April Munday (7 page)

“You forget yourself,” said Thomas angrily.

Richard looked taken aback, then nodded slowly. “You are right, my friend. I apologise, Lady Rosamunde.”

“No, it was a fair warning. You are right; he will come. He will not see that he has any other choice.”

When Richard thought that his leg would stand up to some exercise he presented himself to Guy in the courtyard. Guy had smirked and set him some basic exercises. Richard had not protested. He would have done the same in Guy’s place, without the smirk, perhaps. Guy did not know him, so could not know what he would be capable of when he was well. It made sense to build up from easy exercise. Besides, it would be pointless to embarrass himself by attempting something that was beyond him in his present condition. It had been some months since he had exerted himself properly. The damage to his leg and the sea voyage had conspired to ensure that he was no longer fit to fight. Nonetheless, he was confident that his many years of training would stand him in good stead and he would be able to survive whatever Guy could give him. After a very short time, however, he was sweating heavily and panting. He felt sharp pains in his leg, but he had no desire to show weakness in front of Guy or the other men. It was Thomas who finally saved him from his own foolishness after Richard’s opponent had knocked him to the ground for the third time. “That’s enough for your first day, I think. You’re no good to me if you’re in bed when Sir Walter comes.”

“You think I was struggling?” asked Richard, daring the younger man to say that he was weak.

“No. Just your leg. The rest of you was doing very well.”

Richard laughed, glad that Thomas, at least, could be straightforward. “You do not think Sir Walter will be afraid of a man with a twisted leg?”

“I think only a fool would not be afraid of you in a fight.”

“You have not seen me fight yet,” Richard warned him, angry that Thomas as well should make fun of him.

“You’ve been fighting every day since I met you. Now go and find Margaret. She’ll be in the still-room. She will have something to help you.”

Richard did not pause to think about what Thomas might mean, but bent down awkwardly to pick up his clothes. There was a trough of water by the stables and he washed the sweat off his body before he dressed again. It felt good to stop moving for a moment and to feel the water cool his body.

On his way to the still-room he bumped into two women, apparently on errands from Rosamunde. He apologised, although it had been their fault and went on his way. He was irritated and resolved to speak to Rosamunde. This was happening more frequently every day.  He would round a corner and there would be women there. To get by he would have to press against them or they against him. It was not that he objected to the physical contact. Some of the women were attractive enough that he was tempted to take things further. But they were Rosamunde’s women and she should keep better control over them. Their behaviour did not reflect well on her. For some reason, he wanted to believe in her virtue. She did not seem flighty or calculating. It was possible that she was virtuous, but if her women were not then she could not be either.

His leg was very painful by the time he found Margaret and he sank down gratefully onto the stool beside her.

“Thomas sent me. Do you have anything to help with the pain?”

“I have many things, but I do not think you want them.” She looked at him questioningly.

He shook his head. “No, I do not want those things.” He knew there were many potions and draughts that would dull the pain, but they would also dull his wits and now that his body was letting him down he needed his wits.

“Then you must show me your leg.” When he stood to leave she continued patiently, “I must understand the extent of the damage before I can begin to make something for you that will help. You need not fear, Thomas understands that I must look. He also understands that I have no interest in you, for all your looks and manners.” She smiled and, despite himself, Richard smiled back. She did not insult him; she merely reminded him that she loved her husband and would not disgrace him. Still it was difficult to remove his hose in front of her, but she examined him impersonally and touched him only when it was necessary.

“Very well,” she said at last, “Dress yourself again. I know what will help.” Margaret turned and reached up to the shelf behind her then handed him a small pot.

“This will do until I can make the proper potion for you. Take this and rub it into your leg. It will help the healing, but it will not take away the pain for long. And you must kneed your leg, like this.”  She took his forearm in her two hands and pushed her fingers into the muscle until it hurt. He flinched, embarrassed that he had shown weakness in front of a woman.

“It would be better if you would let someone else do it,” Margaret said and he wondered if she intended herself for this interesting exercise.

He shook his head. It was enough that one person in the castle knew the full extent of his injuries. There was no one he trusted to ask, although there were a few women whose hands interested him enough to wish to feel them massage Margaret’s ointment into his leg.

“I can do it myself.” He held up the pot, opened it and sniffed. “What is in it?”

Margaret looked surprised. “Very few men care what is in their medicine.”

“I used to help the herbalist at home. I know all the plants and their properties. At least, I know the ones that grow around Charimaux. Would you teach me about the herbs you use?” It might help to pass his time usefully.

Margaret looked at him, considering. “If my lady gives her permission and if Thomas agrees.”

Richard smiled. “Thomas will agree, if I give my word.”

Margaret pursed her lips. “That’s not what I meant. I know I’m in no danger from you, but very few other people will understand that.”

Richard was beginning to think that he would settle well into life in the duke’s castle. He would now be able to return to working with herbs, for he did not doubt that Rosamunde and Thomas would give their permission. Although he suspected that some of the women might discover a previously unexpressed desire to study herbs, he thought it would keep him out of their way for the most part. He did not fear the duke’s return, believing the man to be fair and generous. Whatever ransom he might have devised, Richard knew that it would be within his ability to pay it. He enjoyed being with Rosamunde. She was intelligent and well-educated and talked about things that interested him.

She was cheerful and open, despite her recent grief and her worries about the siege. She was a counterpart for his more silent and thoughtful nature, but she did not chatter and for that Richard was grateful. If Rosamunde had nothing to say, she did not speak. Unlike most of the women he had known, she did not seem to fear silence. She did not fill it with talk about gowns and babies and men. After she had beaten him a couple of times at merelles he had an even greater respect for her intelligence and he began to wonder if she might be the woman he was looking for. It would be a great shame if she were. He had nothing to offer such a woman.

On his way to the hall at midday he found his way blocked by Berthe, the woman who had been most persistent in her attentions since his arrival. “Would you help me?” she said. “I have twisted my ankle and cannot put my weight on it to walk to the hall.” She put her hand on his arm.

“A cripple would be a poor support,” he said sharply and she snatched her hand away.

“Then perhaps you will walk beside me.” She smiled up at him innocently.

Richard nodded. He knew what was in Berthe’s mind, had known since his first night in the hall, but he was surprised that she had chosen to act so quickly and with no encouragement from him at all. Not that he had any intention of encouraging her; married women were of no interest to him. Had she been unmarried it would have been a different matter entirely, but she could be of no interest to him.

“I hope you are beginning to feel at home here,” she said.

“I have no home,” he said grimly.

“And your wife does not join you?”

“I have no wife.”

“What a waste,” she said sadly. “I’m sure any woman would find you pleasing.”

“I think very few women have found me pleasing. I have no wish to be pleasing to women.” He lied and she would know that he lied, but she would not know why. One day he would meet the woman he wished to please, but there was no one here that he thought worth the effort. But Berthe could not have heard and walked closer to him, taking his hand in hers. He pulled his away. “Your husband does not mind that you go unchaperoned through the castle?”

She scowled at him, then smiled. “What my husband does not know will not hurt him.”

“And if he did know?”

She faltered, as if afraid. “Then he will be unhappy.”

Richard scowled at her, “Then I suggest it would be better if it does not happen again.”

Berthe pulled away from him, turning down a passageway and Richard continued his journey alone.

 After the meal he sought Rosamunde out in her father’s solar. She was going through the accounts with her steward. “You wish to speak to me?” she asked when she saw him in the doorway.

“Yes, but I can wait until you finish.” He made to move back into the passage, but Rosamunde stopped him. She might be a woman, but since she stood in the duke’s place, she was his lord.

“There is no need. This will take some time as we are trying to organise supplies for the siege.”

Now Richard felt awkward, for he had hoped to talk to Rosamunde when she was alone, accompanied only by Margaret. He did not want rumours of her ladies’ bad behaviour to spread among the servants. “It is a matter of some delicacy, my lady,” he began.

She understood and asked the steward to leave them for a moment. “I am afraid Margaret will have to hear whatever you have to say.”

Richard gave a small bow to Margaret. “I think Margaret should hear.” Then he told her quickly what had happened in the passage. To his surprise Rosamunde showed no shock or surprise only dismay. “They are bored,” she said, “With the men away it is hard to keep them occupied and you, of course, are something new and exciting. Still, it was wrong and I will talk to the women.” She looked at him carefully. “My father is very conscious of the safety of the women in his care. And they do not normally walk around the castle alone.”

Richard decided that this was a warning to him. “I am glad to hear it,” he said. And he was truly glad and relieved; it seemed that Rosamunde was not failing in her duties as he had feared. He recalled now that Berthe was the only woman he had seen on her own since he had arrived, apart from Margaret in the still-room that morning.  Rosamunde sighed.

“My father did not know what he was doing when he sent you to us.”

Richard smiled. He knew women found him attractive and he had used it to his advantage many times. He smiled at her. “All virtuous women are safe with me.”

“And women who are not virtuous?” she asked quickly.

“They are lost already,” he said, surprised that she had understood him so readily.

Rosamunde’s face became hard. “You will treat all the women in this castle and in the town as virtuous, whether you believe them to be or not. Is that understood?”

He stopped smiling and wondered whether this was something on which he could give his word. Rosamunde waited as if she understood his dilemma and did not ask again.

“Yes,” he said at last.

“And you understand that your word given to me is your word given to my father?”

“Yes,” he said again. He had understood that very clearly. On his first day he had asked Thomas why he had shown such subservience to a woman and Thomas had laughed and explained that while the duke was away she was his representative in everything. He was not showing subservience to a woman, but to her father, his lord. Richard understood that giving his word to Rosamunde was not the same as giving his word to a foolish woman. She stood in her father’s place. And he wondered at her desire to protect all the women from him. Surely the virtuous women were protected by their own virtue and the others could not be protected. He wondered briefly how firm Rosamunde’s own resolve was, but it would not be fair to test it, since she was still grieving for Simon. And he had given his word.

Rosamunde was angry when Richard had left. Though whether with him, herself or Berthe she could not tell. She had not shirked from any of the responsibilities her father had left to her, but she found it difficult to guide the behaviour of older, more experienced women. She was annoyed to discover that Richard’s opinion was important to her. He had seemed to think that she had encouraged Berthe in her wrongdoing. It was true that she rather envied the other woman’s boldness in approaching him, but she could not approve the other woman’s action. Rosamunde knew that she would never do anything of that kind herself. She had been betrothed to Simon and he had kissed her three times; once at their betrothal, once on a hunt and once when he had said goodbye before he went to France. She had loved Simon, yet she had never longed for his touch or just to hear his voice as she did with Richard.  Did that mean that she loved Richard? Was her heart so fickle that she could hear of the death of the man she loved on one day and a few days later be in love with another man? It was true that she had not seen Simon for more than a year and had spent much of that year thinking that he might not return. But above all else there was the threat of siege. Whether or not she loved Richard would be unimportant if Sir Walter took her and she needed to think and plan for the siege, because she did not want to be Sir Walter’s wife.

Of course, it was not her place to want anything. It was her place to obey her father. Since he did not want her to be Sir Walter’s wife, it was acceptable for her to find it unacceptable. But she could have no desires of her own. As much as she might find Richard attractive, and she did, she could not go down that path without her father’s permission. Yet she still came back to it. Richard was a cripple, he was poor and he was French, but he was the most attractive man she had ever met. She had to admit to herself that he was more alive than Simon had ever been. He was unlike Simon. He talked little and smiled less, but there was an intensity to him that Rosamunde found intoxicating. He was aloof, but his eyes seemed to pierce her soul. When he spoke she had to listen to him; his voice was commanding and it seemed to communicate with her very soul. But she dared not examine the roots of her attraction, for she already knew that it was lust. That he was her intellectual equal, she was ready to acknowledge. Even Simon had not been her equal. His one failing had been that he had assumed that he was her better in everything. Rosamunde knew that it was wicked of her to assume that she could be the equal of any man, but she knew that she had bettered Simon in wit and intelligence, although he had denied it. Richard seemed to accept that she could be his equal in intelligence and it was exhilarating. She tried to tell herself that he was her prisoner and he would try to appease her, but she knew that he did not. He was aloof in many ways, but his acceptance of her as an equal in this regard was complete and unforced.