by McCall, Mary
Nineteen
Bernon heard laughter and chatter bubbling about the lord’s tower outside his chamber and groaned. Genius pushed open the door and Sapphire dashed to the bed where Bernon lay on his side. “We’re here, Papa!”
Bernon opened his right eye and looked at the blue-eyed girl. Then he growled and pulled the covers over his face. Sapphire giggled and climbed on the bed where Topaz, Karl, Ravyn, and Genius joined her.
“Mayhap he will wake if you all tickle him at once,” Melita suggested with a punkish lilt.
“Anyone who tickles me will be tossed out the window,” Bernon grumbled from under the covers.
“Mama, is Papa always this grouchy in the morning?” Topaz asked, wearing a disgruntled pout.
A hand snaked out from under the covers, grabbed Sapphire, and began tickling her. As she took off on a round of silly laughter, Bernon came out from under the covers and reached for Karl who giggled at his capture. “Aye, but I can tickle anyone I want.”
The children all began speaking at once and Bernon chuckled at their excitement.
“Everyone settle down now,” Melita ordered. “Sapphire, move down. You are in my place.” She got on the bed next to Bernon and set down the tray.
Bernon settled Karl in his lap then his eyes widened when he finally caught sight of the tray. “What is all this?”
“Food to break your fast,” Melita replied, shaking out a cloth and draping it over their laps. “Back in the old days, wives fed their husbands grapes, but we haven’t any, so you get bread, honey, cheese, porridge, and ale instead.”
“I have never eaten in bed. You will spoil me.” Bernon leaned over and kissed Melita’s lips, inciting a round of giggles. “Who gets the milk?”
“Me. I am going to share your meal. I am ravenous.” Melita proved her words by breaking off a big chunk of bread and cramming it into her mouth.
Bernon shook his head and chuckled. He really needed to have that talk with his wife about manners. “I shall share the milk too. Save the honey for later.”
The children kept up a steady stream of chatter while they ate. Near the end of their meal, a hesitant tap sounded on the door.
“Enter,” Bernon called above the ruckus.
Betia pushed open the portal and looked at them from the threshold. Her gaze flitted from Melita to Bernon then she glanced at the floor.
Bernon rolled his eyes. Another timid creature. “’Tis all right that you are here, Betia. Did you want something?”
Betia glanced in their general direction but refused to make eye contact, and her cheeks glowed bright red. “Mama just told me that your lady is my sister and I wanted to tell her... I am glad.”
“I am glad too, Betia,” Melita said, setting down her milk goblet and wiping at her white mustache with the back of her sleeve. “And you can call me Melita now. Did our mother tell you that you can pick a room in this tower?”
“Aye, but I had best leave. I need to get back to Jerold.” Betia turned toward the door.
“Wait, Betia,” Melita called, and Betia faced her again. “I shall find someone else to sit with Jerold so you can get some rest. He should not need you all the time now anyway. Go see Cora sometime today so she can measure you for some new gowns.”
Betia’s brow puckered and she pointed behind her in a helpless gesture. “But Jerold—”
“What is wrong with Jerold?” Bernon asked, frowning with concern. “He looked fine yesterday.”
“He is surly.” Melita gave Bernon a pragmatic look that told him she didn’t think much of his soldier, and then she turned back to Betia. “Let me handle Jerold, and mayhap we can spend some time together this afternoon.”
“I would like that,” Betia said with a shy smile then almost fell over as Manuel zoomed past her and jumped on the bed.
“I’m here!” he yelled, throwing his arms wide.
“So we see.” Bernon gave Manuel a stern scowl. “Apologize to Betia for almost knocking her over.”
“I’m sorry, Betia,” Manuel said with an unrepentant grin.
Bernon shook his head. “Did you bring me a message?”
“Nay, ‘tis for Mama.” Manuel’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “The king wants to know if he is allowed to talk to Papa after the nooning, ‘cause of he is taking his queen back to Londontown this afternoon.”
Bernon snorted. Leave it to William to ask Melita’s permission.
“Who threw a party and didn’t invite Uncle Geno? I am wounded,” Geno said from the entrance, placing a hand over his chest.
“But not fatally,” Bernon grumbled. “And ‘tis a sorry day when a man’s chamber becomes as public as the outer bailey.”
Geno ignored Bernon’s complaint and flashed his smile upon the brown-headed beauty with the violet eyes. “Ah. And here is the fair Betia of whom I heard so much, but no comments have done justice her exquisite face or form.” He took the young girl’s hand, bowed low, and bestowed a chaste kiss upon her knuckles. “I am delighted to learn the little wolf has a sister.”
“My name is Melita and she is too young for you,” Melita informed him, using her sternest voice and most ferocious expression.
Geno winked at Betia. “Tell me, fair damoiselle, how old are you?”
“Three and ten, milord,” Betia meekly replied, stealing a peek at the warrior from under her lashes as a delicate pink tinge crept over her skin.
“What do you think, Bernon, should I wait two years or three?” he asked, keeping his roguish eyes fastened on the fair maiden.
“For what, milord?” Betia asked with guileless confusion.
“Why, to sweep you off your feet and into my arms,” Geno said, opening his arms to the bemused innocent and gifting her with his most charming grin.
“You will wait at least three years and talk to our papa first,” Melita ordered.
“Then I must be off to face the dragon Aurick,” Geno vowed with a hand over his heart. “I shall slay the beast if I must to gain this exquisite treasure.”
“Go without delay, Geno, and make your claim before anyone else,” Bernon suggested.
Geno grinned. “One might think you are in a hurry to be rid of me, my friend.”
“I am in a hurry to be alone with my wife.” Bernon wiped a hand over his face.
“Ah, then I shall take pity on you.” Geno chuckled and winked at Melita. “Come, children. Uncle Geno is going to the shore and you all get to come with him.”
The children scampered off the bed and followed the man from the room. Sapphire and Topaz kissed Bernon and Melita on their way out. As the door closed behind them, Melita smiled at Bernon. “The children love you.”
“They are good children.” He handed her the honey then set the tray on a table by the bed. “Now, wife, give me back the honey and get out of those clothes.”
~ * ~
“Now, Hugo, remember that what I am about to do is for Jerold’s own good and do everything I tell you.”
The brawny warrior furrowed his brow and looked down at the small woman giving such big orders. “Are you certain this is the best way, milady?”
“I am certain it will work.” Melita crinkled her nose and winked at the soldier.
“I am with you then.” Hugo returned her grin.
“So are we,” Rodor added, standing with five of Jerold’s fellow warriors outside of Jerold’s chamber.
Hugo pounded on the door with his fist. Without awaiting a response, he opened the door and allowed Melita to precede him into the darkened chamber followed by Jerold’s friends.
Melita crossed the room and set a tray holding a few phials, a cup filled with water, linen strips, a bowl, and a flagon of wine on a table near the bed. “Will you open the shutters, please, Hugo? We shall need all the light we can get or we might miss.”
Hugo threw open the shutters and light spilled into the room, pouring across the injured man who lay abed. Jerold flung an arm over his face and growled, “Close the damn shutters!”
Jerold turned red-faced and glared at Melita who was mixing a powder from one of the phials into the cup of water. Satisfied that the potion was ready, Melita turned with a smile and held the cup toward Jerold. “Drink all of this, Jerold.”
Jerold fastened a cynical eye on the cup. “What is it?”
“A potion to dull the pain,” she replied, her voice drenched with concern.
“I do not need no da...bloody potion,” Jerold hissed.
“Are you sure?” Melita patted his arm sympathetically.
Jerold grunted and looked away from her.
“Well, all right…if you insist. You are braver than most men.” She set the cup aside and turned toward Hugo. “You will have to do the actual cutting, Hugo. I am too weak to get all the way through the bone in just one slice.”
“Be glad to, milady. You just show me where to aim my blade,” Hugo answered, pulling his sword and walking to the bedside next to her.
Melita reached for the covers and pulled back the edge. Jerold jerked the bedding from her grasp and gripped the linen tightly against his chest. “What do you think you are doing?”
“Cutting off your leg.” Melita turned to the other warriors. “Would you men please hold him down, so he does not move after I show Hugo where to aim?”
Jerold batted out his arms, fending off his friends, and backed up against the headboard. “Get away from me! Are you all daft?”
“Nay,” Melita replied in a voice that sounded as if she were placating one of the children. “We are here to help you.”
“I am doing fine without your bloody help,” Jerold snapped. “Now get out of here and send me Betia.”
“Nay,” Melita replied calmly and felt on the covers for his leg. “You are mean and surly, and you have not even tried to walk on this leg.”
“I am a cripple!” he bellowed.
“Nay, you are not.” Melita shook her head and released a sad sigh. “But you will be soon.”
“What do you mean?” Jerold eyed her suspiciously as she turned back to her tray and began setting out rolled linens and preparing her worktable. “My muscles are drawn and weak, and my knee will not bend.”
Melita rolled her eyes then faced him. “Well, of course you have poor use of the leg now. You have had the thing in the same position for two weeks. ‘Twould have only taken a few weeks to get your muscles loose and your knee bending, so you could build the strength again.”
“You mean ‘tis truly going to work again?” he asked, his voice tremulous with hope.
Melita gave Jerold a pitying look and shook her head. “Nay, not now. We are about to chop it off.”
Jerold paled then glowered at her. “You must be daft to think I will let you do such a thing if ‘tis going to start working.”
“I am not daft,” she replied in a serene tone then sighed. “I am angry because you are surly, so I have decided to punish you by taking the leg.”
“Bernon would never allow such a thing!” Jerold insisted.
Melita put her hands on her hips and turned her ferocious scowl on the invalid. “Aye, he would, because he is my bear and I am furious with you.”
“What for?” Jerold asked with genuine surprise. “I have not left this room since we got here.”
“You have been mean and rude to my sister.” Melita balled her hands into tiny fists and her nostrils flared. “And you have overworked her.”
“Betia is your sister?” he asked, slack-jawed.
“Aye,” she growled. “And I cannot let you get away with your terrible conduct, so I am taking the leg.”
“I shall apologize,” Jerold offered, panic underscoring his words. “I didn’t mean to be rude and overwork her.”
“Well, I do not know...”
“I will start walking too.” Jerold tossed back the covers, exposing his naked body. Melita turned scarlet and closed her eyes. Jerold flushed and pulled the covers back over himself, his expression contrite. “Mayhap I should dress first. Tyrel will get me some clothes, won’t you, Tyrel? Then I can start.”
Melita assumed the pose of a little commander. “You will walk to the window five times today. Then you will walk all the way around the room at least six times tomorrow. Tyrel will help you and all of your friends will start spending more time with you. Next week you will move into the barracks with the other warriors. Betia will not be coming anymore, because Bernon took her duties away. He wants her to rest.”
“Think she might come for a visit?” Jerold asked, an anxious timbre in his tone.
“If she wants to come she can, but do not get attached to her. I am arranging a match for her with Geno. And if I hear of anymore surliness from you, I am coming back for the leg.” Melita turned and marched toward the door. “Hugo, come with me.”
~ * ~
Bernon, suppressing his mirth, moved down the corridor and slipped into an alcove so his wife wouldn’t see him. Having a woman’s name gave her a new sense of self-worth, and he liked seeing her confident and happy. Honest to God, he wished he had seen the look on Jerold’s face when she told him she was there to cut off his leg. And wouldn’t it be revenge and more when Geno discovered she seriously expected him to marry Betia?
He heard the door to Jerold’s chamber clack. “Hugo, was I too mean, do you suppose?”
“Nay, milady. You were just perfect. Snapped Jerold right out of his melancholia.”
“Oh good. I want to find Cora now, so...”
Bernon lost their conversation as they moved away. He chuckled to himself then headed off for his meeting with William. Finding the king busy, Bernon descended to the hall where Aurick, Balen, Medwyn, and Geno were bound by heavy discussion.
Aurick glanced up and called out, “A word with you, milord, in your great chamber away from ears?”
Bernon nodded and entered his office followed by Aurick and the others. A small smile played about his mouth as he glanced toward a screen that partitioned off the small area where Melita kept the Strangclyf records. She worked at a small wood table, using a rickety stool for a seat, and had a small box of writing supplies and an old scroll cabinet for record storage. ‘Twas a stark contrast with the opulence of the rest of the great chamber, which held elaborately carved furniture, colorful tapestries depicting various periods of the holding’s history, as well as fur-padded chairs and floor coverings.
He guided the men to a gathering area near the hearth on the right side of the chamber. Facing them, he clasped his hands behind his back. “What do you wish to discuss?”
“Melita asked me to ride to the abbey for a priest,” Balen said.
“The lamb wants her mother and me to wed, and Brianna and I want to. Problem is—” Aurick paused and sighed.
“Lady Brianna is still wed,” Bernon finished for him.
“Aye,” Aurick grimaced. “’Tis the rub.”
The men were silent for a moment, then Medwyn snapped his fingers. “Balen, what did you tell our lady when she made the request?”
“That I would speak with Bernon first, and, with his approval, I would see the duty done.”
“What are you thinking, Medwyn?” Bernon asked, observing his vassal’s calculating expression.
The warrior casually shrugged. “The king sails in a few hours. Why not send Balen with him to do his scutelege?”
Balen frowned at the notion. “I have already given the king forty days this year. ‘Tis Bernon to whom I owe service now.”
“True,” Aurick said, rubbing his jaw as he contemplated the suggestion, then he grinned. “But the lamb doesn’t know that. She wouldn’t take offense at your not carrying out her request if you are doing the king’s bidding.”
Geno chuckled at Balen and flashed him a devilish grin. “You can always come to Normandy with me, Balen. I have a feeling I shall need all the help I can get.” Geno dramatically sighed a martyr’s wariness and placed
the back of his hand to his forehead. “King William told me that I am to keep young Henry from mischief. Is it not ironic? A holy rogue sent to keep a royal rogue out of mischief.”
“I will consider the time part of the service you owe me,” Bernon said, closing the trap.
“’Twould not be necessary for me to go anywhere if we would find the dastard and kill him,” Balen irately pointed out. “And in case none of you have learned, I will tell you. If Melita wants a priest at Strangclyf, then she will damn well have one—even if she has to walk to the abbey herself. Name me another woman who would travel from here to Londontown by herself to save her people then back to save her lord. Besides,” his expression turned sheepish, “I do not wish to disappoint her.”
“Aye, Balen is right,” Aurick agreed. “She would go herself, though ‘twould take a disaster to disappoint her right now.” Aurick nodded once to Bernon and favored him with a grin of approval. “Melita is a fine name for her, milord.”
“Aye, Bernon,” Balen said. “I have never seen anyone as joyful as her when she told me.”
“Is it just me or do any of you smell something odd?” Medwyn asked, sniffing the air with a disgusted frown.
“Santa Anna!” Geno exclaimed, covering his nose. “’Tis not odd. ‘Tis god-awful.”
“’Tis called merde in French, stercus in Latin, faeces in Greek, keck in Gaelic, and manure in English,” Melita gritted out, barely containing her fury.
Bernon turned with the rest of the men. His wife stood at the entrance with her breasts heaving, nostrils flaring, and hands fisted. Her left sleeve hung by a thread on her pale-yellow kirtle. Smudges of brown gunk covered the gown. Grimy straw stuck to her hair and right cheek—held in place by more of the brown gunk.
“What in perdition happened to you?” Bernon yelled and walked toward her.
She met him halfway, hands on hips, and glared up at him. “I decided to roll in a pile of horse dung, milord. ‘Twas the only way I could get away from your destrier’s hooves after I was pushed into his stall.”
A chill settled around his heart at the vision her words created in his mind, then his rage surged. He placed his fists on his hips and glowered down at her. “What in perdition were you doing in the stables and where is Hugo?”