“Let me see, Gwent.”
He looked puzzled, then realized she’d followed his vision to his arm. There was a dirty rag tied around his forearm.
“It is nothing,” he said, and rose. “I must work the men. It is what Severin wants.”
Without thinking, Hastings shoved him back onto the bench. “You will go nowhere until I have seen what is wrong. I do not wish you to die, and that happens many times when there is an open wound. It is something about the blood that turns bad and poisons the body. Hold still, Gwent.”
He suffered her. He didn’t make a sound when she bathed the cut. It was deep and ugly. When she rubbed an infusion of chives and Saint-John’s-wort onto the sore, he didn’t even flinch. She knew that it hurt. “Listen to me, Gwent. You will keep this bandage clean. I will change it every evening until the wound is healed. If you do not obey me, there is every chance that you could die.”
Gwent wanted to tell her that she was a woman and thus she saw every little cut or bruise as something to fell a man. But he kept still. Men did die too easily from wounds. Also, she was the mistress of Oxborough, Severin’s wife, and he rather liked her. He had never seen his master so utterly baffled in his life. She had right upended him and he had said to Gwent that if he didn’t learn to control her he might thrash her and then she would make his bowels turn to water and what man wanted that?
Gwent rose, smiled down at her, and said, “My thanks, Hastings. Worry not about Severin. If there is any trouble at the keeps, he will send a message to me. Ah, Hastings, since you have cured my arm, I agree. I don’t really believe you are overly prideful.”
“Keep the bandage clean, Gwent.”
“Aye,” he said, then turned to see Torric the steward standing there. “Ah, I believe it is the worm who has crawled into the hall to see if I have yet realized that he is a miserable cheat. By Saint Andrew’s teeth, I hate cheats.”
Torric was a cheat? He had been with her father for five years now. Her father had trusted him. They were rich, all their holdings prospering. Gwent believed he was cheating? That meant that Severin believed it too. She had never paid any attention to the steward’s varied tasks about Oxborough. She only knew that Torric performed all his duties well, was usually fair with all their people, and smiled perhaps not as much as a man should, but it wasn’t all that important. Perhaps she should begin to pay a bit more attention.
During the second week of Severin’s absence, on a hot and dusty afternoon, Alart, the porter, yelled that a company of men were approaching. Since Oxborough rose above the surrounding countryside, they could see all who approached from great distances. These men were still some miles away.
Hastings saw the king’s standard. Surely King Edward was not arriving for a visit. But still, Hastings quickly changed her gown, combed her hair, and braided it neatly about her head, and grabbed Eloise’s hand to stand in front of the keep.
It was the chancellor of England, Robert Burnell, King Edward’s secretary and most trusted advisor. He looked as if his bones had been rattled into dust. He didn’t ride well. His face looked drawn and tired, yet they were but a three-day ride from London. Riding beside the chancellor on a bay palfrey with white stockings was one of the most beautiful women Hastings had ever seen in her life. She was so fair, her hair shone nearly white in the sunlight. She was wearing a white wimple that fastened beneath her chin. She was young, not more than five years older than Hastings, and she rode her palfrey well. She was wearing a soft green gown with long, loose sleeves that fell nearly to the ground. Burnell slowly dismounted. Then he shook himself, looked up at her, and nodded. He handed the reins of his horse to one of the Oxborough stable lads.
“My lady,” Burnell said, giving Hastings a fat smile, for he’d known her since she was born, though he’d seen her only rarely during the past ten years, “this is Lady Marjorie, widow of Sir Mark Outbraith. King Edward has sent her to you to care for Eloise of Sedgewick. This is the child?”
The child pressed herself against Hastings’s side.
“Eloise,” Hastings said, “my dear, this is a very nice man who serves our king. He isn’t here to hurt you.”
“What is wrong with her?” Robert Burnell asked, one eye on Eloise, who refused to release Hastings’s leg.
“Her father beat her and her mother set her on her knees most of the day to pray. She is much more at ease now, but it will take time.”
“Ah, the little girl,” Lady Marjorie said, and without paying any attention to the dirt on the keep steps, she dropped to her knees and looked straight into Eloise’s pale blue eyes.
“You and I,” she said very slowly and quietly, “will become great friends. You may call me Marjorie.” She reached into the pocket of her beautiful cloak and withdrew a cloth. Slowly, knowing Eloise was staring down at that cloth, she unwrapped it. Inside were almonds covered with honey. “Just one, Eloise, just one. That way they will last a long time and you will have something to look forward to.”
Eloise very slowly reached out and took an almond. She studied it. Then she eased it into her mouth. Almost immediately she closed her eyes in ecstasy.
Marjorie smiled and rose. “You are Hastings of Oxborough?”
“Aye. You have come quickly.”
Robert Burnell said, “We will remain until tomorrow, Hastings, then go to Sedgewick. Lady Marjorie will be the child’s guardian until she comes of age. Where is Lord Severin?”
“He is away visiting his other holdings.”
The evening meal was an odd affair. Robert Burnell sat in Severin’s chair, Lady Marjorie sat in Eloise’s chair with Eloise on her lap. “She is so very thin,” Marjorie said.
“You should have seen her when she first arrived at Oxborough.”
“All of this is very strange. However, I fancy that at Sedgewick, everything will soon be all right again.”
What am I, Hastings thought, a witch to terrify and starve the child? She realized she didn’t want Eloise to return to Sedgewick. Beale was there. Both Hastings and Eloise were afraid of Beale, probably with good reason. When she spoke of this to Robert Burnell after the long dinner, he was silent for a long moment. Then he shrugged. “I will hang the woman. Then there will be no problem. You did say that she threatened you, did you not, Hastings?”
“Aye, I did, but sir, surely hanging is a bit too severe, even for Beale. Cannot Eloise simply remain here? It is kind of Lady Marjorie to come to her, but I can be Eloise’s guardian until she is of marriageable age. Severin will protect her and her holdings.”
“I am sorry, but His Majesty is set on this course. Besides, you are newly wedded. You and Severin will have babes. What need do you have of a child not your own?”
“I like Eloise. She has not had an easy life. I cannot believe she would be happy if she went with a stranger back to Sedgewick. Please, sir—”
“Hastings, you don’t understand. His Majesty is indebted to Sir Mark Outbraith. Some four years ago he rallied to the king’s side during an ambush near to Jerusalem. We heard that he was killed in a squabble with his neighbor some six months ago. Lady Marjorie is his widow. He left her with nothing. His Majesty thus decided that to repay his debt he would make her the child’s guardian.”
“But she is so young.”
Robert Burnell laughed in that raw way of his that made him sound out of practice. “You are but eighteen, Hastings. Lady Marjorie is twenty-three. Leave be. See to your own affairs. Eloise is no longer your responsibility.” He took a deep drink of wine and sighed deeply. “If I mistake it not, this is from Lord Graelam. From his father-in-law’s vineyard in Aquitaine?”
“Aye, it is. Would you like another goblet, sir?”
Burnell drank deeply, then said slowly, “I had hoped to see Severin, yet it is wise of him to see to his holdings immediately. I am surprised that you did not accompany him.”
“He did not wish me to.”
“Is he to your liking, Hastings?”
“He appears to be a br
ave warrior, sir. If you would know the truth, he does not like me. But then again, I suppose many husbands don’t like their wives. I know that I am not particularly fond of him.”
Robert Burnell waved an indifferent hand. “You are both young. You will change. Once you begin having children, you will see him in a different light. I understand that Richard de Luci poisoned his wife so he could take you and wed you? That he failed because the poor lady didn’t die speedily enough?”
“So I have been told. Lord Graelam said he slipped on a rabbit bone and hit his head. He is dead.”
“Excellent. You have grown up well, Hastings. You are comely and you fed me an excellent meal. The keep is sound and well managed. You and Severin should try to model yourselves upon our blessed king and queen. Aye, it is a pleasure to serve our king and queen. Their affection for each other is a constant in this chaos of men’s affairs. Fret not, Hastings. You are young. You will bend, as you should to your husband.”
Did everyone want her to become a sheep in women’s clothing?
“And Severin? What will he do, sir?”
“He is a lusty young man. He will teach you to enjoy lust and to laugh.”
She sipped at the wonderful Aquitaine wine. It warmed the belly. It also made her feel easy and smile a lot, despite the fact that Robert Burnell was again telling her it was she who had to change, not Severin. She smiled now at Robert Burnell. “How long will you remain at Oxborough, sir?”
“Ah, I must take Lady Marjorie and the child back to Sedgewick on the morrow, as I told you. As to this woman Beale, I will see the extent of her madness, for mad she must be to hold a knife to the child’s throat and try to escape with her. You are not to worry about the child. Look at the lady. Already the child is smiling and holding her hand.”
It was true, Hastings thought. Eloise had gone to Majorie with scarce a thought to Hastings. She felt betrayed and a bit jealous of the beautiful woman. She did not like that in herself but it did not seem to matter if she liked it or not. It was there, that jealousy. Why had Eloise gone so quickly over to her?
Severin returned to Oxborough three days later, a fortnight to the very day. Hastings was standing on the top steps of the keep watching him and his men ride into the inner bailey. Children and animals scattered out of the way. She watched him dismount and hand the reins to Mark, his squire, who was patting his warhorse’s sweating neck, speaking to him, Hastings thought, telling him about the delicious carrots from her garden. She liked Mark. It was just that he couldn’t bring himself to speak to her. All he did was open his mouth, stutter, then shut it again.
Severin was bareheaded. His gray tunic and chain mail shone brightly beneath the noonday sun. He looked in her direction then and she saw the weariness in him. Still, his dark blue eyes seemed to brighten. Dame Agnes’s advice sounded a litany in her head, advice soundly agreed to by Alice: “When your lord returns, you will smile at him and you will see to his needs. You will show your interest in him and you will applaud him in his recitals. You might consider kissing him, though knowing you, you would probably purse your mouth and make him prefer a sour apple.”
Kiss him. She’d thought a lot about that. She could do it, she knew she could. But what if he flung her away from him? What if he just looked at her and laughed, or told her she bored him or told her that her kiss was just ordinary?
“Severin!”
He looked around. She yelled his name again and he slewed about to look at her. His jaw dropped in utter surprise. She laughed aloud, picked up her skirts, and dashed down the deeply indented steps.
“I am glad you are home,” she shouted, but didn’t stop running. She ran right at him, jumping up to fling her arms around his neck and hug him until she wondered if she were not choking him. She was hanging there, her feet off the cobbled stones of the inner bailey. Then, slowly, finally, his arms came around her. He pressed her tightly against him.
“I am glad you are home,” she said again, kissing his neck, his right ear. “I have missed you. It has been too many days without you. A fortnight. Too long. Welcome home, my lord.” And she kissed his cheek, very close to his mouth.
Then his arms fell away. He clasped her upper arms and gently pulled her off him, setting her feet on the cobblestones. He stared down at her, stared at those damned eyes of hers that were sparkling with delight, that held no secrets to bring a man to his knees, at least that he could see. Aye, it was delight he saw, he wasn’t blind or particularly stupid. And she was lightly flushed, as if embarrassed by her show of affection for him.
“What have you done?” he said finally, not releasing her upper arms. “Have you killed one of my men? Have you poisoned one of our people by mistake? Did MacDear cook Gilbert the goat thinking him a chicken? Will the damned goat have a boot in his mouth when he is brought out on a platter?”
She laughed and threw her arms around his chest, hugging him tightly. “Nay, I have just missed you. Did you not miss me? Just a bit?”
“Aye, mayhap a bit. I left Oxborough with a sour feeling in my belly. It lasted many days.”
“I am sorry for it. Come, my lord, I have some wine for you and some delicious capon smothered in almonds. You will tell by the tenderness that it is not Gilbert the goat.” She gave him a side look, then turned quickly, went onto her tiptoes, and kissed his mouth. She was a bit crooked, but it was his mouth. He tasted warm, his lips soft. She hadn’t expected that, but then it was over and she wondered if she remembered aright.
She said, her breath warm against his chin, “Almonds, Severin. Do you not love almonds?”
He was staring at her mouth. “You have killed someone, haven’t you? You have hung our priest. You have burned down the armory. You have destroyed all our winter storage.”
She kissed him again. He was actually jesting with her, wasn’t he? She kissed him again. She hadn’t been wrong. His mouth was incredibly warm, as was his breath.
“Hastings,” he said, then heard his men laughing behind him. He looked up to see Dame Agnes standing on the steps, smiling down at them. “You wish me to take you here in front of all our people?”
She kissed him once more, a fleeting kiss, a girl’s kiss, as all her other kisses had been, at least those that had landed on his mouth, for indeed, she was naught more than a girl when it came to kisses, and smiled up at him. “Nay, I just wished to greet you as you deserve. Won’t you kiss me, Severin? The kisses I gave you were my first. I know nothing about how it is done. But I like the taste of you. And your mouth is so very warm and soft.”
He actually shuddered. He pulled her against him, grabbed the thick braid in his hand, and pulled her head back. He kissed her with all the hunger in him, and it was a lot. He felt surprise in her and shock. Not revulsion, just shock. He was going too fast, too hard. She had never been kissed before. He eased, just caressing her mouth now, and slowly he ran his tongue along her lower lip.
She made a strange noise. He lifted his head.
“That was your tongue,” she said. “Surely it is an odd thing to do. Not that it wasn’t nice, but still, Severin, are you certain that is done?”
“There are many things men and women do to each other that you would think odd right this moment, Hastings. But not tomorrow or the next day.”
There was now a good deal of jesting and laughter all around them. “I think we have provided my men an entertainment that will have them giving me advice throughout the rest of the day and night.” He cupped her face in his palm. “I do not understand this change in you, but I will accept it. It is pleasant.”
She laughed, pulled away from him, and shouted to all his men, “Come into the great hall. MacDear has prepared bounty for all of you.” She added low to Severin, “If you would come to our bedchamber, I will see to your bath.”
His eyes nearly crossed. He’d been so weary he had thought he would fall out of his saddle, but no more. He wanted to grab her up into his arms and run up the solar stairs with her, kissing her and fondling her al
l the way until he had her on her back in the center of that big bed, and then he would pull off all her clothes and come into her and . . .
“My lord, welcome home.”
He shook his head. His men laughed harder. His voice came out rough and mean. “Aye, Gwent, it is excellent to be back. All went well else you wouldn’t be smiling like a buffoon. And Beamis, you have helped train all these louts?”
There was more laughter, Beamis and Gwent poking each other, insulting each other, and he was pleased that the two men had become friends. He suddenly saw in his mind’s eye the young girl who had come to his bed at Fontivale keep some three days’ ride from Oxborough. She was younger than Hastings and had known more than some of the women he had taken to his bed in the Holy Land. He swallowed, remembering how she’d been there in his bed, waiting for him, smiling, her arms ready to clasp him to her. She’d told him how magnificent he was, how he made her feel, and he remembered so clearly that he thought that this girl didn’t think he was an animal. She’d made him feel strong and powerful. But then he’d seen Hastings clear in his mind in those moments when he’d come into Anne. He’d seen Hastings’s face pale and set as he moved over her. He’d known that she hated this joining with him, he’d known it and hated her for her hatred of him. He’d taken Anne three times before he had fallen into an exhausted sleep. And then he had dreamed of Hastings, dreamed of that moment when she had saved him from death by the assassin’s knife, how she had wiped him down when he had lain there roasting with the hellish fever. The coolness of her hands, the lightness of her touch.
He had felt immense guilt the next morning. At first he hadn’t recognized it for what it was, but when he had, he’d hated himself for it. Guilt was the spawn of weakness. Guilt? Because he’d taken his pleasure with another woman? It was absurd. But he had left the next morning, a day earlier than he had planned, not seeing Anne again.