The Seasons Series; Five Books for the Price of Three

by Domning, Denise

  "Will," she called, "find Sir Gilliam and tell him his lady would like a word with him in her solar. He should be on the practice yard this afternoon."

  "Aye, lady," the servant replied smartly and hurried to his task. She smiled after him, pleased by his prompt obedience. So much had changed since her arrival six weeks ago.

  "I heard you call for Gilliam, dear. May I be of help?"

  Rowena whirled around to find Maeve sitting near one of the hearths with her needlework in her lap. What in God's name was she doing here? The woman usually rode out all afternoon with her falcon at her wrist.

  "You must be finished for the day. Oh my, what an undertaking this is for you," Maeve prattled. "I’m truly amazed at your desire to try your hand at it. So, how do you fare?" Maeve aside her handiwork and came gracefully to her feet. There was an odd menace in the way she held her body.

  Rowena hid her astonishment at the question by studying her own stained fingertips. In that moment she knew without question where Graistan's riches had gone and who had benefited. Rowena cloaked her excitement behind a mask of serenity, then raised her head to study the other woman.

  Those odd, colorless eyes revealed nothing; neither did the finely drawn mouth now held in a sweet smile. The gentlewoman lifted a perfectly arched brow and patted nonexistent stray hairs into place beneath her indecently sheer wimple before she waved toward Hugo's domain.

  "I don’t think the wardrober wishes to leave his room open and unattended. Should you not wait for his return, so he might lock the door?"

  There was no care for Graistan or its wardrober in these words; rather it was an effort to carefully guard Maeve’s own source of wealth. "I've not left it open," Rowena replied quietly.

  "You have a key to the treasury?" Maeve's question was harsh, almost shocked. Then, as if to amend her error, she added in a lighter voice, "I cannot believe our jealous wardrobe master gave you the key. That’s hardly like him. I don’t think even Rannulf has a key to that room, and I am most certain Gilliam doesn’t."

  "I had the locksmith make me one," Rowena said, fighting to keep the triumph from her voice. "I won’t be locked out of any room in my hall."

  Hugo flew up the length of the hall, his dark robe's wide sleeves flapping around his scrawny wrists. "You have a key to my room?" he cawed, looking and sounding for all the world like a giant crow.

  "Aye, that I do," Rowena replied as if it were nothing remarkable. "I’m done for today and have put everything away."

  He shoved her aside, his own key already in hand. "You cannot have the key to my room," he protested again. "And how do I know you have put everything away rightly?" He hied himself through the pantlery. The treasury's door crashed against the wall as he hurried inside the little room.

  Rowena knew when he'd thrown open the casket where the accounts were usually kept by his anxious cry and flying footsteps. "You said you'd put all away," he screeched when he again faced her, his hands clutching at the air in panic.

  "I have" was her soft reply.

  "Then where are they?" he screamed, spittle flying from his lips. He danced on his toes in anxiety.

  "They’re locked safely away where only I may reach them." Rowena stood calm amidst his storm of protest.

  Hugo’s eyes widened in horror. "I knew it," he cried. "I knew if I trusted you for even a moment's time, you’d do something dishonorable, something womanish. If you think to dismiss me, think again. I've watched you over this week. You know nothing about keeping accounts."

  "You see what you wish to see, Hugo." Rowena started away.

  "Stupid woman," he screamed, and grabbed her sleeve.

  Rowena yanked her arm from his grasp as she turned on him. "Do you dare to touch me, churl?"

  Hugo released her, but didn’t relent in his pursuit. "Stupid woman, you think to be rid or me, but I’m not so easily displaced. I’m the one who sees this keep fed and clothed. Lord Rannulf will soon know what you've done. He’ll lock you in your solar and put you in your place. I’ve been here through two lords. I’ll be here when you are gone."

  "Hugo Wardrober," Gilliam's deep, angry voice shook the rafters with its power. "What is this! I cannot believe I find you haranguing your betters."

  The man inflated his cheeks in rage. "She’s taken my papers and won’t return them. Years, I have worked for your family, Sir Gilliam. Never has anyone complained over what I’ve done until this-this-this woman. You must tell her to give them back." Hugo self-righteously crossed his arms over his thick chest and confidently waited to see his challenger's comeuppance.

  "Lady Rowena?" The knight's long legs ate up the distance between the hall door and his lady.

  "I’ve finished what I started," she said.

  "And?" Gilliam watched her, waiting for the response they both knew she’d find.

  "Is now the best time?" A jerk of Rowena’s head indicated Maeve's deep interest in their conversation.

  He shook his head. "I can think of no better moment. And?"

  "And forty marks are missing." She stated it flatly, quietly. "Against that, I must also assume those supplies we were sent that never appeared in our storerooms were sold for a profit. He kept no record of that."

  The wardrober gasped. His arms fell to his sides, fingers twitching. He stared in horror at his betters. "That’s impossible," he rasped out, his voice cracking. Color drained from his face. "Impossible," he whispered again.

  "I'm afraid it is very possible indeed," Rowena said. "I believe we should find a secure place for Hugo amid our storerooms where he might remain close at hand until my lord husband returns. We should prepare a second room as well. You see, I believe he’s given our wealth to the Lady Maeve."

  "How dare you accuse me," Maeve gasped in perfectly contrived outrage. "What little I have was given me in pitiful exchange for my dower when I lost my home."

  Rowena turned on her. "Do you name your many gowns and pretty baubles nothing? And what of your frequent trips to the merchants in town to buy this and that? Until now, I couldn’t fathom how you came by your riches."

  Still the picture of irate innocence, the fair woman set her hands on her hips. "Please tell me how I supposedly got that tight little man to give me anything? After all, your husband had to command him just to open the door for you. I cannot believe you accuse me."

  Gilliam’s laugh rang out. "And, here I believed that it was Rannulf buying them for you. I know how you got him to give you my brother’s wealth, just as you get everything you want: you spread your legs for him. You’d do that for a pretty ribbon."

  Maeve's face twisted. But, the wardrober's protests overrode whatever she meant to say. "I? With her?" Hugo’s fingers pulled at his sleeves. "Not possible, nay, not I," he repeated, shaking his head vehemently. "I would never so betray the trust placed in me by the lords of Graistan. I’ve worked here for years and years, and never has anyone questioned me."

  His voice gained strength as he continued. "Why do you believe this woman? How dare she accuse me of wrongdoing as an excuse for her poor figuring and her desire to rid this hall of another gentlewoman."

  Rowena faced him, supremely secure in her ability to count. "I’ll gladly hire any clerk you approve to audit your numbers. I have no doubt that he’ll verify what I have found."

  Hugo’s mouth moved in response, but no sound came forth. Again and again, his lips formed words, but nothing happened. His eyes widened, and he clutched at his chest. The wardrober crumpled.

  Rowena grabbed at him as he fell, but caught only the corner of his sleeve. "Gilliam, he’s not breathing! Help him."

  The young knight knelt at his side and touched his neck. "His heart still beats," he said, lifting the smaller man in his arms as if he weighed no more than Jordan. "I've seen a man die instantly clutching at his chest in just such a manner." He kicked a bench out from the wall and laid the man on it. Hugo groaned, his eyelids fluttering.

  "You," Rowena told a maid, "fetch water and a cloth."

&
nbsp; "Nay, wait," Hugo said, his voice a choked whisper. His face tightened as he grimaced in pain. "'Tis the priest I need. I'll not die unshriven."

  "Call Father Edwin," Gilliam shouted out for anyone who listened as Rowena came and knelt beside the bench.

  "What you mean is you'll not die unconfessed," she said to him. "What good is a tale told to a deaf priest?" Her hard words suggested it would be far better if he confessed to her.

  Gilliam tried to wave her back, but Rowena ignored him. "The truth. You took it from the treasury and gave it to Maeve."

  "Aye," Hugo sighed raggedly, "she has it." He curled against a spasm of pain. "Oh, Lord in heaven, how I’ve sinned. In lust I did covet that woman only to become her slave. Now, my life is ruined because of my sins."

  "Where is she?" Gilliam cried harshly. Rowena looked around. Maeve had been right beside them.

  "Gone," Rowena whispered with a sinking feeling. They'd lost her.

  "At first it was so wonderful," Hugo spoke on, "she made me feel glorious. She was sweet and kind, and I dreamed that we might be wed. I gave her things, beautiful things, gifts of love."

  "Tell the guards to find the Lady Maeve,” Gilliam shouted, springing to his feet. "They are to tear the town apart if they must. Stay here with him," he commanded Rowena, already loping toward the hall’s door.

  Rowena took his place, her arms supporting the wardrober on his bench.

  "But it was not enough for her," Hugo said. "She said it was dribs and drabs and was not she worth more than that?" A single tear trickled out from the corner of his eye. "When I told her I could do no more, she threatened"—his eyes widened and he grimaced in pain&mdash"she threatened to tell Lord Rannulf. I’ve worked here for nigh on thirty years," he told Rowena.

  "I know," she said gently, laying her cool hand against his clammy brow. "You’re a fine treasurer. Never have I seen so clear a hand or so steady a pen. There’s much to be said for the fact that you didn’t try to hide your crime. It is as if you wished for someone to find you out."

  "Perhaps I did." He closed his eyes and coughed out a sob as tears squeezed one after another from the corners of his eyes.

  Rowena held his hand until the priest knelt beside him. Then, anxious to give confessor and penitent their privacy, she shooed the servants away.

  "We have her, my lady." Two guardsmen approached her, Maeve trapped between them. The noblewoman cursed and fought, her feet kicking out at them even while they tightly held her arms. "She tried to leave by the postern gate."

  "Good. Keep hold of her. You," she pointed to a man, "go find Sir Gilliam."

  "Oh do, dear, do find him," Maeve hissed, suddenly quiet between her captors. "And then what will you do? You cannot force your position with me. Think these servants will do your bidding if I tell them no? I’ve let you play the role of Lady Graistan," she spat out the honorific, "but you’re mistaken if you think you have any real sway here. They fear me; they know the cost of crossing their true lady.

  "You there," Maeve called to a woman servant who stood watching the drama play itself out. "Do you remember what happened to you when you refused my order?"

  The maid gasped and cradled her hand to her bosom. She backed steadily away from the front of the circle, glancing from one nobleman to the other. Maeve's laugh was low and cold. "Oh, your servants remember me well," she told Rowena.

  "Threaten one of them and you threaten me," Rowena snapped.

  "Oh tra-la, listen to the peahen try to crow. And what could you do to me?" Maeve sneered. "Besides, you want your fortune returned," she said lightly, as if she were not trapped between two burly men.

  "Bitch." Gilliam strode across the hall, staring in deadly earnest at his sultry former sister- by-marriage. "You'll tell the Lady Rowena what you've done with it."

  Two small spots of rage touched her cool, smooth cheeks. "A beardless boy and a nun cannot take from me what I’ve worked so hard to gain. Do you think for a moment that Rannulf will believe your accusations? Think again. With that commoner," the jerk of her head indicated Hugo, "in his grave, who’ll say me yea or nay? It is I who will win this war. Rannulf loves me well, for he dares do nothing less."

  "You lie," Gilliam shouted.

  "Oh lover, you’re jealous," Maeve crooned evilly.

  Rowena made an irritated sound. "Taunt him all you like, but I believe I know better. As beautiful as you make yourself to be, my lord husband never once looked your way. Instead, the one you wished to be your lover has kept you locked out of his solar. Could the truth be that he did so to keep you from crawling into his bed? He was wise enough not to put himself in your power by committing incest."

  Gilliam laughed in black amusement. "Whore, you’ve met your match, and she’s a virtuous woman."

  Maeve’s face twisted. "Goad me as you will, boy, but have a care. I know well who I am and what I do. What you try to escape is the knowledge that we are two of a kind, you and I."

  He blanched. "What do you mean?" It was a pained whisper.

  Triumph glowed in Maeve’s colorless eyes. "I only covet my sister's wealthy husband. But, as the peahen so cleverly suggests, I’ve only coveted him. Can we say the same of you?"

  Gilliam rocked as if he’d been struck. His skin took a greenish cast. Rowena watched in confusion. What in God’s name was Maeve talking about?

  "My lady," the priest whispered into his lady's ear, "it’s done."

  Rowena turned toward the priest. "Hugo is gone?" she asked, suddenly wishing with all her might that Hugo hadn’t so easily given way to death. The priest nodded. She sighed.

  "I thank the Lord God you were here for him," she said quietly. "Have the servants help you take him, so he might be prepared for burial."

  Only then did she return her attention to Maeve. "What of her?" she demanded of Gilliam who stood as if frozen in place. "Can you make her tell you where she’s hidden it?" Rowena prodded, hoping to awaken him from his stupor.

  Maeve only smiled. "Aye lover, make me tell. But, if I tell where my treasure is, I’ll also have to tell our fine lady all else I know."

  "Nay," Gilliam cried out in wild desperation, then hid his face behind his hands. "No, I cannot," he breathed and fled the room.

  It was a wicked laugh Maeve sent after him, then turned her colorless gaze on her lady. "And now, Lady Peahen, what will you do with me?"

  "Vile creature," Rowena spat at her.

  "That may be," Maeve said as if considering the merits of charge. “In truth I’ve always felt a kinship to the spider who traps the innocent and unwary in her sticky threads. Here at Graistan I found secrets aplenty to fill my web and satisfy my needs. Do you think yourself beyond my power? Think again. Confine me here, and I'll have a servant who knows the value of my coin open the door. Will you separate my head from my neck? Even dead I can still destroy all you have built, for no matter how you try to explain what you’ve done to your lord he won’t believe what I’ve done. He can’t believe, for to do so is to face his past. And, that he cannot do."

  Rowena heard the ring of truth in the woman’s words. A moment later she raised a scornful brow. "You make this puzzle so complex only to lose yourself in your own maze. You’re right; there’s little I can do to you here. But you’ve admitted to certain sins, and I’m duty bound as your lady to care for your soul. It’s time and prayer you need. Nearby lies a small convent and if I remember rightly, their order is silent and most strict in manner. No doubt the abbess will have a quiet cell with a lock on the door where you may spend your time in contemplation while you find your peace with God. It’ll cost me only a little to compensate her for her trouble. When my lord husband returns, he may do with you as he wishes."

  "Nay," Maeve screeched, struggling against her captors. "You stupid twit! You fool! Do this, and I’ll see you pay dearly for it. No one crosses me."

  Rage lent the gentlewoman strength, and Maeve nearly tore free of the guards. "You’ll never get your coins from me," she threatened.

 
; Lady Graistan only laughed. "Believe me, sister, if I don’t get the coins themselves, I’ll find a way to get their value from you. Bind her and take care how you do it," she bid the guards. "She’s a sly vixen and mustn’t be allowed to escape. I’ll go with you to pay my respects to the abbess and make certain the cell is appropriate for the Lady Maeve."

  Maeve threw back her head, her eyes blazing. "When he finds you've left me rotting in a filthy convent, he’ll come for me. Then, you must hold dear to your precious solar, for that is all you’ll hold when I’m done with you." The words were uttered like a curse.

  The challenge awoke something dark and hard within Rowena. She stepped forward, her hands clenched, her eyes ablaze with the fire of possession. "What you see now was created by my work and my love. Everything and everyone within this keep is mine. No one, especially not you, will take it from me. This I vow."

  "So be it," Maeve shouted. "If I have to kill you to get it back, I will. You’re no different than the servants. You have crossed me; now know my vengeance."

  Loud gasps and the murmur of witch rippled through the servants. Their lady heard them and knew their fear might just do what Maeve threatened. She raised her voice until it carried clearly about the hall. "Foolish creature, if words are all you have to throw at me, you’re defeated indeed. Know that from this day on, you have no power here. Go, find your peace in the convent. In the name of our Blessed Lady, the Mother of God, I beseech you to confess your sins and cleanse your soul." She turned to the men who tightened the ropes. "Gag her so she can say no more."

  Rowena stayed to watch, but against all logic, fear nagged at her. Why should she believe Maeve's words? Surely, once Lord Rannulf heard the truth, he’d be glad of what was done this day. Even if he cared for Maeve as she claimed, for the good of his hall and his folk, he would have to keep her away from Graistan.

  A soft breeze heavy with the perfume of late spring blossoms set the amethyst silk of Rowena's wimple fluttering against her cheek. She impatiently trapped the ends of her headdress beneath the heavy silver necklace she wore. This simple chain was the perfect complement to her dress, an overgown of silver and lavender silk atop a gray undergown embroidered in amethyst and silver. Magnificence to compensate for her husband's absence.