But he didn’t need Gareth’s council. Not in this.
Clearly, he ought to avoid Tamsin as much as possible in future, or others might mistakenly suspect him of such feelings, too. “I am not falling in love with that woman, and I’ll take her back as soon as I can. Do you think I want a shrew like her in my household?”
“Shrew?” Gareth repeated with obvious surprise.
“Scold. Harpy, call her what you will,” Rheged said, grabbing hold of Jevan’s bridle.
“I’d never call her those things, Rheged. To be sure, she’s a bit high-handed, but—”
“But that’s enough,” Rheged declared, then started back toward Cwm Bron. “I don’t want to talk about the woman. She’ll be going home soon and that’ll be the end of it, thank God. I’m sorry I ever laid eyes on her!”
“God help us,” Gareth murmured as he watched his friend march back to the fortress. “He’s mad in love with her, all right.”
* * *
That night Sir Algar stood beside Tamsin as they waited for the evening meal. Several soldiers were also waiting in the hall, standing near the tables in small groups, or leaning against the walls and pillars. Those servants not at work were also there, eager to eat.
“I must say, my lady, this seems a different hall!” Sir Algar exclaimed, looking about.
“It only wanted a little cleaning,” she replied, wondering if Rheged would sup with them, and what all those gathered here would think if he didn’t.
She had no idea where he was. She hadn’t seen Rheged since he’d angrily left her in the upper chamber yesterday. He’d been gone when she ventured below to break the fast in the morning after another restless night and she’d spent the rest of the morning alone in the upper chamber doing a little more mending. She’d met Sir Algar in the hall for the noon meal, where Rheged did not join them, and spent the rest of the afternoon talking about castles and fortifications, meals and minstrels, her parents and the past. Perhaps Rheged was avoiding her on purpose. If so, she should be pleased. She had no wish to have another quarrel with him, although she had to wonder what Sir Algar and the rest of the household would make of that avoidance.
She also kept wondering if it could indeed be possible that Sir Algar was thinking of her as a possible wife. Surely he would give some indication if his thoughts were tending that way, yet despite what Rheged had said, she hadn’t been able to detect a single sign that Sir Algar considered her anything but the daughter of a woman he’d admired long ago.
They were about to take their places at the table when the door to the keep opened and Rheged strode in, his expression grave and grim.
As he made his way forward, a sigh seemed to waft about the chamber, as if more than she were relieved to see him. Unfortunately, and in spite of what had so recently passed between them, she felt more than mere relief. Simply seeing him caused her desire to kindle.
“My lord, my lady,” he said, nodding as he joined them, his tone even and measured.
Obviously he didn’t intend to act as if there was anything amiss between them.
Therefore, neither would she. Sweeping back her skirts, she sat on the bench. Sir Algar sat also and so did Rheged, followed by the rest of the soldiers and servants in the hall.
“Tamsin and I have been discussing a most excellent idea she’s had about Cwm Bron,” Sir Algar said while Hildie ladled roasted chicken floating in a thick sauce of leeks onto their trenchers. “Tell him, my dear.”
Rheged slowly turned to look at her, one eyebrow raised in question, his dark eyes unreadable.
She never should have stayed in the chamber with him yesterday. She should have fled the moment she’d seen him asleep in the tub, or when his lips touched hers—and every time they did.
“Have you given—” God help her, she was squeaking like a mouse! She cleared her throat and began again. “Have you given any thought to using your armory as your hall and storing your weapons in the keep instead?”
Sir Algar had told her that the large, tall building near the kitchen was used to store and repair weapons, and that seemed a waste of a building to her.
“The armory is closer to the kitchen,” she went on, “so the food would be warmer when it’s served. The building might require a good cleaning and liming and whitewash, but the keep would surely be better for storing weapons. If the castle did come under attack and you and your men had to seek refuge in the keep, you would be well armed and your attackers couldn’t get to your weapons unless you were defeated.”
“I didn’t realize the lady was an expert in castle defenses as well as the running of a household,” Rheged replied before breaking off a piece of bread and using it to wipe up some of the sauce.
She couldn’t tell if he was angry or not. “I’ve lived in a large fortress for the past ten years, among men who talked often of such things.”
“She makes a good point, Rheged,” Sir Algar noted, apparently seeing nothing unusual in Rheged’s response. “The armory would certainly make a more spacious hall.”
“There could be a fireplace with a chimney built into the wall, as well,” Tamsin said.
“A most excellent and modern idea,” Sir Algar agreed.
“A very expensive idea, my lord,” Rheged replied, his tone even and measured. If he was still annoyed with her, he hid it well. “The necessary repairs to the walls and keep must come first. After that, I have my other plans that we’ve already discussed.”
Sir Algar raised his bushy white eyebrows. “Ah, yes, the new castle.”
“It would be money better spent than doing extensive alterations to the buildings here.”
“You should talk to Tamsin about those plans, Rheged. I’m sure a woman’s perspective will be helpful, especially about where the kitchen and family apartments should be.”
“Those decisions can wait until I have a wife,” he replied brusquely, effectively ending that discussion.
The rest of the meal passed in mostly uneasy silence. Sir Algar tried to speak about the latest news of King John and his troubles with his barons, but Tamsin had no heart for a political conversation, especially when she could feel the curiosity of the soldiers and servants watching them. It was like being on display at the market, and she had even more sympathy for Mavis, who must often feel that way at feasts and other gatherings.
Not able to stand the strain any longer, Tamsin got to her feet when Elvina and Hildie brought baked apples to finish the meal. “If you’ll both excuse me, I’m feeling rather tired and believe I should retire.”
“Your leg isn’t troubling you too much, is it?” Sir Algar asked, rising and offering her his arm. “I’ll send for Gilbert.”
“There’s no need to fetch him, my lord,” she said hastily. “I’m just a little tired.”
“Nevertheless you must allow me to escort you to your chamber, my lady,” Sir Algar said as if he were addressing a queen.
As if she were a queen, Tamsin inclined her head and took his arm.
While they made their way to the stairs, Rheged concentrated on drinking and not watching Sir Algar help Tamsin. He should have lingered longer brushing down Jevan, who asked no questions, offered no opinions and obeyed without complaint.
As for her idea about the armory... If he intended to keep this fortress as his main defense, her idea might have merit. But that was not his plan. He wanted a new castle, stronger, and in a better defensive position. Something that would last for years and after he was dead and buried, to show that he’d existed.
“Have you lost what manners you possessed, Rheged?”
He started and looked up to find Sir Algar glaring down at him. “You’re as sullen as a whipped dog. I don’t ask you to be the merry minstrel, but by God, you were as close to rude as I’ve ever witnessed.”
He wasn’t pleased to be the object of Sir Algar’s ire, but if it meant people would realize that he wasn’t falling in love with Tamsin.... “Forgive me, my lord. I have much on my mind.”
“It’s not my forgiveness you should be seeking,” Sir Algar said with a sniff as he sat. “I expect you to treat Tamsin with courtesy, if not charm. And she is a font of knowledge. I doubt there’s much about a noble household or fortress she doesn’t know, and you should avail yourself of her expertise while she remains your guest. She could help you with the household accounts, too. You’ve said before that you find the task tedious. She may be able to suggest ways to make it less troublesome for you.”
Rheged regretted upsetting Sir Algar, especially after his recent impulsive acts. “If you think it advisable, my lord, and if the lady will agree.”
And provided I can keep my distance.
“You should also avail yourself of the lessons she can teach you regarding what to look for in a wife. She is the very pattern for a noble wife—honorable, dutiful, intelligent, kindhearted, chaste.”
Chaste? God help him, chastity was the last thing he thought of when he was near Tamsin. And Sir Algar was so very complimentary.... “Perhaps you should seek her hand, my lord.”
“Have you completely lost your mind, Rheged?” Sir Algar demanded. “Tamsin is young enough to be my daughter!”
“Other men have taken younger brides, my lord. And Blane is older than you.”
Rheged had seen Algar upset, but he’d never seen anything quite like the expression that came to his overlord’s face as he glared at him now. “Never speak of this again, Rheged, to me or any man. And in the morning, you will ask for Tamsin’s help with the accounts, you will learn what she can teach you and you will be polite and grateful.”
“Yes, my lord,” he dutifully replied.
* * *
When Tamsin came down to break the fast the next morning, Rheged rose from his place beside Sir Algar, tugged down his tunic and strode purposefully toward her.
Her heart began to beat faster and her face to flush, despite her determination to keep her demeanor—and her feelings—calm. “Good morning, Sir Rheged.”
The knight glanced back at Sir Algar, already chewing on bread and honey, before he spoke, and she wondered if his overlord had sent him to speak to her.
“My lady,” he began, his tone wooden, as if he had memorized the words, “Sir Algar believes I have much to learn about how a castle household should be managed, and that you would be a most excellent teacher. I would be both pleased and grateful if you would assist me with my household accounts.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sir Algar watching expectantly. Still not sure of Rheged’s feelings, she would have liked to refuse. She didn’t want another quarrel. But she didn’t want to disappoint Sir Algar, either, especially when he had been so kind and generous. “Certainly, Sir Rheged. It would be my pleasure.”
“He keeps his accounts in the upper chamber, don’t you, Rheged?” Sir Algar called out. “I suggest you discuss the accounts there. You should have quiet and privacy for going over such things.”
That would mean they would be alone, and although Tamsin was determined not to let Rheged affect her, she didn’t want to be alone with him, so she said (and it wasn’t exactly a lie), “It’s warmer here.”
Sir Algar frowned. “Ah. Very well, here, then. After you’ve eaten, Rheged can fetch the accounts and I’ll leave you two alone.”
Tamsin ate slowly, but eventually the meal was finished. Sir Algar declared he’d supervise the repairs to the yard and left the hall, while Rheged went to the upper chamber to get the accounts. Meanwhile, Hildie managed to find a large square of parchment, a pot of ink and some quills, which she set out on the table in front of Tamsin.
She wondered where the accounts were. She’d seen nothing like a scroll or a list when Hildie had taken his clothes out of the wooden chest so she could mend them. Maybe there was a secret compartment in the chest, or the wall, perhaps. Under the bed?
Rheged appeared on the steps from the upper chamber, bearing a wooden box Tamsin recognized as the one containing the little slips of discarded bits of parchment that had been on the shelf.
The ones she’d been using to light the rushlight or the brazier. Those were his accounts?
Rheged set the box in front of her with much more force than necessary. “Have you meddled with this?” he demanded, his voice low as he glared at her.
“Yes, but I had no idea those scraps were important,” she replied truthfully, keeping her voice level.
“Scraps?” Rheged repeated through clenched teeth. “God give me patience! What did you do with those scraps?”
She couldn’t blame him for his anger this time. If someone had interfered with her accounts at Castle DeLac, she would be furious. “I’m sorry, my lord, but I used them.”
“How, on God’s green earth?”
“To light the rushlight. And the brazier.”
“You burned them?”
“I had no idea they were important,” she replied, her regret giving way to frustration. “How could I? They looked like mere jumbles of letters and numbers and ink blots. It would take an expert days to make sense of them.”
“Or a few moments of my time,” he returned indignantly. “But because they made no sense to you, you burned them.”
She started to stand.
He put his hand on her shoulder. “I have asked for your help, and you have offered it. Forgive my display of temper.”
The words seemed to be ground out of him with reluctance, but at least he said them, so she would be magnanimous, too. “As I hope you’ll forgive my ignorant destruction of some of your accounts. Fortunately there seems to be enough left to enable us to make a record on this larger parchment. This accounting should be easier to keep safe, no matter who you share your chamber with.”
The moment she mentioned sharing his chamber, she blushed and hurried on, hoping he would attach no particular significance to her words. “We should begin, I think, by dividing your...notations...into different types—food, clothing, weapons and so on.”
“As you wish.” He lifted the box and dumped the contents onto the table.
That wasn’t quite what she meant. Nevertheless she said nothing and began picking up the slips of parchment and trying to organize them.
Unfortunately it was as if the notations were written in some kind of code. Rheged, however, had no such trouble, his long, slender fingers sorting the pieces with surprising ease and swiftness.
But then it should be easier for him. He’d written the nearly illegible notes.
Tamsin smoothed out a small piece of parchment before her. “What does ‘f and p, ten and twelve b’ mean?”
Rheged answered without looking at her or pausing in his sorting. “Fish and peas, ten baskets of fish, twelve baskets of peas.”
“You seem to have bought a lot of peas.”
“Peas are cheap and I like peas porridge.”
“I assume the whole household does, too,” she remarked, adding the note to the pile for foodstuffs. “The total number of baskets of peas you’ve paid for this year is—”
“Three hundred and sixty-two,” he quickly replied, although his attention was still on his task.
She checked the other notes in the pile and discovered he was right. “Have you a list of totals somewhere else?”
“Here,” he said, tapping his forehead.
“You have the totals of all the goods and food you’ve bought and sold this year in your head?”
“Yes.”
Although his expression was serious, he couldn’t be.
She picked up the slips of parchment with notations about fleece and swiftly wrote down the totals and quickly tallied them. “How many bales of fleece have you sold?”
“Sixteen hundred and fifty-two.”
“I have sixteen hundred and forty-two. Perhaps a slip is missing.”
“Check your totals again.”
Pursing her lips, she did.
And discovered she was wrong. The correct answer was sixteen hundred and fifty-two.
“I’ve bought four hundred an
d seventy-three butts of ale, one hundred and three barrels of wine and ten kegs of mead.”
She checked those figures. He was correct, and he knew it, judging by the satisfied smirk lurking in his eyes and the corners of his lips. “Why do you bother to write anything down at all, then?”
That got rid of his smirk. “I thought I should leave a record of some kind in case I died.”
Died?
“In a tournament or in battle. It does happen.”
Of course he was right to consider his own swift and unforeseen demise, yet it was impossible to imagine him lifeless, all the vitality gone from his muscular body, his eyes dulling with death.
“I realize my writing is crude and difficult to read, but I didn’t know how to write until one of the priests who followed the troops taught me during a lull between battles. It amused him, I think, and gave us both something to do. Before that, I had to keep track of everything I owned and how much I was owed in my head because I had no way to record it. So if you’d rather not—”
“No, no, I’m happy to be of service,” she said, regretting she’d been so impatient. “Since you can recall everything so clearly and I inadvertently destroyed some of the records, I suggest we give up sorting these bits of parchment. You can tell me the totals, and I’ll write them down, and we can begin the new records from there. Unless you’d rather practice writing?”
“God, no. I’d rather run naked in the rain.”
Trying not to imagine Rheged naked in the rain, or anywhere else—which proved to be much easier than picturing him dead—she began to gather the bits of parchment. “I suppose I can use these to light the brazier and rushlights now.” She thought of something else. “If you had all the totals in your head, why were you so angry that I burned some of them?”
“I wasn’t pleased you’d seen how poorly—”
Hildie burst into the hall as if she’d been launched by a catapult.
“My lady! My lady!” she cried, running up to them. “It’s my sister, Frida. Her baby’s coming and she’s asking for you, my lady.”
Tamsin’s hand went to her chest. “Me? I’m not a midwife. Isn’t there a midwife?”
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