Defiant

by Jessica Trapp

  “Heave!” Jared boomed and what appeared to be a wagon lifted from the clogged moat. Slime dripped from the wood.

  The burden was too heavy for the number of men and it sank back into the green, murky water.

  Jared called men to him and dusted an area on the ground. He knelt and drew in the dirt, making lines that went this way and that. The leather of his breeks tightened against his buttocks.

  She licked her lips.

  A few moments later, the workers changed the pulley system slightly and tried again. This time the cart came dragging out of the water.

  Despite her best plans to stay unaffected, Gwyneth’s admiration for Jared rose with every bit of progress that was made. His chest lifted and fell in mighty gasps as they dragged the cart away from the moat and into a large pile to dry. Later, a fire would be started and whatever could not be salvaged would be burned.

  Jared’s eyes flashed in the sun like green agate as he turned toward her. He lifted one arm in greeting. A ripple of muscle danced.

  She touched her hair, remembering how gently he had braided it yesternight. Her scalp had tingled with pleasure at his careful ministrations.

  Logs lifted, unclogging the inflow of fresh water from the nearby river. A rushing stream flowed into the moat, at first mingling with the dirty water and then pushing it through.

  Hope sprang inside Gwyneth. As vexing as it was to be forced to spend every minute of the day and night at Jared’s side at least her lands would be made useful again. Hopefully soon she would be able to resume her work in the prisons.

  “Thank you, my lord,” she said a short while later as he approached her. “Both your care for my land and your cleverness in making that device is appreciated.”

  “Our land,” he corrected as he always did when she made personal claim.

  “Perhaps I should see about the keep in our castle,” she said pointedly. “The shelves need organized.”

  “Nay. You will stay with me. I want no rebellion.”

  “I want to clean the kitchens, not start a rebellion!”

  He rinsed himself off in a barrel of clean water and donned his tunic. “The kitchens are being taken care of by Kaitlyn.”

  “Kaitlyn has not—”

  “Enough on this, lady wife. This subject has been discussed and my answer is no.”

  What a stubborn, obstinate man! Placing her hand on her hip, she opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off with a wave of his hand toward their chamber.

  “Shall I get the brank?”

  She gritted her teeth. “Nay, my lord.”

  “Good.” He turned, obviously expecting her to follow. Hmph. “'Tis time for the morning hunt so that we will have meat later.”

  Frustrated, she resisted the urge to stamp her foot and did not budge from the spot.

  He twisted back toward her, taking in her scowl with a grin and a wink. The same wink he had given her years ago when he’d gifted her with the book. “Asides, I have something for you.”

  “Something for me?” What on earth could he possibly give her? “I am sure you have naught that I want.”

  “Oh, but I do, Gwyneth. Come on … admit that spending every moment with me has not been all bad.”

  “It has been nigh a week and I cannot even use the privy without your permission!”

  He grinned. “But I’ve never denied you.”

  She rolled her eyes but fell in step beside him. Just as she did every day.

  “I only want to see to my duties.”

  “Your only duty is to attend me.”

  Irksome. Utterly irksome. “If we must live together, then I do not see why I cannot—”

  “Silence, wife. Or we go back for the scold’s bridle.”

  She clamped her lips and squared her shoulders. If only she could talk to Irma and come up with a plan!

  They followed the river to the south through the forest near the edge of the wall.

  Despite their row, companionable silence yawned between them as they walked. Aeliana took flight and circled overhead. No matter how much she wished to be at the keep organizing the household, Gwyneth found the time that they spent hunting each day magical. The issues between them faded as they watched Aeliana catch prey.

  The suspicion in the bird’s yellow eyes had lessened. She no longer ruffled when Gwyneth came near. Today she had practiced soothing the hawk by singing a soft song to her the same as Jared did.

  Several rabbits were caught, but instead of heading farther into the trees, Jared drew Gwyneth over to a shady place beneath a giant oak.

  He reached into his tunic and brought out the book with the carved dragon cover.

  She blinked. “Where did you get that?”

  “You had it in your bodice the night I carried you back to the cave.”

  “I thought I had lost it. ”

  She reached for it, but he held it away. The fabric of his tunic strained against his shoulders. “First, tell me why you carried it with you.”

  She placed one hand on her hip. “What do you mean?”

  “I doubt you were teaching the harlots how to read.”

  Unbidden, she felt her cheeks heat. The book had been her constant companion for years. She still did not know how to read, but it had represented hope to her all the same that someday she would have a place for women and control her own lands, her own life, and her own destiny. Every time she glanced at the dragon on the cover she’d felt new courage.

  She looked at the sharp planes of his face—at the precision of his jaw and the sheer masculinity of his goatee and mustache. Her dreams seemed silly and foolish in the harsh light of reality.

  “Of course I did not carry it around,” she denied, not wanting him to know how often she’d flipped through it, thinking of how he had winked at her. How he’d been the only man to give her a gift that honored her intellect rather than her beauty.

  “The binding is worn and the pages have been softened through wear.” He took her chin and tilted her face up. “Why do you lie when the truth would be simpler?”

  “Simpler for men, mayhap.”

  “Why would you carry around a book that a stranger gave you?”

  She shrugged and turned aside to peer into the branches of a nearby oak. “I liked the pretty cover.”

  “You lie. Again.” His eyes seemed to discern things she would rather keep hidden. “Did you ever learn to read?”

  “Women have no use for reading,” she said bitterly.

  His hand splayed across her cheek, then traced down her neck. The book pressed between their bodies.

  “I can teach you.”

  She shivered as heat curled low in her belly.

  “You want … to teach me to read?” Jared was the oddest man she had ever known. They had spent night and day together. Every night after he had combed and braided her hair, he had held her in his arms on the bed. Not once had he attempted to force himself on her and she found herself relaxing more and more whenever he touched her. Now he was offering this?

  His hand closed around hers. “Aside from hawking, I can think of no better way to spend the day than reading.” Intelligence sparkled in his green eyes.

  Carefully, he opened the pages of the book. It fell open to a small drawing of a young knight at court—her favorite.

  Curiosity won over her pride. “What does it say?”

  The corners of his mouth lifted. “Some said that women all love riches best, While some said honor, others jolly zest, Some rich array; some said delights in bed, And many said to be a widow wed.”

  She leaned closer, intrigued.

  His face touched hers; his goatee brushed her cheek. “I told you years ago that ‘twas about the place of women.” He flipped to a different page, took her finger, and ran it under the words as he read: “How she was young and fair in all her charms, In utter joy he took her in his arms; His heart was bathing in a bath of bliss, A thousand kisses he began to kiss, And she obeyed in each and every way, Whatever was his pleas
ure or his play.”

  She snatched her hand back but could not ignore the fluttering in her core. “You are trying to seduce me,” she accused.

  “Is it working?”

  She drew her long braid over her shoulder. It dangled into her lap and pooled on the fabric of her gown. “Maybe.”

  His shoulder rubbed hers. Body heat filtered through his tunic and she was all too aware of his clean, masculine scent. “Why did you marry me, Gwyneth?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Evidently you were running from something.”

  “I had wanted to control my own lands.”

  “Why? A husband would be an asset.”

  The casualness of the morning had relaxed her. For an instant she contemplated telling him about her embroidery work and the women at the prison and the reason she had not had time to learn how to read.

  Jared thumbed the book’s spine. Her scalp tingled in response—as if it already longed for nightfall when he would braid her hair. “You might like this passage as well”:

  What women most desire is sovereignty

  Over their husbands or the ones they love,

  To have the mastery, to be above.

  Her brows drew together as she tried to fathom the workings of his mind.

  At that moment a scream sounded. Jared and Gwyneth both jumped as a young lad wearing too-short breeches and a worn tunic ran out of the woods, snatched Jared’s bag of prey, and took off running. His bare feet crunched against leaves.

  William! ‘Twas William from The Bald Cock. A harlot’s son. What in heaven’s name was he doing here?

  “Ho! “ Jared leapt up and ran after the boy.

  When he was a stone’s throw away, the bushes rustled behind her. “Psst! Lady Gwyn! Lady Gwyn!”

  She whirled and recognized Emma—another of the children from the brothel. She had long red curls and a toothless grin. “What—”

  “Shh"—the girl brought a finger to her lips—"Irma sent us. Come soon. ‘Tis desperate.”

  “What is wrong?”

  William let out a howl—a signal?—and Emma turned on her heels and disappeared into the forest.

  A few moments later, Jared came back to her, his chest heaving from the short run. He carried the bag of prey.

  “Strangest thing. The boy threw it at me before I even got close to catching him.”

  “Odd,” Gwyneth echoed. She twirled her fingers around her braid, drawing the strands between her fingers. She looked at the leafy bush where Emma had just been. Should she tell Jared?

  The exchange with Kiera when they had gone into the village crashed in her mind. Jared had been adamant that she was no longer allowed to speak with whores’ children or ever visit the brothel again. As pleasant as this morning had been, Jared could not be trusted. If he knew of the connection, he might be tempted to go after William and have him brought up on charges of stealing. She tapped her foot nervously on the ground.

  Come soon, Emma had said. ‘Tis desperate.

  What did the message mean? Had something happened to Irma?

  She held up the small book. “I would like to learn more. If you would not mind teaching me …”

  Jared’s torso twisted and his tunic pulled tight across his shoulders as he looked from the forest to her and back again. “Right.” Slowly, he opened the book.

  Chapter 23

  Irma. Irma. Irma.

  Her friend’s name pounded in Gwyneth’s brain as she looked around from her seat on the dais. Come soon. ‘Tis desperate. Her mind and heart ached to be able to go to the brothel.

  If only she could have asked Emma and William more questions.

  Her hands fidgeted. Every speck of dirt came sharply into view and she wanted to move about and calm her nerves.

  She had cleaned and organized the master’s solar and all the trunks in their chamber, but had been able to do naught here. All day Jared had explained letters and sound and words to her. She was thrilled with her new ability to read small words but he had not allowed any reprieve from his presence to do her work.

  The lack of tapestries sent drafts of chilly air whispering through the crumbling mortar of the bricks.

  Cobwebs hung in the corners and filth caked the mantel of the hearth. An unholy stench rose fromthe rushes as scruffy mongrels rooted for the rotting remainders of past meals.

  Gwyneth rubbed her nose, wishing she had brought a sprig of lavender to hold. If only she had her embroidery hoop so that she could still her fidgeting fingers and be useful!

  Her fingers twitched to grab a broom, to wipe down the walls, to tear down the shabby curtains and send them to the laundress for washing. If the children were sent to pluck fresh herbs, if three or four maids swept out the rushes, if they all worked together, the great hall would be in working order by midnight. Perhaps then her mind would be tranquil enough to solve the dilemma about how to get around Jared so that she could check on Irma.

  The sound of laughter, loud boasting, and bustling servants rose and fell around her as the evening meal of roasted game and a simple vegetable stew was cleared away in a haphazard fashion.

  Jared, sitting next to her on the dais with his long legs stretched out and his body relaxed, talked amicably to the man next to him about repairing the ropes on the portcullis.

  She drummed her fingers on the table, frustrated that he forced her to sit idly by his side rather than direct the maids in clearing the trestle tables. The serving wenches were practically tripping over each other.

  Without thinking, she reached for the frayed hem of his tunic.

  Startled, he swiveled toward her.

  “If I had a needle—”

  “Likely you would poke it in my eye. ”

  She stood to her feet. “If we must be married, I’d like to be a wife, Jared!”

  His eyes darkened and his hand closed atop hers, squeezing in warning and pulling her back to her seat. He leaned close to her ear. “I will not tolerate disrespect from you in front of the servants.”

  “You have no right to keep me pinned like a bug to your side!”

  “But I do. You will speak civilly or wear the brank.”

  Lifting her chin, she clamped her mouth closed.

  With her eating dagger, she pushed the last of the bland, tasteless mush around on the bread trencher they had been sharing. The cooks had used no spices—something else that needed correcting. The flavorless meal served in the dirty hall was a loud testimony to her failures as lady of the keep.

  She recalled the way Kiera had jutted out her six-year-old jaw, shaken her grimy little finger at him, and called him a lumbering jackass. If the scold’s bridle did not loom as a threat, she would jump up and do the same right this moment.

  The thought of Kiera sent more worry into Gwyneth’s mind. Kiera had said her mama had a fever. Sometimes whores got fevers and died. She wished she would have asked Kiera if her mother had pain in her stomach or felt burning when she used the privy, but ‘twould be unlikely that the child would know such things unless she’d overheard one of the other whores talking. Somehow she had to get to the brothel to see about her. Mayhap she could take her some mercury or find a physician to treat her. Was that what Emma and William’s message was about?

  Her shoulders slumped as if a lead weight pressed atop them. Irma. Kiera. Elizabeth. The castlefolk. The harlots. The imprisoned women. So many to care for. And no authority to do what needed to be done.

  Something pricked Gwyneth’s ankles; she jumped and slapped at it. Looking down into the dirty rushes, she saw black spots hopping. Fleas!

  Heavens, something had to be done about cleanliness.

  Jared took another gulp of ale from his tankard, apparently unfazed by the filth in the great hall.

  One of the dogs by the hearth scratched its neck vigorously.

  Gwyneth gritted her teeth. “The dogs are scratching, my lord. ”

  He gave her a look that indicated he thought she might be addle-headed. “Dogs scratch
,” he said and turned back to the man he had been speaking with.

  “There are also cobwebs in the corners, my lord. ”

  He picked up his tankard. “Spiders spin.”

  “I know spiders spin,” she said tightly, straining to keep her voice respectful although she wanted to grab him by his goatee and force his head this way and that to look at the mess and dirt and disorganization. “The hearth is dusty.”

  His gaze slid to the hearth, which was caked with ash. Couldn’t he see the shabby state of the hall?

  He shrugged and knifed another piece of meat. “We have food. That is what matters.”

  “I thank thee for sending rabbits to me mother for food,” the man next to Jared said, regaining his attention.

  Faith!

  “And for sending pigeons to my family as well, my lord,” another man said.

  “And to mine!” said another.

  “And mine!”

  “A toast! “ From one of the lower tables, a workman wearing a shabby brown tunic and torn hose stood to his feet and lifted his goblet high into the air. “To our new lord!”

  “To Jared! ”

  “And his hawk!”

  “Huzzah!”

  Sullenly, Gwyneth raised her goblet. At least he had done well by her people. “To my new husband,” she said blandly. Who forces me to follow him around like a dog and disallows me from my duties, my friends, and my responsibilities.

  She shuffled her slippers in the rushes and studied her husband as she scratched at her flea bites.

  He wore a faded tunic with a ragged hem—peasant clothing—yet he stood out as a clear leader. His straight black hair was combed back from his face and held in place by a leather band. His fingers were wrapped casually around his tankard and there was ease in his shoulders. For all his faults, he was a handsome man.

  A pretty maid batted her lashes at him as she poured more ale into his drinking vessel. Gwyneth glowered at her and the girl sashayed away.

  Jared, she noted, didn’t follow the sway of the girl’s hips, but instead took Gwyneth’s hand and drew a light circle on her palm. Unbidden, tingles went up her arm.