Scoundrel of Dunborough

by Margaret Moore

  Sir Melvin had rarely been so relieved to see his wife, especially when she came face-to-face and nose to nose with their imperious visitor. If anybody could stare down a harpy, it was his Viola.

  “What exactly did the girl steal?” she asked.

  “That is hardly any business of yours,” the mother superior replied. “Theft is theft, and a sin. She must be found and punished.”

  “Well, then it’s unfortunate that we don’t know where she went,” Viola calmly replied.

  Sir Melvin nearly choked.

  “She said she was going to Dunborough, but I doubt a fleeing thief would go where she claimed. That would be foolish, wouldn’t it?” Viola continued. “And that young woman was no fool.

  “She also claimed to be Audrey D’Orleau’s sister. I suppose she must have been lying about that, too. If she were really Audrey’s sister, she would have traveled to Dunborough as soon as she got word of her sister’s death, not weeks after—unless, of course, something or someone had prevented her from learning of her sister’s demise.”

  The mother superior’s face was so red, Sir Melvin wanted to applaud. If anyone deserved a set-down, it was surely this horrible woman, who’d no doubt kept the news of her sister’s death from that sweet and beautiful young woman.

  The mother superior gathered her cloak about her. “Now that I have the information I sought, I shall be on my way.”

  “Oh? You won’t stay the night?” Viola coolly inquired, because hospitality demanded it.

  “I most certainly will not!” the mother superior huffed before she marched from the hall. Once she reached the yard, they could hear her calling for her wagon to be made ready at once!

  One of the maidservants appeared with a tray bearing wine and bread and apples. Sir Melvin reached for a goblet and took a fortifying drink. “God help me, I’m glad she’s gone!”

  “God help Sister Augustine, or whatever her name really is,” Viola replied as she joined him at the hearth and took a piece of bread.

  “Perhaps we should send word to Dunborough. A swift rider could get there today. Traveling in that wagon, that woman will take another day at least.”

  “I daresay our visitor is aware that the mother superior will come after her, or send someone else to find her. I suspect she’s already gone.”

  “You’re right as always, my dear.”

  “I think a letter to the bishop in charge of Saint Agatha’s might be in order. There’s no excuse for keeping the knowledge of a family member’s death a secret. Nor do I imagine that mother superior is a tender guardian of novices in her care.”

  “A fine idea, my dear,” Sir Melvin said, patting his beloved wife’s hand.

  * * *

  A slight clearing of a throat made Celeste look up. She was packing away the last of Audrey’s gowns, the one of red silk, as well as the tapestry and bed curtains, in the large chest. Once that was done, they would be ready to be taken away, and she would never see them again.

  “Lewis is below,” Lizabet said from the doorway, “and wishes to speak with you.”

  Not Gerrard, then, Celeste thought as she closed the lid of the chest. She’d been wondering how long it took to get from the church to the castle stables and have two horses saddled. Longer than she’d assumed, apparently.

  Unless something had happened at the castle to prevent Gerrard from returning with the horses. Maybe he had decided not to take her to the maidservant after all, or that it was a useless endeavor. Perhaps he thought there wasn’t time to get there and return before the sun set. If so, the least he could do was send word.

  “These chests and boxes are ready for Bartholemew and Marmaduke,” Celeste said, straightening, “should they come by later to collect them.”

  “Won’t you be here, Sister?”

  “Perhaps not. Gerrard and I were planning to see Martha.”

  Lizabet’s eyes widened, as if going to see Audrey’s former maidservant was a shocking thing to do.

  “Is there some reason I should not?” Celeste inquired.

  “I guess it won’t do any harm,” Lizabet replied, “but the poor woman’s not been right since your sister died. She won’t come back to Dunborough for love nor money.”

  Celeste was relieved to hear that Lizabet’s hesitation was due to concern for the maidservant and not anything to do with Gerrard.

  “I’ll be gentle with her,” Celeste assured Lizabet.

  “Is there anything else I should do, Sister?”

  “Tidy a bit, if you would, and then start a pottage for later. I’m not sure when we’ll be back,” Celeste replied before she left the room and went to see what had brought Lewis there.

  “Good day to you, Sister!” he cried, taking a few steps toward her and smiling shyly. He had a long, thin bundle wrapped in cloth in his hand and he thrust it toward her. “I brought you some candles.”

  “How kind!”

  She began to unwrap the bundle. “Oh, Lewis, these are too fine to give to me!” she exclaimed when she discovered five well-made beeswax candles.

  They were the best candles money could buy, too expensive for her to accept, even if they would burn brighter than a rushlight and aid her searching at night in the short time she had left.

  The lad both blushed and beamed with delight. “Not at all, Sister.”

  “Please give your father my thanks, too,” she added, certain such a fine gift had to come from both, and suspecting that Norbert sought to gain her favor by giving her a present.

  To her surprise, Lewis frowned and did not look pleased. “They’re from me, Sister. My father wouldn’t give anything so nice to anyone.”

  She wasn’t quite sure how to respond, except to say, “Then thank you, Lewis.”

  He looked around the room. “Are you going to sell the furniture, too?”

  “Yes. I have to pay Audrey’s debts, including what she owed to your father, and I won’t need furniture when I leave.”

  “You’re really going back to the convent, then?”

  “Yes.”

  Although not Saint Agatha’s, if she couldn’t find her father’s hidden cache, but he didn’t need to know that.

  The young man’s gaze grew more intense. “My father wanted to marry your sister. He was angry when she refused him. After she died, he said he wasn’t surprised she was murdered. She had it coming for playing with men’s hearts. He said there wasn’t a man she met she didn’t try to seduce, including Father Denzail.”

  This was exactly what Celeste had suspected, that Duncan MacHeath wasn’t the only man in Dunborough with a grudge against her sister. He simply could have been the only one to take violent action. And it seemed Gerrard might have been right about Father Denzail.

  “I’d never say anything like that, or believe it, either,” Lewis went on.

  To give herself time to think, Celeste set one of the candles in the candleholder and put it in the center of the table.

  “Ewald wanted to marry her, too, but she said no to him, as well. There were others who asked for her hand, men not worthy enough to touch the hem of her gown.”

  Celeste was about to ask him who those men were when an irate Norbert appeared in the doorway.

  “Lewis!” he snapped. “What are you doing here?”

  The young man jumped as if an arrow had pierced his chest.

  Celeste moved to intercept his father, the man who had apparently said such cruel things about Audrey, but who was all sweetness and light to her. “He brought me a gift.”

  Norbert’s gaze darted to the candles on the table and the one in the stand. “You gave her—” He took a deep breath, yet despite his efforts to calm down, his flushed face betrayed the extent of his rage, reminding her of the potential for a father’s or a husband’s tyranny.

 
“I’m most grateful,” Celeste said, trying to pacify him. “Those I don’t use I shall take back to the convent as a gift to the order.”

  “Please do,” Norbert said with a weak smile and angry eyes. “Come along, Lewis. We’d best get back to the shop.”

  “One moment,” she said. “You never told me how much money Audrey owed you.”

  “Ten marks, or thereabouts,” Norbert replied. “Of course, should you sell me the house...”

  Never. Never would she sell that man this house. “I don’t have the money yet, but I shall before I leave Dunborough.”

  Without a word, an obviously embarrassed Lewis sidled to the door and went out, while Norbert nodded and bade her good day. Then he, too, left her house.

  She felt like scrubbing the floor where he had been standing.

  That he had dared to think that Audrey should marry him! The only chance he would ever have had with her was if he were a king, and probably not even then, no matter how ambitious Audrey was. Were all men vain and selfish? It seemed so. She would be glad to return to the serenity of a daily life of prayer, contemplation and service in the convent.

  A sharp cry of pain came from the yard.

  Gathering up her skirts, Celeste ran outside, to find Norbert, his fist upraised, standing over Lewis. The youth was huddled on the ground, his arm thrown over his head to protect it from his father’s blows.

  “Stop!” she cried, running toward them.

  His face nearly purple with rage, Norbert lowered his arm. “I shouldn’t have to hare after my son,” he said defensively, “and he shouldn’t take things without asking. He didn’t have permission to leave the shop, either. It’s a busy day and he should be there.”

  “If the day is so busy, shouldn’t you be there?” Celeste demanded as she helped the young man to his feet, disgusted by the violence men could be capable of. Yes, she would be happy to go back to the convent, regardless of any sacrifice that entailed.

  By now, Lizabet had come from the house, Celeste’s cloak over her arm. A family on their way to market stopped and stared, and others traveling to and from the town slowed to watch the confrontation in the yard.

  Celeste ignored the onlookers and focused on Norbert. “Since Lewis gave me the candles without your knowledge or approval, I will gladly return them, or pay you for them when I make good on Audrey’s debts.”

  Norbert glanced at the growing, curious crowd and became contrite. “No, no, Sister, that won’t be necessary. You may keep them, as my gift to you.”

  “And Lewis’s,” she added before addressing the young man himself. “Although in future, Lewis, I suggest you ask permission.”

  “I did,” the lad unexpectedly declared, “and the miserly old skinflint said no.”

  “Why you—” his father cried, raising his hand again.

  Celeste swiftly moved to block the blow. It landed hard on her shoulder, sending her down on one knee.

  At the same time, Gerrard’s voice rang out across the yard. “Raise your hand to her again and, by God, I’ll cut it off!”

  Chapter Fourteen

  His broadsword slapping against his thigh, Gerrard came striding across the yard toward them. The chandler, looking as if he might be sick and with good cause, backed away, for Gerrard was clearly, frighteningly outraged. Lewis staggered to his feet but didn’t seek to interfere, not did any of the onlookers.

  Scowling, Gerrard pulled his sword from its sheath and placed the tip against the trembling chandler’s chest. “Now then, Norbert,” he said, his voice hard and remorseless, “what gives you the right to strike this woman?”

  “I didn’t mean to hit her,” the chandler sniveled as he held his arms wide in surrender. “She got in the way.”

  “Because he was going to hit his son again and that I will not permit,” Celeste explained, coming closer. She was angry at Norbert, yet sought to keep her tone moderate, lest her words enflame Gerrard’s temper more.

  “He stole from my shop!” Norbert cried, looking desperately to the curious spectators for support. “If a father can’t discipline his own son—”

  Not a single person came to his defense, nor did anyone regard him with empathy. Some began to go on their way, others stayed behind, clearly curious to see what would happen next. Norbert fell silent when he got no sympathy from anyone and saw the stern expression on Gerrard’s face. Perhaps the chandler hadn’t heard of Sir Blane’s methods of disciplining his sons. If he had not, Celeste had, and it was no wonder Gerrard sought to intervene when Norbert struck his son.

  Swallowing hard, the trembling Norbert raised his hands higher in supplication. “I was angry and the lad needs to learn he can’t simply take things from the shop.”

  Gerrard slowly lowered his sword, but didn’t sheathe it. “Shall I have him thrown in the dungeon and brought before the king’s justice?” he asked with cold deliberation.

  Lewis turned as pale as snow.

  “Gerrard, please,” she said, putting her hand on his arm, hoping he didn’t mean what he said.

  He turned to regard her as if she were some lowly minion who dared to speak, not the woman he had embraced with passion. Or a nun.

  His dark brows lowered, his lips a hard, thin line, Gerrard said, “If Norbert wishes to teach his son a lesson, how better than to show him the lawful consequences of theft?”

  “I’m willing to pay for the candles,” she replied.

  Still Gerrard’s expression did not change nor did he even seem to notice her hand upon his arm.

  “I’m certain he’s learned and you can be merciful,” she pleaded, clutching him a little tighter, feeling the strength in his tense muscles.

  Gerrard didn’t answer her. Instead, he addressed Lewis. “Have you learned it’s wrong to steal?”

  “Yes!” the young man cried, falling on his knees and nearly in tears. “I have! I promise you I have!”

  “And you, Norbert?” Gerrard demanded, glaring at the man. “Have you learned that you must never again strike a woman so long as you live in Dunborough?”

  The chandler rapidly nodded his head and took a few steps back. “Yes!”

  “Good,” Gerrard grimly replied, “because if you do, you will find yourself in the dungeon of Dunborough.”

  Norbert looked as if he was about to swoon.

  Celeste let go of Gerrard’s arm. “And if he strikes his son?” she asked.

  Gerrard’s face still wore that same pitiless expression. “His son is his property until he comes of age.”

  “Surely you, of all people—”

  He held up his hand to silence her, and when he spoke, his steady scrutiny was on the pale young man. “Of course, should Lewis decide to leave his father’s house and seek employment elsewhere, there is no law to force him to stay.” His voice grew a little more compassionate and his expression less stern, like the Gerrard she wanted him to be. “The commander of a castle might be glad to have such a man in his service.”

  Looking as if he’d been handed the keys to the kingdom, Lewis scrambled to his feet. Celeste felt as if her childhood hero had indeed returned, even if he was now more like his brother than the boy she remembered.

  “I’d gladly be a soldier in your garrison, sir!” Lewis excitedly exclaimed.

  Gerrard ran a measuring gaze over him and finally sheathed his sword. “Can you read and write?”

  “Y-yes, sir.”

  “Good. I have more need of a clerk than another soldier.”

  Although his disappointment was obvious, Lewis nodded. “I’ll be happy to serve you any way I can.”

  Norbert, however cowed, and perhaps because he was now several feet away, could not remain silent. “What am I to do without my son to help me?”

  “That is not my concern,” Gerrard replied, his vo
ice and visage ice-like once again. “I suggest you return to your shop and sell some more candles in case you find you need to a hire an assistant.” He raised his voice so that the remaining onlookers could hear. “Should I learn of any mistreatment of women or children in the village of Dunborough, that man will have to answer to me.”

  Norbert looked as if he wanted to curse. However, he said nothing as he left the yard, pushing his way through the people still gathered at the gate.

  Gerrard’s shoulders relaxed. “Go to the kitchen in the castle, Lewis,” he said, his voice calmer yet still firm, “and find Peg. Tell her you need a place to sleep and a cot for the night. And know you this—if you ever dare to steal from me, you will regret it.”

  The young man flushed and nodded. “I won’t!”

  “Then you may go.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Lewis turned to Celeste and smiled with more genuine happiness. “Thank you, Sister. If you hadn’t come when you did—”

  “There’s no need to thank me,” she demurred, very aware of the powerful warrior standing nearby who had shown himself to be merciful and just. Even so, she was aware of the rage he’d displayed and knew the way a man could oppress his household.

  “But I do thank you!” Lewis exclaimed. “I...”

  He fell silent and blushed a deeper shade of red before hurrying off toward the castle through the now rapidly diminishing crowd.

  “The rest of you should be about your business,” Gerrard declared, and the remaining bystanders dispersed, enabling her to see Gerrard’s snow-white horse tied to a post farther along the fence, with a light brown saddle horse beside it. For her, no doubt.

  “Is there time to visit Martha today?” she asked warily.

  “Yes, if you still wish it,” he replied, his expression revealing nothing of his innermost thoughts.

  She wasn’t keen to get up on a horse and the day had already had its share of excitement, but she supposed the sooner she saw the maidservant, the sooner she might have the answers she wanted. “I do.”

  Gerrard nodded and marched toward the gate while Lizabet hurried to put a cloak around Celeste’s shoulders. That done, Celeste had to trot after him, for he didn’t slacken his pace or wait for her.