Lord of Secrets

by Gillgannon, Mary

  “I know it hurts.” Rhosyn’s voice was soothing. “I’m almost finished.”

  Again, his thoughts turned to her. He imagined how it would feel to undo her silky braids and run his fingers through her gleaming dark hair. She was so intriguing. The way she frowned as she concentrated. The faint freckles on her nose. How her eyelashes made dark crescents against her tanned skin. The lush, plump shape of her mouth. It was the color of a deep pink rose.

  “There.” She sat back and inspected her work. She met his gaze, and he smiled at her. For an instant, she smiled back. Then her face regained its normal serious expression. She turned to Adam, “Are there more bandages? Or something I can use as bandages? An old sheet?”

  “I’ll try to find something.” Adam started to leave.

  William said, “If you see Elspeth, ask her to come here.”

  After Adam left, Rhosyn gave William a puzzled look. “Why do you want to speak to Elspeth?”

  “I want to find out how much she knows about the household, and if she’d be interested in taking on more responsibilities. I’m struggling here with no woman to oversee things. As you know, women are the ones who take care of the things that make life pleasant and comfortable.”

  “You could wed.”

  He raised a brow at this. Did she truly wish for him to wed? Did she think that if he did, he would no longer be interested in her? He doubted that would happen. “If I wed, ’twill be at the king’s command. I have no desire to take a wife otherwise.”

  “Why not?”

  “My wife died in childbed two months ago. I fear to ever put another woman through that.”

  She cocked her head and regarded him intently, reminding him of a lovely bird. A linnet or chaffinch. From a distance they looked like plain little birds that blended into the trees. But if you saw one up close you realized how beautiful they were. The delicacy and grace of their form. The exquisite, subtle colors of their feathers, as far from drab as anything could be.

  She said, “If all men thought as you, there would be no children. No future.”

  “I know. ’Tis foolish. I’m certain when the time comes, I will be able to overcome my fear and do my duty as a husband. If I had my choice, I would prefer to wed an older woman. A widow. Someone who has already borne children safely, so I would not worry so much.”

  “Ah, but if the woman is too old, childbirth can be even more dangerous. And every time is different. I’ve known women who birthed several children already, who then had a difficult birth and died.”

  “Jesu! This is a gloomy thing to speak of. ’Tis far more pleasant to think about what leads to having children, rather than the risks involved in giving birth to them.”

  She did not speak, merely gazed at him with her beautiful dark eyes. He felt he could drown in their mysterious depths. They probably would have ended up kissing again, but Adam returned. With him was a familiar-looking older woman with gray braids and a weary manner. Elspeth, no doubt.

  Rhosyn got up and took the pile of linen from Elspeth. Then she again sat down beside him and began sorting through the pieces of cloth. She found a long strip and began to wrap it around his chest as a bandage.

  William met the gaze of the serving woman. “Thank you for the use of your needle, Elspeth. And the bandages.”

  She inclined her head in acknowledgement.

  “What tasks do you usually do in the household?”

  “Milord?”

  “How do you occupy your days?”

  Elspeth recited a long list: carrying water from the well, cleaning the trestle tables in the hall, bringing supplies up from the cellar for the cook, washing clothes and bedding, meeting with the goodwives of the village when they brought vegetables, butter, honey and other goods and keeping a tally.

  “Isn’t that a task for the steward?”

  “We have no steward, milord, as you know. He left with Lord Roscales.”

  “But we need one, don’t we?”

  “Milord?”

  “Someone needs to keep track of the goods the villagers bring us. So we can know who owes us produce and who has not brought their share.”

  “That is what the tally is for, milord.”

  “Which you keep?”

  “Aye, milord. I was wed to the steward. He taught me.”

  “Why didn’t you go with him when he left?”

  “He did not wish me to do so, milord.” There was a flicker of emotion in Elspeth’s eyes. William could not tell if it was pain or anger.

  William scrutinized Elspeth’s careworn face. He’d hardly noticed this woman, but she’d been essentially running the household since he’d arrived at Higham. He had been so focused on all the things missing from the castle, he had not paid much attention to the servants. Most of them had apparently continued to go about their tasks as if nothing had changed. People like the osteler. The cook. The blacksmith. And this woman, Elspeth, who in the absence of a steward, was doing at least some of the duties of a steward.

  “Do the other servants grant you authority to do these things?” he asked.

  “Those who live here at the castle do. The women from the village are less willing to deal with me.”

  “Are there any tasks that have not been done since your husb… since Roscales left?”

  Elspeth frowned. “We are very behind on the spinning and weaving. We sold most of the raw wool to the traders who came in early summer. But there is also some we keep back for clothmaking. There is also plenty of flax drying in the shed, but it still needs to be prepared for spinning.”

  “I know about the flax… and the need for clothmaking. Tell me, who took charge of clothmaking before Roscales left?”

  “No one, after his wife died. And since Clemence, Lord Roscales’s mistress, took many of the furnishings when they left, there are few cloth goods left. The need for linen is especially great.”

  The familiar frustration rose up inside him. He had a good idea what needed to be done and who had the skills to do it. What he needed was someone to take charge and make it happen. But Hawise had made it clear that the village women would not listen to her either, and he had no way to make them do so, other than ordering them to listen to Hawise.

  But if he did that, he put Hawise in an awkward situation. She’d had a difficult life; he did not want to make it more difficult. And Elspeth had made it clear she struggled to get the village women’s cooperation as well.

  He sighed. Dealing with men was so much easier than women.

  “Almost finished, milord.” Rhosyn spoke in curt tones. She clearly thought he was frustrated with her and impatient with how long it was taking to bandage the wound. He glanced at Elspeth and realized she also worried she was the cause of his distress. Although he was not happy to receive the information she had given him, it was not her fault the clothmaking was not being done.

  He nodded to the serving woman. “You’ve done well, Elspeth. Thank you. I will think on what you have told me and try to find a solution.” She gave him a wary, hesitant look and he smiled to reassure her.

  Elspeth left. Rhosyn tied the ends of the bandage and sat back to examine it. William raised his arm. The bandage was tight, but not so tight that he couldn’t move.

  “How long will the wound have to be bandaged?” Adam asked.

  “A sennight or so,” Rhosyn said. “But it needs to be checked every day, to make sure it has not become poisoned.”

  William thought of the miller, his eyes sunken into his head, his body wasting away from fever. Was that the fate that awaited him?

  “What if it does become poisoned?” Adam asked. “Is there anything you can do?”

  “I can try reopening the wound and using a poultice to draw out the poison,” Rhosyn answered. “I could not use a poultice with the miller because his wounds were too extensive. And burns are very difficult to treat.”

  “So, you will come every day and check the wound?” William smiled at her.

  Rhosyn hesitated. Finally, s
he said, “Aye, I will come.” She stood, her movements graceful as always. “For now, I must go and tend my other patients. Although, there is naught I can do for Edwin except attempt to relieve his suffering.”

  As Rhosyn left the bedchamber, William felt a pang of loss. He reminded himself she had said she would return every day to examine his wound.

  The wound still stung fiercely. But it did not distress him as much as the conversation with Elspeth. He brought up the matter of clothmaking with Adam. The knight frowned at him. “I’m afraid I cannot advise you in matters like that, milord.”

  So many problems. So many things to worry over. And none of them would get better with him lying here.

  He sought to get up, gritting his teeth. Every movement seemed to pull at the stitches and make his flesh scream in protest. Adam hurried to aid him. William made his way to the stool and sank down on it. “Bring me my tunic from the clothing pole.”

  “Are you certain you should be up, milord?”

  “God’s foot, Adam! I’m not so weak and pathetic I must stay in bed. And I have so much to do. The Welsh are obviously still around, looking for a moment of weakness and then they will strike.” He grimaced at the thought of how his own foolish behavior had led to his injury. “They’ve killed one of my men and wounded me and Anselm. I’m not going to simply let that go.”

  “What will you do?”

  “Keep up the patrols, especially around the village. They’ve left the herdsmen and shepherds alone. Their focus seems to be on attacking my knights and making it clear how they feel about our presence here.”

  “What about the fire at the mill?”

  “They know how important the mill is to the prosperity of Higham. Speaking of which, I need to check on the progress being made in rebuilding it.”

  “I could do that. And I could also carry any orders you have to the men and see they are carried out.”

  William shook his head. “They must see me and know I’m not an invalid. Both my men and the villagers. My authority here is still tenuous. ’Tis important I appear strong and resolute.”

  “Of course, milord.”

  Adam brought his clothing and William got dressed. He struggled with getting his tunic over his head; the movement pulled the stitches painfully. Adam offered to help but William waved him away. He was not such a puling weakling as to be unable to dress himself. Pain shafted through him with each movement, William gritted his teeth and focused on the thought that for all the misery the wound was causing, it was also giving him an opportunity to see Rhosyn. And not simply see her, but have her hands on his naked flesh.

  The thought of it almost made him forget the pain. But he could not ignore the fact that he was hungry and thirsty. No doubt his thirst was caused by loss of blood. He glanced at the pile of blood-soaked linen strips by the bed and wondered who would see that they were washed for reuse. Likely Elspeth.

  Again, he felt embarrassment he had not recognized the woman’s contributions to the running of the castle. Nor had he done anything to aid her in her tasks. He wondered if there were other people besides the village women who resented her and made her life difficult.

  But he could not think about that at this moment. He was dressed. Finally. Now it was time to take action.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Hours later, William lay down on his pallet, utterly exhausted. He didn’t consider his wound serious, but he could no longer push through the pain and keep going. He’d made certain to stop in at various places in the castle and around the village, so people would see his wound was not serious. While he was in the village, one of the villeins working on the mill had brought up the need to begin fall planting. The tanner had asked about butchering, which reminded William of the need for salt. The reeve had asked again about manor court.

  When he returned to the castle, the osteler wanted to know which of the mares should be bred and whether William wanted Trueheart or another stud to cover them. While he was eating pottage in the hall—slightly more flavorful with the herbal seasonings—Elspeth had mentioned they needed to make cheese before the calves were weaned and the milk supply declined. That meant she needed the help of some of the kitchen workers, which meant William must talk to the cook and arrange this.

  It seemed to go on and on, all these tasks he’d never even thought about before. He certainly didn’t think most lords had to deal with this. They had someone who oversaw such details. A steward or a wife, or both. Elspeth had been doing some of the work of a steward, but she didn’t truly have the authority to act in the regard. Nor could he think of a way to give her that authority. A lord could raise up a knight to be a steward or castellan or captain, as he had with Adam, but you couldn’t do that with a woman. Women got their status and power through their association with men. Outside of marrying Elspeth or making her his mistress, there seemed no way to have her run the household without him being involved.

  And he didn’t have time for all these petty details. His priority should be on protecting the village and the castle. Not all this other nonsense about salt and cheese making and furnishings for the castle.

  Frustration gnawed at him and that, combined with the unrelenting pain in his side, was making it very difficult for him to sleep. He wished Rhosyn had left some willow bark for him. It might taste horrible, as Anselm’s reaction suggested. But right now, he would be willing to do nearly anything to get some respite from his suffering.

  It would help if Rhosyn was here. When he was kissing her, he had felt no pain. His body had been focused on other sensations. Very pleasurable sensations. Thinking about Rhosyn offered some distraction. But it did not help him sleep. And he needed sleep. His wound would not heal as well if he did not rest.

  All at once he remembered the sleeping potion Rhosyn had given him. There was still some left. He got up, moving with great care to avoid pulling his stitches, and staggered over to the stool and sank down, panting with the pain. After resting there for a time, he made his way to the coffer, got the jar, unstoppered it and took a big swallow. It didn’t taste good, but it wasn’t intolerable.

  He returned the jar to the coffer and stumbled back to the pallet. The hard, too-short, uncomfortable pallet. He really needed a bed. A bed with rope supports, a straw-filled mattress covered with sheepskins and other padding and draped in smooth linen sheets. It sounded like heaven. But now there would be no bed frame with Aldreth working on the mill. And rebuilding the mill was far more important than building him a bed. A mill impacted everyone at Higham, while no one else would benefit from the bed but him.

  And maybe Rhosyn, if he could ever persuade her to join him there. He recalled the splendor of her kisses and the thrill of having her so close. His mouth grew wet thinking of the taste of her lips. And his shaft grew hard and throbbing, near bursting with desire and need.

  But what was he thinking? Dallying with Rhosyn could only lead to terrible frustration. Even if she was willing, they could not consummate their relationship. He would not risk getting another woman with child. Especially a woman like Rhosyn, so fine-boned and delicate. If he lost control and she conceived and things went awry at the birth—blessed Jesu, he’d never forgive himself.

  The horrible thought dampened his arousal, but did not completely banish it. Nay, when it came to Rhosyn, his body did not seem to be under his control. His yearning for her was so deep, so primal, no dark fears of the future could diminish it.

  Which meant he should not tempt fate and be alone with Rhosyn, and certainly not here, where he slept—or did not sleep—as seemed to be the case this night.

  He sighed, wishing he could find a way to stop his thoughts and find rest. Or, the sleeping potion would begin to work. That thought reminded him of being alone with Rhosyn for the first time in her cottage and the tantalizing memories began all over again.

  *

  Rhosyn slid to the side of the bed and rubbed her eyes. She’d slept poorly, which was unusual for her, and it was all Fitzhugh’s fault.
No matter how she sought to push away thoughts of kissing him, the memory tormented her. It had felt so wonderful. So right. As if their mouths were made for each other, fitting together so perfectly she could not tell where his lips ended and hers began. And kissing was only the beginning. They had not yet joined their bodies in the true sense—his shaft inside her.

  Nay, she could not think about that. ’Twas appalling she could want such intimacy. Not with him, certainly. He was the enemy. Everything she despised. A monstrous Saeson. Huge and muscular and hairy.

  But of course, she did desire him for those very reasons. Because he was the opposite of her. His body so fascinatingly different. And because he did not behave like an English lord. He wasn’t arrogant and rude. He wasn’t cruel and brutal. In fact, so far, he was the opposite of those things. He had been considerate and kind and tender and…

  God help her, she must stop thinking of him. She must!

  She dressed, then climbed down from the loft and poked at the fire to get it going. When it flickered to life, she took the caldron and fetched some water from the barrel outside the door and put it on to boil. She needed to steep more willow bark. And mix some comfrey and calendula with goose grease to make more healing salve. And it was time to gather yellow clover and nettles. Those herbs were best harvested during the Barley Moon.

  She mentally ran through the other things she needed to consider at this time of year. Now that the barley was ripe, the brewer would start making ale. As soon as it was fermenting, she could get wort to mix with honey to make mead. It was good to have her own supply, since mead was the best thing to add to decoctions to make them taste less bitter.

  She set the willow bark to steeping and ate some bread with butter and honey. As she mixed the salve, she felt calmer. First, she would look in on poor Edwin and young Ned. Then she would go to the castle and check Fitzhugh’s wound. If it was healing well, she would do naught more. If it was red and angry, she would return to her cottage and make a poultice. Either way, there would be no reason to linger. No reason for her to touch him more than to inspect the wound.