She sighed, and dropped her head. “All right. I’ll not hurt her.”
He hugged her, kissed the top of her head. “I never thought you would. I just wanted to explain, perhaps ease your offense. We’ll teach her, sister, to appreciate you.”
“Teach her?” She laughed, a tiny touch of bitterness in the sound. “Why should we have to teach her? Why can’t she give me the same chance she’d give anyone else? I have two hands that serve, a mind that reasons, a heart that loves. Am I less than another woman? If I were old and blind and sat in a chair, people would pat me on the head and croon. Instead, they ignore me or talk over my head as if I’m not there or treat me like an idiot.”
“They’re afraid. They’re afraid you have magic powers, for you know them by their smell and the sound of their walk. They’re afraid you can see into their souls, because you can catch them in a lie.”
“’Tis so stupid! Don’t they realize I must use ears and nose and touch to see the world around me? Would they do any less?”
“They just don’t think. Alice, especially. But she’s a nice girl, eager to please, pathetically unsure. If you could only see her, you’d understand. She’s like a puppy, all legs and arms and big feet and big hands. My wife’s so immature, she’s not even formed yet.”
Something in his voice alerted Saura. “Your wife? Is she really?”
He laughed, briefly and with irony. “You’ve guessed, haven’t you?”
“’Tis my magic powers,” she retorted. “That, and your frustration.”
“Is it so obvious? That she’s not yet my wife?”
“Only to me. I know you so well. How do you handle it?”
He stood and paced across the floor and back. “It isn’t a problem, normally. I’ve not yet been knighted, and I’ll live with Lord Jennings until I’ve completed my training. Alice lives at my main holding of Penbridge and learns what she should have learned from her mother. When I’m home, we sleep in separate rooms. The only problem comes when….”
“When what, dear boy?”
“When we must visit and the hostess thoughtfully beds us together.”
“And?”
“Alice likes it very much. She says I’m warmer and more comfortable than her dolls.”
He sounded so desolate, she couldn’t help it, she burst into laughter. “Oh, poor Rollo. Poor, poor Rollo.”
He pulled her braid in disgust and stomped over to the table, snatching a wedge of bread and stuffing it into his mouth.
“That merriment’s a pleasant sound,” Dudley called from the doorway.
“Aye, and it makes me want to strangle her.” Rollo stared at his chortling sister with unbrotherly irritation.
“I wonder if her laughter has the same effect on William?”
Her brothers contemplated that in silence, until Saura choked, “Not yet.”
“Hmm.” John sounded thoughtful, and then perturbed. “Couldn’t you have kept that pig out of the food until we got here?”
“Nay, ’twas beyond me,” Saura said, and went into another gale of laughter. “Many thanks to you, Rollo. I’ve sorely missed your humor and sorely needed a joke.”
Over her head, her brothers exchanged a long look and Dudley began to juggle two pasties with a casual skill. “I’m juggling your meat pies,” he warned.
“Well, stop it!” she said sobering. “You’ll drop them on the floor.”
“First, tell me why you needed a joke.”
“Dudley, the rushes were fresh last week!”
“The dogs are drooling.”
“Better tell him, sister,” John suggested. “The meat’s coming out.”
She snapped, “I can afford to lose some pies.”
“I’ll juggle drumsticks next.”
“Beast! Stop! My whole life’s changed and I’m to be married and the groom is more than I’d ever hoped or dreamed or deserved. Surely I have the right to some tension!”
The juggling slowed and stopped.
“And you’ll never be a good monk with such dreadful habits of blackmail.”
“On the contrary.” Dudley stuffed one pasty in his mouth and flipped the other to Bula. “Used judiciously, it forces confessions from stubborn women who would otherwise never say a word.”
“You’re satisfied with little,” she commented.
“I listen with my heart,” he answered.
Unease touched her, but she was distracted by the pounding of feet up the outside stair. She rose as the boys tumbled into the room. “I’ll tell her,” Kimball shouted.
Clare shouted back, “Your father told me to tell her.”
“I’ll not listen to either of you if you don’t know a more mannerly way to enter a room.”
Clare stumbled, clumsy perhaps, or Kimball shoved him, she could not tell, and she ordered, “Stand right here in front of me, both of you.”
“You’re in trouble,” John crooned, “when she gets that tone in her voice.”
“She can still make me tremble,” Dudley agreed.
“That’s enough,” she told them, and then to the boys she said, “All right. Lord William sent me a message. To whom did he give it?”
“Me!” Clare said fiercely.
“I’m older!” Kimball complained.
“And capable of more responsibility,” she agreed. “So we must teach Clare that same responsibility, and this is how we do it.” Kimball said nothing, and she smoothed his hair on the back of his head. “Isn’t that right?”
“Aye, my lady.”
“Spoken like a true knight,” she praised. “Now, Clare, what is the message?”
“Lord William thought you’d like to be alerted,” the boy said. “Sir Charles and his party have arrived in the bailey and there’s more dust in the distance. The guests are arriving early.”
“Oh, my.” Saura sank back down on her bench. “Three days early. Praise God I’ve done so much of the preparations in advance. But nothing can cure a cold meal on the table, and the beds not ready.”
In her mind, the truth brought a shiver. The danger crept closer as the guests flocked to the castle. Who now would keep William safe from danger?
thirteen
Looking up from his appraisal of the young stallion, William noticed the young men observing him. They stood in a row outside the stall: Rollo and Dudley on the ends, John and Clare holding Blaise’s hand in the middle. The golden afternoon sun touched their fair complexions with color and lit their solemn expressions for his study. Even Blaise, all unknowing of their mission, stared at him with unblinking intensity.
Loosed of his rigid restraint, the destrier reared and bucked. William vaulted to the top of the gate and said, “I’ll come out, shall I?” Lowering his feet to the ground, he motioned to the boys to follow him. In the hay-strewn corner beside the stack, he pulled benches into a semicircle and waved them to their seats. They sat two to a bench and William willingly took a stool in the middle. Blaise rolled on the floor in the straw between them.
Resting his great hands one on each knee, William peered directly at each brother in turn. “You wished to speak to me?”
Given permission, they exchanged glances and Rollo agreed. “About several things, my lord. The first, and perhaps the most important, is the tale John brings us.”
William transferred his attention, and John straightened beneath the weight of so many sober eyes. “I don’t want you to think I’m trying to increase my own importance by repeating tales, but this is such a fantastic story, I feel I must warn you. I’m fostered with Sir Hutton of Gent. Not a rich landholder, and unable to provide well for the knights he hires.” His background given, he took a deep breath; the news he brought rested heavy on his shoulders. “One of those knights left Gent eight days ago to seek his fortune in London and arrived back in only four days.”
“He rode like the wind,” William commented.
“Aye, for he brought great news. Eustace is dead.”
“Eustace?” William puzzled brief
ly, and then straightened his spine with a snap. “King Stephen’s son?”
John nodded. “His heir and eldest son. Is this God’s judgment on King Stephen for usurping the throne of England?”
“Perhaps. If ’tis true. Such tales are too often rumors that seep from place to place by unseen channels.”
John assured him, “The man is honorable, my lord, and saw enough to convince him.”
Sadly, William shook his head. “Stephen has another son, and Matilda’s son Henry presses claim—with more right, some believe, than any of Stephen’s spawn. What a dreadful maelstrom we find ourselves in! Thank you for alerting me. Had a guest brought the news, I might not have been able to guide the conversation with any intelligence. God knows, with such an occurrence, there’ll be fighting among the landholders, the knights, the women.”
The boys nodded in unison, even Blaise, who watched them with great wondering eyes. William laughed at the serious imitation on the little boy’s face, and ruffled his hair. “But that’s not why you came to me. What else preys on your minds?”
Again that brief exchange of glances, and again John was elected to speak. “When our father sent word Saura was to be married, we each took the fastest road to Pertrade and found him wringing his hands and mourning the loss of her lands, but we could gather no more information from that pitiful—” He pulled up short. “We don’t know yet why you wish to marry her.”
A small smile touched William’s mouth. “Is it so strange I should wish to wed a beautiful young woman?”
“Who is blind.”
“Damn it!” William had heard that one too many times. “Is that so important?”
Astonished, then pleased, the brothers shifted and settled themselves, now comfortable with his attitude. “Not at all,” John said. “But she’s more vulnerable than other women. Are you prepared to protect her?”
William’s face lost all expression, and his eyes glittered with an intense concentration. “What have you heard?” he asked softly.
“Naught, but she’s a woman who needs more than the usual protection. We just—” John stopped short. “Wait. What should we have heard?”
“It’s their kidnapping,” Clare blurted. All his brothers stared at him. He reddened, and then cringed as William cleared his throat noisily.
“They were kidnapped?” Rollo said with heavy forbearance.
Clare nodded, glancing at William and then at his eldest brother.
“Tell us about it, Clare, lad,” Rollo instructed.
William watched Clare steadily, waiting for the boy to decide where his loyalties lay: with his brothers or with the knight who fostered him. At last Clare said to Rollo, “If my Lord William believes you should be informed, he will do so.” Then he dropped his head, embarrassed and not at all sure he’d made the right choice.
Rollo patted his hand and John hugged him around the shoulders. William watched them and decided the duty that required him to love his wife’s brothers could stretch to hold respect and liking. “There’s more to the story than Clare could tell you, and I’d be glad of your helpful surveillance.” With an efficient lack of detail, he filled them in on the accident that had blinded him, the kidnapping, the continued threat from a mysterious source. They listened incredulously, saying nothing until he concluded, “I’ll not tell you who my primary suspects are. I fear to direct your attention. Watch them all.”
“Well!” Rollo exploded. “An incredible tale.”
“Do you still approve of my plan to marry your sister?”
To William’s surprise, the brothers laughed with various degrees of irony and amazement. “Oh, there’s no question about our approval. What good would it do if we disapproved? Saura’s made up her mind to have you, and have you she will. She’d never thank us for our interference.”
“Then why doesn’t she want to wed?” William demanded.
Rollo asked sharply, “Why do you say so, my lord?”
“Oh, she’ll do it, but with reluctance. She’d rather live in the shadows, accepting bits of my attention and depending upon my goodwill.” His bitterness rang out, and one by one the brothers dropped their gazes from his. William deduced more from their lack of response than they desired. “So you know why. Explain this puzzle to me, please, for I ache with the blow to my…my pride.”
The boys looked to Dudley, expecting him to speak for them. “That’s her legacy from my father,” he said gently.
“How can you say that?” William asked. “He gave her nothing.”
“Like the evil fairy at the christening, my father gifted us all with something vile.”
William stared at them. They no longer sat with negligent grace, but shifted as if the benches had developed splinters. Dudley explained, “We are men, unscarred, outwardly perfect. But inside ourselves, Theobald has affected us.” Dudley touched the simple crucifix that hung around his neck, the first sign of nervousness William had seen him make. “John will not drink wine, in any amount. He fears the monster who dwells inside every man and waits for a lack of control to pounce. Rollo would never beat his wife, no matter how richly she deserved it. He abhors cruelty to women. I, well, I thank God my vocation frees me from the complexities of family, for I bear a great fear of hurting someone with word or deed.”
“What about me?” Clare asked with innocent trust.
Dudley smiled at him. “You’re perfect.” Clare still stared up at him, waiting, and he said, “Sometimes I think you’re just the slightest bit timid.”
With the sudden appearance of a summer storm, Clare’s eyes filled with tears.
“In sooth, you think he’s timid?” William remarked. “I hadn’t noticed.”
The boy’s smile appeared as suddenly as his tears, and Dudley winked at William.
“I understand,” William said soberly. “Must this little one carry a scar, also?”
Blaise piped up in clear tones, “I have a scab on my knee and one on each elbow, but Mama says they won’t scar.”
William stared, astonished.
John chuckled. “Is that the first time you’ve heard him speak?”
“Aye.” His gaze roved over the brothers, stiff with pride and amusement. “Does he understand all?”
“And says little,” John agreed. “But when he talks, he’ll be our diplomat, he will. Our father’s afraid of him, our little stepmother protects him. She’s worthless as a chatelaine, but fiercely protective as a mother.”
Rubbing his hands across his eyes, William said, “Tell me then, what is Saura’s scar?”
“A feeling of unworthiness.”
Remembering the stories Maud had told of Theobald’s abuse, William understood. “But I am no great prize.”
“False modesty, my lord. You’re very rich, the sole heir of a great family. You are the greatest warrior in England, and much admired.”
“I’ve got a roaring temper, I’m rough and uncultured, I’m not interested in politics or life in the court. I sit before a warm fire in the winter and ride the woods in the summer. I like to fight and rut and eat. Do I seem like a great marriage prize?”
“You seem like a simple man.”
William shrugged in disclaimer. “Just a man, and one who can hardly believe that Saura struggles with the demons in her depths. She is the most restful woman I know.”
“Except when she makes you long to murder her,” Rollo complained.
“There’s that,” William agreed. “Stubborn, outspoken.”
“Determined, intelligent.” John continued.
“Bossy.” Clare put a wealth of disgust in that one word, and everyone laughed.
Dudley folded his hands on his lap and said rapidly, “This does bring up the one subject it’s my sworn duty to discuss with you.”
As if raised by a spring, Rollo bounded up and dusted his seat. “Time to leave!”
John rose in agreement. “Past time. It has been a pleasure, my lord.”
William watched, amazed, as the two brothers fled
toward the open door.
“Cowards, come back and sit down,” Dudley called. The men stopped at the entrance, pulled by the authority in his voice but reluctant to return. “You know this should be said. You’d be ashamed if ill fell from your reluctance to interfere between man and wife. Lord William will forgive us our intrusion, and mark it down to brotherly concern.”
Moving with a creaking reluctance, they dragged themselves back. John seated himself on the corner of the bench and Rollo stood behind, shifting from one foot to the other. Clare stared at his brothers, wondering about their uneasiness, and Blaise tasted a handful of dirt and chewed with obvious enjoyment.
“That’s no good for you, my lad. Stand up.”
Blaise stood, and William looked him up and down. “How old are you?”
“I have four years, sir,” the boy answered promptly.
“Why do you eat dirt?”
“Because it tastes good.”
William didn’t laugh, a restraint he was pleased with. “Any lad who is old enough to learn to ride a horse is too old to eat dirt.”
“Ride a horse?” Blaise lit up, and then asked suspiciously, “Who will teach me?”
“I will,” William leaned down so his gaze and the boy’s met, “and I never break my promise.”
Blaise thought about it. “As you wish, sir, I’ll not eat any more dirt. And I never break my promise, either.” He wiped his black-rimmed mouth and sat down at William’s feet, his arms crossed.
William brushed the boy’s black bangs off his forehead. “His hair’s too long.”
“He’s a demon when faced with the shears,” John excused.
“I’ll take care of it.” William sifted a handful of straw over Blaise, and the boy grabbed it and tossed it back. “Now, what bothers you, Dudley?”
The young monk refolded his hands, arranging his fingers with fussy precision, and cleared his throat. “Mother Church teaches us many things about women. They’re the descendants of Eve, temptresses all, and for their sin they are subservient to their fathers and then their husbands. They’re frivolous and light-minded, and ’tis a husband’s duty to discipline his wife. A wife who’s undisciplined is a wife who rules the home, to the detriment of all. Women shouldn’t be beaten too vigorously, nor with a cane any bigger than the width of a man’s thumb.” Dudley held up his thumb as illustration, then shifted his gaze from William to his hand and held it there. “Our sister Saura is at times a difficult woman. As we’ve commented, she is determined and outspoken. She’s honest to a fault and, worst of all, she’s intelligent.”
Candle in the Window: Castles #1 Page 22
