She was fully prepared to present this reasoning to Wulfric when he joined her for the evening meal. She had collected her pets, had Growls resting beneath the table at her feet, and Rhiska perched quietly on her shoulder. She was armed with logic. And then he didn’t show up.
The meal progressed and he still didn’t show up. The meal was nigh finished and he still didn’t show up. She wasn’t just annoyed now, she was furious. He was the one who had insisted they spend so much time with each other each day, yet she had seen him hardly at all that day.
It wasn’t until she was actually leaving the dais that she saw him enter the hall. He paused there at the entrance to survey the large room. His dark blue eyes passed over her, then came back. His expression, or lack of one, didn’t change, nor did he move, other than to lift the large grouse leg that he clutched in his fist to his mouth, to rip off a chunk of the fowl. There had been grouse served with the meal, along with the standard fish and deer.
So he had gone to the kitchens for sustenance, rather than sit beside her for the lavish meal? Unlike Dunburh, where the kitchens had been moved inside the lower regions of the keep many years ago, Shefford’s kitchens were out in the bailey. This kept the smoke well away from the hall, yet the food wasn’t quite as hot when it arrived at the tables, especially during the winter months.
Yet being outside, the kitchens here were easy enough for anyone to access without making an appearance in the hall—at least they were easy enough for Wulfric to access, since he was not restricted to the keep. So if he wanted to avoid her, he need not starve to do so.
Would that she were allowed the same choice, at least of avoiding him. But had he not proved at the earlier meal that such was not to be her choice? More fuel for the fire of her anger.
She didn’t wait for him to come to her—actually, it appeared that he would not be doing so, since, after several moments of staring at each other, he was still standing where he had entered the hall, and still without expression of note. Not that she cared what mood he might be in, when her own was so foul.
She went to him. “I wouldst like a word with you—in private.”
Wulfric’s black brow shot upwards sharply, and not surprisingly. She had forgotten that he had made the same request earlier—and been denied.
Yet she guessed his thoughts, and fairly growled, “Nay, not for kissing.”
“Then best you say what you mean to say right here. Do I find myself alone with you again, wench, there will likely be some kissing.”
Why those words caused her cheeks to heat and her belly to flutter, she couldn’t say. They were not exactly uttered in sensual tones, far from it. The tone had been surly at best, nor was his expression neutral anymore, was quite a perfect scowl.
Oddly, ’twas not his testiness that put a dent in her own, but that strange fluttering—at least, her own tone was not nearly so sharp as she’d intended when she replied, “I wish to discuss my imprisonment here.”
He snorted. “You are not imprisoned.”
“Yet does it seem so when I cannot even go to attend my horse without four behemoths surrounding me.”
“Behemoths?”
“The guards you ordered to follow me.”
He stared blankly for a moment, then he actually smiled at her. “Nay, not my order. I have taken precautions of my own, yet for the guards, you may thank my father. Or did you not realize you wouldst be under his protection now, as well as under mine?”
Milisant bit back a scathing retort, said merely, “This is intolerable.”
“’Tis like to get much worse ere the matter is ended,” he replied.
“I can think of naught that is worse, and not even necessary. Look at them.”
She nodded to Growls, who had followed her and sat staring at Wulfric curiously. She then took Rhiska from her shoulder with her gloved hand, and gripping the bird’s taloned feet so it would know not to leave her, she lifted her hand sharply. The bird didn’t try to fly, but it did reflexively spread its wings wide. She had to lean her head to the side to avoid the long reach of them.
“These two are all the protection I need within Shefford. Speak with your father and tell him so.”
Perhaps she shouldn’t have said it in the form of an order. His brow rose again, though not as sharply. But the tightening of his mouth was a better indication that he didn’t like her tone.
He nodded toward the Great Hearth. “There he sits. And you have a tongue that you use most—eloquently.”
He started to walk away. She quickly put a hand to his arm. “He is more like to listen to you.”
“And I am more like to listen to you, wench, when you learn how to make requests in a more … womanly fashion.”
“You expect me to plead with you?” she said, aghast.
“That would be interesting, but—”
“I’d sooner cut off my tongue.”
“—but unnecessary,” he finished, then chuckled. “I was merely suggesting a pleasant tone. Ironic, that that is so foreign to you, you did not even consider that it was what I meant.”
She snapped her mouth shut, glared at him for the insult he’d just dealt her in his roundabout way, and walked off. Talk pleasantly to him? When she could not manage a conversation with him without having her temper pricked? He provoked her at every turn, and she was beginning to suspect he did so deliberately. And what did that say for their having a peaceful marriage? That it wouldst never happen.
Twenty-seven
A week passed without incident, other than the fact that the wedding was approaching much too quickly for Milisant’s peace of mind. She managed to go through the week without arguing with Wulfric again, but only because they barely spoke. Even when they shared meals now, he didn’t insist that she make a pretense of enjoying his company, just for the benefit of those watching.
She found his silence, for the most part, unnerving, mayhap because she detected a frequent tenseness about him that was undefinable. It did not bespeak anger, at least not that she could detect, yet did it cause her to be constantly on guard, awaiting she knew not what.
Lady Anne came up with a number of entertainments for her ladies during the week, including a small gathering in the solar to celebrate the finished tapestry with wine and sweet cakes. The tapestry now hung above the Great Hearth. With the bright blue thread Jhone had contributed, the lead knight now looked more like Sir Guy than his son, for which Milisant was grateful. The resemblance was still there, though, and she caught herself staring at the tapestry often.
Passing minstrels had also been allowed entrance on two nights. And there had been a night of dancing, an amusement that even Milisant enjoyed immensely, causing her to forget for a short time that she wished she were anywhere else, rather than inside Shefford Castle.
Wulfric’s mother had decided that Milisant should remain close to her side for most of each day, so that she could get used to the daily running of such a large castle. Milisant didn’t have the heart to tell the lady that the tasks she performed were foreign to her. She instead managed to say the right things, to keep the lady blissfully unaware of her ignorance.
She did marvel at the woman’s boundless energy. Lady Anne rarely got a moment’s rest, with the castle folk and her ladies coming to her with their many questions, to receive new tasks, or to report problems of one sort or another, yet did she never seem tired. Nay, ’twas as if she thrived on being in such constant demand.
The only drawback to being in Anne’s company for most of each day was the fact that the lady rarely left the keep. She’d conferred with her cooks in the kitchen only once, since they usually came to her in the Great Hall to discuss the day’s menus. And any other task that might have taken her out to the bailey, she assigned to others.
Lady Anne confessed she didn’t like the cold of winter, and thus avoided being out in it as much as possible. Milisant was just the opposite, since she thrived on being in the midst of nature.
In fact, she missed the sun
shine, even from a weak wintery sun; thus she gave in and accepted her escort to get out of the keep at least once a day. The storm that arrived later that week put an end to that pleasant excursion. She didn’t mind the cold, but snow depressed her if she couldn’t get out in the countryside to view it in its untouched beauty. And out in the bailey, it took no more than an hour after dawn for any new snow to be thoroughly turned to an ugly gray-brown slush.
Nay, actually, Milisant enjoyed Lady Anne’s company and did not really mind following her about. There had been one uncomfortable moment, though, when Anne had suggested that the wedding be changed to a sooner date.
They had been alone in the lord’s chamber, where Anne had been taking stock of her foreign spices, so precious she kept them locked in her husband’s coffers. Yet when they had been in the kitchen she had mentioned wanting to use some of them for the wedding feast, which was when the subject had first been introduced.
Milisant had been hard-pressed to come up with a reason other than the truth for why she would not agree to that, and she’d had plenty of time to think of one, since Anne had gotten distracted in the kitchen and didn’t mention it again until they were in the lord’s chamber. The month that Milisant’s father had given her to “get to know” Wulfric wasn’t enough of an excuse in the face of the attacks that had been made against her. At least, that was what Anne had stressed earlier, and she did so again later when she recalled the subject.
“A week sooner will make no difference really, you must agree,” Anne said. “Once the joining has been made, you will be in no further danger.”
“We have only assumed that to be so,” Milisant was quick to point out. “The attacks could be for a completely unrelated reason.”
“Very doubtful—”
“But possible. It could just be some crazed person who has imagined some grievous wrong against me, and have naught to do with enemies of Shefford.”
Anne frowned, considering that. “But were you not set upon by a group of men? That does not indicate that it is just some madman with an imagined grudge.”
“’Tis well you note the difference in the attacks, Lady Anne. ’Tis my opinion that first encounter was by different men altogether.”
“Why think you so?”
“Because they seemed more to want to steal me away, mayhap for ransom. While the other two attacks were definitely an attempt to kill me. And consider, the man who tried it the second time is now dead. Thus there could be no further danger at all—except from that other group who had hoped to profit by my father’s tender regard of me. And they, too, could have given up the idea, having been so thoroughly thwarted in their first attempt.”
Milisant wished she could believe that; however, she knew that man who had died had been working for someone else. However, Anne didn’t need to know that, and did seem to be giving the matter new thought.
Milisant was able to add to the doubt by reminding Anne, “Besides, if it can make no difference a week sooner, then it can make no difference a week later. And have the invitations not gone out long since? What if the king has decided to attend the ceremony? Would he not be furious to arrive and find the wedding over?”
That brought a frown to the lady. One did not intentionally enrage the king, after all—at least, not their current temperamental king. And although no one really expected John to show up for the wedding, when he was in the process of planning another campaign across the channel, it was not an absolute certainty that he wouldn’t. He’d been invited only because it would have been an insult not to invite him. There were many other guests coming, though, who would be inconvenienced by a change of dates.
This was likely why Anne finally agreed, “Very well, we will just have to assure that you are kept safe, and that can be done easily enough, I suppose, as long as you are never left alone.”
Milisant had the feeling that that solution had already been in effect, since the lady did indeed try to keep Milisant at her side constantly. Amazingly, she found that she liked Anne’s company. When she’d mentioned that to her sister, Jhone’s explanation had been simple.
“She is a mother, after all, who has raised many daughters. And you and I have both lacked a motherly influence, and mayhap missed it without realizing it. This is why you do not mind her treating you like a daughter. I for one bask in her tender regard when she thinks I am you. I do not doubt she has the same effect on you.”
Milisant didn’t argue with that reasoning. She in fact admitted how nice it would be if she could keep Anne for a mother-in-law, if only she didn’t have to accept her brutish son in the bargain.
Twenty-eight
The winter storm howling outside brought with it a marked chill inside the keep. Icy drafts gusted through the Great Hall and the stairwells, entering with each opening of the doors and through the arrow slits in each tower, which were difficult to cover completely. Heavy winter cloaks were worn indoors. More mead was drunk than usual to fight off the chill. And the crowd gathered before the Great Hearth was thrice the normal size.
That evening Lady Anne sent Milisant to her chamber to fetch an extra mantle, since it was too early for her to retire yet and seek the warmth of her bed. And those still in the hall were being entertained by an old Dane with stories from his homeland, so Anne was enjoying herself—except for the cold.
Milisant nearly suggested to the lady that she ought to wear leggings beneath her skirts as she did, but in the end she decided Anne would be shocked. But even more thickly dressed than most, Milisant still raced up the icy stairwell.
She had left Rhiska with Jhone near the fire in the hall, since the bird had been noticeably shivering a lot herself that evening. But Growls padded up the stairs right behind her, unaffected by the cold with his gray coat grown thick for the winter months.
She supposed she could blame the lighting, or lack of it—the torch at the top of the circular stairs had burned out, likely because of the draft—and her haste for her hard collision with the man who was just entering the stairwell from above.
She heard him grunt as they impacted. She heard Growls growl. She turned to quiet the wolf before she apologized, then thought better of it, at least until she knew who she had slammed into.
But the wolf quieted on his own, no doubt because he could smell the man now, and knew him not to be a threat. Would that Milisant felt the same.
But that was not the case at all when she felt those strong hands on her shoulders, steadying her, and heard Wulfric say, “Dare I hope that you followed me up here for a reason I might find to my liking?”
There was light farther down the corridor behind him, so he had had no trouble seeing who she was. The question that came to her mind, though, was how he had known it was she, rather than Jhone, to make a remark like that, when she and her sister had worn matching bliauts today.
However, she addressed his question first. “I am on an errand for your mother. But be assured that if I had seen you come up here—”
“If you say you would have run in the opposite direction, I may thrash you,” he interjected.
Milisant stiffened slightly. She had been about to say something of that sort. Now, instead, she remarked, “Now, why does that not surprise me overmuch?”
Wulfric sighed, very loudly, before he said, “That was a jest, wench.”
She refrained from snorting, just barely, said merely, “Was it?”
But she didn’t want an answer. She wanted to be on her way, which she tried to do. But his hands didn’t release her shoulders, though he did allow her to come up the last step, tugged her up it, actually, so she didn’t feel quite so … dwarfed in his presence.
“Your tone implies you doubt me. When have I ever given you reason to think that I might beat you? And do not mention that time when I thought you were an insolent peasant. Even then did I stay my hand against you, because I thought you must be mad to be that foolish.”
She did not need to mention that time. She had other memories of much w
orse pain and terror.
So she said in answer, “If you can beat an animal, Wulfric, you can beat a woman.” She was also quick to remind him, “And you did in fact raise your fist to Stomper, would have hit him if I had not got in your way.”
He actually smiled at her. “You compare yourself to an animal?”
His humor was not appreciated. “Nay, but I compare your impulses to one.”
That did indeed end his humor. His hands tightened on her noticeably. He hadn’t liked that answer at all. And she wished now she hadn’t given it, that she could practice at least a little restraint where he was concerned. But no, instead she had given him an excuse to keep her here arguing with him, when she would prefer to be on her way.
To correct her blunder, she tried to distract him with a simple question that could be answered briefly. Hopefully that would be the end of their discourse.
“How did you know ’twas I and not my sister? I could have sent Growls with her. In fact, she has Rhiska with her now. So with my pets divided atween us, how could you know? Or did you only guess?”
“Aside from the smell of you, which is quite unique, there is your habit of holding your lips tightly compressed, as if you are in constant annoyance—which, given my experiences, does seem to be the case.”
“And given my experiences with you, do you wonder why?” she shot back.
“Think you I enjoy arguing with you, wench? I assure you, I do not, yet can you say the same?”
So much for this being a brief, dismissable subject to get her on her way. Actually, his last remark did give her an excuse to end it.
She gave him a tight little smile and said, “There is an easy way to avoid arguing, and I will do that right now and bid you a good eventide.”
She again moved to pass him, but still he did not release her shoulders. “Not so fast. You have accused me of having the impulses of an animal. And lest I disappoint you, mayhap I should demonstrate some of those impulses.”
It dawned on her in shocking clarity in the moment following those words that they were utterly alone there at the top of the stairs. And no sooner did her heart skip a beat with that knowledge than he pulled her up against his hardness and his mouth took possession of hers.
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