Rosehaven (9 page)

“No, give me no arguments. You will accustom yourself to being with me, to lying next to me in bed, to hearing me breathe in sleep. When I take you, it will be as nothing. You will not even care that I look at you. Aye, Hastings, you will accustom yourself.” He strode to the bed, picked up her bedrobe, and said, “Stand up.”

She didn’t want to but she knew she had no choice. She pushed back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her shift slid up her thighs. She grabbed the
bedrobe from him and wrapped it tightly around her. She’d known he would come. Aye, she’d known.

“Come,” he said, and held out his hand. It was a large hand, long blunt fingers, darkened from the sun, the backs covered with black hairs.

She pictured Eloise finally slipping her small hand into her own and smiled. She thrust out her hand, felt his enclose hers, and walked beside him to the large bedchamber. He did not ask her to remove her shift, just the bedrobe. She had never before slept with another person, not even her mother when she’d been a little girl. It felt strange. At least the bed was large, the covers sweet-smelling since Dame Agnes had had the servants wash them in lavender water after her father’s death.

He did not touch her. She lay stiffly on her back. Suddenly she felt soft fur against her check and she smiled.

“Good night, Trist,” she said. The marten rubbed his whiskers against her chin. She laughed.

Severin cursed. “I am surprised that Trist is here. He was missing for two hours today. I believe he prepares to return to the woods to mate.”

“He did not eat much for dinner. Perhaps he hunted in the forest and fed himself.”

“I have told him that he may stay within the keep walls. I have told him that I mind not feeding him, but he does not attend me. He is like you. I don’t like it.”

Trist mewled louder.

“When you spoke to him, Severin, did he answer you back?”

“Don’t mock me, woman. Trist understands me well enough. Just listen to him. His sounds are louder than a soldier’s snoring. His—”

Suddenly the door was thrown and Gwent burst into the chamber. “My lord! The woman Beale, she has the child. She is at the gates, swearing she will kill her if Alart doesn’t allow her to leave.”

“Saint Peter’s teeth,” Severin said. “This is idiocy. I will be there in a moment. Distract her, Gwent. Don’t let her harm the child. Go!”

He was naked, prowling the chamber, gathering his clothes, but Hastings didn’t notice. She grabbed her bedrobe, flinging it on even as she dashed past Gwent.

“Hastings, damn you, come back here.”

She paid him no heed, just sped down the solar stairs, the indented stone hard and cold beneath her bare feet. Servants and men-at-arms were milling about in the great hall. She ran through the great doors to the keep and into the inner bailey. Gilbert the goat looked up, an ancient discarded gauntlet in his mouth. A chicken, disturbed from its sleep, raised its head and squawked. A horse snorted. The moon was high.

She stopped short, breathing hard, about twenty feet from the portcullis. She saw Alart gesticulating wildly at the woman Beale. She heard him saying, “I cannot, woman. I cannot let you leave without the lord’s permission. He would kill me if I did. Where is the master?”

Hastings heard Severin close behind her. She didn’t know how she knew it was him, but she was certain. She turned. His feet were bare, as were hers.

“Saint Egbert’s elbows, I don’t believe this. Look, she has a knife at the child’s throat. Don’t move, Hastings, you’ll just make things worse.”

“How could I make things worse? What can you do that I cannot?” She turned as she spoke, but he had already eased past her and appeared as only a dark shadow against the bright moonlight. Then Gwent appeared beside her and he called out, “Beale, I have spoken to the master. He will be here soon. He will allow you to leave. Do nothing that would displease him else you will regret it.”

“What am I to do?” Alart shouted.

“Hold to your place,” Gwent said. “The master will be here soon. He is clothing himself. The rest of you men, stay back. Make no move toward the woman.”

It was as if they had planned this, but Hastings knew they hadn’t had the time. No, they had done this before. Severin was now within twenty feet of Beale. He was as soundless as the night itself, blending into the shadows as would a specter made of spun darkness. Gwent turned to
her and said low, “Speak to her, distract her.” Hastings called out, “Beale, listen to me. I was wrong. It is true that you belong with Eloise. Listen to me. Bring the child back into the keep and you and I will speak of this.”

“Stay away, you lying bitch!”

Hastings lurched back at the venom in the woman’s voice. “Don’t hurt Eloise, Beale. Hurt me instead. You want to, do you not? What if I come to you? What if I agree to do whatever you wish?”

“You lie! I will kill you later. I will make you suffer just as Richard de Luci made his poor wife suffer. Aye, for two days she was in agony, and he watched, furious because we wouldn’t leave her alone and let him finish killing her. Aye, I will make you regret that you tried to take my place, that you corrupted the child—”

Severin’s left arm went around Beale’s neck, his right hand squeezed the knife from her fingers. His grip tightened. She didn’t make a sound. She went limp. Eloise flew toward Hastings, great sobs tearing from her throat.

Severin eased his hold. To his astonishment, the woman’s bony elbow shot back into his belly. He didn’t release her, but it hurt. Had she hit him lower, he would be rolling on the ground, holding his groin.

He tightened his hold and heard her gurgle deep in her throat. If he kept the pressure for just a few more moments, she would be dead. He cursed, released her, and shoved her away from him hard. She went sprawling to her knees on the cobblestones. Her dark hair hung loose on either side of her head to the ground.

“Gwent, come take the woman to the barracks. Lock her away until she returns in the morning to Sedgewick. Sir Alan can be responsible for her then.”

Gwent picked up Beale beneath her arms. She shrieked at Hastings as Gwent hauled her toward the barracks, “You’ll go to hell just as Eloise will, my proud lady. Aye, both of you will die. Both of you will return to the Devil.”

Gwent slapped his hand over the woman’s mouth. She kicked him, but his hold didn’t loosen. He just dragged her faster.

Hastings was holding Eloise against her side watching Severin stride toward her. His legs were bare. He was wearing only his tunic.

“Is the child all right?”

“Aye, but she’s frightened. As am I.”

To Hastings’s surprise, Severin went down onto his knees. He lightly touched Eloise’s shoulder. The child slowly turned to face him. “I am sorry, Eloise. Had I believed she was as mad as my own mother surely is, I would not have left you alone. I promised you that no one would ever hurt you again. Because I was careless, someone did. Forgive me.”

The child just stared at him, frozen in fear. Then, slowly, she stretched out her arm and lightly touched her fingertips to Severin’s cheek.

“You saved me,” she whispered, choking down tears as she spoke. “I forgive you.”

Severin said nothing, just smiled at her. He didn’t move until finally she dropped her arm. “Will you let me carry you back to your bedchamber? Nay, I have a better idea. You will sleep with me and Hastings. I have found that it is not good to be alone after a nightmare, and this was surely a nightmare.”

And thus it was that Hastings spent her third married night in her husband’s bed, Eloise, daughter of Richard de Luci, between them, Trist on Severin’s pillow, his tail fluffing against Eloise’s cheek.

9

“N
OW, ELOISE, ALLIUM IS ALSO CALLED LILY LEEK. IT
’
S
said that it kept Ulysses from being turned into a pig during his travels.”

“Who is Ulysses?”

“He was a man who took many years to return to his home. He lived many hundreds of years ago and had more adventures than many men ever have in three lifetimes.”

“Was he a sinner?”

Had this been the only point in the child’s life? “Well, actually, he lived long before people worshipped our God.”

Eloise didn’t understand that at all. Hastings was smart enough to keep her mouth shut. She gently clipped off columbine, saying, “If you ever have a sore throat, I will grind this up and mix it with just a bit of hot water. You will be shouting about within a day.”

“You know so much,” Eloise said. “I do not know anything. I’m glad Beale is gone. But I’m afraid too, Hastings.”

“She will not be allowed into the bailey if she returns. Alart knows her and he will keep her out. Besides, how could she return here?”

“God would fly her here on clouds.”

“I don’t believe God thinks too highly of Beale, Eloise.
Now, here’s Dame Agnes. She told me that today you would learn about making bread from MacDear. What do you think of that?”

“MacDear is very big.”

“Aye, but you are not to fear him. He likes children. You will see. Go now and I will see you later.”

Hastings watched the child walk away with Dame Agnes. She’d been here four days now, and it seemed to Hastings that her step lagged a bit less, that she took a person’s hand more quickly than before. She still did not eat enough, but she was improving, so Hastings held her peace.

Tonight, she thought. All thoughts of Eloise fell from her mind. Tonight Severin would come to her. She wasn’t afraid, but she did wonder what would happen, if it would hurt as badly as it had the first time. Severin had looked at her some hours before as she sat at the trestle table breaking her fast. He’d said, “I have not forgotten, Hastings, and neither have you. I can see it in your eyes.”

“Do you believe my eyes are as ordinary as the rest of me?”

“Do not test my temper. I have told you that you are less ordinary than many ladies, particularly heiresses. Nay, your eyes are a nice green, at least when you are smiling. When you are mocking me, they turn quite dark and ugly.”

Could that possibly be true?

“Your eyes, Severin, they become darker than the inside of one of MacDear’s cooking pots, as dark as a moonless night, regardless of your temper or mood.”

“That is enough, Hastings. My eyes are a simple blue, not a Moorish black. I wish a good meal to sustain me. Then I will see to my duty.”

A duty. She was naught but a duty. It was disheartening. She had watched him stride from the great hall, drawing on his gauntlets as he walked. Trist was nowhere to be seen.

Well, he would get an excellent meal. Hastings rose and wiped the dirt off her hands. She went to the kitchen to see MacDear. It was a large chamber attached to the keep. It was always hot, what with the fireplace and the three ovens billowing out their heat into the room. Allen, one of
MacDear’s helpers, was taking fruit pies out of the oven. Nan was chopping herbs from the garden to make sauces for the beef and pheasant. A joint of beef was on a spit, turned by Hugh to cook evenly. MacDear was bellowing and sweating, as always, no matter the season, no matter how hot or cold it was outside.

She heard MacDear suddenly laugh his big, booming laugh and saw that Eloise was smiling. Excellent.

“Is this saffron I taste, MacDear?”

She lifted a spoon again to taste the stock from a roasted capon. It was thickening nicely.

“You think it is, Hastings?”

“Aye. I know, next you will say that mayhap I am right. You vex me, MacDear. Ah, Eloise, you are learning to separate the egg yolks and whites. You are doing it well.”

“Allen, you miserable whelp, you nearly dropped that peach pie. By Saint Thomas’s nose, I’ll clout you, boy!”

Eloise turned as colorless as the egg whites she had separated into a wooden bowl. Allen just tossed MacDear a cocky grin, but he was watching more closely now. He was shoveling ashes out of the open oven so he could put in more pies.

“Ah, little one,” MacDear said before Hastings could open her mouth, “don’t fear that I’ll clout you. It is just the spittle cock boys who need threats and roaring, never lovely little peahens like you.”

“Aye,” Hastings said, coming to stand beside Eloise. “MacDear never even yelled at me when I was young. He waited until I gained my adult years. Don’t fear him, ever. I see you are making barley bread. I spent hours mixing the dough, Eloise. MacDear is a stern taskmaster. I will leave you now. The smells make me so hungry I would eat my dinner now were I to remain.”

She met Severin when she went into the great hall. It was already filled with men-at-arms, squires, servants, children, and four wolfhounds, Edgar, the leader of the four, chasing a stick a little boy threw for him. The noise was deafening. Everything was normal. She smiled. It was difficult to believe her father had died but a week ago.

She tried to mourn him, she truly did, and she did say prayers for him, but in her heart there was little regret, for in his life he’d never paid her any heed, never showed her any particular fondness, clouted her when the mood struck him or, more likely, when the ale wasn’t to his liking.

She said to Severin even as she grabbed up her skirts when Edgar the wolfhound bolted toward her intent on the stick that had landed just beside her, “Eloise is with MacDear in the kitchen. He is showing her how to make barley bread. Are you hungry, my lord?”

He looked down at her. “Aye, mayhap I am. You have not yet attended me in my bath. Will you do so?”

She’d seen him naked for the past three nights. “Aye, if that is your wish.”

“Go to our bedchamber and await me.” He turned away from her then to speak to Gwent. Hastings went to her bedchamber. No, now it was their bedchamber. She called Alice to fetch her bathwater. She waited, and waited more. She turned to the bed and saw a lump beneath the covers near Severin’s pillow. She lifted the covers and pulled out the jar of cream he’d used that first night. He’d remembered. He had thought about it and decided not to take any chances that he would hurt her again. Perhaps, she thought, as she replaced the cream, he did care, a bit. Mayhap it would be nice, this mating.

She waited some more, but still he didn’t come. She shrugged and climbed into the wooden tub herself. She was lathering herself with sweet lavender when he strode into the room. She stopped in mid-lather and stared at him.

He walked to stand over her. “When you are finished, I will bathe. You will wash my back.”

“I waited for you but you did not come.”

“Do you wish me to wash you?”

“Oh no, I can manage it well enough.”

“What is that smell? It is nice.”

“Lavender. The Romans brought lavender with them when they invaded Britain many hundred years ago. I believe it comes from the Latin
lavare
that means to wash.”

“Where did you learn that?”

“I am not ignorant, Severin. It is from
Leech Book of Bald,
written some two hundred years ago. I have also read
The Physicians of Myddfai.
If you will leave me now, I will finish and then fetch you.”

He just shook his head, walked to the bed, and sat down. He began unwrapping his cross garters. She washed her hair and rinsed herself as best she could. The drying cloths were on a stool three feet from the tub. She looked at him, now pulling his tunic over his head, at the cloths, and quickly climbed out of the tub. She had just wrapped the cloth around her when she heard a low laugh.

“You move quickly, Hastings. I like your legs. They are long and smooth. They will go nicely around my flanks.”

“Why would you want my legs there?”

“You will see. I—”

There was a knock on the door.

“Enter.”

He frowned at her for speaking so quickly, but said nothing. It was Alice carrying a bucket of hot water, two lads behind her carrying more buckets. Hastings gripped her bedrobe and held it in front of her. The lads, however, just hefted the tub and carried it out to empty it.

“Thank you, Alice,” Hastings said, then saw that Alice was looking at Severin, a very soft smile on her face. A smile? Then she remembered. He’d said he would take Alice if Hastings continued to vex him with her monthly flux. She just stood there, watching Alice, a girl but three years older than she, sweet-natured, a good worker, a girl who loved to laugh and jest, a girl who’d explained to Hastings why she was bleeding that first time when Hastings was thirteen years old. Had Alice been with Severin, her husband?

“Alice, come here and help me with my boots. My squire is still on the archery field. I doubt your mistress could make a good job of it.”

Hastings didn’t say a word, merely watched as Alice walked quickly to Severin, bent over, and grabbed his boot, laughing, even as she backed closer toward Severin, who was looking at her bottom. He reached out his hand, then
frowned down at that hand and pulled it back.

But Alice didn’t have any reticence. She wiggled, actually wiggled her bottom in his face. She saw Severin staring intently at Alice’s bottom. Would he take her right here in front of his wife? His wife whom he was going to bed this very evening? He had never looked at her so intently. He appeared utterly absorbed, the knave.

“You lecherous bastard,” she yelled at him. Hastings didn’t think, she grabbed up a bucket of hot water and threw it on him. He yelped. Alice jumped away, one of Severin’s boots in her hands.

“Hastings, I did not know you were still here. I thought you had gone behind the screen to dress. Why, I—”

“Get out, Alice. I thought you were my friend, yet here you are, wiggling your bottom in Severin’s face. He is my husband, Alice. I will not allow that.”

Alice looked perplexed. “Aye, Hastings, I know that he is your husband, but he is just a man. What does that have to say to our friendship?”

Severin had his tunic over his head and was wiping himself off with it. His hair was plastered to his head, the bed cover was wet, and there was Trist, his beautiful coat sticking up in wet clumps.

There was murder in Severin’s eyes. He rose, tossing his tunic to the floor. He was quite naked.

“Leave us, Alice.”

Alice frowned from one to the other. “My lord,” she said very softly, her voice gentle as summer raindrops, “my lady does not understand the ways of men. She is possessive. She does not realize that play is nothing more than that—just play. I’ve seen you smiling at me, looking at me the way a man looks at a woman he wishes to bed. Your man Gwent told me you found me comely and wished to dally. As for my mistress, she—”

“None of that matters. Get out, Alice, else I’ll thrash her in front of you.”

Alice looked at Hastings, saw her pallor, saw that she had only a drying cloth wrapped around her. Alice had meant no harm, she’d not lied about that. Had Severin
asked her, she would have willingly run her hands over his body, enjoying his strength and hardness, probably sat on his lap, easing his sex up into her. Why, they would have laughed and groaned and had a fine time. But now, Hastings had displeased him. By Saint Peter’s knees, she’d thrown hot water on him. She had shown jealousy. Alice nearly shuddered. She couldn’t imagine such a thing.

Hastings jealous?

Alice knew her duty to her friend. She drew herself up. “I think I had best remain, my lord. If there is punishment to be meted out, then I should receive it, not my lady.”

Severin looked at the sweet-faced Alice, whom he’d planned to take during the past four days but had never seemed to find just the right moment, what with Hastings and Eloise and Trist in his bed with him and so much to be done during the days, what with new men-at-arms whose skills he had to measure. She had backed up to stand next to Hastings, her hands on her hips. “Aye, my lord, I cannot allow you to hurt my mistress.”

Hastings was staring at her naked husband. She’d seen him naked, but just parts of him, and for brief moments. But here he was, furious at her, standing there, his legs parted, not moving, his hands fisted at his sides. His sex was flaccid in the nest of thick dark hair at his groin. She wished at that moment that time could reverse itself. Just twenty minutes. Of course time remained moving as it always did.