The Warrior's Maiden (The Warriors Series Book 2)

by Denise Domning

  The boy dashed for the house. "Papa, Papa! There are soldiers and nuns in our yard!"

  Josce's lip curled as he eyed du Hommet's home. It might have been a peasant's abode save that it stood on a tall stone foundation. Not tall enough. The door wasn't even lifted the full storey above the courtyard necessary for a proper defense. The roof was thatch, the walls plastered wood. All it had to recommend itself was the ell, which suggested private chambers.

  Josce dismounted, then waited as Nick led his mount forward to stand beside his lord's son. "Not much this place, not after what we've known, eh, sir?"

  Short and solid, black of hair, with bright blue eyes, the master soldier studied the compound, shaking his head.

  "Exposed and vulnerable. Too much sky, not enough stone. I expected better of a sheriff."

  His words stirred Josce to once again glance about the place. Not all sheriffs were rich men, but neither

  were they completely without resources. Nick was right. A sheriff ought to have better. He must have better. That garment had been far too expensive for one who dwelt in such a place.

  "Perhaps this isn't du Hommet's only property," Josce said, his gaze shifting across the yard until he looked in the direction that Elianne had run. Questions piled up. Would that he'd known her relationship to du Hommet before he'd spewed his threats.

  Nick turned toward the stable. "Hey you, lads," he shouted in English command, in case those here didn't speak the tongue of their betters. "Come and take my master's horse."

  Rather than leap to the task the lads both ducked back into the stable to hide. Haydon's master-at-arms made a disgusted sound. "What sort of man keeps only children as servants?" he said, once more speaking in a nobleman's Norman French. "Never mind them, Sir Josce. I'll have one of our own see to your mount, while you see to our lady. When you're ready, I'll aid you

  in disarming."

  "Who are you and why are you in our yard?" The man's French challenge rang out over the yard, his English accent so heavy that his words were almost unintelligible.

  Both Nick and Josce looked to the porch at the top of the house's stairs. Papa was hardly what Josce expected. The man was an oldster, at least twice his wife's years. Moreover, he was better dressed than Elianne, in a green tunic and costly red chausses on his bandy legs.

  "Richard, it's me, Cecilia," called the younger sister in English. Swinging her legs over the side of the cart, the nun leapt off its edge with ease, then shook her skirts free of road dust. "Our lord sheriff offered the use of his home to this lady, who is both newly widowed and ill."

  Surprise started across the old man's face. "He did what? Why would Sir Reiner send folk here? Where is Mistress Elianne? She went to meet her sire at Knabwell. Why doesn't she return with you now if these folk are guests?"

  "Your mistress ran off, she not being overly happy with her sire's invitation to these nobles," Sister Ada called, also speaking the commoner's tongue despite her Norman blood. With a groan she came to her feet in the cart, then turned to look at the driver. "Godfrey, help me down. My joints aren't what my sister's are."

  "Nobles! These are nobles?!" Richard's eyes widened until he looked about to swoon. "The lord sheriff cannot truly expect us to house nobles here!"

  "Enough of that, Richard," Cecilia warned. "The lady is in need of bed and care. Come you, or you, Aggie," she looked toward Mama, who yet stood in the kitchen's doorway, "and help me carry her into the hall."

  "I'll bear my lady stepmother within doors," Josce replied in their tongue, startling those in the yard who hadn't expected it of him.

  Reaching into the cart, Josce once more lifted Beatrice into his arms. Her eyelids didn't even flicker as he settled her against his chest. He offered a quick prayer that the nuns were right, and there was nothing amiss with her that time wouldn't heal.

  "Where do I take her?" he asked of Coneytrop's Richard as he climbed the stairs to the door.

  Hesitation marked the old man's face, then he shrugged. "I suppose if she's exalted you'd better put her in the master's bed."

  With the nuns at his back Josce followed Richard through the house's main doorway. A few feet beyond the door rose a screen, a long wooden panel, meant to prevent winter from howling into the hall through its ever-open doorway. So it was in places that still had central hearthstones instead of fireplaces. The fire needed air to breathe, and the inhabitants needed a draught to carry the smoke out of the chamber through a vent in the ceiling.

  This screen not only forestalled winter, it kept summer breezes from offering relief to a stuffy and overheated room. Sweat broke out on Josce's brow as he crossed the hall. It was warmer in here than outside. Who built a hall without so much as an arrow slit?

  Windowless room and thatch roof aside, du Hommet still owned his pretensions. A massive chair sat at the head of the hall, a master's seat, raised above all those who served him, no matter how few or low they might be. At least Coneytrop had a careful housekeeper. The rushes covering the floor were fairly fresh, no cobwebs clung to the walls, while the room's few shelves were without dust. Not a fleck of ash stained the empty hearthstone. Nothing save repainting would cover the smoke stains on the exposed rafters overhead, and given that the fire almost always burned, that would be a useless waste of paint and time.

  Richard led him to the hall's corner, where he opened the door that stood there, then moved aside so his visitors could enter ahead of him. It was as Josce suspected. The ell was du Hommet's private bedchamber. He stepped into the doorway only to stop in abject surprise.

  The bed at the center of the room was a treasure beyond the apparent means of plebeian Coneytrop. Carved ivy and trailing wooden flowers decorated each of its four posts. Precious green brocade curtained it. Even with the shutters closed on the room's wide window, the fabric was shot with so many golden threads that it glowed in the low light. The sheriff had untapped resources, indeed, to afford such a piece.

  "Pretty, no?" Richard said, reverting to his own tongue. He squeezed around the knight to cross to the bed, and laid a proud and proprietary hand against one of its posts. "Four years ago, Sir Reiner's second cousin," he paused to frown, "nay, third cousin I think it was, died and left this to his kinsman.

  "Here," the man invited, pulling down thick coverlets to expose bedclothes that seemed fresh enough, their whiteness a testimony to the power of this summer's sun. "Lay your lady upon its mattress. She'll find naught but comfort in its embrace, sir."

  Josce did as suggested. There was still no response from Beatrice, not even when strands of her hair caught in his mail. Cecilia, a heavy bag in her arms, came to stop beside him as he disentangled those strands from the metal rings that was the fabric of his hauberk. Ada, yet huffing after climbing the stairs, joined her fellow at the bedside. When he'd finished smoothing Beatrice's hair back into place, Ada tilted back her head to look up at him.

  "You may leave her to us now, sir, content that we'll care for her." Having dismissed him, her gaze moved on to Richard. "Since Mistress Elianne is not about," she said, this time speaking to the man in the language of her betters, "tell Aggie that we'll need her or one of your daughters to aid us."

  "Aye, sisters," Richard replied, already turning and starting for the door. Josce followed him. When they were out of the bedchamber, he lengthened his stride and caught the man by the sleeve to stop him.

  "I am Sir Josce of Haydon, stepson to Lady Haydon, who is widow to the murdered Lord Baldwin," he offered, including this information in his formal introduction to see what reaction it might tease from du Hommet's servant.

  Nothing but compassion darkened the old man's eyes. "Ach, a horrible thing, that," he said to Josce. "My condolences to you and your lady on your terrible loss."

  "My thanks," he said, then shook his head. "No offense against your master, but I'm beyond understanding how thieves can run unchecked in this shire for so long." Again, he watched for a reaction.

  Du Hommet's man's mouth twisted as furrows f
ormed on his already creased brow. "Your frustration is ours, sir," he replied. "You cannot know how my master has worked to find them, but they're a wily bunch for certain, canny beyond even his ken."

  Honesty glowed from the man's face. Whatever secrets Elianne's sire held, his servant wasn't privy to them. Josce shook off his disappointment. Only a fool believed he'd simply ride into du Hommet's home and discover all without effort. Nay, whatever the sheriff concealed would be well-hidden and certainly not within reach of his invited and dangerous guest, a guest abandoned by his hostess.

  That reminded Josce of his duty to those who followed him. "The men in your yard serve Lady Haydon," Josce told the servant. "They need something decent to fill their bellies and at least barley water to drink. Ale would be better, if what you have is fresh. So, too, will our horses need water and fodder."

  "I'll see to it, sir," Richard replied with a nod, and would have turned, but Josce still held him by the sleeve.

  "Have you accommodations for bathing?" Josce asked, only to swiftly amend his question. "A tub and somewhere private in which to bathe?"

  A place as rude as this one wasn't likely to have a bath house. God grant the tub big enough that water would do more than puddle around his ankles if he had to stand. It wasn't just to scrape off sweat and filth that Josce craved, but a soak. From the moment he'd reached Haydon after receiving the dire news, his entire being had been centered on confronting the sheriff.

  Accomplishing his aim had left him feeling oddly drained and at a loss for what next to do. Or rather, what to do over the next fortnight. If Reiner du Hommet failed to deliver those thieves, Josce would do as he'd vowed and take the sheriff's life, after which the king would have his head.

  "A tub?" Richard made the noun sound foreign, as if he'd never before heard it spoken. "Nay, we've got no bathing tubs here. What need have we of that when we have the pool? It'll suit you well enough, sir. It's outside our walls, but still on the lord sheriff's lands over to the north a ways, where there's a fold in the hills." The wave of his hand indicated a direction behind the house. "I'll see you get soap and such. My lad Will," he pointed to the boy who peered around the screen's edge at Coneytrop's newcomer, "can lead you to the place." Will gave a quiet yelp at this and ducked back behind the screen. His sire paid him no heed. "Once you're there, you can stay as long as it pleases you. You'll need no guide to find your way back from the place, not once you've walked it in one direction. I'll see no one disturbs you."

  A swim was the perfect answer. Josce would not only rid himself of filth, but stretching his muscles would help him ponder on the puzzle of Reiner du Hommet.

  Anger clung to Adelm like Coneytrop's dust to his chausses as he climbed the stairs leading into Knabwell Castle's hall. He'd stopped in the barracks only long enough to shed his better gown and don the short tunic that was part of his yearly pay as the king's servant. He'd have better next year, that was, if he weren’t dead. Even if his mother's plan to buy him an estate didn't come to fruition, he'd be deputy here. Adelm let his lips lift in a brief smile. It was long past time to turn the tables on his father, and today Reiner's error had finally made that possible.

  Giving a nod to the porter at the hall's door, he stepped into the hall. The long narrow chamber was crowded, the noise of those waiting within almost deafening. A few of these folk were servants, townsmen hired to see the king's soldiers fed and to keep the vermin that infested the castle to a minimum. Everyone else was a petitioner, seeking either to settle their account with the king's sheriff or have Reiner bear their business to court for them.

  Among their ranks, Adelm spied one of Reiner's sons-in-law, who was in a boundary dispute with a neighbor. That Reiner left even his kin waiting like servants was a potent reminder to Adelm, and drove home the lesson Reiner had given him today as he watched him use Elianne. Reiner used everyone who came within his sphere. He'd arranged his daughters' degraded marriages, then immediately turned his back on his kin as beneath his notice.

  What Reiner had done to his female children he meant to do with the son he refused to acknowledge. Adelm's eyes narrowed. If not for Lady Haydon's decision to go to the ice house, his father might have succeeded in his plan.

  Adelm passed the dais at the head of the hall. That the chair used by the sheriff and traveling justiciars during court sessions was missing meant Reiner was in his office. Entrance to that private chamber was through a door in the wooden wall behind the dais. Pushing his way through the folk crowded before the sheriff's office, Adelm stepped past the single soldier to open the door. Those behind him surged forward trying to follow. As the soldier threw his fists, Adelm used a few well-placed thrusts of his elbow to drive back the persistent mob, then shut the door on the hall.

  Here, in his father's office, a narrow window slit pierced the far stone wall, taming the intensity of this afternoon's sun to a single beam. The light found ivory in the many parchments strewn across the table his father used as a work space. Although the clerk was absent, his gray quill yet balanced on its rest, ink oozing from its tip. Someone's unwary hand had toppled the sand pot. The spilled grains flashed like tiny jewels upon the table's dark wood surface.

  Caught in the same sunbeam, his father's scarlet gown glowed as red as blood. Standing beside Reiner was one of his deputies. Adelm sneered inwardly at the lad, a fuzz-faced scion of a local knight. Despite their supposedly refined blood, young Gilbert's family wasn't much better off than Reiner; a wealthier relative had provided what the youth needed to purchase his position. There hadn't been enough in that gift for Gilbert to purchase chain mail, something Adelm's uncle had anonymously purchased for him. All Sir Gilbert could afford was a boiled leather vest sewn with metal rings.

  Both men watched Adelm in surprise for an instant, then their reactions shifted, Reiner's into something akin to fear, while Gilbert sniffed in dismissal of the sheriff's bastard captain. The lad turned his attention back to the tally stick in his hand. "As I was saying, my lord, Gledstyn's payment is short its required amount."

  Usually a shit-assed babe dismissing a man who could remove his head with one blow would have amused Adelm. Not today. Filled with the certainty that Reiner was his, and driven by a lifetime's worth of snubs and rejections by Gilbert and his ilk made Adelm careless.

  "Gilbert," Adelm interrupted the youngster, "you and our lord sheriff are finished for the moment. Leave."

  "What?!" the youth cried, whirling to stare at one he judged the same as the horseshit that befouled his boots. The deputy's hand fell to his sword's hilt. "I'll have your tongue for disrespect, bastard. You'll use my title when you address me."

  Adelm considered warning Gilbert that such a challenge was suicide. After his battle with Lord Haydon, Adelm felt he could rightly claim he'd dueled with and killed a man in every way his better. That made this lad less than nothing to him.

  Adelm bowed. "I am at your convenience."

  The young knight hesitated, new concern in his gaze. Adelm fought his smile.

  Reiner made an impatient sound. "Enough, both of you. There'll be no dueling at Knabwell save the sort done in our customary practice bouts. Sir Adelm, we agreed to speak this evening. Retreat and seek me out then."

  "It won't wait," Adelm replied, his tone demanding his father's compliance.

  Reiner's brow darkened. His panic returned. He snatched the tally stick from Sir Gilbert's hand and tossed it into the basket behind his desk. "We're done for the now. Go," the sheriff said to his deputy, his voice cracking like a youth's as he spoke.

  Sir Gilbert swiveled on his sheriff, his other hand opening to display the three tally sticks he yet held. "But, my lord sheriff, we have hamlets left to review."

  "Then, you'll have to wait outside the door until I'm finished with Sir Adelm, won't you?" Reiner snapped. "I'll call to you when I'm ready."

  Still agog over this untoward chain of events, the glowering youngster stormed across the room, circling around Adelm as if he feared bastardy might
rub off if he came too close. As Gilbert pulled the door wide, those outside again surged forward, crowding the opening and jabbering, each calling for the lord high sheriff to please hear him.

  "Get back," Gilbert shouted at them, his tone vicious as he bulled his way into their midst.

  The door slammed behind him, the noise level descending once again to a muted rumbling. On the other side of the table, Reiner crossed his arms, one hip leaned against its edge. It was a casual pose, but years of acquaintance told Adelm that Reiner still panicked, even as he calculated how he might use their forthcoming conversation to twist his son back into blind compliance.

  "What's so urgent?" Reiner demanded.

  Adelm set his trap with care. "Why in God's name did you send Haydon's bastard to Coneytrop? The man's out for your blood, my lord," he gave a sarcastic edge to his father's purchased and temporary honorific. "Do you think he'll sit on his thumbs and do nothing? Nay, he's bound to poke and pry."

  "Which is why he has to be at Coneytrop where Elianne can watch his every move," Reiner retorted.

  "And what if the knight chooses to avenge himself on you by using her? Too long have you let my sister run wild. She's long since forgotten a woman's natural caution. She won't think to secrete herself where he cannot reach her."

  Reiner only smiled at the suggestion of his daughter's potential debasement. "May God prevent her from remembering a woman's usual caution. Why do you think I insisted she stay at Coneytrop with him? You didn't see how he looked at her at the ice house.” Reiner sneered as he spoke, as if he thought it impossible a man might lust after his too-tall daughter. "Maybe the bastard will seduce her. A man reveals things to his paramour he shares nowhere else. If he confides in her, she'll pass it on to us."

  "Elianne won't give way to seduction," Adelm replied, knowing he shouldn't have been surprised that Reiner knew his daughter so little.

  "Then pray that he rapes her," Reiner shot back. "If he does that, Elianne's hatred of him will be so great she'll likely slaughter him. Either way our dilemma's resolved. Don't waste my time or your breath worrying over Elianne," Reiner went on, his jaw hard and his eyes narrowed. "Worry instead for us. If the noble bastard turns out to be an honorable man, Elianne won't be able to sniff out what he plots, and we're done for.