Lord of My Heart

by Jo Beverley

  Madeleine felt gratitude to be in order, and she did feel it, but his tone was so curt that she could not find the right words. Before she did, he walked off, a casual snap of his fingers bringing the hounds to dance at his heel.

  If he were to snap his fingers, she’d doubtless dance at his heel, too. She wished she could hate him, but apart from his coldness to her, everything conspired to illuminate his virtues. He was consistently fair, kind, efficient, and hard-working. His rule after Paul de Pouissey was like sunshine after a storm. No, she couldn’t hate him. . .

  Madeleine sighed and turned to obey his order. She called for servants and supervised the unloading. Her heart lightened as she saw what he had provided. A tun of wine was rolled off to the cool stone cellar; five lime-washed hams were hung in the pantry; sacks of barley, wheat, and oats were taken to her newly cleaned granary. There was a whole basket of live eels.

  Gratitude swelled inside her. Later, she would thank him as she should have immediately. Gratitude flowered into hope. Surely a man so generous could not stay cold forever.

  She ordered the bound chests to be taken to the solar. There she and Dorothy surveyed them.

  “Should we open them, do you think?” Madeleine asked.

  “How else are we to put stuff away?” was Dorothy’s practical reply.

  Two small chests were locked, and Madeleine guessed they would contain the precious spices and Aimery’s treasure. The others opened to reveal a range of clothing, arms, and ten books in two boxes.

  Madeleine placed the two boxes on the table and could not resist exploring. Most of the books were in English, but some were Latin and French. There was a life of the great English king, Alfred, and another of Charlemagne; an account of a pilgrimage to Jerusalem—the Abbaye had owned a copy of that—and another of a merchant’s travels to Russia; there was also an English herbal she itched to study. With great self-discipline, she closed the boxes. Time enough for reading when the work was done, and if Aimery would permit it.

  By the time he came in, most of his possessions were carefully put away in the larger chests, layered with herbs against moths.

  He had taken off his armor—Geoffrey was following with it on its hanger—and sluiced off by the well. His hair was still wet and his linen shirt and braies clung to him. He carried his sword and belt in his hand and set them down in a corner.

  “Did you find the spices?” he asked.

  Madeleine indicated the box. “But it’s locked.”

  He took a key from his pouch and went to unlock the larger chest, which she supposed to hold his treasure. He took out a key and gave it to her.

  “Thank you.”

  He turned back and dug in his chest to produce a heavy pouch. “I never gave you a morning gift,” he said, and passed it to her.

  His tone was impersonal, but it was a gift.

  “You gave me Baddersley,” Madeleine said.

  “That was already yours.”

  She considered him. “As you pointed out, you’ve given money to maintain it.”

  He smiled slightly. “That rankled, did it? You can pay me back when the estate is prospering.”

  That wasn’t quite what Madeleine had intended.

  She loosened the strings and opened the pouch to take out a pair of bracelets similar to his flared one but sized for a woman’s arms. On each was a fanciful bird shaped of gold and inlayed with precious stones.

  Geld? Such a gift, uniting them in a sense, could be of great importance, and yet she could not be sure it meant anything at all.

  “They’re beautiful,” she said. “I’ve never seen such exquisite work.”

  “They belonged to my grandmother, Godgifu of Mercia.”

  “Thank you.”

  They stood there awkwardly. In a normal marriage a kiss might be in order, but not in this one.

  Madeleine turned and put the bracelets away in her own treasure chest. Then she opened the spice box and checked the contents. Some she moved to her medicine chest, others she left where they were. A small amount she took out to give to the cook.

  By that time Aimery had gone.

  Chapter 13

  With Hugh’s arrival, matters did improve. The evening meals had been burdened by silence, for Aimery and Madeleine spoke little, and Geoffrey was taciturn by nature. Hugh de Fer, however, proved to be a genial gossip willing to carry the conversation by himself if necessary. As it was, since his stories were always of fighting, the other two men joined in. Madeleine didn’t find the subject of interest, but at least she was free of the heavy silences, and in listening she began to understand her husband better.

  He enjoyed discussions of theory or tactics but was cynical about heroics, and silent when it came to tallying corpses. Hugh delighted in battle; when he spoke of it his eyes brightened as if he spoke of a lover. The same talk sobered Aimery.

  Madeleine thought it sad that the world offered no choice to a man of Aimery’s birth other than church or war. She doubted he was suited to a religious life, yet he was wounded by slaughter. Even more than before she prayed for peace to come to England so that they could settle, she and her husband, to caring for their land and protecting their people. Hopefully he’d never have to fight again.

  But as news came to them of the king’s action against the rebels—of siege, ambush, and pillage—she knew this was as impossible a dream as that he come to her one night whispering words of love.

  Madeleine and Aimery avoided each other as much as possible, but the day came when she could no longer put off the matter of workmen for the storage buildings.

  She found Aimery at the eastern earthwork plying a shovel alongside a dozen men. His hair hung lank with sweat and he wore only loose knee-length braies and shoes. He had left off his gold, and his hand was covered only by the soiled linen bandage.

  The braies were tied low across his hips and his beautiful torso was once again presented to her eyes. It glistened with sweat, not river water, but she knew it all the same. To give proof there was the blue mark on his left arm.

  Would she ever, she wondered bitterly, be able to run her tongue down the valley of his spine?

  Someone alerted him to her presence, and he turned, thrust his shovel into the earth, and leaped down to her.

  “Yes?” he asked.

  Madeleine was staring at the ridging of scars on his left shoulder. It marred the beauty of his body, but more than that, it told chillingly of a close brush with death.

  “What on earth happened?” she asked.

  His hand moved to rub it. “I said you lacked experience with soldiers. An ax at Senlac. Did you interrupt me just to review my scars?”

  Under this rebuke, Madeleine stiffened. “You shouldn’t be using that hand so roughly, and I need some men to repair the storage huts.”

  “My hand is fine, and all the men are needed if the defenses are to be completed. Perhaps later.” He turned away.

  “Later may be too late. What use,” she asked tartly, “to make this place defensible if we all starve to death?”

  He swung back. “Watch your tongue.” But after a moment he added, “I’ll send two men.”

  He returned to his work, and she watched for a moment, fretting about his shoulder and his hand. She forced herself to turn and walk away. His hand was healed; he only wore the bandage, she knew, for concealment—to avoid having to wear a bracelet in this heavy work.

  He had lived with that shoulder for nearly two years and should know what he could and could not do with it.

  Fretting about his health only reminded her of their estrangement, and could bring her nothing but grief.

  And she had her workmen.

  And she had her power. It was true Aimery insisted on a formal submissiveness between them, but he left her free to run the manor and supported her authority where necessary.

  She made it a habit to pass through the kitchens frequently and unpredictably, alert for any dishonesty or waste. She personally supervised the collection of s
craps and their distribution to the most needy. She ignored the scowls and muttered curses from the kitchen staff.

  In fact she found them comforting in a way. This wasn’t the same biting hatred as before; these scowls contained an element of grudging respect.

  She found the same attitude in the household women—Aldreda, the weaver; Emma, the needlewoman; Hilda, who was in charge of the laundry. They were all sullen under her demand for more and better work, but they obeyed.

  When she worked with them, however, doing fine work to mend or finish garments for herself and Aimery, she longed for a lighter atmosphere. In the Abbaye, some of the sewing time had been free time when talking was allowed. At Matilda’s court the busy-fingered women had always been lighthearted gossips. Here, any chatter died as soon as she walked into the solar.

  She was lonely. There is no one still living to whom I dare open the doors of my heart.

  One day she had one of the cooks whipped. Wryly she remembered vowing never to use a whip at Baddersley, but the man had been stealing chickens to sell, and they were working for survival here, survival for all. There was no place for sentiment. The kitchen staff members were particularly difficult to handle, as they had become accustomed to all kinds of privileges. It had always disgusted her to see how plump they and their families were while others starved.

  Even so, it was not a severe whipping, just a demonstration of her will. She made herself stand and watch as Hugh delivered the ten lashes. Afterward she gave the man’s wife an ointment for his back and hoped the example would deter other wrongdoers.

  Aimery joined her midway through the punishment. He did not interfere, but when it was over he asked, “What was his crime?” When she told him he nodded and walked away, but there was a frown on his face. Did he object to her meting out discipline?

  That evening she asked him.

  All he said was, “The household servants are yours to manage as long as you are not over-harsh.”

  Wearily, she wondered why she tried to understand him since the pattern of their days, and nights, was clearly set.

  But day by day matters improved. The palisade was finished and sturdy, the gate was in place, and the men were now working on the keep. Aimery had advised against doing too much to it, as it would be better to build in stone later. The storage rooms were tight and dry and beginning to fill.

  As she went about the castle Madeleine occasionally heard singing in the workrooms and fields. In the village there were children working, but also running around in play and getting in the way. That was good, too. She hadn’t realized how unnatural it had been for the children of Baddersley to be so quiet.

  But all this improvement would be as substantial as hoarfrost if she didn’t make provision for winter. At this time of year even the poorly tended fields and gardens of Baddersley produced nutritious food, but when winter took hold it was her providence that would keep them all alive. She knew she could take the weak way and expect her husband to continually support the estate, but his wealth was not unlimited, and she was determined to prove herself. He had given her this estate and was allowing her a free hand in its management. By the Virgin’s milk, she would manage it.

  She gave orders for most of the beans to be dried and considered what other plants could be dried for winter. She was not well-versed in this technique but knew they must lay away all that they could. A limited variety of food through the darkest months would lead to sickness, to loss of teeth and sight. On the other hand she had to consider the need to feed the people well before winter so they entered that hard time of year as strong as possible.

  She wished desperately for help and advice but, even if Aimery knew about such matters, she could not burden him with more responsibilities.

  She was taking a moment’s rest on a bench by the chapel when a guard on the palisade called down to say travelers approached. They must be simple folk if they did not warrant the watchcorn’s notice. Madeleine pushed herself up and went to offer hospitality.

  Two dusty figures marched briskly up the path. As they drew closer, it became clear that the two sturdy young women were nuns. It would seem they had traveled far, yet they walked lightly. As Madeleine went to greet them she saw how bright and merry their eyes were. She also saw that they were twins.

  “Welcome, Sisters. Can we offer you anything?”

  They both bowed. “Bed and board,” one said with a wide smile.

  The other said, “We are come from Abbess Wilfreda to assist you.”

  Madeleine blinked. The first nun took out a parchment and passed it over. “I am Sister Gertrude.”

  “And I am Sister Winifred,” said the other.

  Madeleine could not say other than that they were welcome and, in truth, such cheerful people must be. She arranged for them to share an alcove room and for food and washing water to be provided, then she went to read her letter.

  The letter from Abbess Wilfreda proved to be an introduction of the two nuns, and a cover for another, longer missive.

  Dear daughter,

  I cannot express how delighted I am to hear that Aimery is wed, and how infuriated that I am here in Normandy at such a time. I am sure Count Guy’s delay in returning home has less to do with the king’s need of his services than with his disinclination to face me.

  I am enclosing a note for my son which contains urgent instructions that he bring you to Gaillard to meet me.

  However, reading between the lines of the letter from my husband, and having sought out poor Lady Celia de Pouissey, I have the impression you will have heavy work on your estates this year. It would also seem that those careless men have left you without companionship or aid.

  I have written, therefore, to my sister Wilfreda, Abbess of Withington, and asked that she send two sisters to assist you in your labors. If you do not need them, or find them intrusive, you are to return them to her at any time.

  Know that you are welcome to our family, Madeleine, which you will find a loving one. At a word we will support you in all your endeavors. I extend the same promise from my English family. There, too, you will find the mention of my name will bring anything you require, though I know in these troubled times you may not find seeking such aid convenient.

  Take care of Aimery for me. He has had two wounds since we parted, and I worry as only a mother can. I take solace from the fact that you are trained in healing, but if you can persuade him home to me for even a little while, you will have done a great thing.

  Your mother before God,

  Lucia of Mercia and Gaillard

  Madeleine sniffed back a tear. Perhaps it was the brisk friendliness of the first part, or the patent longing of the end that touched her. Perhaps it was merely the acquisition of a mother. She took the small, folded enclosure and went in search of her husband. He was in the stables, consulting with a groom about a horse. He came over as soon as she appeared.

  “We have visitors,” Madeleine said. “Two nuns from Withington Abbey, which is apparently ruled by an aunt of yours. And you have a letter from your mother.”

  He took it and read it quickly. A smile flickered on his face, which told Madeleine a lot about his relationship with his mother. “She wants to meet you.”

  “She said as much in her letter to me.”

  He looked at her. “You may travel to Castle Gaillard if you wish.”

  “Alone?”

  “I’d provide an escort.”

  “She wants to see you as well,” Madeleine pointed out.

  “I can’t go just yet.”

  “Then neither will I.” She was terrified that once she left, he would make contact with the rebels again, and end up in chains.

  He tapped the parchment on his fingers. “Why the nuns?”

  “They are to help me with the management of the estate.”

  He nodded. “Well thought of. But with them here you can be spared. I’d have thought you’d be happy to escape.”

  Madeleine’s patience finally cracked. “Badders
ley is not a prison, my lord, but my home.” She swung around and marched away.

  “Madeleine.”

  She froze but did not turn, waiting half hopefully for his retaliation.

  “If you change your mind about visiting Normandy,” he said, “let me know.” He didn’t stop her as she walked away.

  It was very tempting to run away to Normandy and be pampered as a new daughter, but Madeleine couldn’t do that unless Aimery was safe at her side.

  With the advent of Sister Gertrude and Sister Winifred, work at Baddersley speeded up. Sister Gertrude was an expert on agriculture and soon had the estate in the best shape possible, with plans underway for a much better performance the next year.

  “There’s no reason,” she declared cheerfully, “that this place should not show a profit next harvest.”

  Her first project was to attack the kitchen garden near the hall, and the field down near the village which was supposed to be cultivated by the villagers for the lord.

  The state of both had made Madeleine angry, for even with a shortage of sturdy laborers, more could have been done in the spring to provide crops for the summer. All they had now was a scant number of plants struggling to survive, and it was too late to put in most crops. Madeleine had tried some late cabbage. If it could only be preserved through the summer heat, and if the winter was not too hard too soon, there could be green stuff at Yuletide.

  Sister Gertrude approved this effort and set in other crops, making some of the younger children responsible for carrying water from the stream to the plants. Sister Gertrude explained to them that on these plants their survival could well depend, but she also made it a game to fill the channels that ran down between the rows so the children laughed and giggled as they worked.

  Sister Winifred’s expertise was household management and preserving. She complimented Madeleine’s efforts and then improved on them, encouraging Madeleine to devote herself to her work of gathering wild foods. “Nearly everything can be dried and used, Lady Madeleine,” she said with a radiant smile that was typical of her. “Truly, God is bountiful.”