“Give the youngest the task of dealing with the butts,” he said to Gareth. “They need to build up their strength.”
“Aye, Rheged, aye,” Gareth said. “Anything else?”
“Not now,” Rheged replied.
“I’ll see you in the hall, then.”
“Aye,” Rheged replied, turning to head back to the keep.
As he walked toward it, he couldn’t help wondering what Tamsin thought when she saw him with a bow. No doubt even less than she did already, given that she was nobly born. Most Normans considered bows the weapons of peasants. He, however, had no prejudices against any weapon. If it was effective, he would wield it, and as best he could.
Nor should he trouble himself with what Tamsin thought about him, or anything else. She would be gone soon, back to her greedy uncle and the marriage that she wanted.
Chapter Nine
W
hen Rheged entered the hall, he found Sir Algar nodding in the chair by the hearth. He tried to pass him quietly, but the man awoke with a start. “How was the practice, then?”
“The men are much improved,” Rheged said as Sir Algar gestured for him to sit and join him by the fire.
“So is Lady Thomasina,” Sir Algar said. “Gilbert was very pleased with her progress.”
“I saw her standing at the window.”
A frown came to Sir Algar’s face. “He didn’t tell me she could get out of bed.”
Rheged spotted Hildie coming down the stairs from the upper chamber and summoned her. “Did the physician give Lady Thomasina leave to get out of bed?”
“Aye, my lord, he said she could walk about a bit, as long as her leg didn’t trouble her too much. She’s to rest if it does. She was that pleased, I must say. I think she was weary of being abed. She was only on her feet a little while, though, just long enough to get a breath of fresh air at the window. She’s sitting now and wants to do a bit of sewing and sent me to find needles and thread. I don’t think the lady’s used to being idle, my lord.”
Given the way Tamsin had bustled about Castle DeLac, Rheged could well believe she would find enforced idleness as bad as imprisonment, just as he had the few times he’d been wounded. “Do as she asks,” he said, “so long as she’s careful not to overtax her strength. If you see her tiring or in pain and she refuses to return to bed, come to me at once. Now you may go and fetch what she requires.”
“Aye, my lord,” Hildie said with a bob of a bow.
As the maidservant hurried away, Sir Algar sighed and smiled wistfully. “Granted we wouldn’t want Tamsin to do more damage to her leg, but if she’s at all like her mother—and I do believe she is—I don’t think we’ll have much chance trying to force her to rest. Her mother was the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met.”
“You knew her mother well?”
“I knew the whole family well,” Algar replied, “until old Edward DeLac tried to force his daughter to marry. Cordelia refused and ran off with another man. After that, I kept my distance.”
“Until my hasty act put you in jeopardy. I am truly sorry for that, my lord.”
“I’m not. I would never have met Cordelia’s daughter otherwise. Still, it’s an unfortunate situation. Her mother’s passions ran strong and deep, and I suspect her daughter’s similar in that, as well. Her love would be a great prize and her hate...well, it will last a lifetime.”
“I don’t doubt that, my lord,” Rheged replied.
* * *
“You’re having us on,” Dan the groom declared from his place by the big hearth in the kitchen of Cwm Bron. “She ain’t.”
“She is,” Hildie retorted. “Sitting there in his bedchamber mending that old tunic of his like she was already his wife.”
Shy Elvina sighed as she chopped some turnips before putting them in a pot of boiling water hanging from the pothook over the fire.
Foster, the lean and youthful cook, stopped kneading the dough for the crust of a beef pie. “I th-thought l-ladies only d-did em...em...fancy work,” he stuttered.
“Well, not her,” Hildie replied. “She wanted to be doing something, and finally suggested mending. I could hardly say no to that, could I? So she had me fetch needles and thread, and then open Sir Rheged’s clothes chest.”
Elvina gasped and Foster’s ladle hovered in midair. “What did you do?” Dan demanded, leaning forward.
“He said she was to be treated with respect as an honored guest, didn’t he?” Hildie replied defensively, “and she was looking at me like...well, like
he
does when he wants something done, so I opened the chest and grabbed the first thing I could—that old tunic. I swear I was that relieved it had a torn seam, or she might have had me rooting through all his things. I hate to think what would happen if he found out I’d done that!”
Dan shook his head as if the very thought was too terrible to contemplate.
“And then he asks me what she’s doing!” Hildie continued. “I swear I nearly swooned!”
“Wh-what did you s-say to h-him?” Foster asked breathlessly.
“I said she wanted to do some sewing. Thank the good Lord he didn’t ask me what kind of sewing!”
The others all nodded in sympathy.
“I’ll say this for her, she’s not lazy, not like some of them ladies I’ve heard of,” Hildie went on. “Sir Rheged could do a sight worse.”
“Then you...then you think he really wants to marry her?” Elvina asked, her voice as quiet as if they were in the chapel.
“Why else would he bring her here?” Hildie replied. “Besides, he’s mad in love with her. And she with him.”
Elvina’s eyes grew wide as a waterwheel. “How can you tell?”
“I got eyes,” Hildie replied as if their lord’s feeling should be obvious to all save the sightless.
“Aye, it must be true,” Dan said. “Gareth told the men it’s a Welsh custom to abduct the bride and that’s what Rheged’s done.”
“But there’s been no talk of a wedding,” Elvina protested.
“
Yet.
They have to decide about the dowry and the bride price, no doubt,” Dan explained. “That’s why Rheged’s been back and forth.”
Hildie dropped her voice to a whisper and regarded them knowingly. “I’m sure they’re already lovers.”
Elvina’s delicately featured face reddened. Dan looked like a man trying to appear so worldly that Hildie’s observation was no shock to him, while Foster regarded Hildie as if she’d just announced he’d been summoned to cook for the pope.
“Aye, Foster, me lad,” Hildie declared with a brisk nod, “you’d best start planning a wedding feast, and I’d best get back to my lady.”
* * *
The rain fell steadily harder as the afternoon progressed. Tamsin thought the sound of it pounding on the slate roof would drive her mad, so when Hildie said it was time for her to go to the hall to help serve the evening meal, Tamsin also left the upper chamber to join the others below, even if that meant enduring Rheged’s stony silence and even grimmer visage.
Making her way down the curved stairs, she noticed at once that, like the rest of Cwm Bron, the large, round chamber was in need of some work. The hearth apparently hadn’t been swept in weeks, cobwebs hung from the torch sconces and the rushes on the flagstone floor looked and smelled days old. The simple, bare furnishings were rough and unpolished, and it seemed there was but one chair, which Sir Algar was currently occupying. Rheged sat beside him on a bench. Other men were likewise seated on benches at the tables, while hounds and serving women moved among them.
His expression impassive, Rheged rose when he saw her. Sir Algar beamed a smile as he, too, got to his feet. Although his tunic was dark and plain like Rheged’s, it was made of obviously finer fabric, and tonight he sported a wide gold chain around his neck.
“This is an unexpected pleasure, my lady!” he cried as he pulled out the chair for her to sit.
Rheged said nothing. However, he glanced at a man sitting at another table nearby. At that look, the equally long-haired, bearded fellow with a scar where an eyebrow should be jumped to his feet. All the other men rose, too, with expressions that varied from frankly curious to suspicious.
While she, who had never before been the center of so much attention, blushed to the soles of her feet.
“Gilbert said you were doing well,” Sir Algar remarked as they all returned to their seats and Rheged made a place for his lord on the bench beside him. “But perhaps it’s a little early for much exertion.”
“My leg is only a little sore, Sir Algar,” she assured him, “and I confess I’m desperate for company. I’m not used to spending so much time alone.”
“No doubt, no doubt,” Sir Algar agreed. “We’re delighted to have you dine with us, aren’t we, Rheged?”
“Delighted.”
“I’m sure Foster’s outdone himself, as usual,” Sir Algar noted as Hildie brought another trencher and a goblet and spoon and set them in front of Tamsin. “I tell you, my lady, Rheged need never be ashamed of his cook. Foster was trained in the king’s own kitchen. Rheged did Foster a service once, so when the fellow heard Rheged had been given this estate, he appeared one day and asked to cook for him. Isn’t that right, Rheged?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“What did you do for him again?” Sir Algar prompted.
“He was being set upon by some ruffians and I suggested they leave him alone.”
“Suggested?” Sir Algar repeated with a laugh. “I can imagine—at the point of your sword!”
“There was no need to offer violence. They were cowards and ran away when I challenged them.”
Tamsin could well believe one look from Rheged of the sort he’d given her when he was angry would be enough to send all but the most hardened rogues and vagabonds fleeing.
“So now he has one of the best cooks in England.”
“Men fight well when they’re well fed,” Rheged coolly observed, “and servants serve better when they’re not starving.”
“I quite agree,” Tamsin said, not at all surprised that a man born poor would want good meals and be willing to pay for them.
“Why don’t you tell her about the tournament in Kent, the one where we met?” Sir Algar suggested.
Hildie brought a basket of fresh, fragrant bread to the table, and another, more bashful maidservant ladled a thick, rich beef stew into the trenchers before them.
“You should have seen him, my lady!” Sir Algar continued as they started to eat the best beef stew Tamsin had ever tasted. “His armor was the most motley collection of metal I’d ever seen.”
“It was all I could afford.”
“So naturally all the other participants in the tournament assumed that he’d be as poorly trained as his armor was made. If they’d taken a good look at his horse, they might have known better, eh, Rheged?”
“I spent my last coin on Jevan, and he was worth every penny.”
“Now perhaps, but then? The poor beast had been half-starved. He was nearly as skinny as you were, Rheged.”
“I wasn’t skinny.”
“You looked like you hadn’t had a decent meal in months. Anyway, there he was, in his collection of bits and bobs of armor, seated on a most unimpressive mount, facing some of the finest young nobles—”
“Richest,” Rheged interjected. “Not necessarily finest.”
“Very well,
richest
young nobles in the land,” Sir Algar amended, “and everyone expected him to fall in the first tilt. Instead, he hits his opponent’s shield one blow and off the fellow tumbles. Who was that?”
“I don’t recall.”
“Whoever it was,” Sir Algar continued, sopping up some of the thick gravy with his bread, “down he went with a crash. Broke his shield in the fall and was knocked right out. After that, it was a different story, although nobody thought Rheged would win the day.”
“Nobody else had so much to gain.”
“Or lose, eh?” Sir Algar replied, reaching for more bread while Tamsin took a sip of wine that wasn’t nearly as fine as the bread or stew. “I tell you, my lady, you never saw such tenacity. He sat on that saddle like his life depended on it and never did get unseated. But that’s not the best part. The best part is at the feast that followed. Rheged appears without even a scratch—”
“I had plenty of bruises.”
“Not on your face,” Sir Algar noted. “The young ladies were like bees to flowers, and a few of the older ones, too. Naturally the young noblemen were not well pleased, especially when they’d not only been defeated, but had to pay to get their horses and arms and accoutrements back from Rheged. So one of them finally insulted Rheged to his face—who was that again?”
“Sir Francis Bellegardie.”
“What exactly did he say to you?”
“He questioned my parentage and suggested I didn’t belong there.”
“Not like that,” Sir Algar chided.
“His exact words aren’t fit for a lady’s ears.”
“I’ve met Sir Francis,” Tamsin said, remembering the young guest of her uncle’s who’d tried to back her into a corner. She’d managed to evade his clumsy groping, but only just. “He’s a most vain and stupid fellow, so I can imagine the sort of thing he’d say.”
“Rheged laid him flat with one blow, right there in the hall. Didn’t say a word, just hit him, then apologized to the host for disturbing the peace of his hall, sat down and drank his wine like nothing at all had happened.”
She wished she could have seen that.
“I was tired, or I would have ignored him.”
“That wasn’t all,” Sir Algar continued gleefully. “When it came time to dance, who was the most anxious to dance with you? Who hovered around you all night until you practically had to shoo her away?”
“I don’t remember.”
“If you don’t, I do—Lady Angelica, Sir Francis’s own sister! And you should have seen the way she looked at the other women he danced with! I was afraid there’d be a murder done before the night was out. How many times did you dance with her? Two times? Three?”
“I’d rather fight than dance.”
“What a thing to say with a lady present!”
“Nevertheless it’s true.” Rheged slid from the bench and rose with the same athletic grace with which he’d drawn the bow. “Now if you’ll both excuse me, I need to speak to the commander of my garrison. One of my shepherds found three of his flock dead, their throats and bellies torn open, on the far pasture on the ridge. We’ll be fox-hunting tomorrow as soon as the rain lets up.”