It had its wicked moments as well.
She took her hands away from her ears, listening to the sounds of fornication and hating the fact that her world had changed so much in the past few days. She was disoriented and bewildered, fearful of seeing her father and fearful of his reasons for extracting her from St. Milburga’s. In fact, she was fearful of life in general at the moment, hating this new world she found herself a part of.
A knock on the door startled her, rousing her from her thoughts. She was terrified of who was on the other side of the door, terrified that it was a soldier wanting to know if she wanted to join in their wickedness. When the door opened, she was fully prepared to scream, but instead of a lustful soldier, de Wolfe appeared. He had a large basket in his arms and some kind of fabric or coverlet thrown over one shoulder. He frowned when he saw her on the ground.
“What are you doing down there, my lady?” he asked, concerned. “Surely it is cold down there. Are you ill?”
Oddly enough, she was relieved to see him. At least it wasn’t a lustful soldier. “Nay,” she replied. “I am not ill.”
His bewilderment grew. “Then why are you down there?”
She sighed heavily. “Because the bed is covered with vermin,” she said. “I will not sleep on it.”
Gates’ brow furrowed and he set the basket down next to the hearth even though his focus was on the bed. It was clear that he intended to see what she was talking about. But the moment he set the basket down, he had a clear view through the open hearth of the sexual adventures happening on the other side and his eyes narrowed dangerously. He hadn’t noticed the grunting noises until now, realizing where they were coming from. His first instinct was to berate his men for doing such a thing in full view of Lady Kathalin but the dirty bed still had his attention.
As long as it was crawling with bugs, the lady couldn’t, and wouldn’t, lay on it and he didn’t blame her. With a grunt of pure frustration, he picked up the entire bed and shoved it through the doorjamb as the soldiers outside the door moved to help him. But he pushed those men aside as he made his way to the loft where the carnal activities were happening. Using deep and threatening tones, he snarled at his men for their passionate display.
The wench, still lying in front of the hearth with her legs spread, was unceremoniously hauled to her feet by one of the soldiers not participating in the activity and chased off as Gates berated his men for their behavior. Like scolded children, the lascivious – and nearly drunk – soldiers backed off and cowered away from de Wolfe’s rage, for certainly, no one wanted to enrage him. He was a fair and affable man most of the time, but this was not one of those times. In moments like this, he was a man to be feared and obeyed.
Inside the tiny chamber, Kathalin heard de Wolfe’s scathing cut-down of his men. Curious, she peered through the hearth to see men scrambling on the other side, moving away from de Wolfe, who was standing there with the entire bed still in his hands. She could see the foot of the bed as he held it. Then, he disappeared and his men gathered in quiet groups, muttering amongst themselves now that they no longer were permitted the evening’s activities.
The situation quieted down in a hurry and Kathalin wasn’t quite sure what to think of any of it. With no bed in the now-empty room, the big basket de Wolfe had been carrying was now by the door. The coverlet or garment he’d had thrown over his shoulder was tossed on top of the basket and, hesitantly, she peered at the garment to see what it was. Unable to make a determination, and wondering if de Wolfe would be cross at her for her curiosity, she backed off, unwilling to provoke the man who could wield a bed so easily. She knew he was a man of tremendous strength, as he’d demonstrated from the beginning, but it would seem his strength and determination knew no boundaries. That had been clear from the start. With that thought, she huddled back into her corner and waited. For what, she wasn’t sure, but something told her de Wolfe would be back.
She was right.
Close to an hour after he left, Kathalin heard muffled conversation on the other side of the chamber door. She had been dozing, head back against the wall, when she heard the buzz of conversation and by the time she lifted her head, the door was opening and de Wolfe was reappearing. Behind him came a serving wench, tray in hand, and behind her came the innkeeper and another man, obviously a servant from the manner in which he was dressed. As Kathalin watched with great interest, de Wolfe directed the people into her chamber.
The wench went straight to Kathalin and set her tray down at the woman’s feet before scurrying out. Meanwhile, the innkeeper and the servant were carrying great bundles between them and as they laid them out on the floor where the bed had once been, Kathalin could see that there was a mattress of sorts and bed clothes. The bed frame was gone, but there was a big, full mattress on the floor now. There were also at least four heavy blankets that she could see and the innkeeper assured de Wolfe, who was standing near the hearth with his big arms folded imposingly, that these bed things were without vermin. He apologized profusely that the original bed had been so unacceptable. Then the man said something about a bath before fleeing the room with his servants. It was a word that had Kathalin’s full attention.
A bath meant warm water.
Heat.
“A bath?” she said as the door closed behind the innkeeper. “Is there a bathing room here?”
It was the first time during the entire journey that she had spoken more than just a couple of words and Gates turned to see the expression of hope in her face. He shook his head.
“There is no bathing room in this establishment that I am aware of, my lady,” he said. “But he has a barrel that has been used for bathing in the past and he will be bringing it up here to you. I thought that mayhap a bath would be in order since you have been afforded little luxury on this trip. In fact, since we left St. Milburga’s without your possessions, I have purchased a few things that you can possibly use.”
As Kathalin watched, he went to the big basket he had brought in earlier and picked up the garment that was strewn across it. He held it up for her to see.
“I found a merchant in town who sells all manner of goods,” he said, shaking out the cloak. “His wife is a seamstress and she had this cloak available for sale. It is wool and lined with fox, but she says we should not get it too wet lest the fox fur will rot.”
There was a hook on the back of the chamber door and he hung the cloak up, removing the lid of the basket, and proceeded to pull out the dark blue garment and the lavender one. He held them up for her inspection.
“I took the liberty of purchasing three surcoats for you,” he said. “The seamstress does not finish the garments and she said that you could, according to your fit. She even included a sewing kit. There are shifts and hose and shoes, and there is even soap. You can use it when you bathe.”
By this time, Kathalin’s mouth was hanging open somewhat as Gates pulled out the shifts and the hose, all of it draping over his enormous arms as he tried to show her what he had purchased for her. Stunned, she looked rather bewildered at the items he was holding up for her.
“These…,” she said hesitantly. “These are for me?”
He nodded, still looking in the basket at the shoes at the bottom. “You have nothing,” he said. “I thought you might need these things.”
Kathalin had no idea what to say or how to react. She looked down at the dirty brown wool she was wearing. “I…,” she started, stopped, and started again, evidently very confused about the entire situation. “I do not need those fine things. I have no use for them.”
Gates looked at her. “The garment you are wearing is soiled,” he said. “Surely you would like to wear something clean and warm.”
She was still looking at the clothing she was wearing. “I can wash this,” she said. “Mayhap… mayhap after I bathe, I will wash this in the bath water and hang it before the fire. It should be dry by morning.”
Gates couldn’t quite figure out why she wasn’t incredibly excit
ed over new clothing. “But these garments are much nicer,” he said. “Would you not like to wear something pretty? Those garments you are wearing do nothing for your beauty, my lady. In these new clothes, you would look every bit an earl’s daughter.”
She looked at him, then, utterly perplexed. “Beauty is a worldly and sinful thing,” she said, her voice faint but insistent. “I should not like to accentuate it.”
Now, it was starting to occur to Gates why she wasn’t thrilled with her new clothes. Raised in a priory, she more than likely had never seen such finery and if she had, then he could only guess that it was frowned upon. He had to remind himself that all she had ever known was a simple life and lived in simple, undistinguished clothing. Pride in earthly possessions had no place inside a convent.
“That is what you have been taught, is it not?” he asked softly.
Her brow furrowed as she thought on an answer, uncertain how to reply. “We are taught to reject worldly vanities, for they are evil,” she said. “The world is an evil place. It is only safe within the walls of St. Milburga’s.”
Poor child, he thought. So she was raised like an animal. All that aside, however, he was glad that she was speaking to him for it gave him a chance to at least establish a rapport with her. They hadn’t had that in two days. Perhaps it would ease the tension between them if he were to draw her out in conversation.
“May I ask a question, my lady?” he asked, watching her nod hesitantly. He continued. “Do you think God created the world to be an evil place?”
She was thoughtful in her reply. “He did not create it to be evil, but Mankind is evil,” she said. “They have created an evil world.”
“All of it?”
“Most of it.”
“How would you know this if you have never been out of the convent?”
She pondered his question. “I have been told that by people I trust,” she said. “By Mother Benedicta.”
“The Prioress?”
“Aye.”
He cocked his head curiously. “Don’t you think you should find out for yourself if it is evil or not?” he asked. “There are thousands of people in the world and they all cannot be evil. Mayhap you should learn for yourself before making a judgement.”
She shrugged, looking back to her rough woolen clothing. “I have never wanted to learn for myself.”
“Why not?”
Again, she shrugged. “I have no one to ask other than Mother Benedicta,” she said. “She would not lie to me.”
A faint smile on his lips, Gates leaned against the wall behind him in a casual position even though he still had surcoats draped over his arms.
“Neither would I,” he said. “I am a knight. I come from a long line of knights. My great-great-grandfather was the greatest knight who has ever lived. Therefore, I do not fabricate and I will tell you the truth about everything, should you ask. I am beyond contestation. Why not ask me about the world?”
Kathalin had to admit, it was tempting. Frightening, but tempting. As she sat there, indecisive and fidgeting with her dirty clothing, Gates pulled one of the feather-soft shifts out of the basket and tossed it to her. It landed over her head and she yanked it off, irritated, but the moment she touched it, something in her expression changed. Gates was sharp enough to see it.
“Do you feel that wonderful garment?” he asked quietly. “How in the world can that be wicked? Imagine how warm and lovely it would feel against your skin. Would you not like to wear it instead of the scratchy garment you are wearing now that feels more like tree bark than clothing?”
Kathalin was inspecting the shift quite seriously. Timidly, she rubbed it against her cheek. “It feels like a cloud.”
Gates smiled at her interest. “It does,” he said, looking into the basket. “There is another one just like it and hose for your legs that are soft as well. How can these things be wicked, Lady Kathalin? It is not wicked to be warm and comfortable, and that is why I brought you these things. I realize you have spent your entire life wearing woolen garments and believing that the discomfort of it was the will of God, but let me assure you God makes some very fine things as well. I would like to believe that He would be happy for you to be warm and comfortable.”
Kathalin was still rubbing the shift on her cheek, enchanted with the feel of something she had never known to exist. Gates pushed himself off the wall and made his way over to her, crouching down and holding up his arms again so she could see the fine surcoats he had draped over them. He could see the awe and wonder in her expression and he thought it all quite sweet as well as pathetic; the young woman had grown up without any luxuries at all and had been told that such things were wicked. Well, they weren’t. He decided at that moment that he was going to show her things of comfort and luxury that weren’t wicked at all.
Much like educating a baby on how to talk, he could see that Kathalin needed much of an education on life outside of the priory walls and, oddly enough, his determination to educate her had nothing to do with making another conquest. Quite the contrary; under the circumstances, he would feel ashamed in doing so and he was quite certain that Jasper would have his hide, so he considered Lady Kathalin off-limits. More than that, there was something too pristine and lovely about her to want to soil her in any fashion. It was a shocking realization to a man who usually thought only of himself.
“I… I have only always made my own clothing,” Kathalin said, breaking his train of thought. “We have herds of sheep that we sheer in the spring and in the fall, and then there are sisters who spin the wool and others who weave the fabric. I was one of the ones who would sew the clothing for the others.”
Gates watched her as she moved from rubbing the shift against her cheek to fingering the lavender wool. “So you learned how to sew and how to manage the kitchen,” he said. “Surely you were taught more than that?”
Kathalin nodded, setting the shift aside so she could inspect the workmanship on the blue patchwork dress. “I have been taught to read and to write in Latin and in French,” she said. “I have copied many pages of the Prioress’ Bible, the one her father gave to her.”
He watched her very pretty hands as they moved over the garment. “Were you taught to do things other young ladies do?” he asked. “Poetry and painting and drawing?”
She shook her head. “Nay,” she replied. “Why on earth would I be taught such vain things?”
“Because God created art and literature and it is quite beautiful.”
She looked at him, thinking on his words, as she drew her hand away from the blue surcoat. “That is true,” she said. “But I would have no use for them as a nun.”
He stood up, moving back to the basket and carefully putting the garments back inside, but not before taking out the pot of calendula salve that the seamstress had given him.
“Why do you want to be a nun so badly?” he asked. “Does the world scare you so much that you would hide from it?”
Kathalin considered his question. “It does not frighten me,” she said. “But why would I not want to live my life in a place of blessing and piety and joy. Why would I not want to serve God?”
He turned to look at her. “You were happy there?”
She nodded, thinking on St. Milburga’s and trying not to tear up. “Aye,” she said. “My friends are there. It is my home.”
She hung her head and he could see that the conversation was about to take a downward turn. Quickly, he sought to distract her. “I am sure your parents will be very happy to see you,” he said. “I have served your father for many years. In fact, I came into his service as a squire shortly after you were sent away to foster. I was fifteen years of age and attached to a knight who had seen to my education for about six years. When he came into de Lara’s service, I did, too.”
Kathalin looked up at him, blinking, and he could see that her eyes were still moist from thoughts of St. Milburga’s. “The knight was your master?”
“Aye.”
“Is he sti
ll with my father?”
Gates shook his head. “Nay,” he replied. “He died in France about ten years ago and I received a battlefield commission to fight in his stead. Being knighted in the midst of a battle is quite harrowing.”
“That is how you became a knight?”
“Indeed it is.”
Kathalin was becoming interested in this enormous knight whose manner had returned to the man she had first met at St. Milburga’s, the man who had saved her from the Welsh. This side of him seemed quite kind and considerate. In spite of her sworn hatred towards him, she seemed to have conveniently forgotten about that at the moment.
“Have you fought many battles, then?” she asked.
He nodded, casually scratching at his stubbled chin. “Enough,” he said. “I only just returned from France where I have been for the past several months. I was at Poitiers, in fact.”
“What is at Poitiers?”
He looked at her, thinking it very strange that she should not know about the major battles going on, but then he reminded himself of the fact that the woman had been living in a convent. Current battles and politics were probably not among the things they knew about in their insulated little world.
“There was a very big battle there back in September,” he told her. “The English were triumphant over the French king.”
It was a simple explanation for a much more complex situation, but it seemed to satisfy her. Her gaze moved over his body, the red de Lara tunic and the portions of mail and plate armor beneath. He didn’t wear a full suit of armor, merely pieces on his forearms and chest that were fastened on with leather straps.
“I suppose you have seen a good deal of evil in your time,” she said quietly. “Men are evil to one another.”
He nodded. “An excellent summation of a much more complicated world,” he said. “But as I said before, there are many people in this world and not all are evil. I have seen many good men in my time.”
“But you kill,” she said, regarding him carefully. “You kill because you are ordered to kill.”
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