Her words seemed to shake Rhodri from his stupor, yet before he could speak, Madoc did. “This is Rhodri ap Meirion, Trefor’s second-in-command. He’s brought us a wedding gift from my brother.”
“Oh? How kind of them both,” Roslynn replied, her voice as melodious as a nightingale’s song.
Yet beneath the words there was a tang of disdain that made Rhodri flush.
“Like I said, I’ll be leaving,” Rhodri snapped in Welsh as he turned on his well-worn heel and marched toward the gate.
Let him go back to Trefor and tell him of his brother’s marvelous, beautiful bride, Madoc thought, feeling like he could crow with delight from the battlements.
“What do you suppose your brother’s sent us?” Roslynn asked warily, reminding Madoc of the parchment in his hand and the bundle still on the ground at his feet.
“I doubt it’s anything good,” he replied. “Probably rotten meat.”
The parchment would also likely contain the sort of message he wouldn’t want everyone in Llanpowell to hear, and if the gift was as disgusting as he feared, he’d rather keep that quiet, too, at least as much as possible.
“We should open my brother’s message and gift in private,” he said. He handed Roslynn the parchment before bending down to pick up the bundle, noting with relief that it didn’t drip blood.
When they entered the hall, Uncle Lloyd was still asleep on a bench, snoring lightly. The wooden screen was in place near the dais, so Lord Alfred must be abed, too, which was a mercy. Madoc didn’t want the Norman, and through him, the king, to know too much about his dispute with his brother.
Once in their chamber, Madoc set the bundle on the stool and removed his wet cloak before untying the leather strips that held it closed.
A sheep’s skin with black fleece spilled onto the flagstone floor.
Madoc knew at once what it was. Trefor had killed his black ram.
“The spiteful, malicious cnaf,” he growled as he held out his hand. “Give me the parchment. Let’s hear what my despicable brother has to say.”
Roslynn wordlessly put the message in his outstretched hand, then took off her cloak and laid it at the foot of the bed.
“‘For you, dear brother,’” Madoc read aloud after he tore off the wax seal, “‘and your Norman widow bride, a bit of repayment for the woman you stole from me. I wish you such joy of the lady as you deserve.’”
Madoc threw the parchment across the room. “You see what a malicious lout he is?”
Her expression composed, Roslynn began to gather up the fleece. “I see that he knows how to upset you.”
“What do you mean?” Madoc demanded, annoyed that she could be so calm in the face of Trefor’s insults.
“He plays upon you like a bard on a harp, or a nettle in your boot,” she said, her visage still serene as she faced him with her arms full of fleece. “Are you so sure this is your ram?”
“There aren’t many sheep in Wales that size and color,” he snapped. “He’s done this for vengeance, so of course it’s my ram.”
“So now will you have him arrested for theft and brought before the king’s eyre for judgment?”
God save him, she was a cool one. “That may be the Norman way, but it isn’t mine. He’s still my brother, and I will have my justice in my own way.”
“As you will. I’ll see that this fleece is spun into wool, perhaps to make a fine new tunic for you.”
She turned as if she meant to see to it at once.
He had been too harsh. After all, this was not her doing, and she had just given him the best night—and morning—of his life.
“I’m sorry to be so churlish,” he said, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension. “You’re right. He does know how to goad me. He always has. I still won’t attack Pontyrmwr or arrest him and bring him before the king’s court for theft. I won’t have his death on my conscience.”
Too.
“But I will make it more difficult for him to do such things,” he added, “starting today.”
He got a shirt and pulled it on, then his tunic and his swordbelt before he started for the door. “First, I’ll lead a patrol around the border of my estate to make sure he hasn’t done anything else, or worse.”
DESPITE WHAT had happened, Roslynn dutifully attended mass presided over by Father Elwy. Many of the servants were there, but few of the soldiers. Most of the garrison who weren’t on sentry duty had ridden out with Madoc.
She tried to maintain a decorous demeanor and behave with the appropriate dignity, even if her mind kept wandering. She especially tried not to recall her wedding night and being in Madoc’s arms, for it must surely be sinful to relive such moments in a chapel.
It was less pleasant, but also less wicked—she hoped—to consider Madoc’s relationship with his brother, and what Trefor had done. Although Madoc had held his temper in check, he’d been furiously angry.
So why, if he was continually enraged by Trefor’s trespass and other illegal acts, did Madoc allow this situation to continue? Why did he not put an end to it, either by force or legal means?
Why had she stayed with Wimarc? her own conscience chided. Why didn’t she flee the day after they were married, when she had learned the sort of man he truly was?
Because she’d believed she had no choice. She had nowhere else to go. She had been too stubborn, too foolishly certain she knew what she was doing and that Wimarc loved her, for her family to welcome her back.
Perhaps Madoc thought he had no alternative, either. Perhaps, in spite of everything, he still loved his brother.
After the mass ended, Roslynn and the rest of the household went to the hall to break the fast. The commotion of their arrival awakened Uncle Lloyd, who was sleeping on the same bench he’d occupied during the feasting the night before.
“Sweet Saint Dafydd and Bridget, too,” he muttered as he put a hand to his head and slowly sat up. “An invasion, is it?”
“It’s time to break the fast,” Roslynn said with a smile as she sat beside him. She wanted Lloyd, and everyone here, to know that she was happy and pleased with her husband.
“Ah!” Lloyd looked around, clearly a little baffled. “Mass is over?”
“Just now,” she said as several servants hurried to set up the tables and others to put away the pallets and blankets they’d slept on.
Lloyd cringed at the noise some of the men made as they put together a table near him. “Can’t you be quiet about it?” he complained, before addressing Roslynn again. “You look well, my lady.”
“I feel very well.”
The older man’s face lit up with delight. “Do you now?” He looked around the hall and his brows drew together in a frown. “Where’s Madoc?” Then he grinned. “Or is the poor man so worn out, he’s still abed?”
“He’s ridden out on patrol.”
Before Lloyd could ask any questions, or make any more observations, she quickly told him about Trefor’s gift.
“Damn the lad,” Lloyd muttered, shaking his head. “What’s he got to do such things for? He was always the bright light in his parents’ eyes, so why begrudge Madoc some happiness? It’s not as if that will bring Gwendolyn back, either.”
Roslynn saw an opportunity to learn more about Madoc’s past. “Madoc’s parents favored his brother?”
“Aye, although they were proud of Madoc, too. He was just such a shy boy, nobody could make out what he was thinking half the time.”
Surely one had only to look in Madoc’s eyes to know what he was thinking—unless one didn’t take the trouble. Or perhaps he had grown more open over the years, after his favored brother was gone.
Lord Alfred came around the wooden screen. He looked a bit tired, yet well. He was also dressed in his mail and armor and cloak, as if he was about to depart. Confirming her observation, his squire followed, carrying his baggage.
Roslynn rose and went to meet them, trailed by Uncle Lloyd. “You’ll eat before you leave, my lord?” she asked.
/> “Yes, thank you,” he replied, casting his gaze around the hall. “Where is Lord Madoc?”
“He had estate business to attend to.”
“What business?”
Roslynn regarded him coolly, secure in the knowledge that he had no more power over her. “Important business, of course, since it prevents him from taking his leave of you.”
She slipped her arm through Lord Alfred’s as easily as a fish glides through water, and steered him toward the dais. “Come and eat heartily, my lord, for you have a long journey ahead of you. And when you get to court, you must be sure to tell the king how pleased I am with the husband he so wisely chose for me. Indeed, I believe I’ll be grateful to him for the rest of my life.”
Lord Alfred checked his steps and studied her face, trying to gauge if she was sincere or not.
“I mean that, my lord,” she assured him.
Lloyd’s delighted smile stretched from ear to ear. “There now, my lady!” he crowed. “Did I not tell you my nephew is a marvel?”
“Indeed he is,” she agreed.
A SHORT WHILE LATER, after Lord Alfred and his men had eaten and departed, Roslynn went to the kitchen to see the steward. As chatelaine, it was part of her duties to oversee the accounts the steward kept, and she saw no reason to wait to begin.
Lloyd had told her that Ivor had a workroom near the kitchen where he conducted the business of the estate and kept the lists of expenditures and household goods. She hadn’t been in that part of the castle before and had assumed it housed only the kitchen, storerooms and the buttery.
She easily spotted Hywel, the cook, a large man with a shining pate who was adding rosemary to an iron pot over the fire in the hearth, and asked him where Ivor’s workroom was.
Hywel pointed to a half-open door just beyond the kitchen. “He’s in there now, my lady,” he said, his voice loud enough to be heard over the talking, chopping, kneading and banging pots as the other kitchen servants went about their tasks.
With a grateful nod, she headed for the door and pushed it open. It moved without a sound on well-oiled hinges.
Ivor was indeed inside, seated at a scarred trestle table that looked as if it had been retired from the hall. Sunlight came in through a single high narrow window to illuminate the room. An open purse was at the steward’s elbow and five small piles of silver coins rested in front of him on the table, as well as a small piece of parchment that looked like some kind of list.
The room itself was a good size, but between the table, Ivor’s chair and the shelves that contained other scrolls, and a chest with a large iron lock, there wasn’t much room for anyone or anything else.
“Good day, Ivor,” she said.
He looked up with surprise. “My lady!” he cried as he rose from his chair. “To what do I owe this honor, and the morning after your wedding, too?”
“I thought I should become familiar with the household accounts as soon as possible,” she replied, giving him a smile.
Ivor frowned and began to roll up the scroll. “Madoc didn’t tell you then? There’s no need for you to involve yourself in such things. I supervise all the purchasing and give the accounts directly to Madoc.”
“That may have been the procedure while Lord Madoc had no wife. However, now that he has, it’s my responsibility to manage the household expenditures. Naturally I leave it to Madoc to discuss the accounts for arms and other things related to the garrison.”
“Your devotion to your responsibilities is to be commended, my lady,” Ivor replied with a smile as condescending as Wimarc’s had ever been as he put the rolled scroll on the table. “But I’m sure there’s plenty enough for you to do without bothering with the accounts. Besides, you’re new here, my lady, while I have known most of the merchants we do business with for years, so they know better than to try to cheat me.”
“I’m sure that’s quite true,” she replied, “but any merchants who try to cheat me will quickly find themselves with no more business at Llanpowell.”
She was not incompetent, after all.
She was the lady of Llanpowell and it was not for the steward to tell her what she could, or could not, do.
Nevertheless, and in spite of her growing indignation, she reminded herself that this man was Madoc’s friend. She was also a stranger here and her arrival and the marriage had happened suddenly and without warning. Most important of all, she wanted to fit into the life of Llanpowell and avoid conflict, so Roslynn fought to remain composed, overlook Ivor’s manner and instead do all she could to convince him she was capable.
“I can read and write and calculate,” she assured him. “My mother made sure of it. I quite enjoy that part of a chatelaine’s duties, much more than embroidery or other women’s work.”
She would even find common ground with him, if she could. “Is there not something satisfying about tallying up the accounts? Don’t you feel a sense of triumph when you come upon a mistake and then discover where it occurred and correct it?”
“I’ve never heard a woman say such things,” Ivor replied with undisguised astonishment, and not a little doubt.
“It’s quite true,” she said, tucking her hands into her long cuffs. “My father’s steward said I would have made an excellent clerk, had I been born a man.”
“I cannot imagine you anything but a beautiful woman,” Ivor said. His lips jerked up, and she realized that was supposed to be a smile.
“I learn quickly, too,” she went on, “and you can teach me about the local merchants and their prices as we go through the accounts together. I’ll certainly expect you to assist me when it comes to negotiating purchases at first, because the merchants might be inclined to try to inflate the prices unless someone they know is with me.”
Ivor clasped his hands behind his back. “Madoc has agreed to all this?”
“I’m sure he will. As chatelaine—”
“Then you haven’t actually asked him?”
As much as she wanted to avoid conflict, there were limits to what she would countenance from the steward. Nevertheless, she fought to keep her voice level. “There was no need. I am well versed in a chatelaine’s obligations and responsibilities and I intend to fulfill them, unless and until Madoc tells me otherwise.”
Ivor seemed to shrink a little. “Forgive me, my lady, for my reluctance. I would hate to think Madoc doesn’t trust me anymore.”
Is that why he’d been so resistant? “I’m quite certain he has every confidence and faith in you. It is simply that he now has a wife who’s capable and willing to do all that a chatelaine should.”
Ivor gave her a more genuine smile. “As long as he doesn’t doubt my honesty.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t.” She picked up the scroll that he’d put on the table, unrolled it and studied the list of items on it. “You have a remarkably neat hand, Ivor. I shall not have to squint at all.”
Ivor came to stand beside her. “Thank you, my lady. As you can see, the trout at the wedding feast was a bargain…”
AS THE MORNING progressed, Ivor became more genial and forthcoming, answering Roslynn’s many other questions about goods and money paid while going through lists and tallies.
“I think that’s enough for today,” she said as the noise from the kitchen increased, telling her it must be getting near the hour for the noon meal.
She rose and arched her back. “You do have an eye for a bargain, Ivor. Madoc’s lucky to have you for a steward.”
“He’s lucky to have you for a wife, my lady,” Ivor replied with an admiring smile, more accepting of her now that he knew she was capable of discussing and comprehending such matters. Like most men, he had believed otherwise until she gave him proof.
“I’ll just put these scrolls away and come along shortly,” he added.
Feeling she had won him over, or at least was well on the way to doing so, Roslynn nodded her head and left the room.
Had she turned back, however, she wouldn’t have seen admiration or respect
on the steward’s face.
Only bitter, burning resentment.
CHAPTER TEN
IT WAS APPROACHING dusk when Madoc and his men returned to Llanpowell that day. He’d done everything he could think of to protect his land, his sheep and his people from his brother’s selfish villainy.
Not only had he checked the border of his estate for any signs of trespass, he had gone to every shepherd and farmer and warned them to take special care and alert the castle if they noticed anything amiss. He’d also made sure that the signal fires were sheltered from the wet and ready to be lit at a moment’s notice. He’d ordered extra patrols and put more men on watch at the castle.
Yet despite his brother’s action and the need for increased vigilance, Madoc felt happier than he had since the day he married Gwendolyn, because he was going home to Roslynn. Beautiful, passionate, clever Roslynn…
“This marriage must agree with you, Madoc,” Ioan noted as he rode beside him at the head of the patrol. “You’re humming.”
“Am I?”
“Aye. The song about the mermaid, too. A good sign, that. Must have been quite the wedding night.”
Madoc was in too good a humor to be annoyed by Ioan’s impertinence. “It was.”
Ioan let out a low whistle. “My, my, who’d have thought it? I wish I’d been more polite to Lord Alfred when they arrived.”
Madoc had forgotten that the often-insolent Ioan had been on sentry duty then. “What did you say to him?”
“Nothing so very rude,” Ioan assured him, although his reddening cheeks suggested otherwise.
“Tell me,” Madoc ordered.
When the lord of Llanpowell used that tone of voice, a man had best obey, so Ioan told him, albeit reluctantly, finishing with, “You see, Madoc? Not so bad.”
Madoc envisioned the scene, especially Ioan’s impudent manner as he addressed the haughty Norman from the wall. He would have been upset if Ioan had been rude to Lady Roslynn directly. Since it had been Lord Alfred, though, he was inclined to be magnanimous. “Next time, be more polite. You represent me, after all, and we don’t want the Normans thinking we’re insolent louts.”
The Warlord’s Bride Page 10
