After Jerval had sent them all back to work, he said, “Camberley servants respond quite well without being cuffed about. You can be certain that my mother’s commanding voice keeps them in line.”
“It smells so clean,” Chandra said, sniffing the air. “There are no dogs about.”
“No, but you’ll soon accustom yourself to it. They are kept outside. I will introduce Mary to Alma, my old nursemaid and something of a seer, who will make her comfortable. There is a small room next to Julianna’s that she may have. Now let me show you to our bedchamber,” Jerval said.
She walked beside him up the thick, winding stone stairs to the upper floor. There seemed to be a different servant with each step.
Jerval’s bedchamber, she had imagined, would look like her father’s—nearly bare, its walls hung with weapons and its floor covered with thick reeds. She was dead wrong. His chamber had none of these things. The room faced south, through rows of narrow windows paned with small squares of glass, and the afternoon sunlight filled the room with reflected light. The walls were hung with colorful tapestries, and between them were tapers held in twisted silver mounts. The floor was strewn with thick, brightly colored Flemish carpets. The bed was set upon a dais, not as large as her father’s, but encased in beautifully embroidered covers that touched the floor. There was a high, carved wooden screen set in a corner, and behind it was a large wooden tub and wooden racks that held linen and towels. She could not imagine that the king’s chambers at Windsor were more magnificently furnished.
She stood still, her hands on her hips, and announced, “This is hardly a man’s room.”
He merely laughed at the heap of scorn in her voice. “I trust you are wrong,” he said. “This man is your husband, and he gives you pleasure every night. I believe my mother added the carpets and racks, since it will also be a lady’s room.”
“My bedchamber is nothing like this.”
“No, but you are a lady, and naturally, you will want to thank my mother for her thoughtfulness.”
Two boys interrupted them, carrying buckets of hot water. As Jerval spoke to the boys, Chandra sat in a high-backed chair and shifted her bottom on the soft, velvet-covered cushion. She realized that her hair was tangled about her face. Her clothes were none too clean. Her smell was ripe.
After the boys left, Jerval offered her the tub. She couldn’t imagine at that moment taking off her clothes in front of him. It was true that he had stripped her naked, or nearly naked, every night since they had married, but there was full daylight now. She shook her head.
She did, however, watch him pull off his clothes. She did not look away when he was naked. She saw him ease slowly down into the hot water. He grunted with pleasure. He leaned back and closed his eyes.
“You will need a tub of fresh water,” he said after a time. “Four days of grime have left it black. This time I won’t ask you to join me.”
She said, “I do not mind waiting.” She tried to focus on the orchard below the windows—apple trees, pear and peach trees, covered with tight buds. It was a beautiful, lush spot.
“It is very different here.”
“Aye, I know it,” he said from the tub, and she looked to see his hair and face lathered. “Will you scrub my back this time?”
There was no reason not to. She scrubbed him, no particular gentleness in her strokes. Soon, he was laughing up at her, and it was only her quickness that kept him from pulling her down into the water on top of him.
It was much later before she was in her own bath, for Mary came to visit after Jerval left, and nothing but praise flowed from her mouth.
“Everything is so neat and clean,” she said for the third time, as three servants holding buckets came into the chamber. “Ah, here is water for you.”
She left Chandra, humming under her breath.
Chandra accepted the help of a young girl whose name was Matta. Soon she was dressed in a soft, pale blue silk gown and fastened a blue leather belt about her waist. She looked at herself one final time in the polished silver mirror, and left the bedchamber.
There were at least fifty people seated at the trestle tables in the Great Hall, and a score of servants served the evening meal. All their faces were upon her as she entered; all of them now stared.
Jerval rose and called to her. As she walked to the huge, high-backed chair beside him on the dais, he shouted over the hall, “My lady and wife, Chandra de Vernon.” She started at her new name, and felt a crushing moment of homesickness. She smiled, seeing shock on many of the men’s faces, for she had arrived looking like a grubby boy.
“That silver thing beside your trencher,” Jerval said, as he handed her a fat slice of warm bread, “is called a fork. You see, it has two prongs. It makes it easier to get your food to your mouth. It takes a bit of getting used to, but I think you’ll appreciate it soon enough.” He picked his up and speared a piece of meat with it.
“It is particularly useful with fish,” he said, watching her efforts. “Here, try it on the lamprey.” He wrapped his fingers about hers, guiding her hand in the proper motion.
She scooped up the eel easily, and laughed. “It is ridiculous, this thing, but perhaps it isn’t entirely worthless.”
“Ah, Jerval,” Malton, the master-at-arms, called out. “Sir Eustace was here. He seemed peeved that he had not been told of your wedding. I let him believe it was to Chester’s squint-eyed heiress. He will be in a frenzy of jealousy when he sees your lady.”
“Who is Sir Eustace?” Chandra asked.
Mark said, “Sir Eustace de Leybrun was wed to Matilda for a time—Jerval’s older sister—but she died in childbed. He is not a particularly amiable fellow. He still comes about.”
“Mark is too sweet-tongued,” Malton said. “Your husband will want to keep you well in sight whenever Sir Eustace visits Camberley. He’s a leering braggart. And when he sees you, my lady, he might even forget that one small shred of honor that lies deep within him.”
Mark said lightly, “Now that you are wed, Jerval, he will have to be content with his own lands.”
“Aye,” Malton agreed, “with the sons you and your lady will breed, he’ll never know Camberley, save as a bothersome guest.”
Jerval didn’t want Eustace to ever see Chandra. He knew he would take one look at her and run his thick tongue over his lips as he did whenever he saw a girl that pleased him. No, what concerned Jerval, if Eustace ever came to Camberley, was that Chandra would take offense and mayhap stick her knife between his ribs. He smiled a bit at the thought. Perhaps not a bad end for the man.
Malton called out, “Perhaps the Scots will pay us a visit before Lord Hugh returns. It was a hard winter up north, and I’ll wager the heathen are hungry for our cattle.”
He saw that the lady was looking at him, so beautiful she was, incredibly so, but perhaps he had frightened her, regardless of seeing her mounted on that huge destrier. “There’s never much danger, my lady.”
“Do you ever ride after them, Malton?”
“Aye, and it’s better sport than a boar hunt. The Scots are good fighters, and it keeps the men from growing bored.”
“You will not fight them, Chandra,” Jerval said, stuck a good-sized bit of lamprey into her mouth when she would have disagreed, and grinned at her. “Leave go. There is much you can do, but not that. No fighting. No trying to best any of our enemies. That is my job and I do it well. And no, do not accuse me of changing since we wed. I have always felt that way.”
She chewed on the eel and said nothing more.
Mary said, as she and Chandra climbed the stairs at evening’s end, “Jerval was right. The old woman, Alma, has been very kind to me. He said she was something of a seer. I believe he is right. What a marvelous banquet we were served tonight, and with no warning at all of Sir Jerval’s return. I am quite impressed with Lady Avicia’s housekeeping.”
Chandra grunted. “I pray she will continue to take care of everything.”
“Sir Mark gave m
e a tour of all the outbuildings. The kitchens are huge, Chandra, and the fellow who oversees the cooking is marvelous. And the jakes are set along the outer wall. Only a southerly breeze will raise an odor. And there are so many children, all of them fat, obviously well fed. Camberley is a rich keep. Ah, here we are. I’ll bid you good night now, for Sir Jerval is likely to be coming soon. It is a beautiful bedchamber. You will never shudder with cold here.”
“Your room is all right, Mary?”
“It is a marvel, like this one.”
When Jerval entered his bedchamber some time later, he drew up short at the sight of Chandra wrapped in three blankets, curled on her side atop a carpet, a thick blanket pulled to her chin, sound asleep on the floor next to his bed. Like a damned dog, he thought. He stood over her for a moment, then leaned down and gently scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed.
Chandra felt the soft bed beneath her back, felt his hands on her bed gown. She tried only once to slap his hands away; then she simply said, “I will not enjoy this tonight. I have suffered too much enjoyment from you. I am tired of it. I wish you to leave me alone.”
And she turned over onto her side away from him.
He laughed and pulled her back. In but a moment, she was naked, spread out for him to look at her, which he did for a very long time.
“I will torture you with more enjoyment,” he said, then rose to strip off his own clothes. “I want you to be brave, to bear with this dreadful enjoyment, to force yourself to cry out when you gain your woman’s release.”
“I don’t want to.”
He merely began kissing her, and he was grateful that he didn’t have to fight her and that she didn’t try to bite his mouth. When she cried out, her back arched, panting as if her heart would burst from her chest, he smiled down at her and came deep inside her. She held him tightly when he collapsed against her.
“I am sorry to torture you so much,” he said, kissing her mouth, the tip of her nose, her chin.
Jerval awoke the next morning to find himself alone in his bed. He wasn’t surprised. It was thus every morning when he woke up. Nor did he believe anymore that she had merely left their bed to fetch him some bread and cheese. He was whistling as he dressed quickly and strode down to the hall, where he was told by Maginn, one of his father’s young pages, that milady had broken her fast early and gone he knew not where.
Jerval ate warm, crusty bread, drank a tankard of rich ale and set out to find her. To his surprise, Wicket remained in the stables. So she hadn’t ridden out. That was rather intelligent of her since Malton would most assuredly have demanded to accompany her if she wished to leave the keep.
He knew what she had done. He was, in fact, quite sure that she had walked out, probably whistling, likely through the postern gate in the north wall.
She shouldn’t have done that. She was new here, and even though she was his wife, not everyone would know that yet. She could be in danger.
He took Wicket. According to Dobbe, the wizened old graybeard who attended the cows, she had indeed left through the small north gate, alone.
He galloped Wicket alongside the lake, thinking she might have gone swimming, for the sun was warm overhead, the night storm having blown itself out. He did not find her there, so he turned Wicket onto the rutted, muddy road that led to the small village of Throckton. Suddenly Wicket reared up on his hind legs and whinnied loudly. Jerval saw Chandra walking along the narrow road toward them, Lord Hugh’s most vicious boarhound, Hawk, coming up fast behind her, fangs bared. Dear God, the dog was going to attack her.
He kicked his heels into Wicket’s side, yelled at the top of his lungs, and rode as hard and fast as he could to save her.
CHAPTER 14
No, wait, Hawk wasn’t attacking. He was carrying a knobby stick in his great mouth, gobs of slobber dripping off his muzzle. What was going on here? Jerval swallowed his yell, saw that she wasn’t looking at him but at the huge boarhound, coming up fast, his damned tail high and wagging. The hound stopped in his tracks. His tail continued to wag. Jerval watched her lean down, cuff Hawk on his thick neck, pull the stick from his mouth, and hurl it away from her. Hawk bounded off into the thicket beside the road to fetch the stick.
Only he and his father played like that with Hawk. No one else, not even his keeper, Dakyns.
He felt like a fool. He cursed beneath his breath. She looked up at him then, and waved. She had the gall to both wave and smile, when he’d believed her to be in grave danger of being torn apart by his father’s hound.
She’d cuffed that damned vicious hound, and he’d slobbered on her hands.
Chandra dropped to her knees, ignoring Jerval now, as Hawk galloped back to her, grinding the stick between his ferocious teeth. He dove toward her, nearly tipping her over backward, dropped the stick at her feet, and licked her face with that huge tongue of his. She laughed, threw her arms about his neck, and hugged him to her. Hawk pulled back suddenly, his ears flattened to his head.
“Nay,” she said, hugging him again, stroking his massive head. “It is just Jerval, come to play with us.” She clutched the hound to her, but he began now to bark wildly in welcome and bounded toward Jerval.
She rose slowly, eyeing her destrier and the man on his back. He was riding Wicket. Wicket had never allowed anyone on his back save her.
Jerval dismounted, gave Hawk an indifferent pat on his head, and strode to her, wanting to grab her to him, he was so relieved that she was all right, and yell in her face for even coming close to Hawk, for leaving the safety of the keep. He came to a halt two inches from her. He opened his mouth to flay her.
“What are you doing on my horse?”
His outrage filled his craw to overflowing. “You have the gall to face me down about riding Wicket? Have you no sense? You are out here alone. You do not know what sort of man might be lurking, eager to take you. You are with Hawk, the most vicious of all my father’s hounds. He could have ripped your neck apart.”
“I am not alone. I am with Hawk. He likes me. There was never a problem with him. No one would come close to me with him about. It is you who are at fault here. You are riding Wicket. He is my horse, no one else’s. Why are you riding him? Why did he allow you to?”
He kept a firm hold on himself. “The only reason you are not riding him is because you knew my men would never let you out of the keep walls without protection. So you made a friend of Hawk and slithered out the postern gate. At least you had the brains not to venture out by yourself.”
“Aye, mayhap that is the way it appeared.”
“Don’t lie to me. That is exactly what you did.”
“Very well. That is very handy, that gate. It is a beautiful day. I was bored. I wanted to explore. Hawk wished to have some exercise. He is all the protection I needed. I do not like you riding Wicket. I don’t understand why he let you ride him.”
He plowed his fingers through his hair to calm himself. He could only shake his head. “Your horse and my father’s hound have no sense. But hear me, Chandra, what you did was beyond foolish. Hawk could have chewed your arm off instead of falling in love with you. I don’t understand it. Why did you leave the safety of Camberley without telling me? And don’t you dare whine about me lying there snoring.”
“Well, you were snoring. You woke me up. I could not go back to sleep.”
“Then why didn’t you kiss me to wake me up?”
She looked at him as if he were mad.
He could only shake his head. “That is no excuse for leaving the safety of the keep. I still cannot believe that my men allowed you to leave by yourself. They will not allow this to happen again, Chandra.”
“I am to be a prisoner now?”
“By all God’s gifts to the world, are you really so witless? Or, for some devious reason I cannot understand, are you simply torturing me?”
“I am not witless or devious.”
“Then what are you?”
For an instant, her eyes went perfe
ctly blank. Then she said slowly, and he saw the deep uncertainty in her, “I don’t know anymore what I am. I am not what I was, but now? Mayhap you’re right and I am witless.”
He cursed, then pulled her against him. She was stiff. He stroked his big hands up and down her back, willing her to ease against him. He kissed her neck, tasted her, and said, “Listen to me. You are not a prisoner. You are my wife. That is what you are now. Have no more doubts about that. Now, you will exercise your sense—do you understand me? And no, don’t accuse me of changing.”
She leaned away from him. “You have changed toward me, and you are nearly spitting in my face.”
“No, I wasn’t spitting. I was kissing you.”
She said nothing at all to that.
He looked at her face, into her eyes, wondering what she was thinking now. “Well then, that is good. You understand.” He released her, turned away and mounted Wicket. “Wicket is a fine animal. He took to me readily. It seems Wicket recognizes me more quickly than you do as his master.”
“I don’t want you to ride him again, Jerval. In fact, you should get off him right now. I will ride him back to the keep. You will stay with Hawk.”
“You walked out here. You can walk back.” He laughed and gave her a wave and galloped away. She did not know it, but Jerval didn’t let her out of his sight until she was safely inside the postern gate.
Life, he thought, as he brushed Wicket’s broad back in the dimly lit stable, was proving to be quite a diversion. Diversions were fine, but too many of them just might send him to his knees.
When he joined her at one of the long benches in the Great Hall, he broke off a piece of warm bread, chewed it with great appreciation, and said, “Did you enjoy the storm last night?”
She ate her own bread, chewing it for a very long time. He leaned close and kissed her nose. When she would have pulled away, he said, “At least you were warm and safe because I held you very close. You see, I continue to be useful to you even after I have felled you with pleasure.”