by Jill Hughey
She leaned across the desk to brush a lock of hair off his forehead. “It is so easy when it is just the two of us, alone,” she said.
“Yes, it is,” he answered, about to mention that they were not alone when she bent further over, placing tender kisses on his face. David sat stiff, the pain thrumming in his skull despite her gentle ministrations. She’d just brushed her lips over his, soft and warm and welcome, when Doeg cleared his throat sharply.
Rochelle straightened and whirled, the backs of her thighs coming up hard against the desk.
“I see how the mistress rules the master,” Doeg said thinly. “Very much as I suspected.”
David dropped his head back in his hands. “Doeg,” he said with warning. His brother would not be so easily stopped.
“A few little kisses and draping herself over the furniture is all it takes to keep you in the harness.”
“Doeg!” David said sharply, causing the pain to sear through his brain. He clamped his jaw shut, trying to master it.
“How dare you?” Rochelle cried into the dark recess of the room. “Why are you always lurking in the shadows, listening to conversations that do not concern you?” She turned to David accusingly. “This was a private moment.”
“Nothing has happened in this room about which my brother may not know,” he grit out. He heard her harsh inhalation, but it took him a moment to carefully move his eyes to her mortified face. She crossed her arms over her chest and hunched her shoulders as though trying to cover herself, to make herself smaller. She looked miserably at the center of the desk, then down at the floor, clearly embarrassed. Or ashamed.
He belatedly realized she was thinking further back than tonight, to an afternoon liaison they’d shared on that very desk a day or so before Doeg’s arrival, with her bent over in just the vulnerable position she’d assumed a few minutes ago, their fingers twined, his love words whispered in her ear. A woman completely submissive to a man, safe despite being trapped by his weight, passionate in one of the baser sexual positions a couple could share. She’d harkened back to a beautiful hour of such intimacy, such trust and privacy, an experience he would never in a million lifetimes relate to another soul. But, she thought he’d just told her he would. Or already had.
The pain of his headache pealed through him. It made his voice harsh. “Rochelle, I did not mean what you think.”
Doeg cut through him, “Oh, stop being such a milksop! A man means what he says.”
Rochelle glared at the dark corner. “Do you not have an estate of your own to run? Atrum Calx? Dark Stone, a fitting name I would say. Go spread your discontent there where you belong!”
“Coincidentally enough, your husband and I have been discussing just such a journey.”
“By all means, continue! Heaven knows I would not want to delay that conversation, nor your departure.” She strode from the room, closing the door heavily behind her.
Doeg chuckled. “Silly chit.”
“Doeg, you go too far. You will treat my wife with more respect.”
“I will talk to any simple woman exactly as I please.”
“Stop referring to her as simple!” David said severely. “She is anything but, and could probably teach you a thing or ten about the running of estates!”
Doeg shot out of his chair as if he’d been burned. “Is that so? Perhaps I will take you up on that offer! I am sure our father would be open to her suggestions since you are no help.”
“Wonderful! Just leave me in peace,” David practically begged.
Doeg stalked out, giving David the blessed, quiet darkness. He could hear his brother talking in the hall, but the agony had come, screaming around him, making the muffled words gibberish to him. Crossing his arms on the desk, he put his head down, certain he could smell his wife’s scent.
The pain was somehow worse with the knowledge that it could be avoided.
He needed her. He needed her to heal him, to put her soft hands against the anguish of his head. He even managed to say her name a few times. No one heard.
Later, he didn’t know how much later, Doeg roused him. Words swirled and clanged in his head, meaning nothing.
“Bring her,” David croaked. “Bring Rochelle.”
His brother left him, and David was sure salvation would come in minutes.
When Rochelle left the office, she slung herself into a chair by the fire. She would wait for Doeg to leave her husband, then return to him to find out what in God’s name had just happened. Marian studied her from across the flames. Rochelle didn’t know how to answer the obvious question in her eyes.
Doeg didn’t keep her waiting long. He emerged from the office with the same look he’d had after Riculf’s visit to Theo’s house. The cat had caught another mouse.
“We leave for Bavaria in the morning,” he announced. “Pack your things and pack lightly. I know you like to travel fast. I have developed a taste for it myself.”
Rochelle blinked at him, stunned. “I am not going anywhere with you,” she blurted.
“Your husband says you are,” he replied, gesturing to the door behind him with his thumb. He smiled, then started toward his sleeping quarters. When she made a move in the direction of the office, he barked out, “Do not even think to go in there to change his mind. Your insolence earlier reminds him of how you humiliated him with Riculf, and again outside today. You should remember your place, which is wherever your husband says it is. Be ready by dawn.”
“Rochelle,” Marian breathed when Doeg finally left the room. “What goes on?”
“Doeg is turning David against me.”
“Nonsense! David loves ye.”
She stared at her mother for a moment. “I know. I know he does. Why is he acting like this? Why would he want us to go to Bavaria now? He said he did not want to go, but Doeg will not stop harping about it and has somehow convinced him.”
They sat silently, both chewing on this sudden change of plans.
“Perhaps he is testing me,” Rochelle ventured. “To me, the tournament and my betrayal feels as if it happened in another lifetime. Maybe he still thinks of it and wonders about my loyalty.”
“What does Bavaria have to do with any of that?”
“David once asked me to trust in his faith in his brother. Maybe he is seeing if I do.” She sighed. “Maybe he just wants me to meet his father.”
“I cannot like it,” Marian grumbled.
“Nor do I.” She huffed out a resolute breath. “If David is going, then I am going. I do not trust Doeg, but I am also not going to give up my husband without a fight.”
In the chilly predawn, Rochelle walked to Regret’s side, searching the fog for David’s form. He had never come to bed nor had he been in the office when she glanced through the door this morning. Doeg tapped his foot impatiently as Rochelle hugged her mother. He all but tossed her on the gelding’s back.
“Where is David?” she asked.
“I saw him in the office not an hour ago,” Doeg said, already reining his own horse to the gate.
“We must wait for him,” she cried shrilly.
“He will catch up to us when it suits him.”
“Certainly we can wait a few hours!”
“He wishes for me to bring you now.” The cold blue eyes challenged her to argue with him more, or worse, dismount to go question her husband.
Rochelle swallowed her protests. She lowered her voice to speak to Marian urgently. “You must find him. Something is wrong. Promise me you will find him.”
Marian nodded, her green eyes wide and frightened. Rochelle saw Magnus on the porch. She called him to her. David had posted his dog with her since almost the moment they’d met. Surely he would want her to take him now.
Rochelle followed Doeg blindly north then east for the first day, vaguely aware of passing through Strazburg very late, constantly checking behind them for David’s form. She imagined her husband galloping to her, grabbing Regret’s bridle as he begged her to come home. Or he would
gallop to her, knock Doeg off of his horse, and beg her to come home. Or some combination of those things.
He did not come.
They rode until dark when Doeg made a camp with an inadequate fire. He barely spoke for the entire evening, except when he announced happily, “Maybe he will leave you at Calx for the winter.”
Rochelle had every intention of sneaking away that night while Doeg slept. It appeared Doeg did not require sleep. Every time she opened her eyes he was alertly poking at the fire.
Her only comfort and protection was Magnus. She kept him near her any time she was out of the saddle, knowing that he would turn against David’s brother if necessary.
Her worry for David ate at her. She told herself over and over that David would never have been physically overpowered by Doeg, that he had been safe inside the house when she’d last seen him, that the logical explanation was that Doeg had simply taken her away with her husband’s permission. While that truth hurt her deeply, it was better than any alternative she could think about.
Beginning on the second day, she paid close attention to landmarks along the road. Her sense of direction away from Alda was notoriously terrible, but she memorized the path home as best she could, knowing she would set out on her own return journey if given the chance.
Snow began to fly on the third day, setting up a night of misery. Rochelle couldn’t help but imagine how different it would be if David were curled behind her. She wondered if he slept safe in their bed. The thought of that chilled her as much as the weather, that he might be ensconced at Alda while Doeg dragged her across the empire. Her thoughts preyed on her. She swung the gamut of imagining him healthy or dead or every possibility in between. Healthy meant he’d sent her away from him, her home, and their marriage. Injured or dead meant Doeg had finally succeeded at whatever nefarious motivation drove him. If that was the case, however, what did he want from her now? For what purpose would he kidnap her? Exhaustion eventually stemmed the wild flow of her thoughts, letting her sleep.
A wet covering of snow as deep as the horses’ fetlocks coated the ground by morning. The further east they traveled, the more remote the surroundings became.
Doeg announced heartily, “We will pass Eichstadt today. Tonight we sleep in a hut, and by tomorrow we should arrive at Atrum Calx, if the snow does not slow us down too badly.” He’d become less arrogant, perhaps even a bit cautious with her of late. He acted like someone who had belatedly realized his own blunder, finding himself set on a track he could not leave.
“What will you do with me there?” Rochelle asked cautiously, trying to make out his purpose.
“I will show you the estate,” he replied, “after you have had a day or so to rest, of course.
The strange answer threw her, but his caring whether she had rest was even stranger. They retreated into the usual uncomfortable silence, only heightened by the muffling effect of the falling snow.
The hut he’d mentioned offered poor shelter — she could see the last of the daylight through little cracks in the plank walls as they settled in — but even a poor roof was better than nothing, and a small shelter nearby gave the tired horses some protection, as well. The hut had two chairs and a table, and a shelf on the wall held a few wooden bowls and tin cups. It was used for hunting parties, Doeg explained, as he placed the last of the dry wood in the middle of the dirt floor. “We are at the edge of my father’s land now,” he announced proudly, “and we still have to ride several hours tomorrow to reach the house.”
Rochelle shivered. She’d been wet through for two days and dearly longed for an hour of privacy to dry her clothes. The best she could do was drape her cloak over a chair then stand as close to the fire as she dared, watching the steam rise off her dirty brown tunic.
The snow fell heavily that night, laying a thick blanket that slowed the horses to a fraction of their former pace. Only Magnus was unperturbed, digging his nose in it and bounding around like a puppy.
As they passed over the estate, Rochelle did not see anything to impress her. The homes of the tenants were small, with poorly thatched roofs emitting gossamer tendrils of smoke from within. She saw thin, dirty people who watched Doeg carefully, as if he were a stranger to them. He looked at her often. She sensed he wanted to ask her something, but he invariably clamped his mouth shut.
It took half a day to reach the main house. She’d expected to feel some relief when they approached the end of the journey. The building only filled her with foreboding. The first floor was constructed of stone so dark with lichen as to be nearly black. The wood siding of the second floor was beginning to rot, though a steeply pitched lead roof proved the estate had had money once upon a time. There were a few windows in the second story only, giving the house the countenance of a fortress. Atrum Calx.
A few steps led up to to the imposing front door, and when Doeg, carrying both their parcels of clothing, pushed it open, Rochelle instinctively drew back from the noise, stench and mayhem within. There were a dozen filthy men eating and shouting around a long greasy table. A few full-bosomed women walked over discarded bones and other detritus, carrying large ewers and loaves of dark bread to the table.
Rochelle had never seen anything like it, not even when surreptitiously peeking through the open doors of the most common inns in Aix-la-Chapelle.
Doeg tugged at her elbow, almost dragging her through the portal into the dim interior. There were two doors in the wall to the left, one open to show a slovenly barracks, the other tightly closed. Stairs clung tenuously to the wall, leading to a decrepit gallery hung with spiderweb garlands. Three doors lined it, one barely squashed under the ceiling that sloped down to first story level at the back of the house. It and the one at the front of the house were obviously dusty from disuse even from her vantage point at the entrance to the house. She and Doeg waited near the front door at the top of two steps leading down to the level of the hall while the inhabitants became slowly aware of their arrival.
Rochelle watched a man at the far end of the table. She knew without introduction that he was David’s father. The shape of his face and the line of his nose made him unmistakable. His eyes were blue, though slightly clouded compared to Doeg’s. But his hair grew thick and wavy, different from his sons’ only in its gray color.
“Have you finally got yourself a woman?” the man called unkindly.
Rochelle raised her eyebrows at his rudeness, but kept quiet. The men at the table guffawed, staring at her like the next haunch of beef to be put before them on a platter.
“I have brought David’s wife to meet you,” Doeg answered, sounding much less sure of himself here than he had in Alda’s hall.
“Ah, ah, ah,” the man said. “Bring her here, then, so I can have a look at her.”
If Rochelle had not been a courageous sort, she would have pressed herself against the wall to keep as far from the voracious men as possible. She was meeting David’s people, she reminded herself. She lifted her chin and curled her fingers into Magnus’s fur as Doeg led her to her father-in-law.
“Father, this is Rochelle. Rochelle, this is my father, Drogo.”
The man pushed up out of his chair to tower over her. He had crumbs in his unkempt beard and the front of his tunic bore evidence of several other meals. He studied her carefully, his eyes chilling her as Doeg’s always had. “I see he sent his mangy dog too,” he sneered as he dropped back into his chair. “Doeg, you know I do not like noblewomen in my hall.” He looked down the table at the men. “Noblewomen have only three capabilities. Sewing, cooking, and bearing heirs.” His companions chuckled at his observation. “Can she sew, Doeg, or cook?”
“Not that I have seen, Father.”
“Then what use is she here? This house has its heir.” The words were cutting, and not only to her. Drogo did not even try to hide his derision for his heir.
Doeg betrayed no reaction. “We have had a long journey in the snow. Let her rest.”
“Put her in David’s room,”
“Perhaps we should give her some privacy upstairs.”
“You know I do not like women upstairs either. Do as I say! Ingrid!” he shouted, snapping his fingers at a wisp of a girl near what Rochelle assumed was the kitchen door. “Give her a torch and some food, then come back and see to Doeg. I am sure he has missed your attentions.”
The table erupted with laughter.
Rochelle felt the men’s eyes on her as she followed the thin teenager to a black door toward the front of the house, near the long side of the table. The girl, Ingrid, struggled to push it open. She disappeared into a dank space. The torch revealed very little: a few sacks of grain, a broken cask that probably held wine at one time, some housecleaning items and several pegs in the wall. Doeg tossed her pack in the door behind her, then left them.
“This is David’s room?” Rochelle asked the girl.
She bobbed a little in affirmation. “He hardly ever comes here. It has been years. My boy was just born the last time and now he’s, umm, three. Things have changed since your man was here last.”
Rochelle stared at Ingrid, trying to make the image fit the words. She hardly looked old enough to have a child, and her clothes hung off her as they would on a gangly boy.
Ingrid shifted awkwardly under the scrutiny. “I will bring you a pallet and some food.”
“Could I get a bath?” Rochelle asked with hope, still chilled to the bone.
Ingrid’s dark eyes flicked to the door and back. “I would not if I was you,” she said nervously. “I can bring you some warm water.”
“Thank you, Ingrid. I would appreciate that.” Rochelle gave her a tired smile.
The girl’s mouth opened and closed a few times before she slipped out the door, carefully drawing it closed behind her.