Once Upon a Pillow

by Christina Dodd

  “A pox on’t! You’re right.” And he truly hated saying that.

  “We need to confuse the issue. To admit that I’ve been here, but in no compromising way.” Lady Helwin drew the comb through the last of the silken locks. “I was trapped by the tide all night. I arrived here early this morning. You took me in, put me before a fire and fed me.”

  “Good of me.”

  “Very neighborly.” Once again she braided her hair and tied it with a bit of ribbon. As she reset her coif, she said, “This morning, you take me home personally, you pull Bertilda to the side and ask where she was last evening. And we hope that she wasn’t watching as you snatched me off the beach.”

  Lady Helwin looked so pleased with herself, he hated to puncture her satisfaction, yet he had to. “There’s only one problem with that plan.”

  She frowned. “What?”

  “I can’t lie.”

  “What?”

  Her incredulity was not flattering. “It would be better if I said I was bad at lying. Perhaps I could look your uncle in the eye and tell him you arrived at Castle Masterson this morning—”

  “My uncle is not—”

  Rion ignored her. “—But I can’t smile at that little tart Bertilda. Not now. Not after knowing how she has laughed at me. And, um, helped me to ruin you.”

  Lady Helwin’s sharp glance acknowledged his admission. “You lied when you courted her. You told her you adored her, you thought her the sweetest, kindest, most beautiful woman in the country.” Lady Helwin smirked. “She told me.”

  Ah, how good to know a man’s best efforts were the object of merriment. “Perhaps I believed it.”

  “You might not have realized it, but I’ve watched you.”

  “Really?” He lounged back on the bed and ran his gaze over her figure. “You watched me, did you? I trow you liked what you saw.”

  “Aye, forsooth, you’re as handsome as a fine stallion and just as virile.” She flapped her hand at him as if dislodging an irritating fly. “Although you did underestimate Bertilda, I judge you’re not a stupid man.”

  He straightened. Lady Helwin’s compliments bit deeper than any trickery, but he supposed he deserved it.

  She continued, “You lied then. Why can’t you lie now?”

  “When I was courting, I could lie because I was indifferent to her. Now I am not. Now I’m angry.”

  “Oh.” Lady Helwin tapped her toe. “I’ve had a lot of experience being pleasant to Bertilda when I wished to tear her hair out, but I do see your difficulty. Could you write a letter asking that…someone…at Smythwick Manor send a cart?” She eyed him oddly, as if she should say more but did not choose to. “You could say I sprained my ankle and can’t sit a horse, and you have no appropriate transportation for a lady.”

  Clever lass. “I could do that.”

  “Very well.” She placed the cudgel carefully on the pillow. “Shall we go down to break our fast?”

  Chapter Five

  Two dozen of Rion’s men were gathered around the long table in the great hall, shoveling gruel into their mouths, and a dirtier, more surly group Helwin had never seen. Their heads drooped. They scratched and yawned. They all wore long, wicked knives at their belts, and each had a sword resting on the table at their right hand.

  Near the head of the table one knight lifted his head as Rion and Helwin approached. With a grin that showed his brown teeth, he called, “Let’s hear it for Lord Masterson, who has captured his lady and filled our coffers!”

  A few of the men released a gravelly cheer.

  A few held their heads and squinted their eyes as if in pain.

  Rion slashed the air with his hand. “Sir Lathrop, slap a codpiece in your yap. I got the wrong lass.”

  The cheering sputtered to a stop and every eye turned to examine Helwin. She dipped them a curtsy. “I give you good morrow, gentleman.”

  “The wrong lass?” Sir Lathrop glared balefully at Helwin. “Then throw her out and get the right one.”

  “It’s not that simple. Lady Helwin is Lady Bertilda’s cousin.” Rion gestured toward Sir Lathrop. “Lady Helwin, may I present my head knight, Sir Lathrop.”

  Helwin eyed Sir Lathrop. His stringy brown hair hung around his neck, and an equally stringy brown beard made him look like a rug with a fringe. Food and drink crusted his garments.

  The great hall was no better, recognizable as the castle’s main living chamber by its size and its height, but filthy and almost empty of furniture. The long table was nothing more than planks on crude wooden legs, the benches were rough, and the walls were empty of any decoration except for a couple of ragged tapestries, well-used battle axes, shields, and longbows and quivers full of arrows.

  “Ye ruined the wrong woman?” Sir Lathrop sounded incredulous.

  “No, I didn’t ruin her.”

  “If you didn’t lift her skirts, then send her back!” Sir Lathrop belched loudly.

  “Charming,” she said.

  “Actually, she arrived only this morning after being trapped by the tide all night long.”

  One of the men, blond-haired and slack-jawed, guffawed.

  Rion bent a hard stare at him. “John, understand me. Lord Smythwick is a powerful lord in this region. This is his niece. If word got out that she spent the night here, Lord Smythwick could insist I marry her. And why did I try to kidnap Lady Bertilda?”

  “Because…um…she’s an heiress and we need money.”

  “That’s right.” Rion picked the ladle off of the floor and filled a bowl from the cauldron bubbling beside the fire. “And what will happen if I’m forced to marry an impoverished female?”

  Helwin could see John working it out in his mind. “We’ll all be put out of the castle?”

  “That’s right.” Rion swept the men with an all-encompassing glance. “So where did Lady Helwin spend the night?”

  “On the beach trapped by the tide,” they recited.

  “Good.” Rion handed Helwin the bowl.

  She sniffed the bubbly gray sediment, then jumped back and held it away from her nose. “Lord Masterson, you need a new cook.”

  The men brayed with laughter and nudged each other.

  A big bear of a warrior slammed his spoon to the table and stood, shoving his bench back and upending three of his compatriots. “Are ye complainin’ about me cookin’?”

  Helwin looked him over. He weighed easily eighteen stone and stood six and a half feet, and beneath his ragged shirt she could see rippling muscles tensed for a fight.

  A wise woman would back down.

  Helwin was tired of backing down.

  She had spent all of her recent years backing down.

  “Not until I taste it.” She dipped her tongue into the bowl and grimaced, then paced forward. When she stood right before him, she looked up into his face and said, “It’s awful.”

  Rion swore.

  The men close to Helwin and the bear shuffled backward.

  The two of them glared at each other. Helwin held the hot bowl at ready in case he reached for her.

  Finally, when she was ready to kick him in the ballocks and run, the bear burst into a shout of laughter, grabbed her, swung her around to face the others and hugged her shoulders. “This be one helluva woman. She’ll teach th’ master a thin’ or two!”

  Helwin sighed with relief. She’d passed muster and managed not to spill a drop of her gruel.

  “I thank you, Barth.” Rion freed Helwin from the bear’s hug and shoved her toward the head of the table. “But she’s the wrong woman.”

  “She’s perfect fer ye, m’lord. Ye need a mouthy one.” Barth seated himself again and picked up his spoon. “Once she learns to like me cookin’, she’ll do.”

  Helwin looked at the short bench set for the master, and waited for one of the men to pull it back.

  No one moved.

  “Barth, I can do better than learn to like your cooking,” she observed. “I can cook, and admirably, too.”

  With
sudden gallantry, three men leaped to their feet and fought for the privilege of seating her. Rion shoved them aside, took her arm, and helped her settle on the hard bench. Then he seated himself close against her.

  Up and down the table, Helwin saw raised eyebrows.

  A dripping cup of ale was poured and passed to them, as well as a plate with a flat bread burned almost to charcoal.

  Then a young man about her own age asked, “What do ye cook?”

  “What do you like?” she countered.

  “I wish you wouldn’t tease my men.” Rion’s leg moved restlessly against hers. “As soon as we eat, I’m sending that letter to your uncle. You’re not going to be here long enough to cook for them.”

  Heartfelt groans were followed by two mighty thumps as Barth, manners strained past bursting, shoved his benchmates onto the floor.

  Helwin turned to Rion and found his face close—so close she recalled the exquisite kiss of the night before. Hastily, she lowered her gaze before he read her desire—or her guilt. “I assure you, my uncle will not bother to rush to my aid.” Because he’s not home. “I wager I’ll be here through supper, at least. I’ve got time to set the men to cleaning and to prepare a hearty dinner of…what do you have?”

  “What do ye mean, set the men to cleanin’?” Sir Lathrop demanded. “These men are warriors, and I’m a knight. We don’t clean.”

  Ah, Sir Lathrop. She had known immediately he would be the problem. “No, from what I can tell, you drink until you puke and eat your master out of hearth and home. It’s time you earned your keep.” She scraped at the toast, then nibbled on a corner. It was cold.

  “Women.” Sir Lathrop sneered. “Women are good for only one thing.”

  Helwin didn’t pretend to misunderstand, but answered briskly, “Until you muck out the great hall, you won’t get a woman here to do that one thing.”

  She watched as two of the men stood. One started clearing the table. One fetched a ragged broom. Obviously, with the right incentive, these men could be trained.

  The young squire still loitered on his bench. “Cleaning is women’s work.”

  Rion looked directly at him. “I can’t afford maids. Without Bertilda and her fortune, I can’t afford even your keeping, Terris.”

  Standing, Terris grabbed a bucket. “I’ll go fetch water.”

  The other men rose reluctantly and gathered the bowls, rolled up the faded carpets, and swabbed at the dust-encrusted windows. All except Sir Lathrop, who stayed stubbornly on his bench and glared defiance at Helwin.

  When Barth stood, she called, “Barth, may I prevail upon you to start a fire in the courtyard? Since Sir Lathrop doesn’t wish to join in the duties of cleaning, perhaps we can prevail upon him to be the first to bathe himself.”

  Everyone in the great hall froze.

  Swelling like a toad, Sir Lathrop rose to his feet. “Lord Masterson, I have long served you faithfully. I have saved your life in battle. And I will not stand for being treated so saucily by a female—and not even a female who is to be your wife, but one who, after spending the night with you, is little better than a trollop!”

  Helwin’s face flamed. If she were a man she would have smashed Sir Lathrop’s face with her fist.

  “Really?” Rion rose to his feet. “Even with my word that naught passed between us, still you deliver judgment on the fair Lady Helwin?”

  Sir Lathrop’s eyes shifted from side to side. He couldn’t be more than thirty, yet he had the manner of a man who had given up on life. “You lied for her.”

  “Nay,” Rion said softly. “I didn’t.” His hand shot out. He grabbed Sir Lathrop by the shirt and pulled him toward him. “You’ll want to apologize to her for your misspoken words.”

  “Foolishness! I have been your lieutenant for twelve years, and no mere trollop—”

  Rion’s fist flashed out, knocking Sir Lathrop flat on his back. Before Sir Lathrop had recovered enough to do more than shake his head, Rion said, “She is right. You stink. Barth, assist Sir Lathrop out to the horse trough so he can bathe.”

  With a slow grin, Barth started after the scuttling Sir Lathrop. The other men laughed and jeered as Barth cornered Sir Lathrop, hoisted the struggling man onto his shoulders and headed out the door.

  Helwin found herself treated with a sudden, overwhelming respect, and the housecleaning took on an enthusiasm it had previously lacked.

  Well satisfied, she dusted off her fingers and rose. “Now, my lord—what foodstuffs do you have in your larder? I’m going to make your dinner.”

  Chapter Six

  By the time Lady Helwin had a stew bubbling in the pot, the shrieking and imprecations from outside had ceased. The men moved quickly about their work, and Rion, who had never imagined anyone could bully his rag-tag group of soldiers, watched Lady Helwin with increasing amazement. She was a whirlwind of energy, directing the cleaning, jesting with the men, singing as she whisked about the great hall setting all to rights.

  Rion himself had not been set to any task—Lady Helwin claimed nothing was required of the lord except that he sit on his noble arse—but for some reason he read a challenge into her words. He had wet a broom with soapy water, scrubbed at the floor and found himself joining the men in a rousing chorus of a soldier’s song so risqué Lady Helwin couldn’t sing for laughing.

  When she was smiling, she really had a pretty face. She’d never be as beautiful as her cousin, of course, but the slant of her blue eyes made her look sleepy, as if she’d just risen from bed after a good, long loving. And her figure was…magnificent. When she stood on a stool to strip a tapestry off the wall and almost toppled over, four men leaped to catch her. When John held her a bit too long, Rion shouted, “Put the woman down and get to work, you loafer, before I assign you to muck out the stables!”

  Hastily, John placed her on her feet, and Rion ignored the grins exchanged by his men. They’d taken a liking to Lady Helwin, and that was fine, but they might as well stop with their imaginings. He had to find a real heiress to wed, and fast.

  When Sir Lathrop’s damp, sullen figure appeared at the top of the stairs, the laughter and singing stopped. Silence filled the great hall as everyone’s gaze shifted from Lady Helwin to Sir Lathrop to Rion. Rion himself tensed; since their return from battle, Sir Lathrop had gotten above himself. If he was still defiant, Rion would have to throw him out—and he needed Sir Lathrop. A man in his position needed a warrior to protect his back.

  Lady Helwin stopped stirring the stew. “Sir Lathrop, since you’re the first to look respectable, I would beg that you go to the village and seek out a dear old woman named Winetta. She was my wet nurse, and on my command she will send maids to assist with the cleaning. Bring them here.”

  For one long moment, Sir Lathrop stared at Lady Helwin as if she were insane.

  He hesitated long enough to convince the other men he would refuse, and like lads with their first chance at courting, they jumped up and down and waved their arms. “Send me,” they chorused. “No, send me!”

  Sir Lathrop stalked into the great hall, shoving his compatriots aside. “I’ll do it,” he snarled. “I can handle an old wet nurse, and with my instruction, she’ll get us the best women.”

  “Indeed, I depend on you.” Lady Helwin sounded respectful, but the small smile that played around her mouth worried Rion.

  Sir Lathrop didn’t seem to notice. “I’ll get a real cook, too.”

  “Ask for Bessie,” Lady Helwin instructed. “She is very skilled.”

  Rion sidled over to her. “Sir Lathrop is surely not our best choice. He’s angry, and if he chooses to tell the truth of your sojourn here, you’re ruined.”

  She nodded. “In this matter, I depend on his loyalty to you.”

  “Aye.” She was right. If Sir Lathrop chose to smirch her in a fit of pique, he might as well do so right away. Rion hated to say it, but he had to add, “I can’t pay the women.”

  “They’ll work for you as lord of Castle Masterson.” Lady
Helwin smiled openly at him. “They remember you with affection from your boyhood, and they’ve wondered why you haven’t sent for them.”

  He wondered if Lady Helwin suffered from deafness. “I can’t pay them.”

  “You can take it out of their rent in the autumn.”

  “Unless I marry Bertilda, I won’t survive until the autumn.”

  “Then we’ll find you another heiress.” She laid her hand on his arm. “I promise you, all will be well.”

  For no reason other than the fact she’d reassured him, he believed all would be well—which was madness.

  Where was Lord Smythwick? Rion needed Lady Helwin out of here before she drove him insane. In fact—he stroked his stubbled chin—mayhap that was the plan. Mayhap that explained why, despite Rion’s note informing him of Lady Helwin’s situation, Lord Smythwick hadn’t sent for her. Mayhap Lord Smythwick had tricked Rion and placed his niece in Rion’s castle to destroy Rion with unwarranted hope.

  Rion had been a mercenary; he well understood the disasters that followed a man who hoped for no good reason. Aye, he had cause to be suspicious. He would keep aloof from this cunning wench and keep an eye on her schemes.

  “Now the other men can take their baths,” she announced.

  Terris groaned.

  Rion turned on him. “Do you require Barth’s assistance?”

  Terris glanced at the giant warrior hovering in the doorway. “No! No, I can bathe myself.”

  “Before you go to the village, Sir Lathrop, mayhap you will allow me to trim your hair.” Lady Helwin sounded respectful and concerned as she set a tall stool before the fire.

  Sir Lathrop’s eyes shifted from side to side as he tried to decide if he would be ridiculed for obeying her suggestion or forced if he refused.

  In a brisker tone, she said, “As you like, of course, Sir Lathrop. The village women are naturally timid, but they’ll follow Winetta regardless of your fearsome appearance.”