“Is there anything else, milord?” she asked when they reached the yard. To Warin she said, “Can you think of anything?”
“Not in regard to the castle stores, milady. But certainly Lord de Cressy should meet with the reeve to discuss the crops and livestock.”
Fawkes nodded. “I plan to tour the whole demesne. But this is sufficient for now.”
Warin nodded back agreeably. “Milady, Lord de Cressy, I need to see about getting more hay from the village. With the addition of the mounts of your men, we now have over twice as many horses to feed.”
“While you’re doing that, consider how much hay and other fodder we would need to store to make it through a month-long siege,” Fawkes said.
When Fawkes turned back to face her, Nicola said, “I also have tasks that I need to see to.”
Fawkes nodded, his eyes as dark as obsidian. “Then you should see to them. Although I’m certain I will think of things I need to ask you later.”
“Such as what…milord?” She tried not to sound snippy, but she was losing patience.
“About the castle, and all that goes into the running of things. Unlike you, I was not trained for this.”
“You would not be. These are not matters men concern themselves with. At least not knights.”
“Even so, I would like to know as much as possible about Valmar.”
“So you can defend it?”
“Aye, and so I can rule it wisely. I want Valmar, Mordeaux and the adjoining manors to prosper.”
“So do I, milord.”
“I like to think we have the same goals.”
Speaking with this man was like traversing a marsh. She felt at any moment she might make a misstep and sink deep into the muck. She nodded. “I’m certain we do, milord.”
Four years ago, when she’d first seen Fawkes’s face, she’d thought him almost too handsome, too pretty. Now, with the scar across his cheek and a few faint lines marring his tanned skin, he was the very image of masculine beauty.
Which was part of why he was so aggravating. No matter how high-handed and insulting his behavior was, she still found him irresistible. If he asked her to go to the stables and take a tumble with him in the hay, she would not hesitate. But he would never ask such a thing. Indeed, it appeared he would not deign to touch her. Clearly, his plan was to torture her for all the horrible things he thought she’d done.
Fawkes broke off eye contact and turned away. “Good day, milady.” He strode off. Her insides squeezed with a longing so fierce she could scarce breathe.
Chapter Ten
If he did not get away from that woman, he would go mad. She was too beguiling. Too beautiful. No matter how he sought to distract himself by focusing on practical matters, his body never forgot her nearness.
Fawkes doused the torch in the water trough by the stables and left it inside the stable door. The pent-up tension made him feel as if he would explode. In addition to what Nicola did to him, he wasn’t used to the tedious life of a lord. Meetings, tallies, account books—God’s bones, he wasn’t cut out for this! He wasn’t a clerk; he was a warrior!
Nay. He was a lord now, which meant he must learn about such things. But he refused to deal with them every moment of the day. Men like Warin did that.
He paused and looked up at the sky. As blue as a robin’s egg, with nary a cloud. A fine day and he was wasting it poking around in root cellars and storage chambers. He longed to be out riding. Tomorrow he would do so. He would take a tour of his properties. But that didn’t help him today. He felt trapped and confined. Part of it was the awareness that Nicola was so close, and yet so untouchable. Another reason for his restlessness was the way his new responsibilities weighed on him. He could almost feel the massive castle walls pressing down on him, reminding him of the burdens of his new life. Somehow he had to find an escape, at least for a time.
He strode to the stairs leading to the castle’s eastern ramparts and climbed them with brisk, rapid steps. As he neared the top, he felt a twinge of apprehension. He had no desire to encounter FitzSaer. But surely this time of day there would be no reason for the castellan to be up on the tower wall.
Reaching the top, he walked the parapet, surveying the area around the castle on all sides. On the side away from the village and the river, he saw sheep grazing, their fleeces creamy white against the green pasture. Nearer the castle was the practice ground, rutted with pathways worn into the grass by men and horses. He squinted, noting the quintain pole listed to one side and the archery targets were losing their stuffing. It didn’t appear Mortimer’s knights had spent much time practicing their battle skills. That would have to change. If a knight didn’t drill continually, he lost his edge.
That thought spurred another. He left the wall and returned to the castle yard, heading for the workshop near the armory. He hoped Old Thomas was still the castle carpenter. The man could make or repair almost anything. He didn’t recall seeing Old Thomas at the wedding or the banquet afterwards, but then he’d been so preoccupied with Nicola he’d scarce paid attention to anyone else.
His jaw clenched at his foolishness. As the new lord, he should have made it a point to meet with all of Valmar’s craftsmen and skilled laborers as soon as he could. They were as important to the security of the castle as the garrison.
As he’d hoped, Old Thomas was at his workbench. The man’s fair hair was almost all silver now and his shoulders slightly stooped, but he still looked fit and capable. “Old Thomas,” he called.
“Fawkes. Or should I say milord?” The carpenter stood and greeted him.
“Fawkes will do. It makes me feel like a worthless dolt to have everyone call me milord all the time.”
Old Thomas smiled, showing that his teeth were still good. “What can I do for you…Fawkes?”
“I was looking over the practice field and noted that the practice targets and quintain need some attention. Mortimer doesn’t seem to have cared if his men kept up their skills.”
“I will see to it. Indeed, I’m pleased to have work more interesting than building barrels and repairing tools.”
“Good. I’ll get a couple of the squires to bring you the targets. As for the quintain, I think the arm needs to be replaced. It’s listing a bit, so we may need to reinforce the base.” Fawkes turned to go. He had another thought. “Are there other things Mortimer ignored that you think should be repaired?”
“Not that I can think of. You might look over the armory and the stables. Lady Nicola saw to it that most of the other aspects of the castle were well maintained. She is a fine chatelaine, mil—Fawkes.”
“So it would seem.” He clenched his jaw.
“She’s been supervising the castle for years. After her mother died, her father didn’t want to concern himself with what he considered woman’s business. Lady Nicola and Warin have managed things since then. I suspect Lady Luvencote knew her husband would not remarry if something happened to her, so she made certain her daughter knew how to run the place in her stead.”
Fawkes nodded to the carpenter. “I will do as you suggest and look over the armory and stables and the other aspects of the castle that are a man’s domain.”
“Very good…Fawkes.”
Fawkes immediately headed to the armory. There he encountered Reynard talking to a grizzled knight.
“Fawkes,” Reynard began. “This is Philip de Dreux. He served Mortimer, and before him, Mortimer’s father.”
Philip dipped his head courteously, but his deep-set eyes were wary. “Milord.”
Fawkes’s first thought was to tell the man to call him Fawkes, as he had Old Thomas. Then he thought better of it. He needed all the authority he could muster when it came to dealing with Mortimer’s sworn knights. Instead he said, “I’m pleased to come here and find such a fit, well-disciplined garrison.”
The man quirked an eyebrow skeptically at the term well-disciplined. “If you find us to be competent, it has naught to do with Mortimer. He let FitzSaer give th
e orders and see to any training that was done.”
“And was there any training? The practice field seems all but abandoned.”
“A few of us older knights drilled the squires in the basics of fighting, but it was mostly here in the castle yard. Not much was done while mounted. And no archery training. I suppose Mortimer thought we could rely on the villagers, who have the skill from hunting.”
“I’m having the targets replaced,” Fawkes said. “And the quintain repaired. If the men’s riding skills are rusty, we must remedy that immediately. Have you some authority over the younger men? Or is it FitzSaer they look up to?”
Philip gave him that look again, as if the question was ridiculous. “FitzSaer? Nay, he believes himself above mingling with us mere fighting men.”
“But he is the castellan,” Reynard said. “He’s the one who would give orders in the event the castle was attacked.”
“Orders, aye, he’s good at that.” Philip’s mouth twitched in scorn.
“Then it should be you who tells the men they will have their first lesson in mounted warfare in a candle-hour,” Fawkes said. “Tell them to assemble in at the practice area behind the castle.”
“Do you want them to be mounted?” Philip asked.
“Not for this first session. This one will be a demonstration only.”
“They will be there,” Philip said.
Fawkes left the armory. Reynard followed. As they walked to the stables, Reynard asked. “What does that mean—a demonstration?”
“You and I will joust and show the men how it’s done.”
“What about FitzSaer?”
“What about him?”
“If you set up this demonstration without consulting him, he may feel slighted. He’s still officially the castellan here. At least until you replace him.”
“Which is something I need to do quickly. It’s bad enough that he tried to poison my mind regarding Nicola. Now I find out he’s nearly as lazy and worthless as Mortimer was. I intend relieve him of his command as soon as I can manage it.”
“And then what? If he stays here at Valmar, he might cause trouble.”
“I’ll send him to Mordeaux.”
“But Gilbert de Vescy is castellan there, and from what I saw when we were there, he’s a good one. It seems unfair to relieve him of his post and have FitzSaer take his place.”
“I’m not going make FitzSaer castellan of Mordeaux. I’m simply sending him there to get him out of my sight.”
“Is that wise? He strikes me as the vindictive sort.”
“What can he do? He has no claim to authority other than what Mortimer gave him, and Mortimer is dead.”
“It seems unwise to make an enemy of him.”
Fawkes halted and glared at his captain. “You agree I should remove him, but when I say I intend to, you bring up all sorts of objections. Must you always seek to make my life difficult?”
Reynard shrugged. “I’m merely anticipating problems and thinking ahead.”
Fawkes started walking again. “Three days ago, my circumstances seemed like a dream come true. Now everything is so complicated and frustrating.”
Reynard gave him a poke in the arm. “You’ll sort everything out in time. If you could come to some agreement with Nicola, I vow your life would look much rosier. You might even see your circumstances for what they are. Not a dream perhaps, but great good fortune nonetheless.”
“Speaking of which, have you learned anything regarding Nicola?”
“Most of the castle folk all but think she walks on water.”
Fawkes nodded. “Old Thomas the carpenter is the same. The castle folk might be so loyal they wouldn’t change their opinion of her no matter what she did. Even if they knew she killed the babe, they might think it was justified. Especially if they knew how the babe was begat. Which is another question I’d like an answer to. Do you think the castle folk know that Mortimer sent me to Nicola to get her with child?”
“I’m certain most people suspect Mortimer didn’t impregnate his wife, given his preference for bed partners. But I doubt they know Mortimer sent you to her bed. Other than Nicola’s elderly maidservant, that is. And the midwife.”
“The cursed midwife. She knew who I was before we even talked of the matter.”
“Ah, the cursed midwife.” Reynard smiled.
Fawkes looked at Reynard sharply. “If I were you, I would get Glennyth the Healer out of your mind. She’s far too shrewd and cunning.”
“Exactly why she entices me. I’m so successful with the wenches that it’s no longer a challenge. I’m pleased to meet one who it will take some effort.”
“You always were an arrogant prick,” Fawkes muttered.
Reynard laughed.
****
What was that terrible racket? Nicola rushed out of the weaving shed and looked around, trying to decide where the noise was coming from. Shouts and whistles echoed in the distance, and the castle yard was near deserted.
She hurried to the gate and shouted up to the guard in the tower. “What is it? Are we being attacked?”
“It’s Lord Fawkes and his captain putting on a display.”
“Where?”
“On the practice field.”
Nicola hurried across the bailey and climbed the stairs to the ramparts. She made her way around the wall to the rear of the castle and looked out. On the worn, rutted practice field, two knights garbed in full armor rode toward each other carrying heavy lances. Along the edge of the field, several dozen men were lined up, watching.
Nicola held her breath as the two horses raced forward. Before they met, the men’s lances collided. It made a thunderous sound, but neither man was unhorsed. They pulled in their mounts and circled around for another go at each other.
“Are they mad?” Nicola muttered to herself.
She focused on the knight on the chestnut charger, who was clearly Fawkes. His horse’s hooves dug into the ground, scattering clots of earth and grass. Beneath the glossy brown coat, the animal’s muscles bunched and stretched in sleek rhythm. Fawkes’s mail glinted in the sunlight and his lance thrust forward like a streak of light. Horse and man and weapon moved in perfect deadly harmony, Nicola felt a surge of exhilaration.
Her elation turned to apprehension as the two knights neared each other. A moment before they met, Fawkes leaned in hard and his lance struck Reynard’s lance from the side. Reynard’s weapon flew from his hand and he tumbled from his horse.
Fawkes circled around, as if he meant to charge. Reynard scrambled to his feet and drew his sword. Nicola watched disbelieving as Fawkes raced his mount directly at Reynard. At the last moment he turned and the lance pierced empty air instead of solid flesh.
Nicola let out a gasp of relief. She hadn’t really believed Fawkes would run down his own man. But he’d come so close. What an incredible display of skill and strength and lightning quick reflexes. It took her breath away.
Fawkes circled around to where Reynard stood. He dismounted and a squire rushed up to take the reins of his lathered destrier. Both men pulled off their helmets and cradled them under their arms as they walked toward the line of spectators. The men milled around, cheering. Fawkes raised his hand and silenced them, then spoke.
Nicola couldn’t hear what he was saying, but from his gestures he appeared to be explaining details of the jousting match. Nicola watched him, her chest tight with longing. He cut such a striking figure, with his raven-black hair and tall, broad-shouldered physique. Her husband was a heroic figure, a knight among knights. The awareness tormented her. Would he ever return to her bed? Or now, having done his duty, would he seek satisfaction elsewhere, in order to scorn and punish her?
****
“My lord.” FitzSaer approached as Fawkes entered the gate. “That was an awesome display. I’ve never seen the like.”
Fawkes gave the castellan a curt nod. Once they were out of his earshot, he said to Reynard, “Now he seeks to flatter me. Only days ago he was
whispering dark tales about my wife.”
Despite his bitter words, Fawkes had to admit his mood had lifted substantially. It had felt good to challenge himself, to test his strength and skill against another man’s. He was soaked with sweat and his muscles throbbed with a pleasant sort of soreness. Best of all, much of the unbearable tension had left him. But he could hardly risk his neck and Reynard’s like this every day. He would have to find some other sort of release for his frustrations.
As they moved through the bailey, he found himself looking around for Nicola. The next moment he cursed himself. As hard as he tried to banish her from his thoughts, she was always there. To Reynard he said, “Let’s get this blasted armor off.”
They went to the armory and helped each other remove their long mail shirts, then hung them on pegs on the wall, along with their shields and gauntlets. Fawkes pulled open the padded gambeson he wore under his mail and flapped it to cool himself.
“Tomorrow I’m going to take a tour of my properties. Visit Mordeaux and Rosebrook and then this place called Wilford.”
“Maybe visiting Mordeaux will help you decide how to handle FitzSaer.”
“Perhaps it will. Now if I could only find a means of dealing with my wife.” Fawkes let out a sigh. “At least this trip will temporarily free me from having to see her maddeningly beautiful face every time I turn around.”
Chapter Eleven
The next morning Nicola was headed toward the kitchen to talk to Agelwulf about the evening meal, when she saw Fawkes and several other knights mounted up and on the verge of leaving the castle. “Fawkes!” she called.
Fawkes turned his horse.
Resisting the urge to run, she approached. “Where are you going…milord?”
“I’m going to tour the properties of the demesne I haven’t seen yet. I also plan to stop at Mordeaux.”
“When will you be back?”
“We’ll likely spend the night at Mordeaux and return tomorrow.”
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