Candle in the Window: Castles #1

by Christina Dodd

  “I have noticed,” William said, heavy with sarcasm.

  “Still, she’s our sister, and we love her. When our father would strike her, she could not dodge or run and ’twas always a nasty blow. It seems an act of cowardice to strike someone who cannot see.”

  “What he’s trying to say,” Rollo interrupted impatiently, “is that if you beat Saura, you’ll have to answer to us.”

  William stopped sprinkling hay over Blaise’s head and examined them all. “Because she has no father to advise me, you lads take it on yourselves to do so?”

  “Aye, sir.” John stared at him, a worried frown wrinkling his brow. “That is, nay, sir. Not to advise you, but to explain that in the absence of a father’s defense, Saura has her brothers to stand behind her.”

  “You’re good men,” William said, and the brothers relaxed. “Let me reassure you. I seldom even strike my servants. They must display a consistent cruelty to merit such attention, and even then, ’twill not cure an evil temperament.” He thought of Hawisa, still stirring up trouble in the kitchen, and sighed. “’Tis a weak man who must resort to physical discipline. ’Tis necessary your servants respect you for what you do and not just what you are. And I never beat my women, regardless of how much they deserve it.”

  The boys grinned and stood, shuffling their feet.

  “If there’s any assistance we can render to prepare for this celebration, my lord? Preparing the games or the stables?” Rollo sounded anxious. “If we stay within the keep, Saura will have us doing women’s work.”

  “My thanks. I can keep you busy with the preparations for the boar hunt two days hence, and for the mêlée on the eve before the wedding. Indeed, your work outside would free me to watch over Saura in the keep. When a man gets old, as I am, he’d rather stay within and help with the woman’s work than pitch manure outside.”

  “Oh, ho!” John disagreed. “You wish to keep an eye on the guests, more likely.”

  “Aye,” William sighed. “This rumor of Eustace’s death worries me, I cannot lie. What will happen to my poor England now?”

  “The way I see it, things will either get better or they will get worse.” Charles waved his tankard with drunken emphasis, and stared with innocent surprise at the spreading stain of ale on the cloth.

  Outside, the bright summer sun stood high in the sky and warmed the servitors as they finished the preparations for the mêlée, but in the great hall men squabbled and Lord Peter looked grim and forbidding. “If the rumors are correct, and Stephen no longer has a trained heir, by God, who will rule England on Stephen’s death? These last black years of disorder will be a mere pittance compared to the horror of England without a king.”

  “There’s Henry, Queen Matilda’s son, who demands the throne, and if he doesn’t get it, there’ll be two armies marching over our lands again.” Nicholas swore with delicate precision. “When my churls have to spend their time rebuilding their burned-out huts and the harvest is trampled by the horses, my accounts fall on evil days.”

  “All you ever care about is the money,” Charles sneered. “Like a damn merchant.”

  Nicholas rose, his face flushed by the insult. “’Tis better than you! Drunk before the noon meal, and you with not a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of.”

  The guests in the great hall, two hundred strong, broke out in a babble of conflicting optimism and pessimism. William stood and pounded on the table with his fist. “Quiet!” he roared. He wished, with all his heart, this tale of Eustace and Henry hadn’t come on the heels of his wedding announcement. The gentry gathered in his hall had marveled at the tidings that Lord William of Miraval would marry, and prepared with all haste to attend. Then the rumor of death and confusion swept the country, and their haste had turned into a flurry. Before the consequences of Stephen’s heirless state could take effect, they galloped to Burke to exchange gossip and opinion. They brought their outriders to protect them on the road, they brought their servants, and they all came early to feast and sleep and argue.

  The noise slowly faded under William’s towering authority, but the sibilant whispers couldn’t be completely hushed. “Speculation will avail us nothing. Less than one hundred years ago, William the Conqueror vanquished this island and divided it among his followers, and this bastion will not fall.”

  “Well spoken.” From the stairwell came the cheerful voice of a travel-stained lord. “I come from London this day, riding at all speed to attend your wedding, and I leave great happenings behind.”

  “Raymond!” William leaped over the bench and strode to his friend. Embracing him, he murmured, “I’ve been worrying.”

  “All is well,” Raymond murmured back, and then raised his voice. “All’s well, and better than it has been these last years of darkness. Stephen will acknowledge Henry as the future king of England.”

  Frozen with surprise, not a servant moved, not a lord breathed. Total silence descended at last.

  “The Angevin pup?” Lord Peter lowered his goblet from his lips. “Have you seen him?”

  “Aye, and a grand man he is, too.” Raymond strode in. His spurs jingled, his mud-spattered squire limped at his heels, and an excitement lit his cool eyes. “He’s everything Stephen is not: decisive, energetic, vigorous. He’s an easy man to talk to, but one never presumes on his geniality, for an air of majesty surrounds him like a cloak.” Raymond’s voice rang with conviction, his hands waved with fervor. “The clerks and the priests are working out the terms of his succession right now. Stephen speaks of adopting Henry as his heir.”

  “His heir?” Lord Peter said. “Is Eustace really dead, then?”

  “Quite dead. He left court in a pique. He realized his father would be forced to give up the throne to Henry, and it didn’t sit well with him. They say Eustace plundered Bury St. Edmunds Abbey in the morning, sat at noon for his meal, and choked on a dish of eels.”

  William meditated on the news with grim intentness. “A fitting end to the impious Eustace and the eels.”

  “Stephen has another son. What about him?” Lord Peter asked.

  “His other son will be satisfied with the lands his father ruled before he became king of England, and Stephen saves face with this adoption. He says Henry’s succeeding him by designation. I say Henry’s succeeding him through his mother, the rightful queen of England. He’s collecting his birthright.”

  “What terms are they discussing?” Lord Peter asked.

  “That’s the sting. Henry will not recognize the lands Stephen granted his followers, for Henry considers Stephen a usurper.” There was a gasp in the room, and Raymond’s gaze swept them all, bright and amused. “Oh, yes, good people. There will be changes in England.”

  William watched him and judged him to be drunk with the narcotic of power. “Bring Lord Raymond a cup of ale to quench his thirst and escort him to the head table where,” he glanced and smiled, “where my lady has already ordered a place set. Can you eat and talk at the same time, Raymond?”

  “I can’t bring my dirt to table.” Raymond laughed. “I carry half of England on my boots.”

  Saura came forward from where she stood. “I’ve ordered warm water taken to the solar, and there you can wash with all speed and return to these waiting ears.”

  With a nod of acceptance, Raymond followed her as she led him to her room. Every eye in the hall followed them, eager for the tales of monarchy from one who knew the truth.

  Saura waved at the steaming bowls, the handmaidens and towels, and apologized, “Forgive me if I don’t help you bathe, my lord, but I’m needed in the hall. I leave you my competent maid, and if you desire anything, please command her.”

  “Wait.” Raymond stepped up to her and tilted her chin up. “So you’re Lady Saura. We haven’t officially met.”

  A tiny smile tilted her mouth. “Aye, I’d forgotten. Events have rushed at me with such scrambled speed I neglect the courtesies.”

  “You’re beautiful,” Raymond breathed. “I hadn’t
expected that.”

  “Beautiful?” She froze with a kind of horror. Beautiful. She didn’t want to hear “beautiful.” Just last night as she hurried across the bailey from the kitchen, she’d thought she heard a hoarse voice call her beautiful. She’d thought she’d heard footsteps beside her, just out of reach. She’d thought a menace stalked her, but when she turned to confront it, nothing was there.

  “You are beautiful,” Raymond said again, bringing her back from her imaginings.

  “And you’re tired,” Saura answered. “For the controlled and quiet Lord Raymond has loosened the bonds of his restraint.” She pushed his hand away from her chin, and both his hands immediately fastened on her shoulders, halting her before she could step away.

  “I told Lord Peter about you.”

  “What?” she asked, dumbfounded. “When?”

  “All those moons ago, when William had been blinded and needed someone to help him, I told Lord Peter about Saura of Roget.”

  She searched her mind. “Had you been a visitor at Pertrade?”

  “Nay.” His hands kneaded her shoulders and she thought he smiled. “But I’d heard stories from a knight who had. Fantastic stories about the beautiful blind girl who knew everything, who walked without help and kept house for her miserly stepfather. When Lord Peter was desperate, I passed the stories on. I am responsible for your marriage.”

  “Oh, so you’re the man to blame.” She ignored the stroking fingers and put frost into her voice. “Why didn’t you address me when last you visited?”

  “Address the mysterious Lady Saura who improved the cooking at Burke? If you chose not to show yourself, who was I to speak?”

  Her thoughts whirled. He’d known about her, but never told his friends the truth. There were depths to Raymond, depths she didn’t understand. Should she trust him?

  He teased, “Were you hiding in the corner?”

  “’Twas easier,” she excused herself.

  “And now, poor thing, William has forced you to perform for all.”

  “I pay the price for marriage,” she said calmly.

  “The marriage every woman insists on.”

  “Not my woman.” William strolled in, blocking the view from the great hall. With great deliberation, he removed Raymond’s hands from her shoulders. “She’d rather be my meretrix.”

  “But William is forever honorable,” Raymond mocked. “He insists on marriage.” He rolled his neck in weariness, and a faint regret tinged his voice. “God, I must be tired.”

  William wrapped an arm around Saura’s waist and turned her away, but Raymond called, “Stop!” Stepping in front of her, he examined her, then ordered the maid, “Wet me a cloth.” With gentle hands, he took the rag and wiped at Saura’s chin. “I dirtied your face.”

  She laughed, a pure, musical sound of pleasure, and he stared with an air of enchantment. “Welcome to my heart, Lady Saura.” He leaned down and touched her cheek with his lips.

  “Many thanks, my lord.” She curtsied.

  Gruffly, William ordered, “Wipe the dirt off her cheek, Raymond, so we can go out and finish our meal.” Grinning, Raymond did as William ordered. William picked up her hand and played with her fingers, observing her creamy skin and the slight flush that underlay it. She was beautiful, and he couldn’t fault Raymond for seeing it. But he preferred those past days when she was his to look on, and his alone.

  Had she ever been his? It seemed so long ago, he could hardly remember. She looked like a princess, untouched, pure; and wanton with the curves of her body to tempt him. He pulled her a step closer and she came willingly, her hip pressing against his thigh. The touch liberated the thought from his inner mind; kiss her and show Raymond whose lady she was. He pulled her closer again, put his hand on her waist, brought her flush against him. Her hands clasped his arms to keep her balance and she raised her face with sweet readiness. A sudden rosy pleasure at the warmth of their two bodies filled him, and he raised her onto her toes. In a voice as smooth and golden as honey, he murmured, “You’re short for me, but I like it. I like lifting you to me, I like towering above you. It makes me feel that only I can protect you and keep you from all harm.”

  It was heaven and hell. He shut his eyes, blotting out the world, and with searching instinct found her lips. They were open slightly, encouraging him to feats of madness, enticing him to plunge in and create fantasies for them both. He did not. He brushed her with his lips, dragged the grain of his beard across her mouth, and drove her to cling to him in spasms of joy. He wanted to fling her on the bed that sat close at hand, but remnants of his conscience refused for reasons he couldn’t remember.

  His inner mind, the one that first suggested this madness, kept insisting he should pleasure her now, but he nobly ignored it and dragged himself back out of this pit.

  Saura clung to him, whimpering deep in her throat, and held him to her with one hand at his waist. He shut out the world for one more moment, savoring the sound and the feel of her, and then he set her down and opened his eyes. That was almost a mistake. Her head tilted back, still begging for attention. Her lips were swollen, her cheeks flushed a fiery red, and tendrils of dark hair etched her forehead.

  By our Lady of the Fountain, could he wait another day?

  “A convincing demonstration.”

  A voice interrupted William’s intense scrutiny and brought his gaze up to stare blankly at the speaker.

  “The priests say ’tis better to marry than to burn, but it seems you will do both.”

  William cleared his head. This was Raymond who teased them, Raymond who watched with kind interest as he slavered over his woman. Glancing toward the open door, he saw the craning heads of the too-curious servants and the grinning folk at the head table. Reaching out, William took Saura by the back of the head and brought her close to him once more, to bury her head in his shirt and hide her face. He stroked her hair, soothing her, and answered Raymond with rough humor, “If this be hellfire, the sinners would jump into the coals.”

  Raymond laughed, his gaze on Saura. “Trust you to steal the beautiful heiress before any of the rest of us has a chance.”

  The sharp agony of unfulfilled desire made William want to strike his dearest friend for gazing at her in appreciation. Instead he turned the subject with admirable composure. “There’ll be a mêlée after we’ve eaten. Will you be too tired to participate?”

  Raymond tossed his filthy cloak to his squire and stretched his arms toward the ceiling. “Today I could kill a boar bare-handed.”

  “We hunted boar yesterday,” William answered drily.

  “Do we eat it today?”

  “Aye. Come out and have a slice.”

  “I could eat the whole boar.”

  Saura broke into their sparring, turning her face out of William’s chest. “Hurry then, my lord. We await you in the great hall.” She withdrew from William’s grasp and tucked her hand into his arm.

  “You look well kissed,” he told her. “Are you ready to face them all?”

  “I’m proud that all know my lord desires me.” She tossed her head in disdain of opinion, and privately thought she was glad that all would know he’d protect her. Again she remembered that ghoulish whisper in the yard, and she pressed closer to William. He led her back toward the room filled with gossiping folk.

  He had watched the embrace, watched as his friend swept that woman off her feet and kissed her until both were senseless, and he raged and he lusted. Raged at William, powerful lord of all he desired. Lusted after Saura, delicate and misguided enough to want William. When he had first seen her, he’d only wanted to crush her, stomp her into the earth for reviving William’s appetite for life. Now he wanted her as William wanted her, wanted her because she was William’s; wanted her to savor her beauty; wanted her because William wanted her.

  He clenched his fists. He’d woo her, be her unseen admirer, assure her of her beauty when no one else could hear. He’d touch her, too, soothe the fears she’d felt when he
called her beautiful. He’d take her from William before he killed him. Then he’d be satisfied. When William was humbled and then murdered, he’d surely be satisfied.

  fourteen

  Raymond seated himself, and answered the shouted questions between mouthfuls of food. Admiration for Henry colored his every word. “Henry’s twenty-one, young enough to be energetic. He wears out his associates with his breakneck vigor. He seldom sits, his senses are always alert. But he rules his lands in France with wisdom.”

  “To be a duke is not to be the king,” William objected.

  “Between the inheritance he received from his father, the counties he rules for his mother, and the counties he acquired from his marriage with Eleanor, he rules a greater area of France than his overlord, King Louis. He can handle the mantle of royalty for England.”

  “Stephen?” Lord Peter asked.

  Shaking his head, Raymond delicately discouraged any hopes about the current king’s health. “Stephen’s a broken man. The death of his son put the final period on his hopes. The useless campaigns, the treachery of the barons—he could never solidify his claims to the throne.”

  “’Tis treason you speak,” Nicholas suggested, and Raymond turned and considered him.

  “I don’t even know what treason is anymore. If my words encourage the growth of a healthy England, then let those words spring forth.” He grinned at Nicholas, showing all his teeth. “If any lord wishes to steal and kill and plunder, he’d better do it now, and do it well. Law will return to the land. Henry will bring it, and woe betide the man who gets in his way.” He swung to look at Charles, then back at Nicholas, and a message passed from Raymond to his friends.