply of peas and beans, but the nuts are mostly gone. For seasonin
g, there are a few dried herbs and crab apples left. The other apples are only good for cider this time of year. And we have few leeks and onions remaining, but we can supplement them with wild garlic. The next chamber holds the oats and sacks of flour. The unmilled grain is stored in the granary. There is little left this time of year, other than what is kept back for seed.”

  “This is all fine and well.” Fawkes sounded impatient. “But what I need to know is, with present foodstuffs, how long could we hold out if we were attacked?”

  Nicola motioned for Fawkes to shine the torch in the second chamber, so she could count the flour sacks. She thought a moment, and then said, “Perhaps a month, if we are very careful. And it means pottage and bread every day. Although we do have plenty of cheese. We made several batches a week ago, so the buttery is full. We also have plentiful eggs, at least as long as we have grain to feed the hens. But there is no dried meat or fish left this time of year. And if we were completely cut off from the village, that would mean no milk. If we were truly trapped inside the castle, we wouldn’t have access to fish from the river. Or any game or game birds.”

  “A month.” Fawkes shook his head. “The siege of Acre went on for almost two years. Although when Saladin attacked, they were able to get supplies in for a time.”

  “I’ve never heard of a siege in England lasting for more than a few months,” Nicola said.

  “You’re probably right.” Fawkes started back up the stairs. “But it doesn’t hurt to be prepared for the worst.”

  The worst, that is all this man thinks about, he’s so grim and hardened. Even she, who had suffered through the wretched years with Mortimer, even she refused to dwell under a cloud of gloom every moment. What horrors had Fawkes endured that even after winning two fine castles and all the wealth attached, he continued to have such a dismal outlook on life?

  By the saints, if he would only give her a chance, she might be able to help him overcome the darkness that haunted him. She imagined him resting his head on her breast while she stroked his thick silky hair and spoke to him soothingly. Nay, that was what one did with a child, not a grown man. It was her longing for Simon that made her have these foolish thoughts.