“True. But she’s been so mean lately, and I overheard Lord Stephen tell her that he was lord, not her, and ’twill come a time when she must hand over her keys to his wife, so she may as well get used to the idea that this manor doesn’t belong to her.”
Rowena gasped. “His wife! Is Lord Stephen pledged to someone?”
“Not that I’ve heard, but ’twill be his duty someday, and that high-and-mighty Lady Josane better realize that. Now go!” She shoved Rowena toward the door.
Rowena grabbed the doorjambs. “’Tis wrong to be a party to hurting someone, Ellie. I don’t want to upset Lady Josane!”
Ellie sighed. “She won’t be as upset as Lord Stephen will be if you don’t go. Please, Rowena. He sent me to get you! You wouldn’t want me to get into trouble, would you?”
With those last words, Ellie gave Rowena another gentle shove down the corridor. Rowena tripped lightly forward. After she found her footing again, she looked up to see Stephen watching her from where the corridor turned.
He held out his hand to her. “Come, Rowena. You’ve rested long enough. I want to eat this meal with you.”
She swallowed. He’d changed his clothes, opting for a long tunic of forest green, with pale embroidery and a snug belt keeping it secure over his undertunic. Leather thongs crisscrossed his strong calves, keeping his leggings in place. He looked every bit the lord of the manor, tall and strong, feet firmly planted shoulder width apart.
She looked down at her borrowed tunic, one discarded by Lady Josane, and cut for a more rounded figure. If only she’d had time to tailor this dress to her own shape. It had shorter draping sleeves and a deep, embroidered collar. The undertunic was lighter in color than the outer tunic, but showed only at the sleeves and neckline. Thankfully, she’d donned a clean veil. A plain metal diadem she’d found among the clothing kept it from slipping off her fine hair. She was able to take its length and drape it around her neck for extra modesty.
’Twas the best she could do, and she was grateful that the pale blue color matched her skin well. With a deep breath to embolden her, she stepped toward the splendidly dressed Stephen. He took her work-roughened hand and, after a short moment, kissed it. Her knees went foolishly weak, betraying her growing affection for this wonderful man. ’Twas as if he saw beyond her outward appearance. As though he saw something within her short, thin frame and hurting manner.
“You had promised you would sup with me,” he said after lowering her hand. “I saw in your eyes that you wanted to. What changed?”
She had promised, but in the time she’d spent rocking her babe, her courage had waned. “I...” Her voice dwindled away. She could not lie to him and say she was too tired or not hungry, but nor could she tell him the truth. “I shouldn’t come...”
“Nonsense. Why would you think that?”
Oh, ’twas so silly, she told herself sternly. “There is no reason,” she said as he set her hand onto his forearm. With her other hand lifting the long, dragging hem of her cyrtel, for Lady Josane was taller, Rowena allowed Stephen to lead her down the corridor.
The evening meal was a far less festive affair than the night the minstrels visited. But the meal was sumptuous. Meats, cut and glazed with buttered herbs, were spread on one platter, while roasted roots and onions, each drizzled with a dark gravy, filled another. Pastry-sealed birds filled yet another large platter. Rowena spied a thick creamy pottage steaming in a tureen, and round buns dusted with fine flour encircled it.
“You have a feast here!”
He laughed. “Our cook received fresh provisions and was pleased to show off her talents. And we have news worthy of a celebration. First, though, let’s eat. I can’t bear to look at this food anymore without tasting it, and everyone is waiting for us.”
News? The health of the courier? Stephen was indeed kind to use such a simple event as an excuse to offer a celebration. The chaplain said grace, and Rowena silently gave extra thanks to God for saving the young courier’s life. She shared a trencher with Stephen. He ordered it filled with tastes of everything. And then he ordered only one goblet filled. One for them to share.
Rowena lifted her gaze and it bumped Josane’s. The older woman glared hard, forcing Rowena to drop her eyes to her hands. “I shouldn’t be at this table,” she whispered.
“I disagree. You have saved my courier’s life and are under my protection.”
She studied him, for as time went on, she could see subtle changes in his expression. He looked proud today.
“Where else should you be?” he asked.
Anywhere but here, she thought. But as quickly as those words blossomed, they faded. For Stephen smiled at her as he said softly, “We have more cause to celebrate. I wanted to tell you earlier, but you looked like you needed rest first.” His voice dropped further. “Someone has given me the name of your attacker. I have sent troops to the next village to arrest him.”
She gasped. “You’ve found him!”
“Shh. Not everyone knows yet, for I’m unsure of what the response will be here and there are still many questions to be answered.” He added quickly, “Your sketch did him justice. ’Twas a good likeness. His name is Hundar.”
She didn’t know anyone by that name. “What are you going to do now? Do you just hand him over to Master Gilles? This man has tried to kill me.”
“’Tis more complicated than that, Rowena. Yours is a civil case because you are a villein and it could be argued that ’tis just an assault, not attempted murder. We don’t want this cur to go free, so we must follow the law. A manorial court would be convened, and Gilles will be in charge of it. A jury of men will decide his guilt or innocence and Gilles will decide his fate.
“But first, after he is brought here, I will interrogate him, and if I am satisfied he is your attacker, aye, he will go before the Gilles.”
He continued to look pleased. “There is more to this, isn’t there?” she asked softly.
Stephen’s expression faltered slightly. She leaned closer. “What is it?”
“Nothing you need know.”
Rowena wasn’t so sure. “What will Master Gilles do then?” she whispered lest he hear her.
“Decide his punishment, most likely. By then, I’m sure I will have proved his guilt.”
“Will he be punished here?”
“For attacking you, aye.”
“Is there more?”
“I may take him to London after.”
“Why?”
“Because he could be organizing a rebellion against the king. That is beyond my jurisdiction.”
“Even if Master Gilles sympathizes with him?”
“Why should he?”
She leaned forward to whisper, “Because Master Gilles is half-Saxon.”
Stephen froze, his morsel of venison stalled halfway to his mouth. His voice dropped to a mere breath. “Where did you— Who told you that?”
Chapter Nineteen
“The anchor—” Rowena lifted her arm to indicate the direction of the chapel, only to have Stephen swiftly close his left hand over hers and lower it. He leaned forward and whispered harshly, “Say nothing. Do nothing!”
Her throat dry, Rowena resisted the urge to swallow and show her fear, trying instead to obey Stephen’s order completely. Still, she peeked up at him. Those dark eyes, usually as rich as the polished wood beneath their clasped hands, demanded her obedience with a stare so icy, she shivered.
Then, his expression turning calm, Stephen slipped his hand from hers. With his other hand, he brought his food to his mouth.
Any appetite she had was suddenly gone, leaving in its wake a stomach so knotted she could barely breathe. Aye, she would try to eat, but the fierceness in his tone scared her.
“Eat, all of you. ’Tis good fare and our cook worked hard for us,” he ordered, much more loudly than his words before. To prove his sudden nonchalance, he cut into his meat again and ate with gusto. Around them, the noise level grew as several soldiers at a far table b
egan to laugh and speak in ever-increasing volume.
She dared another glance at Stephen, who watched the men with narrowed eyes. His lips pursed tightly together, and a crease at one corner formed as he chewed. She leaned over. “Stephen, what I said was important—”
“I know,” he ground out. “But ’tis not the time for it. After we eat, we will speak.”
“Milord!”
Both Stephen and Rowena looked up. A young soldier stood in front of them, his expression agitated. He still wore his thick leather armor, and Rowena noticed heavy splatters of mud and dirt on it. Hearing a sharp sound, she looked back at the rest of the table. Josane glared, clearly more concerned with the dirt he carried in than with anything else. Gilles’s brow furrowed deeply, and the chaplain wet his lips nervously at the youth standing before the head table.
“What is it?” Stephen asked.
“Milord, Hundar, the Saxon you ordered to be arrested, has fled. His family refuses to say where he might have gone.” The man swiped the back of his hand across his cut and swollen cheek, leaving a smear of drying blood. He had not given up Hundar willingly.
“Did you arrest his family?”
“Nay, milord. They are only a sick, aged mother who is blind and half-deaf, and a young daughter. Hundar’s wife died two years ago when King William marched through here, leaving only a toddler girl. His father also died in the battle. We did post a guard near his hut, should he return.”
Cold washed through Rowena. This Hundar had lost so much already. Was he angry at the Normans? At her? A bitter man would hate any Saxon seen as a traitor.
Stephen waved the man away, his expression darkening. He glanced at Rowena, then dropped his attention to his meal. “Eat. We will deal with this situation later.”
The rest of the meal dragged on, with Rowena forcing herself to swallow the fine courses. Never before had she eaten sweetmeats alongside the various savory dishes, as was the Norman style. Like the tumult around her, they scrambled her senses, but she took some food in her attempt to act as if naught was wrong.
When the meal ended, Stephen rose, and seeing him do so, the people in the hall rose with him. “Continue with your meal. Rowena and I will see the courier one last time tonight.”
Barely reaching Stephen’s shoulder, Rowena kept her gaze down, only once peeking through her borrowed veil to see Josane and Gilles watch with suspicious interest as Stephen led her off the dais and out of the hall. Rowena noticed that the young squire immediately jumped up to follow.
As they walked toward the front door, Rowena stopped Stephen. “Ellie says the courier is fine. We don’t need to visit him again.”
“That may be so, but where else can we speak in private?”
He continued, as if thinking aloud, “If what you said about Gilles is true, I need to know what he has been doing. Mayhap the courier knows, for Gilles has used him. I will question him. But first, was it the anchoress who told you this?”
“Aye. She would not lie to me.” Rowena shivered, thinking of the poor courier just regaining his strength only to face an interrogation. “Mayhap the courier doesn’t fit into it at all. Gilles could have simply had need of him.”
Stephen opened the door and led them out. “He hasn’t needed him before now,” he muttered.
Rowena had no argument. Nor was she sure of how Hundar fit in. If Stephen knew, he was saying nothing of it. Outside, the crisp air was far colder than any night so far this season. The dew had already fallen and frosted the grass, and Rowena rubbed her arms as her breath streamed from her lips.
“A cloak for Rowena,” Stephen ordered from his squire, who tarried behind them.
She turned to watch Gaetan hurry away. “Your squire is always behind you?”
“Only when Josane has no use for him, which hasn’t been too often lately,” he answered as they crunched across the yard. “He is the youngest son of Adrien’s oldest brother, sent to me to train him. I fear that Josane has done more of that. The boy will make an excellent handmaid if I don’t soon correct his instruction.”
Rowena shook her head. Stephen may be making light of that situation, but she knew things were more serious. She turned as the boy hurried inside. He was a small, silent lad. She rubbed her arms again.
“The courier will be well soon enough and can take back his duties, leaving your squire to his training.” She stopped. “But we didn’t come here only to discuss him, did we?”
“Nay.”
Gaetan returned with Rowena’s cloak, a battered and threadbare thing, but not so poor that it didn’t keep out the frosty night. She thanked him and asked how her son was. The lad reported that Ellie was giving him morsels of mashed food.
Rowena wrapped her cloak around her, and they continued on toward the hospice hut. There, they roused the dozing courier, and once the lamp was lit, they could see the man was growing steadily better.
Stephen pulled out the chair from the little table and indicated for Rowena to sit.
“Master Gilles gave you a missive to take to London,” he stated, towering over both Rowena and the man. “Whom did you see there?”
The man sat up. “I gave it to the palace bailiff, milord. At first.”
“At first? Then who did you give it to?”
“The bailiff used me to deliver it and another message to Baron Aubrey de Vere.”
“What kind of message?”
“A short note, milord. The bailiff wrote it in front of me.”
Rowena glanced up at Stephen. By the set of his mouth, ’twas obvious that he did not care for his courier to be used so indiscriminately, but he said nothing of it. ’Twould be pointless to ask what was in that message, as the courier could not read.
Rowena leaned forward. “What did Baron de Vere do after reading the note?”
The man answered, “He ordered a servant to ask for an audience with the king.”
“Then what did you do?”
“I was sent back to the bailiff. He gave me a new missive, which I brought here.”
His tone curt, Stephen told the man to get some rest. Rowena turned down the lamp, stirred the coals in the brazier and then followed him from the hospice hut.
“What does all that mean?” she asked when the door was closed.
“Baron Aubrey has the king’s ear. He has only to ask for an audience and is granted it.”
“Who is he?”
“An adviser to the king.”
“What would he advise him of here?”
“I don’t know. The last thing he counseled the king on was for many of William’s knights to be married off to Saxon ladies of influence.”
“Like Lady Ediva?”
“Aye.” He tilted his head. “Do you know her well?”
“Not well, but she helped Clara provide for me. She has a kind heart.”
“’Twas Aubrey de Vere who arranged her marriage. I was in London at that time. I remember her, for she was furious at being forced to wed again. I think she would have been happy to remain a widow.”
“She seems happy with Baron Adrien. They have a son now.”
Stephen kept walking, not offering his opinion. Rowena bit her lip. “You were not married off?”
“Nay, I was useful in London at the time, and they’d run out of Saxon royalty by then. I was fortunate, for some of those marriages are in name only and are difficult to maintain.”
Rowena swallowed. They’d “run out of Saxon royalty by then”? What if they found more, or suddenly maids from families of wealth needed husbands?
“But more important,” Stephen said as they walked away from the hospice hut, “Gilles told me his note was merely inquiring how to do ledgers.”
“You don’t believe him?”
“Aye, what he said was true. The missive that was returned had ledger notes on it. But ’tis odd that the bailiff of London needed to send a note to Aubrey de Vere. I wonder if Gilles’s missive said more.”
“Mayhap the second note was not related.�
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“That could be.” Stephen thought a moment. “But Aubrey de Vere has holdings on the road to Ely. He likes the country there and says ’tis mild enough for him to re-create his home in Normandy. Having the king’s ear makes him influential enough to get what he wants.”
“Wouldn’t it be normal to want a piece of a beloved home while away from it?”
Stephen shrugged. “I suppose. But not even the king has brought over vines and winemakers. De Vere thinks highly of himself.”
“Can he be trusted?”
“I trust no one in London,” he muttered. “’Tis my duty to suspect all of usurping the king.”
“Would Aubrey de Vere do that?”
“Nay, I don’t think he’d be so foolish, but I have heard that he and his wife took possession of more land than they are entitled to. Land near here. The king cares not for the fenland around Ely, so he ignores it, but we both know what happens when men try to take more land for the purpose of threatening the crown.”
She shivered and drew her cloak closer. Mayhap she should have agreed to aid Stephen with his duties. She could help him read people like this Aubrey de Vere.
It could save his life.
Nay, he was far better at dealing with the intrigues of London. All she could do was listen as Stephen worked it out in his mind. She looked at him. “But the fens are useless lands, so Aubrey de Vere would be wasting his time. You can’t graze sheep on them, nor do they have any peat for fuel.”
“True.” Stephen walked on slowly, still deep in thought. “I see no reason why Gilles would have anything to do with de Vere, either. Mayhap ’tis as you say and there is no connection and the bailiff used my courier for another matter.”
“Do you believe that?”
“Nay. Coincidences rarely happen where the seat of power is concerned. But there is nothing to connect Gilles to de Vere and his illegal seizure of land so close to us. And what would it have to do with Hundar, a disgruntled Saxon from another village who carries a grudge against you? Nothing makes sense, which means I don’t have all of the information.”
Sheltered by the Warrior (Viking Warriors Book 3) (Historical Romance) Page 18