Jacq's Warlord (32 page)

As his opponent bellowed his rage, deep satisfaction filled Rufus. He turned to meet the next charge, tightening his grip on the pommel of his sword and keeping his shield low to prove his lack of fear—an insult to the skill of the other warrior.

“You will die!” the man shouted as he rode to meet him, his blade pointed toward Rufus’ heart.

Rufus met the blow with his own blade, turning it away with a sideways slice. He kneed his horse to execute a quick turn to deflect the next blow. Horses slammed chest 176

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to chest, then reared, screaming as their riders continued to battle with steel above their heads.

The men traded cut for cut—killing blows meeting chain mail. Rufus waited for an opening, any mistake, but his opponent was skilled.

Finally, the warrior wheeled his horse about and raised his sword arm exposing the tender, unprotected flesh beneath.

That opening was all Rufus needed. He stabbed his sword inward using the strength of both arms to drive it deep into the other man’s chest.

The wounded man swayed atop his horse for a moment, held there by Rufus’

sword, and then slid off the end of the deadly steel as he toppled to the ground.

“Rufus! They are fleeing! The cowards run!” The duke’s excited voice broke through the haze of bloodlust clouding Rufus’ mind.

He glanced about, relieved Henry and Donald rode up beside him, unharmed.

Henry clapped his leg a huge smile lighting his face. “Rufus, I owe you a boon. You saved my life.”

Rufus scowled back at his liege. “I will not be noble and say I will not take it, Your Grace. I deserve it—you are very difficult to protect.”

Henry barked his laughter and before long Rufus and Donald joined him.

* * * * *

Rufus paced outside his tent. He had been with Henry for weeks, and the battles they’d fought had been successful for the most part. Henry was turning the tide. His victory was imminent.

Why then do I feel so tense and dissatisfied?

Because of Jacq. Not a day had gone by in which he hadn’t thought about her.

Rufus had fought more fiercely than any other warrior, earning himself the attention of the duke and the respect of his peers. But he didn’t do it for honor…or for Henry. He did it to bring a quicker end to this war so he might return home as soon as possible.

Rufus waited impatiently for each letter from Father Haskell. They came sparingly and late. Yet knowing each letter was weeks old did not stop him from eagerly poring over each, scanning for any mention of the woman who was driving him daft. The priest was also making him crazy, so oblique were his comments. He might have mentioned that she was well or speak of some project she worked on. He never said whether she looked sad or made mention of Rufus. He wondered why she did not send a personal word to him. As the weeks grew longer, he became angry at their reticence and more anxious to return home and discover the reason.

Rufus heard shouts, and saw Donald running toward him. He did not reach for his weapons because he saw a look of joy on his friend’s face.

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Donald stopped before him. “Milord…good news, milord,” Donald bent double and gasped for breath.

Rufus frowned. Nothing short of orders to return home would please him at this moment. “And what might that be?” Rufus growled.

Donald grinned, “My, aren’t we in a foul mood? And here I came at risk to my very own neck to bring you the news first.”

“
We
are not in a foul mood, but
we
promise not to ruin your day if you tell us what it is you’ve come to say!”

With his brows rising on his forehead, Donald tsked. “As I was saying before I was almost cut to the quick, we have good news.”

Rufus gritted his teeth. “You already said that.”

“Oh, are you ready to listen now?”

The tic began to pound beside his eye. “You push me beyond endurance, Donald, tell me at once!”

Donald smiled, uncowed by Rufus’ show of anger. “King Stephen’s son, Eustace, was killed yesterday.”

Rufus stepped closer, his heart suddenly thundering his chest. “How?”

“I haven’t heard. I just know that Henry was informed by emissaries from the church moments ago.”

Rufus remained silent, thinking of the implications of that announcement. “Stephen is without an heir.”

“True.”

“Then the war is over.” Hope swelled in his heart for the thought of returning home soon.

“Not quite. Someone still has to convince King Stephen to acknowledge Duke Henry as his heir. The church has offered to conduct the negotiations.”

Rufus strode off in the direction of Duke Henry’s tent to learn of his role during the negotiations. A weight had been lifted from his shoulders. It would only be a matter of time before he returned home. He hoped she would be there waiting for him.

He had a mind to make her his wife. The thought pleased him, immensely.

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“Hold it steady. Let all your air out and look down the shaft at your target. Don’t breathe…now let the string go,” Jacq whispered into Matilda’s ear.

Jacq smiled at the look of fierce concentration her maid wore, the tip of her tongue sticking out to one side of her mouth, a moment before she released the arrow to sing toward the target.

When it neatly pierced the “X” centered on the chest of the straw dummy, Matilda whooped with joy. “Milady, I did it! I did it!”

Jacq smiled her congratulations and looked down the line of women, all from the castle staff and village, who had volunteered to join the “Archers’ Auxiliary”.

Even a few men had joined their ranks for the afternoon practices on the green just outside the castle gates.

The first few days they had come purely for entertainment, and they had not been disappointed. A number of arrows had found their way into unexpected places—

thankfully, none injurious. However, the women had proven fast learners, taking the men’s derision as a challenge. The ladies’ improved skills were only grudgingly acknowledged. After all, their bows weren’t
real
bows.

The women were learning how to shoot with the brand-new bows the craftsman had made especially for them. Smaller in length, they didn’t require the strength the men’s bows did. However, what the women couldn’t match the men in distance, they more than made up for in accuracy. The men could not let that challenge go unanswered. Now, they practiced in earnest competition.

Jacq hadn’t any problem convincing the women of the necessity of learning a warrior’s skill, but the women had been quick to concoct a cover for their practices since most of their menfolk wouldn’t have been as understanding. Their story was they practiced for a special competition, which Lord Rufus would sponsor during the harvest celebration.

When Jacq questioned the need for the deception, the women countered, “Why alert the men to our real purpose, especially if the need never arises to use these skills?”

Husbands and fathers saw no harm in the practice and often appeared in the afternoons ready to offer “expert” advice to their womenfolk.

“Lady Jacq, am I doing it right?” Young Annie’s bow was even smaller, made especially for her little hands. She stood closer to her target and more often than not hit precisely where she aimed. It amused Jacq that Sir Geoffrey could be seen in the evenings offering Annie advice to improve her aim, although he had proven as good as his word and stayed clear of the practices.

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“Of course you’re doing it right.” Jacq paused beside her to give her a quick hug.

“You don’t need me to tell you. Sir Geoffrey, who’s the expert, has told you often enough to make your head swell. Are you looking for more compliments?”

“No, milady.” Her blush belied her obvious intent to gain attention.

Annie had taken her job seriously as Jacq’s “assistant” and dogged her steps. Since she now spent a number of hours within the keep each day, Enid and Geoffrey had taken the little girl under their wing. The childless couple gave little Annie the family she had never known. Gwen didn’t seem to mind the attention they paid her daughter.

With her hands full supervising the keep’s staff, she appeared grateful for their help.

Today, Annie wore one of the new outfits Enid had sewn her and her shiny blonde hair was mostly still confined to the braid Enid had fashioned for her that morning. Still some things never changed and Jacq grinned wryly at the muddy hem of Annie’s skirt.

Enid had also provided several new outfits for Jacq after she’d consigned the ragged red dress to the fire. Made of wool rather than velvet, they were much more practical. Jacq had added a set or two of men’s clothes scavenged from Rufus’ trunks to her wardrobe as well, much to the consternation of the castlefolk.

When the practice ended, Jacq set out to find William. One more defense plan must be put into place.

“William.” She strode into his quarters without knocking.

The steward dropped the quill he’d been using and looked up with a pained expression. “Yes, milady.”

“I need certain supplies I hope you can find for me.”

Jacq knew this was just what William liked to do. Now that housekeeping was out of his hands, he had more time to dedicate to the estate’s records, the ordering of supplies and the management of tenants. Despite her frequent interruptions and questions, and his occasional grimace upon seeing her, he seemed to be a much happier man.

“Of course, milady. What do you need?”

Pulling a list of items from her pocket she said, “I want saltpeter, sulfur and charcoal—in these quantities please.” Handing him the list, she continued, “I’ll also need scrap metal from the blacksmith. Small pointed bits, if you please.”

William’s face wore a perplexed expression. “I will of course find everything you request, but may I ask what you need them for?”

“Oh, they’re ingredients for a recipe I’m going to experiment with,” she replied with a smile.

“Be so good as to warn me, milady, before you serve these at his lordship’s table.”

She could have sworn he hadn’t a sense of humor. A glance his way proved she was right. His expression was very distressed. She laughed out loud. “I’ll give you ample warning, sir. But I’ll not be serving my bombs at the dinner table.”

“Bombs? What an odd name.”

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Remembering these people didn’t know what explosives were yet, she explained,

“A bomb is a weapon that explodes when you light a fire to it.”

“Oh my.” He looked very alarmed now. “And do you have experience mixing up this potion for your bombs?”

“No. I haven’t actually ever made one, but if it works we’ll have a valuable weapon against any enemy forces.”

“Then I shall find your ingredients immediately,” he said.

After leaving William shaking his head at the newest oddity she had introduced him to, Jacq headed for the kitchens. She hoped to find some jars or jugs she could use as casings for her bombs.

Stepping into the kitchen, the hallowed domain of Agnes the cook, was a challenge unto itself. Jacq had learned during her cleaning frenzy that Agnes was resistant to changes, even ones that prevented ptomaine poisoning. The old goat had to be cajoled into keeping her area as clean as Jacq demanded and had declared Jacq “an odd one”, with a strange obsession for cleanliness. After much flattery and the promise of extra hands to help maintain the kitchen’s now pristine state, Jacq finally won her support.

Jacq spotted a shelf of jugs and earthen jars and moved closer to inspect.

“Now what would you be wanting with those?”

Feeling like a child caught with her hands in the cookie jar, Jacq glanced over her shoulder at Agnes who stood before a worktable, flanked by two girls. All were kneading dough for the next day’s bread.

“I need several jars…something you won’t miss. Do you use these ones on a regular basis?”

“Yes, I do,” she replied in no uncertain terms.

Well, I guess that’s that
. Jacq frowned as she racked her brain for an alternative. Now what did the Swiss Family Robinson use for their bombs? Coconuts. She doubted the residents of Rathburn had ever even heard of those, much less be able to grow them here. What else could she use that would be waterproof and able to be plugged?

“Agnes, do gourds grow around here?”

“Yes, but why do you need gourds?”

Unwilling to share her idea before she tested it, Jacq answered, “Oh, nothing much.

Thanks, Cook. Whatever’s in the pot smells wonderful.”

Heading out to the castle garden, she found one of the workers and asked him to find her as many gourds as he could lay his hands on. Having solved that problem, she went in search of wadding material.

Several hours later, she’d assembled everything she’d been able to gather on a workbench in the back room of the stable. All she needed now were the ingredients William would provide. Dousing her torch in a bucket of sand beside the door, she headed happily toward the keep.

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“Good evening, milady,” one of the castle guards called out as she mounted the steps to the keep.

“Good evening to you, Walter!” she replied.

The exchange of greetings felt so…normal. She hesitated when she realized she hadn’t given one thought that day about going home. A sense of belonging to the keep, and the many souls who inhabited it, washed over her. She was still smiling when she entered the hall. As she approached, there was a lull in the roar of the boisterous crowd gathered for the evening meal.

“Lady Jacq, come sit with me.” Annie popped up off the bench at one of the long trestle tables. Since Rufus’ departure, Jacq had made a habit of eating at a different table each night.

“Hello, Annie. Did you wash your hands before you sat down?”

Annie grinned and displayed her palms for inspection. “All clean.”

“Yes they are. Good girl.”

A servant rushed forward with a bowl and towel for Jacq to use. Another slid a trencher filled with a savory stew before her.