Lady of Steel

by Mary Gillgannon

  She wasn’t certain this was something she wanted to share with Old Emma. But she had no other confidant at the castle and she clearly needed help in dealing with her new husband. She’d muddled things terribly so far.

  “Whatever is between Fawkes and me in other ways, our bodies are well-matched. We have no difficulties in that regard.”

  “Hmmm.” A glimmer of a smile played on Old Emma’s lips. “Then all is not lost. If the man lusts for you, you have far more power than it appears.”

  “That might be true. If I had some notion how to use that power. But I told you, I have no skills in seduction or cosseting a man.”

  “Perhaps you could learn.”

  “From whom? You’re the only woman I dare discuss such matters with, and I don’t believe you’ve had much experience in these things.”

  Old Emma gave her familiar cackling laugh. “Oh, I have experience. But it was long ago. And with village boys rather than lordly knights. Yet, even at that, I think I could give you a few pointers, if you would listen. Or.” She shrugged. “There is another way. You could tell him about Simon.”

  “And how would that help? He’s been told the babe died, and I have said the same. If I change my story now, why should he believe me? Even if I brought Simon here and presented him to Fawkes as his son, I can’t change the fact that Simon looks nothing like Fawkes. Altering my story now will only make me look even more deceitful. Lie upon lie, and which one should he believe?” Nicola shook her head firmly.

  “Mayhaps you are right.” Old Emma pointed to the stool. Nicola took her place and the servant resumed plaiting her hair.

  “That leaves only his desire for you,” Old Emma said after a time. “Somehow we must find a way to make use of it.”

  “I’m not certain even of that.” Nicola stiffened. “Fawkes did his duty last night, but he left immediately afterwards. Then when he returned, he showed no fondness or warmth but instead questioned me in his cold, suspicious way. He may lust for me, but his wariness makes him fight the attraction. For all we know, he may avoid me from now on.”

  “Then we must find reasons for you to be alone with him.”

  “I can’t imagine what those reasons might be.”

  “’Twould be perfectly reasonable for you to seek him out to ask questions regarding the running of the castle and business matters regarding the demesne.”

  “Mortimer never concerned himself with such things.”

  “But Fawkes is not Mortimer. That is clear to everyone.”

  Nay, Fawkes was not Mortimer. Mortimer had never aroused her desire. Or made her feel breathless with yearning whenever she was in his company.

  Having finished braiding Nicola’s hair, Old Emma stepped back. “You’ve never worn a veil or wimple around the castle, and I see no reason for you to start doing so now. Even braided, your hair will remind Fawkes of how you looked on your wedding night and how your hair felt against his skin.”

  Nicola turned and gave Old Emma a look. Old Emma let out a cackle. “I came to the castle to serve your mother when I was very young. But not so young that I hadn’t learned a thing or two about men.”

  Nicola stared at the servant’s deeply lined face and tried to imagine her as a comely maiden flirting with a village boy. For a moment, she saw Old Emma’s dark eyes sparking with mischief and her full mouth quirked in a teasing smile.

  Chapter Eight

  Fawkes left the castle and walked across the bailey yard. Nicola was hiding something, he was sure of it. Was it guilt over the babe? Or something else?

  The more time he spent with her, the more of a puzzle she became. Was she a ruthless and calculating woman who had coldly betrayed him to Mortimer? A cold-blooded monster that had killed her own babe for vengeance? Or had she been driven mad by Mortimer’s torture and abuse, until her mind was so deranged that she didn’t truly understand what she was doing when she took the life of a tiny, helpless infant?

  Or, was she innocent of it all?

  He shook his head, wishing he could stop thinking about these things. But somehow he had to discover the truth about the woman he had wed. Even now she might be plotting against him, scheming to rid herself of another unwanted husband.

  But the passion they experienced together in bed was so intense, so powerful. Why would any woman reject that? Unless any man could satisfy her. She might have lain with other men in the years he’d been away. Mortimer had no reason to care who his wife slept with. If Nicola was careful and her maidservant loyal, it would have been easy for her to take a lover…or several.

  He halted, fists clenched and breathing hard. He’d chosen to remain celibate the last four years, but he had no right to expect Nicola to have done the same. They’d made no promises to each other. She’d probably believed he was dead, and why would she not? By all logic, he shouldn’t have survived, let alone prospered and improved his circumstances to the point he could return to Valmar and make her his wife.

  Slowly, he swallowed his rage. He was being unfair and unreasonable. Letting terrible rumors poison his thoughts. He would not condemn Nicola because of gossip. He must find out the truth.

  He went to knights’ barracks. Entering, he immediately encountered Engelard. “Where’s Reynard?”

  “Not up yet.” Engelard smirked suggestively. “You might try the stables.”

  Fawkes went to the stables and stalked past the stalls, redolent with the odors of horse and freshly cut hay. “Reynard, you lustful whoreson! Where are you?”

  “Fawkes?” a voice responded. “Is that you? What the devil are you doing out of bed already? I thought you would be—”

  “Never mind that!” Fawkes bellowed. “I have need of you. Get down here.”

  There was whispering and the sound of Reynard dressing. A ladder creaked and Reynard climbed from the hayloft. “Why aren’t you with Lady Nicola? You can’t tell me you’ve slaked four years of lust that quickly.”

  He grabbed Reynard’s arm. “I’ll thank you not to announce my business to the entire keep. Come with me and I’ll tell you what’s come to pass.”

  They went out into the bailey. Reynard jerked his head toward the castle. “Well? How did it go?”

  “As soon as we were alone, I asked if she had warned Mortimer. She claimed innocence. Said she had no idea how he knew I was on my way to Mordeaux.”

  “That is good.”

  Fawkes shook his head. “There is more. I left her chamber soon after the consummation. I needed to clear my head.”

  Reynard raised his brows but said nothing.

  “I went up on the battlements, where I encountered the castellan, Adam FitzSaer. He told me a horrifying tale. It seems some three years ago, Nicola bore a child.”

  Reynard’s eyes widened. “Yours?”

  “She confirmed it. But that is where her story and FitzSaer’s diverge. She says the babe was dead at birth. FitzSaer says she strangled the infant herself to thwart Mortimer.”

  “By the saints! You think it’s true?”

  “I don’t know what to think. I can’t imagine Nicola killing her own child. Yet, I have been to the grave, and it is barren and deserted, as if she doesn’t mourn the infant. And when I questioned her about the matter, she acted as if she was hiding something.”

  “So, where do you go from here?”

  “I’m going to talk to the midwife.”

  “What will that tell you? If Nicola’s story is a lie, I’m sure the midwife has been well-paid to keep her lady’s secret.”

  “Then I will find a way to convince the woman to tell me the truth. I’m the new lord. She will need my blessing if she wishes to continue to serve as the area’s wise woman.”

  “When will you speak to her?”

  “Now. I don’t want to give Nicola a chance to send a message of warning to her. And I want you to come with me.”

  Reynard smiled wryly. “Why me? I’m not the most intimidating fellow, at least not with women.”

  “It seems best to t
ake some sort of escort, and you’re the only person I trust enough to involve in this.”

  They made their way to the armory to get their weapons. As they were strapping on their swordbelts, Reynard asked, “Do you think we need to take our helmets?”

  “Jesu, I hope not! We’re only going to the village. Even if the villeins are against me, I can’t believe they’ve had time to plot my downfall.”

  “That’s a relief. Since it’s not yet terce and already the weather is sweltering.”

  “Compared to the hellish inferno of the Levantine coast, the English summer seems very pleasant.”

  They made their way to the gate. As they started through the portcullis, the knight on duty, Sir Roger, asked where they were headed.

  “To the village.” Seeing the man’s perplexed expression, Fawkes added, “I want to look things over.”

  “Very good, de Cress—I mean, milord.”

  Reynard chuckled as they started down the trackway. “It’s going to take some time for the men to get used to thinking of you as a lord.”

  “I’m struggling to get used to the idea myself. Indeed, there are times when a sense of disbelief comes over me and I feel like this must all be a dream. Even a year ago I could never have imagined I would hold a demesne like Valmar.” Fawkes gestured. “Look at this valley, the wheat and millet fields, the rich grazing meadows, the plump, sleek cattle. Whatever else you might say about Mortimer, his neglect doesn’t seem to have hurt the property.”

  “If the land and people are still prosperous it’s more likely to be Lady Nicola’s doing than Mortimer’s. Everyone says she’s the one who’s been managing things. I talked to the reeve last night and he told me she even holds manor court in the village.”

  Fawkes gaped at him.

  Reynard shrugged. “You must look at it from their viewpoint. The demesne may change hands based on the whim of the king, or whichever man has the strength to hold it, but Nicola is their lady always. She grew up here and they know her.”

  They continued on the trackway to the village, which consisted of several dozen thatched houses. Many had vegetable plots or a shed behind for housing livestock. At the first house they came to, an older woman, her hair covered with a linen cloth, and her face flushed from the heat, was seated on a stool outside her house churning butter.

  Fawkes nodded to her as he approached. “Good morrow. Can you tell me where I can find the midwife?”

  The woman looked perplexed at first, then she said, “You mean Glennyth the healer?”

  “Yea, I do.”

  The woman pointed. “She lives at the edge of the forest, beyond the common.”

  “Thank you,” Fawkes responded.

  They continued through the hamlet. This time of day the men were in the fields, so they mostly saw women seeing to their chores and children playing. The children stopped their play to stare at them, while the women inclined their heads respectfully.

  “It would seem they already know you are the new lord,” Reynard mused.

  “I wonder what they think of me. Do they see me as a usurper? Or are they pleased I’ve rid them of Mortimer?”

  “Most likely they are waiting to find out what kind of lord you will be.”

  “I didn’t consider how awkward this was going to look. By nightfall everyone in the village, and likely the castle, will know I’ve been to talk to the midwife. I wonder what the gossips will make of that?”

  “Since this woman is apparently not only a midwife but a wise woman, I’m sure you can come up with some reason you might seek out someone skilled in the healing arts. Perhaps you could say you were wounded in your battle with Mortimer. A slight wound, but one that needs tending.”

  “If that were the case, I would have sent for the healer and had her come to me.”

  “Or, we could say you seek a love potion to help you win the heart of your new bride.” Reynard chortled.

  Fawkes stopped walking and glowered at him. “If I didn’t think it would give the villagers the wrong impression, I would throttle you right now.”

  Reynard smirked. “Since laying hands on me would cause tongues to wag, you’d best let it pass.”

  They started walking again and soon reached the common pasture where several black and white cows grazed. Beyond, at the edge of the forest, was a neat daub and wattle dwelling with a newly thatched roof. Behind the cottage, a woman in a linen headwrap tended the garden. Seeing them, she put down her hoe and waited for them to approach.

  “By the saints,” Reynard muttered, as they got closer. “I expected a weathered crone, not a beauty like this.”

  Fawkes’s thoughts echoed Reynard’s. The young midwife’s tanned skin was smooth and unblemished, her hazel eyes striking. The simple rust-colored kirtle clung to her body, revealing generous curves and strong, well-formed muscles.

  Fawkes motioned to Reynard. “Wait here. I’d like to speak to her alone.”

  He approached the woman. She didn’t bow or make any obsequies, but watched him with casual aloofness.

  “I’m Fawkes de Cressy, the new lord of Valmar. I understand you serve as midwife and healer to the people of the castle, as well as the village folk.”

  The woman’s regarded him with narrowed hazel eyes. “That is true. How may I serve you?” Despite the courteous words, her expression was calm, almost disdainful.

  Fawkes moved closer and lowered his voice. “Three years ago, Lady Nicola gave birth to a babe. There are those who say it was born dead. Others that it was strangled before it could draw a breath.”

  The healer’s calm expression didn’t waver. “People say many things. Have you asked the child’s mother what transpired?”

  “I have. But I want to know what you say.”

  “The child was dead at birth. The cause was the cord wrapped around its neck. There was no injury to your wife’s womb, if that is why you ask.” The healer raised an ironic brow. “With a lusty knight like you in her bed, I’m sure she’ll be carrying another babe soon.”

  Was she mocking him? He almost thought so. Her greenish-gold eyes gazed at him condescendingly.

  He tried again. “I’ve heard other stories. That Nicola gave Walter Mortimer a potion that weakened him and caused his wits to grow befuddled and his will to fail. If that is true, then surely the potion came from you.”

  “Again I remind you, people say many things.”

  This woman was so smug, so confident. Did she not realize the power he held over her? “Being a healer is a precarious position. Should some of your potions or treatments fail, you might fall out of favor. Or the charms you sell could be perceived as blasphemous, crimes against God and the Church. I’m sure you’ve heard tales where a healer has been accused of such things and driven from the area. Or worse. A wise woman needs the support of her lord, if she is to prosper.”

  Glennyth spread her hands, palms up. “What would you have me do, milord, to earn your favor? Have you a wound you wish me to tend? Some malady you want me to treat?”

  Fawkes took another step closer, meeting Glennyth’s bold gaze. “All I ask from you is the truth. That is all I require.”

  Her pointed chin came up another notch, and her cat eyes flared with green-gold light. “And I have given it. I will so swear on any oath you wish.”

  It was hopeless. She would not budge and he dare not engage in further threats unless he meant to act on them. “Good day, Dame Glennyth,” he said curtly, and walked away.

  He rejoined Reynard, who said, “I see it didn’t go well.”

  Fawkes clenched his jaw. “She told the same story as Nicola, then she jibed at me being a strong, lusty knight who would soon father more children. I felt like she was laughing at me.”

  “You couldn’t intimidate her?”

  “Not a bit. She’s worse than Nicola. I felt like a mouse batted between a cat’s paws.”

  Reynard scrutinized Glennyth, who had gone back to her hoeing. “She does have a bit of the feline about her. I vow she can
stalk and play with me anytime.”

  “You’re interested in her?”

  Reynard grinned. “There are women that a man knows he won’t have to teach a thing. Women from whom he might even learn something new himself.”

  “I wish you every pleasure of her. For myself, I prefer women who are a little less smug and sure of themselves.”

  “Like the Lady Nicola.”

  Fawkes gave a snort of exasperation.

  “Where to now?”

  “We might as well go back to the castle.”

  “Or you could introduce yourself to some of the villagers. That might make your visit to Glennyth seem less a matter for gossip.”

  “I don’t care if they gossip. I need to get back to the castle. There are a dozen things I must see to. I will come back later with the reeve and he can present me properly to the villagers as their new lord.”

  “And what about Nicola? What will you do regarding her?”

  Fawkes shook his head. “Her effect on me is so potent. I feel like I should distance myself from her, at least for now. But if I don’t share her bed, the gossip will be worse than ever.”

  “You could take Mortimer’s private chamber as your own. It would not be unreasonable for you to do so. Unless you’re distressed by the rumors of what went on there.”

  Fawkes slowed. “What do you mean, what went on there?”

  “Lady Nicola isn’t the only one people tell gruesome tales about. While all knew Mortimer didn’t like women, only last night did I learn his true preference for bed partners; it seems he favored boys, the younger the better.”

  “Children?”

  “One page was no more than six years. Little Edwin is the one mentioned most. His death shocked many at Valmar. It seems he fell off the high castle wall.”

  “Fell?”

  “Or jumped. There are those who say he met his end by his own hand. But the matter is only spoken of in whispers. No one wanted to see a child refused burial in the churchyard.”

  “Sweet Jesu! Mortimer was even more depraved than we thought!”

  “He was a monster, that is true.”

  A monster. And Nicola had been wed to him for four years. Given this tale, it was easy to see why she might feel justified in anything she did to defy her husband. Did that include killing her babe to deprive Mortimer of his wished-for heir?