"It was all the excitement," Rowena said as she shrugged away the comment, then girded herself to accept without reaction all the subtle, nasty barbs that would surely follow. To her surprise, the fair woman didn’t pursue the matter.
"My, what a stunning gown. I don't believe I've ever seen you wear it. That shade of blue is just the color of your eyes, and those black and silver brilliants on the trim!"
Only at great cost did Lady Graistan stay still while the woman fingered the tiny, shining stones and beads. How she wished she could strike out and hurt as she had been hurt. But what purpose would it serve? It surely wouldn’t endear Graistan to Sir John.
Lady Ashby turned to her husband with a husky sigh. "Oh John, do you think I might one day have such a gown?" Then she seemed to catch herself. "Oh, what am I saying. I'm sure it was horribly expensive, and I most certainly don’t need another gown.”
"If it pleases you, love, you may have three and damn the cost," John replied, his own eyes alight with pleasure.
"Oh, sweetheart, you’re so good to me," Maeve breathed, and leaned full against him to touch her lips to his cheek.
His sun-darkened skin reddened in pleasure. He pulled her into the curve of his arm as he spoke to Rowena. "Have you seen Nicola this morn, my lady?"
"Aye, she was up early and is now in town with my people. Will you come to the table, so we may begin serving?" Rowena indicated the two chairs at the high table set there especially for her guests before she continued speaking. "She said there were some items she needed to purchase. I expect her back within the hour."
"Ah, yes, she mentioned that." John led his wife around the corner of the table as he asked, "Is Lord Graistan about? With all these carts going in and out you'd think he prepared for a siege."
"Nay, nothing like that." Rowena didn't wait for them to reach their seats before she signaled that the servants from the kitchen were to set their trays on the table at the same time that the butler filled cups and the water bearer brought around his basin and towels. Usually, these events occurred in solemn and careful order to give the meal its proper formality.
John pulled the heavy chair out for his wife. Lady Maeve managed to make the act of sitting down a single, sinuous movement, then turned star-bright eyes up to her husband. "Thank you, my lord husband," she breathed.
"My pleasure, wife." He grinned as if he was no more than a score instead of two score and ten. Then, he turned to his lady. "So, what's afoot here?"
Rowena sat beside him on a bench. "Late last evening my lord received word that the bishop of Hereford is coming here to decide the course of my inheritance. My husband has gone to escort his party to Graistan."
John watched the butler fill his cup as he listened to her speak. With a motion to the man, he indicated the servant should linger while he drank deeply, then refill the cup before moving on. "Ah," he breathed in enjoyment. "Graistan serves a fine wine, my lady. Poor Rannulf. To host a bishop is an expensive proposition. Such esteemed guests are quite beyond Ashby's means and, thanks be to God, we never have to bear that burden."
"Oh, my," Maeve breathed as if awed, "a bishop, here. Well, I’m glad this responsibility didn’t fall upon my shoulders. You’re so competent, sister, while whatever I try seems to fall half done from my fingers."
John gently patted his wife's hand. "Now now, love, you mustn’t berate yourself so. You need never worry over such details if it doesn’t please you. What are servants for if not to care for you?"
"I do not know," Maeve replied as if the thought had never before occurred to her.
Rowena turned gratefully away to hold her hands above the washbasin as a servant poured water over them. Her movement hid her disgust. After she used the towel, she bid the man to move on to John. Far better for all concerned if Maeve had been confined to the convent for her life. She’d twist the poor man into knots, only to toss him away when he no longer served her purposes.
"Here, love, will you have some of this dish? It looks like fowl with," John stuck his finger into the sauce, then into his mouth, "with a sweet onion sauce," he announced to his wife. "Very good, too, my lady."
"Husband," Maeve reprimanded sweetly, "you must wash your hands first. See, here is the man with the water for you right behind us."
"Oh, so he is. I'm afraid we've forgotten to maintain such courtly formality at Ashby. With just my daughter and me and so few visitors, well, we have let it slide. Mayhap, you’ll retrain us country oafs, love." He laughed as he washed his hands. After that, he filled their trenchers from the trays in front of him. With his spoon, still held high and oozing sauce, he turned toward his lady. "You realize that to reach a final judgment on an inheritance could take the bishop weeks, especially if the hunting is good. To have a house full so long, well," he hesitated, "would it be better for Rannulf if we leave?"
"Have a care," Maeve said, with just a shade of hardness to her voice, "the spoon is dripping."
"Pardon, love," John said absently, and thrust his utensil into the foodstuff. He wiped his fingers on his robe front as Rowena answered.
"My lord left no word regarding the length of the visit, but he did say that you were to continue here as long as you like and join the hunting if it pleases you."
"John," his wife cried out, a shade too quickly, "we couldn't." When both John and Rowena turned to look at her, Maeve hurried on. "There will be so many people here and so little privacy." Her voice was husky with intimation as she curved herself against her husband's shoulder.
Once again, Ashby's face flamed. "So true, my love. We’d only be in the way, what with all the dignitaries. But, we really should stay until Rannulf returns to give him our thanks and bid him farewell."
"Of course. To do otherwise would be rude," Maeve replied, then smiled brightly at him. "I suppose if it’s only one night that we must spend apart, it’s not so bad. Here, love." She had his cup refilled for him. "There’ll be a lifetime of nights for us."
"Aye, a lifetime," John sighed, then dedicated himself to eating. As with the night before he doted on his wife until she exclaimed she was sated and could eat no more.
Rowena grew increasingly more heartsick as she watched. It was so wrong. Maeve didn’t deserve a man as kind as this one. There was no pretense in his infatuation with his wife. His every look and touch spoke volumes. Rowena turned away to hide her own despair. Oh, to be cared for in that way, to be treated as something prized and of unreckoned value.
"Sister, is it not a glorious day," Maeve said, bringing Rowena's attention back to them. "A relief, after so much rain. Traveling yesterday was horrid. You should have seen the mess it made of my cloak."
Her husband smiled in commiseration. "It was miserable. Fortunate for us that Ashby lies so near by, or we'd have drowned before we arrived. I hope the weather holds through the morrow for our journey home."
"Do you think it won’t?" his wife asked so quickly that the question was almost sharp. She stuttered in her attempt to soften it with her following words. "I-I only mean that the convent, where I have resided these last months, is but a few minutes ride from Graistantown. My new home is so much farther. If it were to rain," she paused here and caught her breath as in sudden thought. "But no, pay me no heed. We must wait here for Rannulf's return. But I know I couldn’t tolerate to spend two nights away from the privacy of our own bed, so we’ll have to leave on the morrow, rain or no." She clasped his hand in hers.
Her husband gazed down at her for a long moment, then turned to face his hostess. "Do you think Lord Rannulf would be insulted if we were to depart this day?"
"Nay, love," Maeve protested sweetly, "you’ve decided that we must stay. Don’t risk damaging your overlord's love for you by acceding to my silly whims."
"Dear heart, the more I think on it, the more I see the sense in taking advantage of a fine day for our traveling. Truly, we’ll just be in the way here, and Rannulf has more important matters with which to concern himself." John looked back to Rowena. "We’l
l abide by your verdict, my lady. Should we go or stay?"
Lady Graistan glanced to the fair woman at his side. That Maeve wanted to leave as soon as possible was obvious. Why she wanted to go was beyond guessing. Could it be she had some spurned lover with the bishop's party that she didn’t wish to meet again? In the end, Rowena spoke for her own selfish reasons.
"I know my husband will regret not having bid you farewell himself, but he’ll understand your need to have the privacy of your own home. Depart if you wish."
"Do you want to go?" John tucked his wife's hand beneath his arm and gazed down at her.
"I want only to be with you." Maeve smiled up at him. "Take me home, husband."
"With pleasure, wife." John stood and helped her to her feet. "Please excuse us, my lady, but we must prepare to depart. Will you send to town for my daughter?"
"As you wish, Sir John," Rowena said as they started for the stairs. They were on the balcony before Ilsa left her seat at the servant's table to join her lady.
"Now, why do you think she wants to be gone so quickly?"
"Don’t question the gift, Ilsa," Rowena replied. "Still, it is strange." She stood and started toward the butlery. "Well, if we’re to ponder it, it must be later rather than sooner. I hope they hurry in leaving, for the sooner they’re gone, the sooner I can get out of this gown and into my workaday wear. Have you finished the upper chambers?"
"Aye. Once the happy couple are gone we can finish your room and be done. Shall I leave the bed where it stands or do you want yours returned to its place?"
"Nay, leave all as it is." It was still her bed, and she'd keep it stored as long as she desired. "Allen," she called across the room, "have these tables cleared and put away, but make certain our best service is ready should the bishop wish to dine this evening."
"Aye, my lady."
But, Rowena didn’t hear his response. She’d already exited through the back of the hall and into the butler's domain to see how he progressed.
With so little to pack and Maeve's cart still loaded from the previous day, it took less than an hour for Ashby's party to prepare. Nicola had no more walked into the gate when her father called to his men to mount up. As he assisted his bride into the saddle of her palfrey, Sir John said, "I hope you won’t change your mind and find yourself distressed at missing the chance to bid your lord farewell. We could yet stay another day to make a proper good bye."
"A woman must forsake her family and cleave unto her husband," Maeve replied, "and, besides, I have so much to learn. Just think, there’s grain to be winnowed, butter to be churned, and bread to be baked. I shall be busy every moment of the day Perhaps I shall be so overworked that I’ll have nothing left at the end of the day for you, you poor dear thing."
"Never," John retorted with a besotted smile. "Nicola will see to it that you are never overburdened. You’re so frail and delicate, you must have a care you don’t become ill."
At this, Nicola sent her lady a brief and telling glance, but said nothing as the sentry's call rang out over their words.
"But, who is this coming," Ashby’s new lady cried, shooting a swift glance at the gate. Something akin to panic appeared in her pale eyes. Once again Rowena wondered what Maeve could possibly fear from the bishop's arrival.
But it was Gilliam who rode through the gate. Lady Maeve relaxed into her saddle, but her words were filled with the pretense of disappointment. "I hoped it was Rannulf so we might bid him farewell after all."
The young knight glanced around the group gathered in the courtyard as he drew his mount to a halt and slid from the saddle. He turned rudely away from any contact with them and strode directly toward the hall door. "My lady, I’ll speak to you inside after they’re gone," he called back over his shoulder.
"Why, I wondered where you hid," Maeve called out, her tone perfectly reasonable. "Won’t you come congratulate me on my marriage?"
Gilliam stopped in his tracks, then slowly turned toward her, ripping his gloves from his hands. "You have my heartfelt congratulations," he said coldly.
"Oh, what a sweet child you are," she cried in seeming innocence of his hostility. "But it’s customary to kiss the bride, is it not?"
"Not for me," Gilliam retorted, his deep voice reverberating off the thick walls.
Rowena saw Sir John's brows draw down as he recognized the insult to his wife. Ashby’s master started forward, toward the center of the courtyard, his stance aggressive and tense.
She hurried to Gilliam.
"Bite your tongue," she whispered. "Go and wish them both well. It won’t kill you to do so." In a much louder voice she continued, "Has your visit to Sir Jocelynn gone so ill that you come home all frowns and bad temper?"
Gilliam looked down at her, sighed, and took the hint. "Aye, it wasn’t at all what I expected," then added in a whispered aside, "It was short by an hour."
Striding across the yard, he thrust out his hand as he met Ashby. "I apologize for my rudeness, Sir John. It's only fortunate for me that my journey home didn’t go just a little longer or I’d have missed the opportunity to wish you well. And your lovely lady, too." He stumbled over the compliment, his teeth gritted in a smile.
"Why, Sir Gilliam," John said, with a hearty laugh. "I hardly knew you, though I should have realized who you were. Not many a man looks down on me save you and your brother. I swear you're taller now than when last I saw you before you left for the Holy Lands. My bailiff tells me you are your brother's steward and came to call at Ashby while I was at Nottingham with Lord Graistan."
"Aye, so I did at my lady's request. She sought to familiarize herself with Graistan's holdings and dues. That's a beautiful corner of the world you have there." Gilliam’s voice revealed a wistful longing and Rowena remembered how sure he seemed that his brother would never grant him his own keep.,
"Ah, so it is," John graciously agreed, now completely mollified.
"Did you realize you've got a soft corner on your south wall? I noticed it, but did not recognize what I saw until after I'd left that day," Gilliam said.
"Nay," Ashby’s master replied in surprise and interest. "Well, we've had trouble there before. Moisture from the river seeps into the walls and rots the mortar. Once noted, easily repaired. Do you remember my daughter, Nicola?" John pointed to the tall girl who still stood beside her mount. "Oh, how foolish of me. Of course you must have spoken with her when you were at our hall."
"But I didn’t," Gilliam said with a smile. "She was out when I arrived, and I couldn’t stay the night. The bailiff said she was with a woman in the village who was giving birth." He studied Nicola for a long moment, then smiled a little more naturally. "But I vaguely remember something—dear God, I think I was twelve and she, seven when last we met. If I remember rightly, I was royally perturbed because she followed me everywhere for the duration of our visit. Grown a little since then, girl," he said to her. "Lord, you could almost look me in the eye. I’m much more amenable to being followed these days," he teased with a friendly glint in his bright blue eyes.
Nicola graced him with a narrow-eyed grimace, but said nothing as she mounted her horse without the aid of a groom. Then, she leaned down, meaning to lift her basket, but Gilliam grabbed it up before she could reach it.
"What are you doing?" she demanded. "It’s mine. Give it to me."
"Glad to be able to serve," Gilliam replied with a laugh as he set it into its net at the back of her saddle.
"Did I look as if I needed your assistance?" Nicola snapped back.
"My lady, your courtly manner makes me swoon," Gilliam shot back, his grin now wicked with amusement. He turned to her father. "My, she’s a pretty thing, but is she always so outspoken?"
"Always," Ashby sighed. "Now, hold your tongue, daughter, before you insult Lord Graistan's brother as deeply as you have insulted Lord Graistan."
"Nicola, have a care with Sir Gilliam," came Maeve's warning. "He'll play the part of gallant, for he is quite a swain. There's more than on
e girl here who's borne a fairhaired babe by him." She smiled at everyone, having deftly maneuvered herself back into the center of attention, then turned to her new husband. "Oh John, I think we must hurry along. I see clouds building."
"As you command, my lady," he replied with a smile. "Thank you again for your hospitality, Lady Rowena. When your lord returns, give him our grateful thanks and wish him well on his endeavor." John mounted up and signaled the party to start forward. "Farewell."
"Aye, farewell, dear sister," Maeve called. "Don’t forget me. Be assured that I’ll never forget you or all you and your lord have done for me." She rode out through the gate. Nicola and the rest of Ashby's men followed.
"Good riddance," Gilliam breathed as they watched them exit the gate. "She'll trouble us no longer."
"Oh, Gilliam," Rowena said, her voice almost a cry. "It’s so wrong. She'll use John and make a mockery of her vows to him. Would that I could take back the words I spoke the day I suggested it."
He unlaced his mail hood and pushed it off his head. "There’s more than worry for Lord John in your voice. What’s happened here in my absence?"
"Nothing." When Gilliam would have insisted, Rowena shook her head and held up a hand to still him. "What’s important is that the bishop of Hereford is on his way here this very day. He intends to resolve my inheritance while he enjoys our forest."
Gilliam lifted a brow. "Oswald has been busy. I suppose this means my chamber has been confiscated? I thought as much," he responded to her nod. "Then, I'll take myself down to the garrison. When is the bishop to arrive?"
"Before sunset is all the message your brother left for me, which could mean two hours from now or eight with it so near midsummer."
He nodded, then studied her for a long moment. She shifted uncomfortably and tried to smile, not realizing how badly it failed.
"Poor Rowena," he said softly, "you look so sad. How you must wish he never wed you. It sits poorly on my soul when I see him treat you as he has."
The Seasons Series; Five Books for the Price of Three Page 21
