“Philippe de Varenne has gone on a journey with the baron.”
“That’s a relief, is it?”
“Yes,” Gabriella said, and she could not suppress a shudder of distaste as she recalled the way Philippe had looked at her on the riverbank. “I would be happy never to see him again.”
“And the baron, too, I daresay.”
Gabriella didn’t reply, because her own reaction startled her so completely. Never to see Baron DeGuerre again? She should have answered with the same speed and elation that she would if Philippe de Varenne disappeared from her life. Instead, the notion of Baron DeGuerre’s permanent absence was disturbing, nearly as disturbing as…well, as Bryce’s.
Mary glanced at Gabriella with shrewd eyes. “Elsbeth says the baron’s terrible fierce, always in black like the devil himself. A good-looking man, but about as much expression as a grindstone, and about as much heart, too.”
Gabriella thought of the look in Baron DeGuerre’s eyes as he bent to kiss her. The baron had a heart, she believed, but he kept it very well hidden.
“Well, I’m glad you’re not in any danger.” Mary’s smile stretched across her face as she bent to take hold of one of the buckets.
She straightened when George de Gramercie, Donald Bouchard and his friend Seldon came out of the stables, George and Donald involved in an animated discussion. It was obvious from their words, the game they carried, their ruddy cheeks and windblown hair that they had been hunting.
Despite the nature of their recent activity, Sir George wore a fine cloak of brilliant red wool. His black boots shone and his hose had not a wrinkle. Indeed, no matter what Sir George was about, his clothes were always perfectly clean.
Donald Bouchard, who clearly had not the money to spend on clothing that Sir George had, was dressed with his customary simplicity, which also seemed an extension of his character.
Seldon apparently threw on whatever was handy. His dark brown cloak was askew and his boots were thickly covered with mud.
On the other hand, Gabriella noted, while Sir George looked good, he held but one dead duck. Donald and Seldon both held the corpses of several pheasants.
“If you wish to work yourself into a sweat over a couple of birds, I see no reason to condemn the rest of us,” she heard Sir George say jovially as the men strolled toward them. “After all, we can only consume so much. Any more would be wasteful and a sin.”
“Some of us did not take time to rest on the riverbank, napping beneath a broad oak,” Donald replied with his usual gravity.
“There’s a lot of us to feed, too, eh?” Seldon noted in his deep, slow voice.
“And some of us eat much more than others, Seldon, eh?” Sir George grinned, then caught sight of the two women by the well. He bowed graciously and smiled as he went past.
“What a bunch of stout fellows!” Mary exclaimed softly when the men were out of earshot. “Is the baron expecting an attack?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” Gabriella replied. As she looked at the three knights, she wondered if there was indeed some unknown reason that the baron kept such a force about him. Or perhaps it was simply the trappings of wealth and power, and she should attach no particular significance to it. She bent down to pick up the buckets.
“Here, my lady, let me take those for you,” Mary said.
“I can manage, Mary,” Gabriella said, grabbing the rope handle of the other bucket and reaching out to grasp the one already in Mary’s hand. She was quite capable of doing her work. Mary didn’t have to treat her like a child.
“I’ve got it,” Mary said firmly, not letting go. The bucket started to swing precariously.
“You’d better let me have the bucket,” Gabnella insisted. She nodded toward the retreating figures of Sir George and the others, who were nearly at the door of the hall. “I don’t want anyone telling Baron DeGuerre I’m not doing my share of chores.”
Mary did not release her grip. “They’re not looking at us. Besides, two’s too heavy for you, my lady.”
“No, I can do it!” Gabriella said urgently. “Mary, please!” She gripped the handle harder and pulled.
With an equally determined expression, Mary still held on and for a moment, the bucket swung wildly between them. When the rope began to cut her hand, Gabriella had to let go. Unfortunately, at that precise instant and in midswing, so did Mary. The bucket sailed through the air, spinning and dispersing water as it went, before it landed and broke right behind the startled Sir George. The remaining water splashed everywhere, including all over Sir George, then disappeared in rivulets between the courtyard stones.
Chapter Seven
“Sir George, I’m so sorry!” Gabriella cried, setting down her intact bucket and running up to him. “Forgive me! It was all my fault.”
“As long as this isn’t some kind of a hint that I need to bathe,” Sir George remarked mildly, looking down at his wet clothes. He began to wring out the bottom of his soaking tunic.
Behind Sir George, Donald Bouchard actually smiled and Seldon’s loud guffaws echoed off the stone walls. Grooms and stable hands came rushing out, Guido appeared at the kitchen door, dripping ladle in hand, and Alda stuck her head out of one of the narrow windows of the upper apartments.
Gabriella stood awkwardly, wondering what she should do next and biting her lip in embarrassed agitation.
“Calm yourself, my dear,” Sir George said with his sincere and charming smile. “I’ve been drenched before, but rarely by anyone as pretty as yourself.”
The onlookers smiled and Gabriella sensed many suppressed chortles, giggles and guffaws.
“It was me done it,” Mary said staunchly, coming to stand beside Gabriella.
“Really, ladies, it matters not to me just how I came to be in this condition. However, I think I should change before I take a chill. That would be a rather ignominious cause of death, don’t you think?” He made a polite little bow. “If you will excuse me.”
Gabriella had to smile as Sir George sauntered off as calmly as if he spent every morning in wet garments. Donald and Seldon, who were still chuckling, followed him to the hall without a word to the women. Guido went back into the kitchen, the stable hands returned to work, and Alda, after a tense moment of obvious panic, succeeded in getting her head inside the window.
Gabriella wondered what Baron DeGuerre would make of this incident, should Sir George, Bouchard and Seldon or any of the servants tell him of this additional embarrassment. She dearly hoped no one would mention it.
“It’s a pity he didn’t get the castle,” Mary said thoughtfully. “He’s a nice fellow.”
“He’s a charming man,” Gabriella agreed. And that’s all. She couldn’t imagine Sir George ever actually leading a battle, or even a skirmish. If it came to defending this castle, she wasn’t sure he would be up to the task.
Gabriella had never seen Sir George de Gramercie fight, or she wouldn’t have doubted his abilities. It was simply that, compared to the Baron DeGuerre, most men seemed to be lacking.
“I suppose I’ll owe the baron even more now,” Gabriella said regretfully, beginning to retrieve bits of broken bucket.
Mary grew grave as she helped Gabriella. “I wanted to ask you something else. Is it true that the baron would have let William and the others pay the debt for you but they refused?”
“Yes, it is,” Gabriella answered as she straightened, pieces of bucket in her hands.
Mary let fly a colorful epithet, then reddened when she saw Gabriella’s shocked visage. “Why, everybody knows they could pay that sum! That’s why I didn’t believe that they hadn’t. Men! Bunch of selfish oafs, if you ask me.” She stomped toward the remaining bucket.
“You haven’t seen the baron.” Gabriella felt bound to point this out as she hurried after the irate Mary. “And he did raise the rents afterward.”
“But they didn’t offer anything?” Mary demanded as she picked up the bucket. “To think that after all your good father did for them, th
ey’d pay you back like this! I’m ashamed of the whole lot of them!”
“My servitude won’t last forever,” Gabriella said.
“It still isn’t right!” Mary grabbed Gabriella’s arm and pulled her to the other side of the well, where they would be shielded from prying eyes. “I’ve got some money put by,” Mary whispered, looking about furtively. “So have a few of the other women.” She reached into her bodice, her hand snaking down nearly to her waist, and pulled out a cloth tightly wrapped and tied in a knot. She held it out. “It’s not much, but it’s a start. You can give it to the baron, to help pay the debt.”
Gabriella looked at the sincere offering. Her faith in her father’s people, seriously shaken despite her justifications, began to renew. If only the baron were here to see this! Then she thought of the raised rents and shook her head. “I can’t take it, Mary. You may have need of it.”
Mary frowned and did not lower her outstretched hand. “My lady—and you will always be that to me, so no use to tell me to stop—your father gave us all a lot more than this, in his way, and I cannot stand by and see you brought low.” Her face assumed the desperate expression of one of the holy martyrs depicted in the stained-glass window in the chapel. “If you don’t take it from me, I’ll … I’ll give it to the baron myself!”
Gabriella guessed that Mary would rather trade places with the holy martyr, but she also knew Mary well enough to guess that if she didn’t take the offering, Mary would screw up her courage and go directly to the baron. She clasped the woman’s work-hardened hand and collection of coins in hers. “I thank you with all my heart, Mary,” she said with sincerity and humility. “I would be honored to accept your gift.”
Mary’s face broke out into a wide smile. “There are others who want to help, too. Jhane, for one, but she’s afraid that ninny William will find out. I told her it was her money—she’s the one who does the brewing, isn’t she?”
“Mary,” Gabriella said as she tucked the coins into the belt around her waist, “as much as I appreciate everyone’s kindness, I don’t wish to be the cause of trouble. Let Jhane keep her money.”
“Well…” Mary hesitated, as if she were far from convinced that Jhane’s funds were not necessary.
“Thank you, Mary, truly. This is more than I ever expected,” she said. She gestured toward the remaining bucket. “Now I had better get to work, although thanks to you, my days as a servant should be somewhat shorter.”
“And then you must promise to come and live with me. My cottage isn’t much, but it’s mine.”
Gabriella smiled a tremulous thanks and nodded. She knew she should be grateful for Mary’s offer. The debt would be repaid, and she would have a place to go. She would be beholden to no one. She would be free.
If she did not feel completely elated at such thoughts, surely it was simply that she would not be staying in the castle, which had been her home.
Robert Chalfront hurried toward the hall, wanting to speak with Sir George, since that knight was temporarily in charge. Surely the baron must have left more orders for tasks to be done in his absence. Unfortunately, Sir George seemed to have forgotten most of them if he had, recalling one or two at a time as the mood apparently fell on him. Robert dearly hoped that the baron would not find fault with him for Sir George’s poor memory.
Once inside the door, he glanced around nervously, hoping that Gabriella would be in the kitchen or assisting Lady de Chaney. He had no wish to see Gabriella and be reminded of his foolishness. He had asked her to marry him with the best of intentions, only to be rebuffed. That was the thanks he had gotten for trying to help her immoderate father and prodigal brother. Then, like a dolt, he had kept hoping against hope. The knowledge that she would prefer to crouch on the riverbank and wash another man’s clothes rather than be his wife finally destroyed his delusion.
He had been infatuated with her, that was all. Besides, he had never loved her enough to risk his life for her, which every minstrel’s ballad maintained was the true test. He must have been mad to ask her to marry him. Well, he was an older and a wiser man. He would beware being trapped by a woman ever again.
Unfortunately, there was no sign of Sir George, or the other men in the hall, either. A few servants were sweeping up old rushes and trimming flambeaux, but otherwise, the large room was empty.
The hall had undergone a noticeable improvement, he thought as he looked about him. It was a well-proportioned room, and the wall paintings were generally excellent, if somewhat overwhelmingly bright in spots. Lady Josephine had added to the decor in a most delightful and subdued manner. Some of the more garish parts of the wall had been covered by simpler tapestries. The linen for the tables suggested wealth without the rather overdone opulence that had been the earl’s style.
Robert had heard, of course, about the baron’s bed and the lavish coverings. He could only be relieved that the lady expended her need for such bold extravagance in the privacy of the bedchamber.
Suddenly he caught sight of the lovely Lady de Chaney standing on the tower stairs.
She had to be the most beautiful woman in England, he thought admiringly, and never had she looked more so than at the present. She wore a lovely gown of soft wool dyed in a deep, dark rich blue. A cap of similar fabric sat on the golden mane of her hair, and a filmy scarf of blue served for her wimple. A thin girdle of supple leather painted red sat low on her hips and emphasized her slim waist.
And her smile! It was a glorious thing to behold, and Robert could only wonder that any man, even the baron, would leave her behind.
She beckoned to him.
Robert gulped and furtively surveyed the hall, which was now empty. Incredulous, he pointed to his chest and was nearly paralyzed with shock when she nodded her head.
By all the saints! What could the baron’s mistress want with him?
Then it occurred to him that perhaps she had a task for him. Maybe the baron had imparted some orders to her to pass on to the bailiff.
Yes, that might be it, he thought as he approached her. Undoubtedly the baron knew that Sir George might forget something, and so had told Lady Josephine instead.
“Come with me to the solar,” Lady Josephine said quietly when he was close by.
Still feeling rather like a conspirator, Robert glanced back over his shoulder to see if anybody observed them together.
He was being foolish. This beautiful woman belonged to Baron DeGuerre; there was no reason for anyone to believe that anything other than the business of the estate would be cause for a conversation between them.
Despite this firm and reassuring belief, when Josephine de Chaney closed the door of the solar behind him, Robert began to sweat. “How may I help you, my lady?” he asked nervously.
She sat down behind the baron’s immense table and smiled. “Please, sit,” she said, her soft voice reassuring and kind.
He did, or rather, he perched on the very edge of the chair she indicated.
“Tell me, Chalfront, what do you think of the baron?”
His eyes widened and he cleared his throat. What kind of question was this? Was it some kind of test? Did she expect an honest answer? “It is not for me to think anything,” he demurred. “He is my lord.”
“A very proper answer.” Again, Josephine de Chaney smiled, but this time, he noticed a different expression in her eyes. Sadness, perhaps. Or wistfulness. Yes, wistfulness. She looked at her slender hands resting on the table. “I was surprised that he decided to go on this journey, when Jean Luc was to be here so soon anyway.”
“He said he had necessary business.”
“Yes,” she replied slowly, raising her eyelashes to look at him in a way that took his very breath away. “Business.”
For a moment, Chalfront actually bristled with anger at Baron DeGuerre. The man seemed to have a positive genius for upsetting women! First Gabriella and now Lady de Chaney, who sounded on the verge of tears! “Surely it must be important business, to take him away from you,” h
e said sincerely.
“How kind of you to say so.” Josephine de Chaney smiled again. Holy heaven, she was the most beautiful woman in the world! “Where are you from, Chalfront—or may I call you Robert?” she asked, her manner neither pompous nor condescending.
“Please, my lady, I would be honored!” He smiled happily. “I am from Oxfordshire.”
“I guessed as much!” she cried with pleasure. “My family’s home was not far from that town.” Robert wondered how it was he had not seen Lady de Chaney in Oxfordshire, until he recalled that he would hardly have moved in the same social circle, which seemed a great yet unfortunately unavoidable pity. “Tell me, did you know Douglas, the carpenter?” she asked.
“Know him? He was my uncle, my lady.”
“Ah!”
“He died this past winter, my lady, I am sorry to say. He was immensely old, you know. Nearly sixty.”
“Yes, I remember,” she replied with genuine sadness that touched his heart. “He had gray hair when I was just a little child. He was a very fine man.”
“Always joking, and making people laugh. I thought he should have been a jester.”
“And what about the abbot there?” she asked. “He was as grim as a sepulcher.”
“Father Harold? Alive and well yet, and just as grim,” Robert acknowledged with a grin. “It may be sacrilege, but I fear he will live forever. Surely even the angels have no wish to see him in heaven. Of course, he may be more pleasant once he is dead.”
Lady de Chaney laughed, and her laugh was like honey, warm and sweet, as well as full of the friendship of shared memories. Robert felt all his worries slipping away under the spell of it.
“Perhaps someday I will travel there again. I have so many happy memories of childhood wrapped about the old town.”
“As do I, my lady.”
Josephine de Chaney sighed and they sat in companionable silence for a moment before she suddenly regarded him with a directness he found disconcerting and said, “There is something else we share, Robert, besides our memories of Oxfordshire. We are both dependent on the baron. A knowledge of his … how shall I put this?” She thought a moment. “His state of mind is essential to us both.”
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