She had visions of her people taking one look at her exhausted face and rallying into a war band to rid themselves of the intruder. She took deep breaths to relax, but the nearness of his body grated on her nerves.
Dismayed, she resigned herself to the agonizing ride, looked forlornly at the passing hedgerows, and tried to think up a plan to get herself out of this current predicament. Could she send a missive to Adele? Get Irma to bring poison? Consult Brother Giffard?
The turrets of her keep could be seen now, and hope sprang in her heart as it always did when she saw her lands. Soon she would see the small but neat castle, the green lawn, the whitewashed walls. It was a perfect place for her to build a shelter where women could come for help. All she had to do was be able to manage and control the land in her own right—something that had eluded her for years.
Jared’s heat pressed against her back, reminding her that her latest attempt at gaining control was not going as she had planned at all.
More hedgerows passed.
A foul stench wafted their direction as they passed another bend in the road and her small castle was just ahead.
She covered her nose and mouth. Flies swarmed the area. Garbage clogged the flow of fresh river water into the moat and an oily brown scum floated on the surface of the dark waters of the moat.
Appalled, she sat up on the horse to better scrutinize the area, a perplexed frown worrying her brow. She had not been here in nearly two years, but her estate, small as it was, had always been kept in pristine condition.
The evening sun’s light reflected a murky orange off the scum-crusted water.
Horrified, she peered at what she could see of her keep.
Crumbling walls. Rotting roof. Dead grass.
She nearly choked. Her precious inheritance, her key to an independent life and would-be home for women, was in ruin?
“Sweet holy Mary.” She had been told that her lands were in order! The last time she had seen them, she had overseen a new coat of lime on the walls and the keep had sparkled in the sunlight.
Anger coursed through her in a long, flat wave—at last giving her some energy.
Swiveling her head to better glare at her captor, she addressed Jared sharply. “Stop the horse and dismount.”
“Nay.”
Her shoulders knotted.
For a moment her eyes clouded and the vision of the rundown buildings went fuzzy. She should have been here to take care of things instead of leaving it in the care of men!
“Not much of a keep, lady wife,” Jared drawled. “From what you said afore, I had expected something grander. ”
Grander. It had been grander last time she had been here.
She stiffened, made to lurch from her mount, but Jared’s arm around her rib cage prevented the action.
“Let me down,” she demanded again, determined to discover exactly what had happened. She would go straight to the steward.
Jared’s breath whispered against her neck as he pressed her closer to his body. Barbarian!
Sharp pain pierced her palm; her nails dug into the tender pads of her skin.
She shook out her hands, wishing she could shake off being his captive just as easily. She longed to leap off the horse, race to the keep, and exact answers. She craned her neck this way and that, taking in the dilapidated outbuildings and ill-kept grounds. Whole walls had been knocked down. Vines grew in a tangle over the cistern.
Horror pitted in her stomach. It was like a graveyard.
The oddest part of it all was the silence. The utter silence. No workman’s hammer. No seamstress’s gossip. No children playing or dogs barking or chickens clucking.
Where was everyone? Had the keep been raided and everyone dead? Surely she would have gotten a message …
On the heels of horror and apprehension, guilt weighed down her chest. The missives she had received on her properties had indicated that all was well. She’d been betrayed! Lied to.
She should have come here and determined the state of the estate herself! The events of this past year: her father’s exile, her sister’s marriage, being forced by the king to be under Montgomery’s control had kept them all busy and on edge for months.
“Please,” she hissed. “I would like to see about my people.”
They rode farther into the bailey across the patches of overgrown grass. The horse’s slow pace made her feel as though she would jump out of her skin.
“You will stay with me,” Jared said.
She gritted her teeth. ‘Twas so unfair the places of men and women—that men should have control.
“I am not going anywhere,” she reasoned—indeed, where would she go? “I only wish to see about my lands.”
“Lands sorely neglected for quite some time. A few more moments will not matter.”
Men had allowed her castle to deteriorate: The sludge-filled moat, the pockmarked walls, and the crumbling roof were the fault of her brother, her father, and Montgomery. Men who had only their own interests at heart and took no care for the people at all. They had let the land sink into such turmoil! And then lied to her about it!
A woman wearing a dirty muffin cap and wrinkled apron appeared in a doorway at the top of the stone steps that led into the great hall.
Squinting, Gwyneth recognized her as Kaitlyn, one of the senior maids responsible for the running of the keep when the lady of the manor was not in residence.
“Kaitlyn.”
She looked thinner, harder. Older. Her face had more lines on her forehead and her lips seemed to turn down in a permanent frown.
“What happened? Where is everyone?”
With a shrug, the woman gave a questioning look at Jared.
“Where is my steward?” Gwyneth pointed at the dilapidated walls. “What has happened to my keep? Where is—”
In his unhurried pace, Jared’s hands became firm on her rib cage, cutting off the rest of her questions.
“I am the lady’s husband, good woman,” Jared interjected before Gwyneth could gather her wits to finish her sentence.
“I see, my lord.” Kaitlyn bobbed her head, taking in Gwyneth’s disheveled hair and the stains and rips marring the blue silk of her dress with a dispassionate gaze. If she was shocked or upset, it did not show on her wrinkled face. As if she’d faced so many horrors that one more—a small one such as the lady of the keep being disheveled—was naught but a petty grievance.
“The larders are nigh empty, milady, milord. Winter is coming. Irvine died. So did Thomas. Starved for lack of milk. My breasts have no more life in them.”
More weight fell on Gwyneth’s chest until the guilt threatened to consume her. “Children died?”
The woman’s mouth drew into a flat line as if sheer stubbornness was all that had kept her alive. “Aye.”
Evidently she was not surprised by her arrival because she no longer cared.
Gwyneth pushed her hair behind her shoulders. “Kaitlyn, you must tell me what has occurred.” It made her sick to think of hearing all the details, but she must know.
“Aye,” echoed Jared. She felt his body stiffen behind her, saw his hands tighten on the reins.
The woman fisted her wrinkled hands at her sides. “Little Edward, Mary’s son, caught the ague and wheezed himself to death. We had no medicine.”
Her chest squeezed. Somehow she should have prevented this. She should have come to her keep to see how they were faring for herself. She could have protected them, helped them.
“Are you here to help us, milady? Or are you here to take the rest? We have the barest of items in the pantry, the wine has been stolen, the—”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jared’s jaw harden. She could practically feel his condemnation of her.
Gwyneth cleared her throat, stopping the woman midstream. To regain her people’s trust, she would have to show leadership. She didn’t need a list of what was missing, but what was still here. They needed food for the winter and enough firewood to keep warm. The walls and roof needed re
paired. The pantries needed organized and the items counted.
“Where is the steward?” she asked, determined to get a sense of what supplies they had and what they would need, of how many servants were at the keep and how many depended on her to fill their bellies.
The woman gave her a withering glare, her face becoming even more prunelike. “The steward, ‘e ran off, milady. Took the meats and the last of the apples. Your father did not pay him.”
Curse her father! How dare he be so obsessed with his rebellion against the king that he had paid no attention to his tenants and servants.
“Has anyone been here to check on the estate?” Jared stepped forward.
The woman turned sharply toward him and Gwyneth felt herself being dismissed as a viable person to look to for leadership. “Nay, milord. Not these past months. Not even after the raids began.”
Raids. Starving children. Gwyneth’s chest ached; she wanted to bury her face in her hands and weep. How could she have allowed this to happen? She had spent so much time and energy helping women in prison and none on her people—had assumed that they had been cared for.
“The knights left and we had none to protect us,” Kaitlyn continued.
Gwyneth gritted her teeth to hold back tears. She needed to be strong and put things back together. The stench from the clogged moat wafted toward them with a puff of breeze. From here, garbage and sewage could be seen floating atop the disgusting water. She resisted the urge to cover her nose. She would breathe what her people breathed. Together they would set things aright.
“Did Montgomery offer no protection when he was given the place as overlord?” she asked. It had only been a few months, but surely enough time to do something. Her brother-in-law, ogre that he was, had done well in taking over the other lands; she had to give him credit for that.
Kaitlyn’s sharp intake of breath answered her question. “My daughters and I hide in the woods or the cellar when the marauders come. We’ve gotten quite good at hiding the food. The youngest, Abigail, wasn’t fast enough. She"—again the woman’s accusing eyes—"we found her in the woods, her body savaged. We could not stop the blood from betwixt her legs …”
Gwyneth winced, remembering the pain in her woman’s place that the terrifying violation had caused. For that to have happened to an eight-year-old was beyond evil. Vile.
“We had no priest to bury her properly—”
“When did this occur?” Jared swung off the horse, pulling Gwyneth with him.
“Two months past.”
Hand on hip, he looked sharply around at the gate and walls as if to discern who might hide behind them. “Who attacked? From whence?”
His tone, dark and strong, gave Gwyneth pause. ‘Twas as if he was remembering some evil event from the past.
Dark circles shadowed the woman’s eyes. “I know not, milord.”
“We will see to the child’s proper burial,” Gwyneth promised. “Have the rights said by a priest. I am most sorry for your loss.” Her words seemed hollow, inadequate. The blank expression on Kaitlyn’s wrinkled face echoed the thought, and Gwyneth wondered if perhaps she should have said naught, should have allowed the woman her grief instead of pretending she could wipe it away with a decent burial and a lame apology.
“The raiders will be punished,” Jared interjected. Despite his common garments, he stood like a knight.
‘Twas almost like he cared.
“Have you any food to eat?” he continued.
“We have a little, milord. Turnip broth. Three chickens. Six onions.”
“Turnip broth! That is all?” The shabby walls of the keep seemed to shake at the vehemence of his voice—as if a few more tiles would fall from the roof.
Kaitlyn shrugged, turned her face to one side inviting him to look around and see for himself what desperate state they were in. “We have two cheeses left. Three loaves. A bag of apples. ”
Jared tapped his walking stick once, twice, then pointed at the doorway the woman had emerged from. “Go fetch water. And find someone who knows about hawks,” he finished with a glance toward Aeliana, who had perched on one corner of the hearth’s chimney.
Not waiting for Gwyneth’s compliance, he turned, stalked up the stone steps to the keep’s door, and flung it open. He carried his staff like a shield. The engraved dragon on the wood could have been alive. Its red eye flashed in the sun.
She followed along behind him, tripping at his pace and frowning at his back. He did not even know these people, and had been tricked into being lord here. He was a stranger. A peasant. An unwilling bridegroom.
But he was not acting like a peasant. He said the right things, did the right things—like the lord of the keep. Gwyneth worried her lower lip. Irma had assured her that he was naught more than a falconer, but then Irma had also assured her that he was impotent and that was far from the truth. Plus there was the mystery of why he had not entered the monastery or why people were searching for him.
So much she did not know about him.
If he turned out to be a nobleman, she would be stuck with him for life. A wash of acid lurched into her throat and she fought a wave of nausea.
She determined to gain control of the situation. “Let me loose, Jared. I need to see to my people.”
“Your people need a real leader. ”
“Release me. I am mistress here.”
“And I am lord. ”
She placed her hands on her hips. He certainly was not acting like a peasant.
“Enough. We go hunting. Together. ”
Chapter 19
“Hunting?” She crossed her arms and faced him squarely. “I have not even checked on the kitchens yet.”
“Later. “ He retrieved a thick leather glove from his pack, then instructed a servant to take the remaining items to the master’s chambers and handed the horse’s reins to a young lad.
“Your people are hungry, and we will not rest until they are fed.”
“I thank you for bringing food for my people, but I know naught about hunting,” she reasoned. “I will stay here and check on the pantries.”
“You will remain by my side at all times.”
“But I must attend my duties.”
“Your new duty is to attend me. I will not leave you here to start a rebellion.”
“But—”
“Come, wife.”
She tapped her foot, not budging. He was correct that the castlefolk needed to be fed—and she planned to do just that—by checking the pantries and kitchen and setting things in order. She would braid her hair, find a plain kirtle to wear, and work alongside the maids to get matters organized. A lady had duties!
“If we must go together, then the hunting can be done in the morning. There are things here to take care of.”
“Nay. We go now. Aeliana has been patient enough, and your people need food.”
“Kaitlyn explained that there was cheese and apples for the evening sup. We will see to the larders and tomorrow we will all get a fresh start.” Perhaps she could even have a bath.
“Come, lady wife.”
She did not move. “Nay. Go without me.”
“Absolutely not.”
When he did not move either, she realized that he intended to simply stand there and wait. For all eternity if he had to.
Obstinate man.
“Fine.” She glowered at him; the blue silk of her gown rustled as she stepped forward. Dizziness washed over her, and she reached for something to steady herself. Jared’s arm extended. The muscles danced beneath her fingers. Heavens, she was tired.
She could not remember ever feeling this exhausted or discouraged in her life. She rubbed her temples and noted that her hands were smeared with dirt.
She half expected him to curse at her as she regained her balance, but instead he waited, not restlessly as most men would, but with a sort of endless patience. That of a master falconer.
She did not speak the words aloud, but she found herself grateful that he did
not shame her in front of her people by forcing her to move too quickly. ‘Twas as if her attempt at compliance was enough to satisfy him.
For certes, she would have fallen on her face.
Wondering at his patience and too tired to fight, she followed, annoyed that she had to cling to his arm for balance. Her legs and back ached; shooting pain ran up her spine in a line from her ankles to her neck. It was madness for him to insist they go back out when they had barely arrived and the keep was in such a state of despair.
Hours passed. Dark shadows shifted on the walls of the bedchamber as Gwyneth listened carefully to the sound of Jared’s breathing and wondered if she could make it to the door before he awoke.
Stomach churning, she debated on a course of action.
How had she gotten into the bed? She had no recollection.
They had returned late from the hunt—she mostly stumbling—and fallen directly to sleep in one of the chairs by the hearth. She stared at one of the corner posts on the large four-poster bed of the master’s chambers, wondering how she had gotten from the chair to the bed. She still wore her blue silk gown—now even more wrinkled than it had been. She had not braided her hair for sleeping as was her habit, and it tangled around her.
But at least her people had been fed fresh meat.
For that she had, despite her annoyance at Jared’s high-handedness, been grateful.
Jared’s back was turned toward her—how odd to be sharing space with a man!—and his hand tucked beneath his cheek, his glossy hair falling over his forehead. His hair was slightly damp as if he had bathed and the ends skimmed his wide, tanned shoulders. He looked … beautiful and her fingers itched to touch him, to trace a nail down his shoulder blade. Beautiful? What a miserable thought. No doubt as soon as he awoke he would be ordering her about.
For the rest of her life.
The ghastly thought spurred her into action.
Slowly she circled one of her ankles. He did not know his way around the castle, so surely if she was able to get out the chamber door she could work her way through the labyrinth of hallways to the back exit of the keep. Then she could make her way through the woods to the city, and make it to the brothel.
Defiant Page 17
