Candle in the Window: Castles #1

by Christina Dodd

  The other members of the team crowded around him, propelling him forward and away from Saura. Sanity prevailed as he moved away from her; he couldn’t bed her when the day was new and their guests begged for entertainment. “What are we playing?”

  “Football. Dudley brought the ball, and he knows the rules. You must kick it or butt it but never touch it with your hands. ’Tis a exhilarating brawl. We must make merry on your wedding day.”

  “So it is.” William smiled with gentle sarcasm. “I’d forgotten.”

  The guests surrounding them snickered and teased as they bore him down to the bailey. Glancing behind him, he saw Saura coming in the midst of the women, and when he reached the bottom of the winding stair he broke away, muttering about an untied garter. Stepping into the shadows, he positioned himself and waited. His reward appeared above him. Her hand against one wall, Saura walked down the stairs, and William had a clear view all the way up her legs.

  “God’s teeth, Saura!” He surged to the bottom of the stair. “What game do you think you’re playing?”

  “’Tis not football,” Jane answered him cheerfully.

  He stood with his fists planted on his hips, his chin thrust out. “You can’t go out there like that. You go right upstairs and clothe yourself.”

  In a diversionary maneuver he could only admire, the women pulled Saura past him and left him confronting Lady Jane. “We’re going to go for a walk,” she told him. “We’ll watch the game and pick some flowers, and Saura wants to show us her herb garden.”

  “Her herb garden? That’s not what she’s likely to show.”

  Jane slipped around him while he was protesting. “No other man knows to look,” she said blithely. “Don’t worry, we’ll bring her in if the wind starts blowing.”

  That didn’t reassure him at all.

  He didn’t play a good game of football, the women told her with glee. He kept licking his finger and checking the breeze and the big, hard ball knocked his feet out from underneath him more than once. She laughed softly as they peered from the gate of the herb garden and described the action, but she could feel their impatience. They wanted to watch the games rather than chaperone her, and so she suggested, “Your men would play better if you went out and cheered them on.”

  “Do you want to come and see William,” Jane hesitated, and then asked, “Damn, what word do you use?”

  “See,” Saura said firmly.

  “Do you want to come and see William play football?”

  “Nay. If you kind ladies don’t mind, I’d like to be alone. For just a few moments.” No one said anything, and she added, “To think.”

  “’Tis too late for thinking,” Bertha advised, only half teasing. “The deed’s done.”

  “I know.” For the first time in many days, Saura considered her own feelings, and she discovered she did want to be alone. A great desire filled her, wanting the peace to deal with the changes in her life. “I’d just like a moment to rest.”

  The women seemed to understand. One by one, they slipped from the garden and left her alone. She groped her way to the bench in the sun. It was warm and hard, a sleek stone propped in a horizontal level. The breeze didn’t blow into the herb garden, protected as it was by the tall wooden fence and the roses that climbed the wall. Silence permeated the area; not a real silence, for she could hear the voices beyond shouting in unbridled glee. But it was the kind of comfortable silence she’d heard too seldom lately. Alone and at peace, with nothing pressing to do and no one demanding her attention, Saura put her back against the fence and closed her eyes. Smelling the roses and the marjoram, absorbing the light through her pores, she sank into a kind of somnolence. Her mind emptied, her muscles relaxed their subtle tension, and she drifted.

  A tightness in her shoulders brought her back to the garden, and she wondered, in a vague way, what had alarmed her. Lifting her head from its spot against the wall, she listened. A slight frown broke the serenity of her brow and made her frown more. She had let the lazy afternoon carry her away. Why should she be disturbed now?

  No one was there. She listened, but nothing moved, no one spoke. She almost asked, but felt foolish. She hadn’t really heard anything; there was just a chill up her spine and that uncomfortable prickle of awareness.

  Relaxing back down, she eased her muscles until she had returned to the light sleep, and then she felt it. A vagrant wind touched her cheek, a rough whisper echoed through the air. She came up with a spring, reaching out for the phantom, but nothing was there. She listened, listened with all her might, and she heard it. The light football of slippered feet, the forced and even breathing of a demon bent on cruelty. She had heard those sounds before, knew who played such evil games. “Theobald, you whoreson, stop this at once.”

  She stopped speaking, hearing only the breathing. It sounded louder now, at odds with the breeze that rattled the climbing roses and carried the scent on its wings. His silence infuriated her. “Theobald, my cook’s meals have given you a bellyache before. They can do it again.”

  Nothing. No answer, and so she shouted the ultimate threat. “Theobald, I’ll tell William what you’re doing, and he’ll beat you to death!”

  Only a soft chuckle answered her, and goose bumps raised on her arms. It had to be Theobald, it had to be. Yet Theobald would never laugh at the threat of violence to his person. Slowly she stood, a light sweat beading on her forehead, and her voice quavered, “Theobald?”

  “Fear not, fair lady.” The voice sounded muffled, almost inaudible, familiar yet disguised. “I love you.”

  Her heart skipped a beat and began a pounding that almost deafened her. She took long, slow breaths, trying to calm herself enough to think, to trap him, to really hear the voice. “You’re not Theobald,” she said positively.

  “Nay.” The answer blew on the wind.

  “Who are you?”

  “One who loves.”

  The voice was bland, expressionless, terrifying in its control and lack of intonation. She had to bring emotion to him, to raise the inflections that divulge identity. “How can you say that? You frighten me with your tricks.”

  “As long as William lives, your fear—”

  The voice broke off, and Saura heard Jane calling, ladies approaching. She cursed and plunged toward the molester, but she was no match for him. A patter of feet and he was gone, leaving the disheveled Saura to face the women.

  “Did you see him?” she demanded.

  “See who?” Jane asked, puzzled.

  “You must have seen him,” Saura insisted. “A man here talking to me.”

  “Oh, ho!” Bertha said. “Dreaming of your man?”

  “There was a man here, and he said terrible things. He said he loved me and called me fair lady.”

  “No one left the garden.” Duana snickered. “All this poetry has gone to your head.”

  “Nay. Nay, I tell you.”

  Jane laid a soothing hand on Saura’s arm. “Duana’s right. No one left the garden as we approached the gate.”

  “There must be another way.”

  “You were dreaming.”

  “Impossible.”

  “You were asleep and alone when last we checked you. I promise you, you were dreaming.” Jane’s hand tightened on her, and she gave a little tug. “Come, let’s go up to the solar where you can rest properly.”

  Hearing them, Saura despaired. They’d never believe her, they believed only the evidence of their own eyes. How could she convince them? She could hardly believe it herself.

  In her room alone, she climbed up onto the bed, obeying Jane’s injunction to relax. Bare between the sheets, she thought about the strange incident in the garden. It couldn’t have really happened. The incident had such a strange, otherworldly feel to it. If only she could convince herself, convince herself she wasn’t going mad. Reassure herself about her panic of the morning.

  It was nothing, she assured herself. Bridal jitters. Why, she’d heard of brides who sobbed through the
entire ceremony. She wasn’t really unsure of herself. So what if William should fornicate with a serving maid and bring in a poor relation to be housekeeper and replace her totally? ’Twas her he wanted, her he cherished. He said so and he was a man of honor. So what if he were to discover a new love as she swelled with a babe? All men kept a woman for amusement and a wife for children. She wouldn’t care, would she?

  A noise at the foot of the bed made her raise her head, like a rabbit on the alert. Fear sprang into full bloom. Memories raced through her mind: the echo of footsteps, a hoarse laugh, a murmured expression of love. She wanted to speak, but found her voice frozen in her throat. She lifted her hand slowly, cautiously, afraid someone watched her, afraid of…of what? She didn’t know, and that was the worst. With trembling fingers, she massaged her neck until the tendons relaxed. “Who’s there?” she whispered. Then louder, “Who’s there?”

  No one answered, and her heart gave a bound, threatening to beat out of her chest. It was him again, she knew it was. Somehow that man had gotten into her room. Whoever it was coughed, and she relaxed. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t even a man, and now she could deal with the intruder with some sense.

  Calmly, she said, “You can’t fool me. I’m trained to listen, and I know you’re there.”

  Footsteps dragged around the floor, and she sat up and pulled the covers under her arms. Cocking her head toward the sound, she tensed as she recognized the culprit. “Hawisa, how did you get in here?”

  “Ye think ye’re so cunnin’, wi’ your good hearin’ what knows all, an’ your good looks, an’ all th’ men sniffin’ after your tail.”

  Saura said nothing, trying to judge the depth of Hawisa’s mood by the hostility in her tone.

  “Ye think ye can hide your wickedness, but folk are talkin’. They’re sayin’ ye’re a witch. They’re sayin’ your blindness is a punishment. They’re sayin’—”

  “A lot of nonsense, it seems,” Saura interrupted. “Hawisa, you didn’t come in here to tell me what some mean-spirited people are saying. How did you get in here?”

  “I hid behind th’ tapestry when th’ ladies brought ye in.”

  “What were you doing in our solar?” Saura insisted.

  “Our solar,” the girl mocked. “Our solar. Aren’t we important? Aren’t we sure of ourselves? Married this very morn an’ already ye own th’ castle.”

  “What were you doing?”

  “Puttin’ poison in your wine!” Hawisa exploded. “Ye got rid of me, didn’t ye? Like offal ye toss in th’ dung heap. Lord William’s talkin’ about givin’ me away t’ anyone who’ll take me, but I grew up here, me roots are here. I’ll be leavin’ everythin’ I know. I’ll be at th’ bottom of th’ group wherever he stashes me, an outsider.”

  Alarmed by the half-hysterical note of violence in her voice, Saura soothed, “I’m sure Lord William will do his best for you.”

  “He don’t care about me. He only cares for ye. If ye’d never come, I’d not be leavin’. I’d still be top of th’ pile, wi’ them little flunkies t’ wait on me an’ first tastin’s from th’ kitchen an’ me own tap for th’ ale. ’Tis all your fault.”

  As Hawisa’s voice rose, Saura’s cooled and quieted. “Those things are not your right.”

  “I earned ’em,” the woman shouted. “Til ye came an’ changed th’ lock I had th’ key for th’ wine cellar because I earned it. The cook offered me food because I earned it.”

  “Earned it?” Saura asked with scorn.

  “On me back, just like one important lady who earned her husband on her back. Don’t ye know that’s what everyone’s sayin’? Talkin’ about how William follows ye like he’s caught th’ scent of a bitch in heat. Talkin’ about how good ye must be between th’ covers t’ have him marry such a useless, blind—”

  The heavy pewter pitcher smacked the wall behind Hawisa and water splattered across the room. The woman jumped aside, her shout dying of shock. Trembling, suddenly aware of her great transgression, she whispered, “How’d ye do that? How’d ye see where t’ throw it?”

  Saura crawled out of the blankets and balanced on all fours on the bed. Her hair curled wildly about her head, her lips drew back in a snarl, her body was magnificently, unconsciously, nude. “I’m not blind, I’ve forsworn myself. I know every nasty move you’ve made. I know every time you dragged one of your paramours to this bed. I know every sneer you’ve directed at me and at William. I’ll keep you here and you’ll never get away and you’ll wish—”

  The door slammed open and Maud burst in. “M’lady, what—” She gasped at the scene before her eyes.

  Lady Jane followed, saying, “We heard the shouting,” but her comments faded, too.

  Hawisa backed toward them, chanting, “She’s witch, she can see, she’s crazy, I’m afraid of her.” Saura raised her hands, formed into claws, and growled, and Hawisa turned and bolted, screaming, “She’s a witch, she can see, she’s a witch.”

  “What did she do with your silk?” Jane asked, and Saura flew off the bed.

  “Where is it?” she said fiercely, and the sound of her anger carried clear into the great hall. “What did she do to it? I’ll kill her, that shrew.”

  “’Tis out of the trunk, M’lady, and the knife….”

  “I’ll kill her.”

  Lady Jane slammed the door. “You’ve displayed yourself for everyone, and that should wait for the bedding.” Saura stalked across the room, and Jane caught her arm. “Let your maid look first.” Saura tugged, but Lady Jane gripped her elbow and shook it. “Calm down. Your maid can see what’s been done, and then you can check.”

  The silk rustled and the bolt thumped, and then Maud reassured them. “She cut a chunk of one end off and she snipped a few threads in a fringe, but the largest portion is intact. ’Tis nothing a little creative sewing won’t fix, m’lady.”

  “Let me see.” Saura jerked away, and this time Jane let her go. Maud guided her hands to the destruction and Saura felt the swell of heat beneath her skin. “That she-wolf,” she hissed. “Thank the Virgin you brought me in to rest when you did, or who knows what she would have done. That half-wit.”

  Curious and amazed, Jane queried, “What did she say to you?”

  In her fury, Saura could only remember one thing. “She said the only reason William married me was because I’m good in bed.”

  “Well!” Humor lit Jane’s voice. “Someone should so insult me.”

  Saura’s mouth worked until she burst into laughter. “I’m losing my sense of proportion,” she mourned, and then she laughed again. “I’m screeching like a fishwife over her comments when I should be ordering her whipped for destroying property.” She rubbed her forehead with her palm. “I’ll never sleep now. Dress me, Maud, and I’ll prepare for the swearing.”

  One by one William’s men knelt before him and put their hands between his and gave their oath of loyalty. They had done it before, and it was a reiteration of those oaths, a repetition made poignant by their concern for William. Sir Merwyn had tears running down his wrinkled cheeks as he swore, Sir Raoul grinned the whole time, Sir Egide and Sir Dillan shook with eagerness; but they all spoke their allegiance proudly, so their words were heard in every corner of the giant room.

  Next, Saura’s men knelt before her. One by one they placed their palms together in her hands and swore before God they would hold her lands for her. Their words, too, were clear and loud, but they didn’t rise when they finished.

  As the eldest knight, Sir Francis of Wace spoke for them. Seriously, for the matter required much thought and concern, he said, “We give our allegiance to Lady Saura of Roget with pleasure. Still, we have a query we must know the answer to, for our protection and the protection of Lady Saura’s lands. Lord William was blind for an extended time. Will this blindness return?”

  Saura’s chest filled with a kind of hurt rancor. “Is blindness so important?”

  William’s hand touched hers. “In a warrior, it is. They must know whether
or not I can rescue them in case of siege.”

  “Aye, my lady, we mean no disrespect, but if Lord William is having lapses in sight or mind we must know,” Sir Denton explained.

  “I understand,” William reassured them. “I’d think less of you if you feared to ask. But I assure you, my noble knights, I’ve had no problems since Lady Saura rescued me with her healing touch. I’ll prove it to you when we go to subdue Sir Frazer in rebellion.”

  Sir Francis rose and the others followed, murmuring their approval. “Then we’ll be proud to follow you, my lord. Do we go soon?”

  Saura ground her teeth at the pleasure in their voices, and even more as William readily agreed. “Very soon. We’d be fools to let him settle in for siege.”

  The men stepped back and William nudged Saura. “Isn’t it time for supper?”

  “Oh,” She jumped, her thoughts far away. “Of course, my lord.” A coolness frosted her features as she turned away and ordered the tables put up. William let her go, and had she but known it, he understood her concern. Hadn’t his Anne been the same way about fighting? For some inexplicable reason, women worried about a little bit of weapon wielding stealing their husbands. You’d think they’d worry about all the whores of the world instead. He didn’t understand it, but he no longer tried to explain their foolishness.

  Instead he braced himself for another assault on his ears. Nicholas, he could see, was consulting a parchment scribbled with notes. ’Twas his wedding day, and he deserved a respite from this unrelenting rhyming. He tried to be fair to Nicholas. The man had undoubtedly fallen in love for the first time in his life. He understood, for how could any man not love Saura? But when he heard Nicholas declaring his devotion to Saura, to his wife, to his woman, he wanted to beat him to a bloody pulp. He had trouble remembering friendship and generosity when faced with a poacher on his grounds. In fact, Nicholas’s worship created enough gossip that he considered speaking to the man. He knew Saura wasn’t impressed; indeed, everyone with half an eye could see Saura wasn’t impressed. Still, there were always folk eager to spread rumors and malign their betters, and Saura’s marriage had put her in the precarious position of eminence. So he was faced with the choice; should he forbid Nicholas to dedicate vers to Saura and have folks gossiping about his lack of faith in his lady? Or should he assure himself Nicholas would leave soon and take with him his distressing affections? Either way could accelerate the rumors of a rift between William and his friend, between William and his wife. As a fighter, his first instinct was to action; as a thinker, he suspected a bland show of boredom served the purpose better.