Desiree

by Roberta Gellis

  Godric grinned and nodded. He seemed to be a different man since the burden of being responsible for directing the men-at-arms had been lifted from him. “And that wasn’t the last knock Lord Reule had,” Godric continued. “Hard on the death of the youngest came the news that the eldest boy had died of arnaldia in the Holy Land.”

  “King Richard had it too but he lived.”

  “So then Lord Reule, he wanted Peter to be with him. He wanted to talk about his sons and how his life was blighted. Peter listened but urged him to listen to Sir Frewyn.”

  “Sir Frewyn was here then?”

  “Didn’t live here, m’lord. Came to pay his condolences. Kept urging Lord Reule to pick out a younger son of some good house, marry him to Lady Desiree and keep them both here in Exceat. That way he’d have an adopted son of his own and a man who would love Exceat and care for it.”

  “That was good advice.”

  “But Lord Reule didn’t take it. And then Lord Reule died. Just stood up from bed one morning and fell over…dead. Just like that. So Peter couldn’t quit. When that Sir Nicolaus came with fifty men, Peter had us close the gates and man the walls. He only let Sir Nicolaus in by himself—and that was a good thing because Sir Nicolaus, he wanted to force Lady Desiree and would have if he had his men to call on to chase away the servants.”

  “She must have been frightened to death,” Alex said.

  “Was, m’lord. So then Peter, he sent for Sir Frewyn and told me to keep the men to their posts and make ready in case Sir Nicolaus came again. Anyway, after that Sir Frewyn married Lady Desiree himself and she was safe enough.”

  Sir Frewyn had brought his chaplain and his steward, why not his master-at-arms too Alex wondered?

  “And then…then Peter died.” Godric’s voice dropped to near a whisper. “I don’t think I ever was so frightened in my life as when Sir Frewyn came and told me I was to be master-at-arms. I told him I wasn’t fit…but he said I must make do for the meanwhile, that he would find another man. But he never did—” Godric’s voice shook “—and I never knew if what I told the men was wrong or right.”

  “You did very well,” Alex said heartily, as they climbed the stair of the forebuilding. “I would have kept you in the place gladly if you had wished it.”

  “No, m’lord, though I thank you for the kindness. Byford’s a good man. He seems to know without telling what you’d want. Then he tells me and I tell the men and we’re all comfortable.”

  When they entered the hall, Godric crossed at once to the hearth, took two torches from a bucket and lit them at the fire. He handed one torch to Alex and led the way to the southeast tower and down the stair. To Alex’s relief, no smell of damp and mold came from the pitch darkness below.

  From the base of the stair, the torches showed a capacious cellar, the roof supported on thick, low stone arches. Sturdy bins lined the wall nearest the stair. These were raised on squared logs so that if there should be some seepage from the hard earth floor it would not damage the contents of the bins. Alex’s nose told him that one bin, at least, held apples and another, as he passed, gave off the earth-odor of roots—turnips most likely.

  The opposite wall and back wall showed that the spaces between several arches had been blocked off by doors. The nearest was closed and locked with a large padlock. Godric lifted a thin metal chain, until now hidden by the neck of his tunic, and got a key with which he unlocked the door.

  “Ah,” Alex exclaimed in satisfaction as the torchlight picked out a bench on which lay a pile of swords, another that supported heaps of boiled-leather tunics, and piles of unstrung bows and bundles of arrow shafts.

  By the time Alex returned to the keep for the evening meal, he was in high good humor, which was not in the least diminished by being intercepted by Lady Desiree before he could reach his chamber. He had no time for anxious suspicion to rise; she asked him at once if he could come and speak to her husband, who was awake and eager to see him.

  “It isn’t that he doesn’t trust you, my lord,” she said anxiously. “I think he wants to be sure that you are really here and that you will stay.”

  “Of course.”

  Alex dropped his cloak over a bench near the hearth and followed her. He was briefly regretful not to be able to linger by the fire because near a whole day in the open had left him somewhat chilled, but that passed when he entered the lesser hall. An even larger fire than that in the great hall roared in the hearth and Alex felt as if he had walked into the most stifling day of high summer.

  The great chair close to the hearth was placed behind two tall shields braced upright to ward off the direct heat, but warmth flowed around them. Still, a quilt of sewn fox furs covered Sir Frewyn’s knees. Alex reached up and loosened the tie of his shirt.

  “If it is too warm for you, come around here.”

  The words were slow and a trifle slurred, but they were not spoken with the agonizing effort of the previous day. Alex also noticed that Sir Frewyn was more upright. He was still propped with pillows, but his body did not sag quite so bonelessly against them.

  He murmured thanks and walked to the far side of the chair where a stool was set. One stool must be Lady Desiree’s seat. Alex glanced at it but remained standing; he was tired after a full day of climbing stairs and walking the walls, but this was his lord and he must be invited to sit. He took breath to speak, but before he could, Elias arrived and placed a second stool beside the first.

  “Please sit,” Frewyn said. “It is easier for me.”

  Alex and Desiree sat down almost as one and Alex was shocked by the fact that he was so aware of her. He had not glanced her way and she had not touched him, but he was sure he felt the air move against him as she sat, and a faint delicious odor came with that movement—not floral, except for a touch of lavender, just a little sharp…refreshing and lively. The arm on the side that was near her prickled, as if the hairs on it were rising.

  Hastily Alex said, “I am happy to report, Sir Frewyn, that Exceat Keep is well stocked for war.”

  The old man stared at him. “Then you will leave us?”

  Again Alex was shocked, wondering if Sir Frewyn felt better and now wished to rid himself of an expensive controlling castellan. And then he remembered what Lady Desiree had said, about Frewyn being eager to see him and eager to be sure he would stay. Perhaps Sir Frewyn was only stating what he feared.

  “Not unless you give me a direct order to go, Sir Frewyn. You have that right, of course, and I would be constrained to obey you, but I would urge you most strongly not to send me away.”

  “No. Stay.” The words were expelled on a long sigh of relief and Sir Frewyn’s lips curved into a faint smile.

  So Alex reported with considerable enthusiasm on what Godric had shown him, ending with an almost lyrical description of what he imagined would be the effect of the small mangonels and ballistas stored in each tower.

  “And crossbows,” he said. “There were six crossbows in each tower.” He frowned. “Sir Simon feels that the best way to use the crossbow is to have two men—one to arm a bow and the other to loose the bolt. And while the shooter looses, the second man can arm the second bow. That means that only three bolts are actually loosed for six bows and two men, but they can be loosed almost continuously.”

  “Sir Simon…is wise…in war.”

  Sir Frewyn’s voice was fainter, the words produced with effort. Alex glanced anxiously at Lady Desiree, who leaned forward and put a hand on her husband’s. Suddenly Alex remembered the feeling of warmth her touch on his hand had wakened. He wondered if Sir Frewyn also felt that warmth—and was horrified by his thought. Although when he considered it, he did not know why wondering what Sir Frewyn felt should disturb him.

  “You’re tired, love,” Lady Desiree was saying. “I think Sir Alexandre has no immediate trouble to present to you. Let him go.”

  “That is true, my lord,” Alex said. “At present, all the surprises I have had are pleasant. I can finish telling you
what I discovered tomorrow and ask if my plans for renewing and testing the equipment meet with your approval.”

  “Th-thank…”

  Sir Frewyn’s eyes closed. Alex stood up in a panic, but Lady Desiree did not look alarmed. She lifted a hand and gestured him away, then bent over her husband for a moment. Afterward, she looked over her shoulder at Alex and said very softly, “He is asleep. Go now.”

  Gratefully, Alex fled. Actually he had enjoyed reporting to Sir Frewyn, whose eyes had been alert, comprehending, and full of interest and who had managed a nod of approval now and again. But he had been frightened when the old man failed so suddenly. He carried guilt to his chamber, to which a servant brought a basin of warm water for washing.

  In the future he would be more careful, he thought. He would watch Sir Frewyn for signs of fatigue. He had been betrayed by his eagerness to share his day’s activity with someone. In the past he had had Simon. Now he had no one with whom to discuss his work.

  Also he better understood Godric—not his inability to make a decision for fear of making the wrong one, but his desire for a fellow. Godric could not confide in the common men-at-arms and he had been afraid to confide in Byford. Now that he was securely second to a man he respected, he would have a real companion.

  Alex looked down at his tunic to determine whether he would need to change it. He noticed the bulge at the belt and removed the purse Simon had given him. About to open it, he thought better of being so public about money. A spill of wood lit at the fire allowed him to light the candle on the table and close the door. He opened the purse and poured out the contents, catching his breath over the wealth of silver pennies.

  How would he ever pay this back, he wondered, and then chuckled. If he did not spend it, he would not need to pay it back. He could simply return it. Even as the thought formed, he realized he would need to spend some of the money and that paying it back was not really a problem, he would have his fee as castellan and that would be knight’s share, a shilling a day, at the least.

  He looked down at the tunic again, more closely. Today he had not soiled his garments, but he might not be so fortunate another day and he had only one other tunic and one long gown for more formal occasions. In Roselynde it did not matter. He was only one of several knights in service.

  Here he was castellan. He would sit at the high table to eat with the family and spend his leisure—what leisure he had—near the hearth with the family, the priest, and their guests. It might be only himself and the priest if Sir Frewyn was not strong enough to come into the great hall and if Lady Desiree remained with him. Even so, he could not be stained and mud spattered. He would need several tunics, another gown, several pairs of chausses, braies…

  Alex could feel himself blushing. He wondered who made garments in Exceat. Lady Alinor managed the business in Roselynde—not that she made any but Simon’s clothing herself but she bade the maids what to do. He had never felt in the least awkward, no more than he had felt with his mother, about asking for undergarments. But here…would he have to ask Lady Desiree? He could feel his blush grow hotter. He could not… Ah, he would ask the priest.

  The plan was an excellent one, but when Alex came from his chamber he was surprised and a trifle dismayed to see Lady Desiree seated at the table with the priest and Elias to her left, and a conspicuously empty place to her right.

  Alex swallowed. Having thought there would be no one at table but himself and Father Harold, he had taken the time to split five of the pennies into farthings. Then before burying the remainder of the coins under his sparse extra clothing, he had washed himself thoroughly and combed his hair. Now he hurried forward, apologizing for keeping everyone waiting.

  Lady Desiree smiled at him, her eyes shining. “We gladly wait your convenience, my lord.”

  He understood neither the smile, nor the joy, nor the warmth in her voice. He would have been appalled again by those signs of favor and admiration, thinking he had been too sanguine about her lack of interest in him, had not Elias and Father Harold worn equally broad smiles and welcoming looks.

  Not knowing what to say, he addressed the most trivial matter. “I am no one’s lord, Lady Desiree, only Sir Alex.”

  She held out a hand toward him. “For what you did for my darling Frewyn today, you may be Sir Alex or Sir Alexandre or my lord or whatever you wish.”

  “Did for Sir Frewyn?” That was safe. Alex got into motion again, mounted the dais, but he did not take Lady Desiree’s hand as he sat down on the bench to her right.

  “I don’t understand,” he added as waiting servants placed trenchers of stale bread on the table and others carried in a roasted haunch of venison, a roast suckling pig, and a platter of pigeons in a brown gravy. “I was afraid I had done him harm, overtiring him as I did with my selfish desire to talk over what I had found this day.”

  “Harm?” Desiree laid her hand over his and squeezed it. “Oh, no.” She shook her head. “Not at all. Yes, he was tired, but it was as if you renewed his spirit.”

  Alex did not dare pull his hand out from under hers. He could see that her gesture was one of gratitude and unselfconscious thanks, but that faint delightful odor was tickling his nostrils and he was not responding to gratitude and thanks as he should. His head knew well enough that Lady Desiree was not aware of him as a man, only as a person who had done something for her beloved husband. The trouble was that his body did not care at all what his head knew. Heat and a kind of inner quivering ran up his arm from his hand and down his chest into his belly. He fixed all his attention on keeping his breathing from showing that heat was now blossoming in his loins.

  “Sir Frewyn felt it, Sir Alex,” Elias said. “He felt your need to talk to him, your eagerness to have his understanding and approval.” The elderly steward blinked back tears. “He felt a man again. He felt of worth.”

  The interruption saved Alex from the inexcusable, from looking down at Lady Desiree with naked desire in his eyes. He was able to lean forward a trifle, which made Lady Desiree’s grip on his hand awkward, and look at Elias.

  “I am so glad,” Alex got out, slid his hand out of her grasp and finally stiffened his spirit enough to shift his gaze to Lady Desiree’s face. “May I carve for you, my lady? What would you like? Venison? Suckling pig? A pigeon?”

  Chapter Six

  Vachel arrived in Roselynde at about the same time as Alex sat down beside Frewyn to ask his opinion about which families among the serfs, villeins, and fisherfolk could most easily give up an able-bodied man for training as a man-at-arms. Although he had seen Lewes and Arundel, Vachel was still awed by the great keep of Roselynde solidly settled on the sheer cliffs above the sea.

  The alertness and efficiency of the guards also daunted him. They were polite, but Vachel realized he was not out from under a guard’s eye from the moment he arrived at the outer gate. Recognized as a traveler of the upper class by the quality of his horse and clothing, nonetheless Vachel was not free to move around on his own.

  A guard waited with him until he was welcomed to Roselynde Keep by an understeward, who named himself as Rolf of Hilsea and asked courteously whether Vachel simply wanted shelter for the night or had business with the lord sheriff.

  “I am Sir Simon’s nephew, Vachel Baudoin,” Vachel said as the understeward accompanied him toward the forebuilding. “I would like to speak to my uncle.”

  “Baudoin?” Rolf repeated. “Are you related to Sir Alex?”

  “Sir Alex? I have a younger brother named Alex, yes.”

  So Alex was not such a fool after all, Vachel thought. He had claimed to be a knight. Oh, now he had that idiot over a barrel. Doubtless there was nothing Alex would not give his “dear” brother to keep him from telling Sir Simon the truth. Vachel drew a long, contented breath. Likely he could get Alex to feed the fatal draught to Simon.

  “Sir Alex’s brother,” the understeward said with real enthusiasm. “Welcome to Roselynde, Master Vachel. I will tell Lady Alinor of your arrival at
once. I am sure she will wish to speak with you.”

  “Lady Alinor can wait,” Vachel said. He was surprised at the understeward’s shocked expression, but added as clarification, “I would very much like to see my brother and my uncle as soon as possible.”

  “I am so sorry.” Rolf shook his head. “Both Sir Simon and Sir Alex are away, and will be gone for several weeks. Sir Alex went with Sir Simon to ride the coast and the lands near the coast in Sussex to be sure the shire is making ready to repel any invasion.”

  “Oh. I had no idea my uncle would be gone for so long.”

  Rolf of Hilsea made a sympathetic noise but volunteered no further information.

  “Do you know where they will be staying?” Vachel asked.

  Vachel did not like the prospect of being the only gentle guest in Roselynde, either. Even if he did not court Lady Alinor, several weeks of enforced politeness in her company stuck in his craw.

  “Hmm,” the understeward said. “I am afraid I do not know the route Sir Simon planned to take, but if you are in some haste to see him, I am sure Lady Alinor will know. Yes, of course she will. She had a letter from him yesterday.” He gestured down the hall. “Please, come this way. I believe Lady Alinor is in Sir Simon’s workroom.”

  In her husband’s workroom, Vachel thought, following Rolf across the rush-strewn floor past the great central hearth with its hissing and crackling fire of winter. Should he threaten to tell her husband what she was doing? But before he could work that idea out, they were beside an open door from which came an assured woman’s voice.

  “Well, of course you will stay the night, Sir Andre.” A little chuckle followed. “I know Simon is a hard taskmaster, but he would not expect you to ride near twenty leagues in one day in winter.” Then the voice sharpened. “The manor at Petworth is not in any danger, is it?”

  “No, of course not.” A man’s voice, harsh with age but clearly good-humored. “And you think it right that I should store the supplies as they come in rather than shipping them south, say, to Roselynde?”