Bride for a Knight (9781460344804)

by Moore, Margaret

  “He may be, or he may not,” the tall soldier replied. “Still, I’d be careful about upsetting our lady. Her father might be past his prime, but her cousin’s husband isn’t.”

  “Oh, and who’s that?” Gerrard replied as if he didn’t give a damn.

  “Sir Rheged of Cwm Bron.”

  Good God. Gerrard certainly remembered that Welshman. He’d been the only man to ever defeat Broderick, even though his older brother cheated. Broderick always dosed his opponent’s wine with a poison before a tournament. It wasn’t enough to kill, but it was enough to render the man weak. He’d been sure Rheged had had the wine, but he’d beaten Broderick nonetheless. He’d never seen any man fight with such skill and determination, not even Roland.

  Both he and Roland had stayed far from the castle for a few days after that, in case Broderick attacked them in his rage. As it was, more than one servant sported bruises and cuts and gashes for weeks afterward because they fell under Broderick’s angry gaze.

  Now Roland’s marriage made a lot more sense. DeLac might not be a worthy ally, but Rheged would be.

  Once again his brother had managed to beat him.

  “Leave me,” Gerrard muttered, and the soldiers obediently departed.

  He wanted to be alone, to think and nurse his aching—

  “Here’s my lamb!” Eua cried. “Out carousing again, and why not?”

  “I need to sleep, Eua,” he said with more than a hint of impatience as the woman appeared beside the cot and regarded him with a sympathy he did not need. All his life she’d mothered him, in no small part because she liked to be noticed and flattered and given little presents of money, something Roland never seemed to understand. It was easy to get on Eua’s good side, if you were willing to make the effort, lie a little and pay.

  Now that he was older, though, he more often found her attention annoying, and this morning was no exception. “Maybe you could find me something to eat,” he suggested.

  “At once! You look so pale and worn out. You ought to tell your brother you want your father’s chamber if he doesn’t.”

  Gerrard would rather sleep in a cave full of bats. “Just bring me some bread and ale, if you will. And maybe some cheese.” He reached into his belt, but didn’t find a single coin. No matter. He’d get more from Dalfrid later. “That merchant from Lincolnshire should be by soon. Perhaps you’d like a new bracelet.”

  The woman’s homely face lit up as if he’d offered her a chest of gold instead of a cheap trinket. “Lord bless you, Gerrard, and make you lord of Dunborough, as you ought to be!” she cried before she hurried away.

  “From your lips to His ears,” Gerrard said before he sighed and lay back down, and thought of all the things he’d do when he was rightfully named lord of Dunborough by King John.

  First, though, he’d have to make his case before the king—whatever that entailed.

  * * *

  After she had broken the fast, Mavis sought out the steward and found him in the solar, a large, comfortable chamber with a wide table, carved chairs and a painted wooden chest in the corner. Tapestries depicting hunts covered the walls, and two braziers of glowing coals warmed it.

  Wearing a robe of very fine black wool, Dalfrid was at the open chest when she entered. He quickly closed the lid and turned to face her. “Oh, my lady! May I help you?”

  “Yes,” she replied, her unease about the man increasing, although she couldn’t put her finger on a reason. “I’d like to meet the cook and the other servants.”

  Dalfrid gave Mavis the sort of patronizing smile she had seen on men’s faces all too often. She half expected him to pat her on the head and call her a good girl before he replied. “It will be my pleasure to make the introductions, my lady.”

  Mavis wasn’t at all sure about that. It was much more likely that Dalfrid saw her as a costly addition to the household, and one whose value had yet to be proven. Well, prove it she would, to him and to anyone else who doubted her abilities. Including herself, she inwardly added.

  Dalfrid locked the chest, tucked the key into his belt, then led the way from the solar to a kitchen that was as immense as the rest of the fortress. A fire burned in the hearth wide and tall enough to fit three women upright, and a pot of bubbling stew dangled from a hook. The rich smells of beef cooking and chickens roasting filled the air, joining the aroma of fresh-baked bread. Smoked hams hung down from the rafters above, along with strings of onions. Baskets of beans, peas and neeps were under the long, scarred wooden table in the center of the room. Two doors were opposite the one they’d just entered. One likely led into the yard or kitchen garden, and the other was probably a storeroom.

  A man of indiscriminate age in a long white apron kneading dough at the long, flour-covered trestle table stopped and stared, as did a slender girl about eighteen with chestnut-brown hair who’d been chopping leeks. Another young woman pouring peas into a cauldron froze, although the peas continued to rattle into the iron pot. She was more plump and a bit older than the other girl, although with a prettier face. A spit boy, thin as a twig and freckled, had been crouched on the floor as he kept three chickens turning. Brushing soot from his breeches, he scrambled to his feet.

  Eua was there, too, putting a loaf of bread, something wrapped in a cloth and a mug on a tray.

  “My lady,” Dalfrid began, “I believe you already know Eua.” He gestured at the man in the apron. “Florian.” He nodded at the girl chopping leeks. “Lizabet.” The one pouring peas abruptly straightened, sending a few peas spilling onto the floor. “Peg.” He frowned at the spit boy. “Tom.”

  Mavis acknowledged each in turn, including the grim Eua, with a nod and a smile.

  “Lady Mavis wishes to speak to you,” Dalfrid announced, then moved behind her.

  Before Mavis could say a word, Eua came to stand directly in front of her, as if daring Mavis to cross an imaginary line in the floor.

  Mavis silently vowed she would not let the woman upset her. She would act calm and confident, like Tamsin, even if she felt otherwise.

  Looking past Eua to the other servants, she said, “As you may already know, my husband has decided that there’s to be a wedding feast in a fortnight. It is my hope and expectation that it will be a fine feast, of the sort my father is known for.”

  “He’s known for being a miser and a sot,” Eua declared with breathtaking insolence.

  Mavis regarded the woman coldly, as Roland might. “Do you not remember that I am your lord’s wife and the chatelaine of Dunborough?”

  The smirk disappeared from Eua’s face, replaced by a scowl as Mavis addressed Florian. “You are the cook?”

  “I...I am, my lady,” he stammered, red-faced. “I’ve been cook here for th-three years. We never had a feast in all that time, my lady, so I don’t know... That is, I never...” He fell silent and stared at the floor as if she’d threatened to have him whipped.

  This was a setback she hadn’t foreseen and not just that he’d never prepared a feast before. She wanted respect, but she didn’t want the servants to be afraid of her, either.

  So she spread her hands, not in surrender, but to suggest that she was fallible and willing to let them know it. “I am new here, and new to the duties of a wife and chatelaine. Nevertheless, I plan to do my utmost to assure the good reputation of my husband and my household. I trust you all are willing to do the same.”

  She spoke directly to Florian. “Good plain food, well cooked and seasoned, is often better and more welcome than elaborate dishes with unfamiliar ingredients.” As the man relaxed, she gave him a warm smile. “We shall have to learn together, Florian.”

  Relief spread over Florian’s features, followed by smiles of equal relief from the other servants, except Eua, who sniffed scornfully.

  “And if we fail?” she demanded, her arms crossed, her expression
openly hostile.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Mavis saw the steward shifting nervously from one foot to the other. “You all had best see that we don’t,” he said, moving forward. “My lady, let us go and—”

  Mavis waved him away and stood her ground. Eua wanted a battle and she would have it here and now. “If honest mistakes are made, there will be no punishment, but if there is neglect or laziness, there will be consequences. I wouldn’t want it said that the people of the household of Dunborough are lax or lacking, would you, Eua? Wouldn’t you rather help me show everyone that Sir Roland’s household is one he can be proud of?”

  Eua continued to scowl. “Sir Roland’s household, you say? Gerrard should be the lord here, not that cheat of a brother who took his birthright, so I don’t give a tinker’s damn what some high-and-mighty nobleman—or you—has to say about this household until Gerrard’s in his rightful place.”

  This was impudence and disrespect that could not be overlooked or excused and, Mavis was sure, unlikely to change, so she pointed to the door leading outside. “Go, Eua, from the kitchen and from this household. There is no place for you here anymore.”

  The servants exchanged wide-eyed glances, while Eua glared.

  “You...you can’t do that! You can’t make me!” she spluttered, her face flushing and flecks of spittle forming at the corners of her mouth. “Gerrard won’t let you do that!”

  “Gerrard is not the lord of Dunborough, nor am I his wife.”

  “But...but you can’t!” Eua’s eyes narrowed and her body began to tremble. “You don’t dare! I know things—about this household, about your husband. Aye, and his father, too, that stinking old bastard!”

  If not for the gleam of hysteria in Eua’s eyes, Mavis might have been worried about her threats. But she had seen that look of panic before, in the eyes of a servant Tamsin had caught stealing red-handed. That man, too, had claimed to know secrets and made threats. But he’d known nothing, or he would have used that knowledge to save himself when he was brought before the court. “Tell me, then,” she said evenly. “Tell us all what you know so that I don’t dare send you away.”

  Eua’s frantic gaze darted from one to the other before coming back to Mavis. “I...I...”

  “Well? I am waiting.”

  “Your husband isn’t the firstborn twin!”

  “How do you know? I understand his father never said, his mother died and so did the midwife.”

  “Because...because I know, that’s how.” She drew herself up. “The old lord himself told me!”

  Mavis crossed her arms. “Sir Blane told you, a serving woman, something that he kept from everyone else?”

  “Aye! When we was in bed!”

  “Since you were never his wife, I must assume you were nothing more than a temporary bedmate. I find it very difficult to believe that the Sir Blane I met—and believe me, Eua, he was a man one doesn’t forget even on short acquaintance—confided such a thing to you.”

  “He did tell me!” she cried.

  “And since you’ve told me, and everyone in this room, you may go.”

  Eua stared at her in stunned disbelief, then raised her hand as if she meant to strike her. At the same time, both Florian and Dalfrid moved to stand in front of Mavis.

  Eua shook her fist instead. “Aye, I’ll go, and happily so—and you can go to the devil! You and Roland, too!” she cried. She ran to the door leading to the yard, knocking over the tray as she did, sending the loaf and wrapped parcel flying and spilling the mug of ale.

  The wrappings unraveled to reveal a round of cheese, which the spit boy hurried to put back on the table, along with the bread and empty mug.

  Dalfrid turned to Mavis with a stricken expression. “I fear, my lady, you’re going to have cause to regret that rash decision. Even if Eua’s claims are groundless, she’s been here a long time. I doubt Sir Roland will be pleased, and I know Gerrard won’t be.”

  In spite of Dalfrid’s remarks, Mavis wasn’t frightened. She felt...triumphant. She was certain Eua’s threats were harmless, and she didn’t care what Gerrard thought. The only opinion that mattered to her was Roland’s and after last night, she was confident he would listen to her and accept what she’d done. “As chatelaine, it was my decision to make.”

  Dalfrid gave her a somewhat sickly version of his usual obsequious smile. “As you say, my lady, it was your decision—and you must abide by the consequences.”

  If she wasn’t going to be intimidated by Eua, she certainly wasn’t going to let Dalfrid intimidate or frighten her, either. He was a servant, too, after all, and she was Roland’s wife. “You may go, Dalfrid.”

  His eyes flared with surprise before he nodded and bowed and glided noiselessly out of the room.

  “I’d wager good money he’s going straight to Sir Roland,” Lizabet said warily.

  “Doesn’t matter if he does,” the cook boldly declared. “As you said, my lady, you’re the chatelaine, and I, for one, am glad we’ve seen the last of Eua. She’s a bad ’un and always has been.”

  “Aye,” Peg began, “and she ruled this household like a...like a...”

  “Dragon!” the little spit boy supplied.

  “Aye, like a dragon,” Peg confirmed. “Had the breath of one, too.”

  “She made a pet of Gerrard,” Florian explained. “He was the only one ever pretended to like her, so she was furious when she found out Sir Roland was the oldest. Wouldn’t believe it. Said it had to be a lie. Sir Roland had either forged the will or lied to his father or brought it about some other way. And then when she heard he’d brought home a wife!”

  The other servants all shook their heads.

  “Hellfire,” Peg said. “Knew her days here were numbered.”

  “Should have gone then,” Lizabet remarked.

  “Thought she could rule you, too, no doubt,” Florian said to Mavis with a shrug of his shoulders. Then he grinned. “More fool her.”

  “Still, there’ll be hell to pay when Gerrard finds out,” Lizabet warned.

  “As long as he blames me, and not his brother,” Mavis said. “I’ll go to Sir Roland now and explain, and afterward I’ll go through the food stores with you, Florian.”

  “Anything you want, my lady,” he said. “I heard one of the men saying Sir Roland’d be in the stable.”

  “Then that’s where I shall go,” she replied.

  Chapter Eight

  Mavis opened the door to the stable, then hesitated. It wasn’t that it was dim, or that she was disturbed by the scent of leather, manure and hay. Those smells were as familiar to her as wool or apples. It was the sound of Roland’s low voice crooning comforting words to his horse, sounding just as he had the first time she’d heard him.

  “It’s only a stone in the shoe, Heffy,” he murmured. “You’ll be right as rain soon.”

  She walked toward the stall where the tall, dark horse stood and saw Roland bending over, holding his horse’s right back hoof in his hands as he examined it.

  He caught sight of her and let go of Hephaestus’s foot. The animal limped a bit as it moved back, and Roland came forward with that rare little smile playing about his lips. “I didn’t think to see you here. Not that I’m sorry.”

  Perhaps Dalfrid had not, after all, rushed to tell her husband what she’d done. It was very tempting to forget why she had come to the stable, but that would only be delaying the inevitable. Still, a little delay wouldn’t hurt anything. “Your horse is lame?” she asked, her hands behind her back as she leaned against the nearest post.

  “Not badly,” he replied, putting one hand above her on the post and bending closer, “but I won’t be riding him for a few days. I might have to think of something else to do.”

  Again she was tempted to forget why she’d come there. Again she knew that h
e was going to learn what she’d done eventually. It would be better if he heard it from her.

  She took a deep, steadying breath before she spoke, and her smile was tremulous at best. “I have dismissed Eua from the household.”

  Roland’s brows lowered as he straightened.

  “I’ve sent her away,” she continued. “She’s too insolent, too disruptive. Such a disrespectful servant is like a poison in the household. I know you’re the master of Dunborough, but I am chatelaine, and I must do what I see fit when it comes to the servants, and despite the threats she made.”

  Roland’s frown deepened. “Threats? What sort of threats?”

  “She claims that your father told her Gerrard was born before you.”

  Roland’s skeptical grin was a relief and a confirmation of her own estimation of the truth of Eua’s words. “If that were so, she would have been saying so from our childhood. She never did, not until my father’s will revealed that I was the eldest. She’s always favored Gerrard, so no one will believe her on that score, and especially now.”

  “I was sure she was lying, too,” Mavis said. “There was too much desperation in her eyes for me to believe otherwise, and the other servants told me how she preferred your brother.”

  Roland cupped her shoulders and drew her into his strong embrace. “I should have sent Eua away before I left for DeLac, but I was in too much of a hurry. That was even before I knew of the bride that awaited me there.”

  The door burst open as if blasted by a winter’s gale and Gerrard, his face red with rage, marched into the stable. Roland and Mavis parted, although Roland kept a warm, firm hold of her hand.

  Gerrard ran a disdainful gaze over Mavis before he addressed Roland. “Do you know what this woman has done?”

  “Are you referring to my wife?”

  “Do you see anybody else here?” Gerrard retorted, his hands on his hips, looking more like a petulant boy than an enraged man. “Who does she think she is, to send Eua away? Or was that your order and she merely the instrument to carry it out? I can well believe you’d use—”