The question so took her aback that she could only stare at him. When she said nothing, he laughed and seated himself in the chair she'd left. With his long legs stretched out before him, he looked only marginally more comfortable than Gilliam had in the same chair.
"What you said to Jordan," her husband offered a moment later, "it was good. I only told him that he had to do the chore. You told him the why of it." His voice was almost choked, as if it cost him to say the words.
Rowena’s surprise grew. Was this a compliment? "He’s a good lad," she said quietly.
"What is this name my son calls you?" Rannulf peered up at her, his expression neither hostile nor friendly.
A self-conscious laugh left her. "Oh, that. When I first came to the convent one nun mangled my name so badly it came out Wren and so it stayed these many years. It’s silly I suppose, but I’m accustomed to it and it’s easier for Jordan." Her voice trailed off into silence. She was babbling like a fool.
"Wren," Rannulf said softly as if to try the feel of the name on his tongue. "It seems a flippant name, and one that hardly suits you."
There was a tap at the door. "Come," they said in unison.
"Good day, my lady," said Gilliam as he entered and came to stand before the hearth. Temric silently followed his youngest noble sibling and took up his place beside his lord's chair.
"We’re here as you requested, brother," Gilliam went on. "Now, what was it you wished to discuss?"
Graistan’s lord shot a swift look at his wife, then turned his attention on his youngest brother. "I wish to know why the Lady Maeve was sent from my walls with no word to me of your intentions. She’s my ward, and I am responsible for her. Unless you can show me good reason not to, I must bring her home."
Rowena’s heart sank. Gilliam blanched. "Nay," he protested, his voice weak.
"My lord, don’t bring her back. She wreaked havoc here," Rowena tried, her heart falling even further. Maeve was right. Lord Rannulf would bring her home. "She’s well cared for as a guest in the convent at Hazelbrook, more than fulfilling your duty to her as a warden."
Rannulf released an irritated and confused breath, his glance moving from his wife to his brother. "Will one of you tell me what happened that caused you to send her there?"
Rowena fairly leapt to answer him. "We discovered it was on her behalf that Hugo raided your treasury."
"Of that you have proof?" her husband asked softly.
"Hugo confessed," she started to say, but Rannulf waved away her words.
"You’re no priest. What if Hugo sought to ease his own guilt by dragging an innocent down with him?"
"If only you’d seen his pain," Rowena protested, torn between disappointment and outrage at Rannulf’s defense of that horrid woman. "If you had you couldn’t believe it other than the truth. Besides, what did he do with his stolen wealth if not give it to her? What he took is well and truly gone."
Rannulf frowned as if in annoyance. "That’s a different issue. I accept you believe her guilty of this theft, but that still leaves the question of why no one requested my permission before sending her away from my walls."
Rowena shrugged, the gesture covering her own guilt. Each time she'd sat to write for that permission her pen refused to form the words. Maeve had been so certain she return to Graistan. One day’s delay became two, then three and four, until it was too late to write. "We received your message saying you'd soon be home, so we waited," she tried.
"Don’t bring her back here," Gilliam pleaded quietly. "She only seeks to hurt those around her. She can do you no credit here."
"Surely you’re mistaken," Rannulf retorted, the annoyance he’d shown his wife softening into confusion as he looked upon his brother. "She’s lived here two years, and never have I witnessed any misbehavior on her part. No doubt she has her faults, but so do we all. I cannot see that she has ever done any harm."
Between his obvious dislike of her and the growing certainty that Maeve would be returned to Graistan Rowena’s emotions took flight, releasing all control of her tongue as they went. "Harm!" she sputtered. "Ask your servants what she's done. Ask the assistant cook who lost a finger at Maeve's hand. Ask the mother of the girl over whose head boiling water was poured as punishment for clumsiness."
Rannulf shifted swiftly in his chair to look at her. Shock colored his expression and shook his head in disbelief. "How can this be true? If these things happened beneath my own roof my folk would have come to me with their complaints."
Rowena could only stare helplessly at him. It was a question she’d asked herself often enough. Her husband’s care for his home was obvious, as was the care of his folk for him. Why didn’t they go to their lord?
"Because, you were too caught up in your own grief to listen to your servants." Temric's quiet words filled the silent room, his usually harsh voice unexpectedly gentle. "You let the past blind you here, Rannulf."
"Temric," his noble brother complained, now shifting to face his master-at-arms, "you know better than any that my folk have never feared to come to me. Now you say I’ve been a blind fool and mistaken an evil vixen for a helpless widow, then let her torment my people? You know that’s not true."
His bastard brother stood unswayed by the assault. "Do I need to remind you that Maeve came here because she’d impoverished her dower property? Such a woman cares nothing for the folk she uses. I think you know that as well as I, although you long refused to see it. You have a wife now, Graistan has its lady. Leave Maeve where she is."
Gilliam's face twisted. "If you return her to Graistan, I pray you release me from my oath to you so I may seek my fortune elsewhere. I cannot be under the same roof with that woman."
That brought Graistan’s lord to his feet with a start. "What?!" he demanded in shock. "But you’ve only just returned home. Where will you go?"
"To King Richard in France. It will be one less knight's fee you must pay." Gilliam tried for a jaunty smile and failed.
"I cannot believe this," Rannulf cried, throwing up his hands in frustration. "My older brother lectures and my youngest brother threatens to leave home all because of one helpless woman. What is wrong with you two? By God, my wife is near believing the woman a witch!" His shoulders tightened until Rowena feared his bones would crack, then he whirled and strode to the door to slam his fist against the wood. The sound of the blow reverberated in the quiet room, tangling with the rasping sound of his angry breathing.
A moment later and Rannulf turned to look back at those in the chamber. His face was dour, his eyes like hard steel. "So, to keep you happy, she must go," he ground out. "But what of me? Will any man trust me again if I break my word and send one so defenseless from my hall? So, tell me, if I’m to save my honor what can I do with her?"
Rowena gave a quick, sarcastic laugh. "Just like a man to forget that women have but two choices in life, the Church or marriage," she whispered to herself.
Her voice wasn’t low enough. Rannulf whirled toward her, his eyes wide in astonishment. He loosed a relieved breath. "Aye, and I know the man. Was not John of Ashby just telling me how he despaired of finding a wife he could afford? I’ll offer him Maeve."
"Wait," she protested. "Nay, I spoke only in jest. She's fit for no man. Leave her to the Church."
Her husband paid her no heed as he spoke over her words. "Of course, how foolish of me not to see this for myself. I can give her no dowry, but I’ll lower the amount of foods and goods Ashby owes Graistan for Maeve’s life span. Aye, and I'll give him a bigger portion of the bridge tolls."
"Not the tolls," Rowena cried out. "That’s too much value for one of her stature."
Rannulf roweled around to glare at her. "It seems a small price to pay to rid you of her," he snapped back. "Are you so greedy?"
Rowena eyed him for a moment. It was writ on his face for her to read. No word she uttered would change his course. Indeed, any protest she made would only goad him to the opposite course.
"Nay, my lord, I miss
poke," she replied, stepping back to the solar’s wall in defeat.
Across the room, Temric's eyes narrowed in consideration. "But will Ashby agree? The woman’s hardly a prize." As he spoke his usual guarded expression dissolved, leaving Rowena to at last see his resemblance to his brothers. It lay in his strong, angular cheekbones and stubborn jaw line.
"What say you?" Rannulf retorted. "She’s a handsome woman with graceful manners."
His master-at-arms only shrugged. "If you say so. Then, shall I send a messenger to Ashby with your offer?"
"Aye, but I'll have royal approval before I see this wedding done. No accursed fee this time." Lord Graistan smiled wryly. "Ready your fastest messenger to leave for Ashby this night. By mid-May I'll have his approval and have Oswald draw up their contract. By month's end, we'll have the crown's agreement as well. Mark my words, this one'll not be the morass mine has become. We'll see it easily done."
Temric gave a short laugh. "So marked," he replied.
Then Rannulf's brow creased in consideration. "But, here’s the perfect opportunity to introduce my wife to my vassals and castellans." When he looked up, his smile was broad and relieved. "Aye, we'll throw Ashby the finest wedding ceremony possible and invite them all. A rich celebration will ease the sting of having missed my wedding, such as it was."
His words struck Rowena like blows, leaving her fair reeling. "But my lord, we’ve barely enough to keep Graistan until the harvests are in. And, when we do have the harvest, we need everything to rebuild our own stores. Where am I to find food for guests?"
Her husband's grin slipped. "You’ll do as you have done before. Buy what is needed."
"But we have so little," she started, pleading in earnest now.
"If you desire to keep my accounts, you’ll find the resources," her husband raised his voice to override her protests. "Graistan has never been tightfisted before, it won’t start now."
Rowena opened her mouth to argue him into understanding, but Temric intervened. "Perhaps it’s best to save planning anything until Ashby has said yea or nay. Have you anything else for me? No? Then I’m off. Good day, my lady." He bowed briefly in her direction and strode out, surprising the serving woman who had just tapped at the door.
"My lady, Cook would speak to you before you give the command to begin serving. Otherwise, all else is in readiness," she said, then exited.
"Good, for I’m starving," cried Gilliam, leaping away from the hearth wall. He hurried across the room, and out of the door with such speed that it was obvious he meant to give his elder brother no chance to stop him.
"Gilliam," Rannulf called after him to no avail. "What’s wrong with that lad?" he growled out, glaring toward the doorway, then turned his harsh gaze on her. "And what’s wrong with you? Do you know no better than to contradict me before my family? If I say we eat on golden plates, we eat on golden plates, damn the expense."
Astonishment roared through Rowena. He would leave them starving over the coming winter for appearance’s sake?! Outrage followed. "If it’s golden plates you want, my lord," she snapped, "then best you find yourself an alchemist, for your gold must come from lead."
Surprise flattened her husband’s expression, then his face darkened. "Damn your tongue," he bellowed at her. "I am lord here and you’ll not say me nay!"
Nearly lost in her own anger Rowena opened her mouth to retort, only to catch herself. His mouth was twisted into a thin line, and the muscle in his jaw was tense once again. Goading him further was no way to solidify her position here.
She drew a breath and fought for calm, then bowed her head. "You’re right, my lord," she offered in a quiet voice, "I shouldn’t have spoken so before your brothers. I beg your pardon. Being a wife is something very foreign to me, but I seek to learn. I not only admit to an occasional foolishness, but my mouth tends to be a mite hasty as well." As she admitted this, she dared to lift her head a little and send him a small smile.
He blinked. The rage ebbed from his eyes. His shoulders relaxed and his fists opened. "Truer words were never spoken," he replied.
Daring much, Rowena sent him a mock frown. "You needn’t agree so quickly," she shot back.
That teased a short laugh from him. There was new warmth in his gray eyes. "My pardon," he replied. "Now, as to this matter of my treasury, I think we must needs discuss the matter. I need to know the truth."
A wave of possessiveness washed over her. Not his treasury, hers. She wanted no interference in her plans for Graistan. An instant later she caught herself. So, now where was the difference between herself and Hugo? She nodded. "I am at your convenience, my lord."
His eyes warmed even further at her easy acquiescence. "Since this feast of yours will keep us for the rest of the day, we’ll have to find another time."
With his reminder of the feast, Rowena’s own need to have him acknowledge her as his wife before their servants swirled up within her. Aye, to ask him to do it might well remind him that he’d threatened to send her from Graistan. Torn between her need for caution and her need to make this place hers even in her husband’s eyes, hasty words fell from her tongue. "I hope you’ll remember how hard everyone has worked to make this a day of rejoicing. Your folk are proud of all they've accomplished in the past several months. It would do you no harm to offer them praise for their efforts." Rowena nearly groaned when she heard what she had said. Just as she expected his jaw tightened anew, his gaze hardening against the affront she’d done him.
"You’ve no need to lecture me on my duties," Rannulf retorted. "I have been lord here for nearly a score of years and have learned a thing or two in that time."
"Pardon, I didn’t mean to chide. I only meant," her voice trailed off into silence before she could beg him to confirm her position as Graistan's chatelaine. She told herself she could forgive him for forgetting to do it. It would destroy any hope for their future peace if he refused her outright. She swallowed her fear. All in all, it was better to wait and see. Again, she bowed her head to him, the submissiveness of the movement galling her.
"Pay me no mind, my lord. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to the kitchens. I’ll meet you at the table."
Receiving his nod of dismissal, she hurried from the room. After assuring the cook everything was just as she desired, she returned to her chambers. Her husband was gone. She donned a dark green overgown. Although simple and plain, it was a rich samite and a goodly step above her workaday dresses, sufficient for a family celebration. With a fine wimple and a necklet of garnet, which she wore at Ilsa's insistence, she was ready.
When she entered the hall, she looked about with a critical eye. The room appeared right festive beneath brightly glowing torches. Its freshly painted walls gleamed, seeming even whiter against the bright colors in the hangings and on the rafters. The many tables, all covered in white cloths, were hung with garlands woven from flowering branches and willow withes. Her every step brought with it the scent of sweet herbs. It was with pride that she made her way to the high table where her husband sat with Sir Gilliam at his left.
The young knight lifted a filled wine cup in her direction. "Sister," he cried, using his knife to spear a smoked eel off the small tray set at his place. "All this for me? I can’t believe you remembered!" His gaiety was as forced as the grin on his face. Because of that it was no surprise to Rowena that as she made her way behind the table Gilliam set down cup and knife to catch her hand. "Thank you, my dear and most beloved lady for pandering to me."
That he should so overplay the role of a fool told Rowena he struggled to hide his uneasiness over this morning’s conference with his brother. These past months had taught her just how to set him at ease. She laughed, then gently slapped at his restraining fingers, playing along with his game. "Let me go, you big oaf," she chided, smiling at him still.
Gratitude took light in his gaze as he released her. Still seeking to ease him, Rowena took her seat at her husband’s right, then leaned forward to once more address Gilliam. "How
could I ever have forgotten to serve eels when for weeks you’ve reminded me how much you like them."
Gilliam only laughed, then looked at his elder brother. "You’re fortunate to have such a good listener for a wife," he teased.
Rannulf but grunted in response, glancing between the two of them. Rowena lifted a hand, signaling that the meal service began. They dined on venison seethed in wines and herbs and lamb in a richly flavored sauce. With the season still so new, there was little in the way of fruits, but spring vegetables were offered in both soup and stews. As each new dish was presented for her husband's approval, she glanced surreptitiously at him to gauge his reaction.
There was nothing for her to see. When he spoke to her, it was only to offer her morsels of food in a polite but distant manner. It was nearly the hour for Vespers when the cook finally brought out the honeyed sculpture that indicated the meal's end. His assistants carried the masterpiece slowly around the room for all to see. And masterpiece it was. The cook had built Graistan in all its splendor, from green tinted grass to tall walls colored white.
The newly promoted butler, now the keep's highest-ranking servant since Hugo's death, stepped forward. It was he who made a pretty speech on behalf of all the castle folk welcoming their lord home once again and returning to his castle. When her husband stood to respond, he was careful not to forget a single soul in recounting the changes he'd seen and expressed how grateful he was for their efforts on his behalf.
Save her. Not once did Graistan’s lord mention his new lady. It was as though she didn’t exist. Heartsore, Rowena glanced out over the hall. If any of their folk noticed her omission, no one commented upon it.
Once the meal was done the entertainment began. The hours passed, but Rowena neither heard nor saw what went on before her, so deep was her depression. Pray God that he had only forgotten. To think he would hold her in so little regard might well destroy her.
When she could bear it no more she turned toward him. "My lord, might I retire?" she whispered.
He looked at her. Odd, but Rowena thought she saw the reflection of her own pain in his gaze. "Aye, and I’ll come with you. I slept poorly last night and am tired to the bone."
The Seasons Series; Five Books for the Price of Three Page 14
