by Betina Krahn
“Well?” the compte demanded in French. He knew from Captain Valoir’s grim expression that the news would not be good.
“The wedding … it was a day ago.”
“Sacrebleu!” The compte caught himself. “How many of them did you manage to kill?”
Valoir looked down in silence and braced for the coming storm.
“Not one? You did not manage to rid the world of even one of those dirty little tarts?” The lord kicked over a nearby stool before hauling his temper under control. “Tell me you at least managed to ruin some of them.”
The captain blanched. “They were always under escort, seigneur. Guarded at all times. We managed to injure one and abduct another … briefly. I lost four men in the attempt.”
“Idiots!” the compte flung his arms out and roared, as if asking the cosmos to witness the depth of his trials. “I am surrounded by idiots!” He grabbed Valoir by the tunic. “You allowed all five of these bastard females to wed!” Again he asserted control over his rising fury, as an even more pressing problem presented itself. “Was the duke there? Did he see them?”
“I—I believe he was present, seigneur.”
The compte thought on that for a moment. “If he didn’t say anything, he must not have … Where are these cursed females now?”
“They have left Windsor, seigneur.” Valoir took an anxious breath.
“Where did they go?”
Valoir shrugged, watching his lord carefully. “To their new husbands’ homes … all over England.”
“And Avalon”—he turned to Valoir with his eyes flitting back and forth—“has he been released?”
“Non, seigneur. He was taken to the castle called Windsor and is now a guest of the English king.”
“Edward probably hopes to turn his sympathies and send him home an ally. We must find a way to poison the well.”
“The castle water, seigneur?” Valoir looked confused.
The count closed his eyes for a moment. “A figure of speech, you arse-head. Poison relations between them … find a way to discredit the duke and anger Edward.” His voice developed a conjuring tone. “Perhaps even wedded, the females can be useful. Surely there is someone hereabouts who can be persuaded to reveal the truth about the devious and duplicitous duke.”
Valoir looked surprised. “Reveal how much of his wealth was hidden and withheld from the ransom?”
“There is no need to be that truthful,” the mercurial compte said with a nasty laugh. “Especially when the duke’s own manipulations are quite damning on their own.”
Chapter Sixteen
The journey to Sir Hugh’s ancestral home took the better part of three days. Despite the earl’s insistence that there was no hurry, Hugh seemed determined to spend as little time as possible on the road. It took a while for Chloe to realize that his sense of urgency had to do with their safety, and she ceased objecting to the pace. By the end of the second day, however, her bottom was sore, every muscle in her body ached, and she was heartily sick of Hugh’s attitude toward his father.
Each time the earl drew his mount alongside hers, Hugh appeared on her other side to pull her away on some pretext or other. In the evening, when they stopped at an inn in a small village, Hugh installed her in a chamber straightaway and sent food and drink to her, ostensibly so that she could avoid “the smells and rough company of the tavern.” When the earl did manage to speak with her for a few moments, to describe some of his home to her, she kept looking over her shoulder and expecting Hugh to come roaring down on them at any moment.
“What is it about your father that you dislike so?” she demanded the second evening as they camped by the side of the road.
“Other than his prodigal and profligate ways?” he said irritably, poking at the campfire’s reddened embers with a stick.
“You make him sound like a monster. Just because you don’t approve of someone, doesn’t mean he’s depraved and unredeemable.” She recklessly met his gaze. “You’ve held the same unreasonable—and, I might add, erroneous—attitude about the entire female sex.”
“Erroneous? Ask anyone at court or in the shire. They will confirm my assessment of his nature.” He leaned toward her. “But if you really want to know the truth, just ask the defenseless women who’ve had to bear his bastards.”
There was no brisk, dismissive retort for so devastating a charge. Illegitimate children made upon defenseless women. No matter what grievances Hugh bore against his father, he would never make such an accusation unless it were based in fact. She thought of the glint in the Earl of Sennet’s worldly eyes, his contagious high spirits, and the prowling heat that, even in so short a visit, had caused the ladies of the court to stare avidly at him from all over the hall. Everything about him declared that he was a man who indulged in pleasure whenever, however he could. It was little wonder that he and Hugh were at such odds; the lusty and recklessly charming earl was everything that pious and abstemious Hugh of Sennet would abhor. Despite their striking physical similarities, it was difficult to believe they were father and son.
The understanding that flooded into her face and softened her posture seemed to annoy him even more than her challenge.
“Just watch out for him,” he ordered, rising to check with Mattias about the night watch.
The fields they passed as they traveled north were a lush June green and the orchards had set blossoms enough for bountiful crops. The gently rolling hills were dotted with herds in which spring lambs frolicked. Increasingly, the fields were divided by hedgerows and small stands of trees where birds nested undisturbed. It was beautiful countryside.
She postponed all worries about Hugh’s growing silence and what would happen when they reached the hall of Sennet, in favor of simply enjoying the bright sun on her face and the sweet air in her lungs. Unfortunately, that pleasure was not to last for long. The moment they reached a small stream and forded it, the earl and his men snapped to attention and began to ride more purposefully. When she asked Hugh what was happening, he shook his head and reluctantly relayed the question to his father. The Earl of Sennet smiled broadly.
“We’re home.”
Soon a cluster of buildings became visible in the distance. As they approached, they spotted workers in the fields along the road, tending crops and flocks. As they passed, the people paused to stare at the travelers and, upon recognizing their lord, began to wave and call out a welcome. Some left their hoeing and stone-picking to come and stand by the road, leaning on their tools and craning their necks to see who the earl had brought home with him. Hugh’s father returned their greetings without pretense, remembering many of them by name and inquiring about their families, their animals, or their crops. Chloe watched his expressive face … surprised by the concern he showed for his people and studying the respectful familiarity his people showed toward him.
The house and hall of Sennet stood on a slight rise, surrounded by a modest stone wall and the beginnings of a small village. The house was all of stone and timber, but with its several parts constructed in different styles, suggesting that it had been enlarged and improved over the years. Still, since the additions were made with similar materials, the overall effect was cohesive and pleasant. And as they neared, it was clear that the wall was kept in good repair, the slate roofs of the house and hall were sound, and even the cottages and shops and byres just outside the wall seemed orderly and well maintained.
Inside the wall there were a small pond, several barns and a stable, a modest courtyard, and several plots of ground tilled and planted for kitchen gardens. As they approached the double doors of the main hall, a number of servants came pouring out and stood in a line to greet the earl. A groom ran up to take his horse as he dismounted, and a thin, graying fellow in slightly better dress than the others gave the earl a brief bow and a genial reassurance that all was well before turning to openly inspect Hugh.
“So, ’e’s come home a last.” The steward came over to give Hugh a nod of respect as he d
ismounted. “Sir Hugh. Good to have ye home again after all these years.” Then he looked to Chloe. “And bringing a milady with ye.” He gave her a courtly bow. “Welcome, milady, to Sennet Hall.”
Before she could do more than acknowledge the greeting with a nod, a jumble of female voices burst from the open doors, quickly followed by a jumble of the females themselves.
“… and you’re always late!” a buxom young maid with dark hair and vivid brown eyes snapped at the girls trailing her.
“It’s not my fault Corrine’s always locking all the doors and putting things away where you can’t find—” A willowy carrot-top with an abundance of freckles ran into the first girl, who had stopped abruptly at the sight of them.
“You blame me for everything!” a third maid, a small curvy little thing with untamed chestnut hair and enormous eyes, protested as she narrowly missed barreling into them on the step.
“A-hem!” the earl said, crossing his arms and looking stern. “We have guests, you little heathens. Your brother has come home to stay, and I’ll have you show a bit of breeding around him and his lady wife.”
“We don’t have any breeding,” the buxom one said tartly. “Or so you tell us, at every opportunity.”
“We’re untamable vixens who ought to be caged,” the redhead added.
“And fed only bread and water until we repent and begin to behave like proper human lasses. Whatever those are.” The curvy little spitfire copied his pose, crossing her arm and raising her chin to a defiant angle.
The earl glowered at them. “Don’t think I won’t do it! Insolent pups. Get down here. And mind your manners as you meet your brother. Remember, you’ll be living on his charity and goodwill for the rest of your natural days.” He turned to Hugh, who stood by Chloe’s horse, glaring at the living proof of his father’s debauchery.
“Meet your sisters, boy. Ellen …” The buxom, dark-haired beauty gave a sinuous curtsy. “Lizabeth …” The fiery carrot-top with the upturned nose bobbed a greeting. “And Corinne.” The curvy little one with the pale, memorable eyes looked straight up at him, grinned, and only remembered to curtsy when the redhead elbowed her in the side.
Hugh’s mouth was drawn in a tight line as he looked between the three and his father. “You took them into your house, under your own roof?”
“I did,” the earl admitted grimly. “Must have been drunk as a skunk.” Then he remembered Chloe and shouldered Hugh aside to lift her down from her mount. “And this,” he declared ominously to his three daughters, “is Lady Chloe, the new mistress of Sennet. Do as she says or rue the day.” He narrowed his eyes and delivered in a threatening tone: “She was raised in a convent.” While that registered in their widened eyes and uncertain expressions, the earl leaned toward Chloe and muttered for her ears alone: “God help you.” Then he turned on his heel and strode for his hall, calling for ale … and plenty of it.
The hall was a spacious, arched and timbered expanse with whitewashed walls that were hung with a number of banners. There was a great hearth at the far end, a single long table down the center of the hall, and a goodly number of heavy, well-made chairs to go around the common board. On one side of the hall, in a large alcove, was a set of chairs filled with brightly colored pillows, tapestry-covered stools, and a large brass-bound chest.
There, Chloe met Mrs. Trueblood, the housekeeper, a severe-looking woman who welcomed her with a crisp, functional air and showed her immediately up the main steps to the chamber set aside for her. Trueblood, as she insisted she be called, gave Chloe a general overview of the house, the grounds, the responsibilities of the main servants and retainers. And as Chloe stood in her dusty clothes struggling to keep her head above that deluge of information, three heads appeared in the doorway behind the housekeeper, then quickly disappeared. As the housekeeper droned on, a hand appeared, making snippy talking motions. Then another hand joined it. Then another.
The drift and widening of Chloe’s eyes betrayed the girls’ game, and the housekeeper turned abruptly and flew to the door, causing the maids to scatter frantically. Through the passage the sound of giggles wafted back, and the housekeeper turned to Chloe with a taut expression.
“I done my best, milady. They ain’t bad girls. But a servant, even a housekeeper, is no proper guide for a headstrong young girl. An’ their father …” She frowned and glanced at the pitcher and basin on the chest near the window. “I’ll send up water. And I’ll have ’em bring up your things straightaway.”
When she left, Chloe stood staring at the door, too travel-fatigued and overwhelmed to make sense of her introduction to her new home and this first, startling glimpse of her duties as the new Lady of Sennet. She settled for exploring her chamber and found it to be a good-sized room dominated by a large, well-draped bed set between two glazed windows.
The water arrived and her chest was delivered soon after. She removed her cap and her overgown, beating the dust from the latter and hanging it on a wooden dowel near the window to air. When Hugh arrived, she was trying out the bed and quickly skittered off it to stand near the window.
He looked around the chamber as if seeing it for the first time.
“Is everything satisfactory?”
“Very much so.” She glanced at the bed. “The mattress is quite comfortable and the linen is soft and clean. There is good light.” She gestured toward the sides of the bed. “And glazing in the windows.” She studied his face and found it unreadable. “Is it the way you remembered? Your home?”
“I don’t have any memories of it,” he said shortly. “I was barely five when my mother died and I was sent to Saint Barnard’s.”
“But surely you visited …”
“I have not been here in almost twenty years.” A muscle in his jaw flexed and his hands curled into fists at his sides. “And to return and have his bastards flung in my face. And yours. It’s unconscionable.”
“They’re very … spirited,” she managed.
“They’re exactly what he called them: vixens. How could they be anything else, sired by a reprobate and a harlot?”
“It’s a bit early to condemn them as fallen women, isn’t it? They can’t be a day over fifteen. If they’re too full of themselves, it’s probably because they’ve been allowed to run free.”
“Or because venery, licentiousness, and disregard for godly behavior runs in their blood,” he said fiercely. “Blood always tells. They’re bastards and the sin of their begetting taints their natures.”
Those words sliced to the very core of her. And she could never let him know it.
“You share that blood,” she said through a tightened throat.
“His blood. But my mother was a true-born and Godfearing lady. And I have worked all my life to see to it that his blood doesn’t overtake me.”
She suffered a chill and tucked her arms around her waist. There in a nutshell was the rest of the explanation for his rejection of all things pleasurable.
“Well, your work hasn’t gone for naught. You are nothing like him.” She turned away, opened the lid of her chest, and began to unpack.
She could hear that he stood for a moment without moving, then turned and stalked out. When she heard the door shut, she gripped the edge of the trunk and felt the blood drain abruptly from her head. The righteous, arrogant Sir Hugh she thought was defeated had only been in temporary retreat. He was back now, in full strength, and ready as ever to condemn and pass judgment.
Especially on bastards.
Their evening meal was a predictably noisy and highly charged affair. The service was diligent, and the food was tasty and varied. It was the mix of the company that created tension and sparked occasional conflict. Chloe felt caught in the middle and tried with modest success to negotiate the extremes of all parties present and contribute a dignified and calming presence. It wasn’t easy, given that everyone in the household and the earl’s small garrison scrutinized her every move and evaluated her every expression and gesture … most in a critica
l light.
More than once she found her inner abbess taking control to issue a chilling look in the direction of the earl’s unruly offspring. To their credit—or perhaps because of the earl’s threats involving her formidable background—the girls amended their behavior and led Chloe to hope that they were not only redeemable, but that they might become delightful young women someday.
If, she reminded herself grimly, one could overlook the shameful circumstances of their births.
It was under that cloud that Chloe retired to her chamber and, with the help of a perky little chambermaid, bathed, brushed out her hair, and settled into the linen-decked bed to wait for Hugh. But as she waited, listening to the night sounds of her new home, her hope that he would come to her began to fade. By the time the door opened and he crept inside, she had given up and fallen asleep.
Hugh stood for a while in the darkened chamber, looking down at her, feeling an alarming fullness in his chest and a tightness in his throat. He wanted to awaken her, pull her into his arms, and lose himself in her lush body and deliciously direct passions. He wanted to hold her and, more shockingly, to have her hold him … the way she had that first night … the night that was forever inscribed on his bone and sinew.
But he didn’t disturb her. Instead, he sat for a while in a chair near the window, being careful to stay out of the moonlight streaming in. He didn’t need that unsettling influence aggravating his already volatile impulses. Only when exhaustion began to claim him did he creep to the bed, fully dressed, and lie quietly down beside her.
The next day as they were breaking fast in the hall, the earl appeared, fresh from a crack-of-dawn ride, and volunteered to show them around their new home. His daughters objected, insisting that they be allowed to show Chloe around the house and hall and grounds. The ensuing argument was resolved only by Chloe declaring that she would be pleased to accompany the earl first—as was only fitting—and that she would spend the balance of the day with them and Trueblood, learning the workings of the household.