She couldn’t stop her brows from shooting up. “A sea of beautiful women?”
“Aye. This village is like none I have seen before. They breed lovely women here.”
“Oh.” She looked down at her wimple. She sniffed, feeling oddly miffed. “I suppose so. I hadn’t noticed.”
“You’d best get yourself and Brindi ready. I suspect the instructions are for her protection, as well. Lord Taurin would consider it beneath him to stride into Lord Adrien’s kitchens with a demand to see all the girls.”
“’Tis a clever plan. I can only pray it works.”
“It will, but only if you and the other women stay silent. For some it may be easy.” He looked at her, one eyebrow lifted. “For others, not so.”
“By others, you mean me?” Unreasonably hurt by his comments, Clara steeled her spine and lifted her chin. “All those beautiful women bred here will no doubt help me.” With a sniff, she tossed aside the curtain and disappeared into the bedchamber.
Shortly after, Kenneth led Clara into the bailey. She wore the wimple provided her, and the traditional veil over it, with a wrought diadem, her only one, for they were very expensive. She rarely wore it and ’twas hardly as fine as others she’d seen, but ’twas needed to keep the veil from lifting away in the wind, despite the rain that had decided to revisit Dunmow.
Clara’s heart stalled as she entered the keep. She had not seen so many people since the guild meeting in Colchester that resulted in her departure. There were families from far down the road, plus older women who worked under the cook’s direction. So many people, several of whom seemed to press around her. ’Twas as if they had timed their arrival to coincide with hers.
Kenneth ordered Brindi to accompany the other young girls heading into the kitchens. They did not climb the main steps up the motte but went to the left, where the kitchen met the gardens. And, thankfully, probably due to the steady rain that fell, they were all ignored by the drenched guards.
Kenneth led Clara into the Great Hall, though the crowd pressing around her would have carried her forth like a spring tide racing up the Colne River. Already, soldiers lined the walls, watching the villagers with suspicion.
Each woman wore a wimple. Clara hated the smothering feeling it caused, and this one fit far too snugly over her thick hair. But she was glad for it and the veil she draped over it. ’Twas loose enough to drape into her face, its upper fringe low enough to reach her eyes.
The hall wasn’t silent, but neither was it noisy. A low, anxious murmur filled the air, mixing with the scents of meals from the kitchen and the unwashed bodies of the soldiers. Clara pulled the veil over her nose to filter the pungent odors. There was no room for anyone to sit, except for the raised dais at the front that bore several comfortable chairs.
The crowd by the door parted and in walked Lord Adrien, holding his wife’s hand. Margaret followed them with the babe, and a soft, appreciative murmur flowed around the room at the sight of the young heir to Dunmow.
With the keep’s chaplain in tow, the ensemble headed for the dais.
’Twas like a celebration of presenting the babe, but when Lord Taurin strode into the hall, the mood snapped back like a new leather thong.
Taurin waited for the lord and lady of the manor to be seated before he addressed them.
After his greeting, he snarled, “’Tis not a festival, Lord Adrien. Why are all these people here?”
Adrien looked blandly around the room. “I caught you rummaging through Little Dunmow before the sun even rose, without the king’s standard or warrant. I thought mayhap you should first meet those poor villagers you wish to search. My people.”
Clara held her breath. They were deep in the crowd, she and Kenneth, and she could no longer see Taurin’s face as he had his back to the crowd. But she heard his growl clearly.
“Lord Adrien has subtly reminded Taurin that his brother often carries the king’s standard and therefore is more likely to have the king’s ear than Taurin,” Kenneth leaned back and whispered into her ear.
She nodded, daring not to speak. Was it wise to raise Taurin’s ire?
“Lord Adrien,” Taurin called out, his voice turning smoother, “I am not here to take lives, but to save them.”
“You rode into my keep late last night and demanded an audience. This morning you terrorized my village until I put a stop to it.” Adrien spread out his hands. “I promised you last night you would be heard. What is it that you need?”
“I need my son!”
Clara peeked through the crowd to see Adrien lift his palms heavenward. “I don’t have your son. Neither does anyone here, that I know of.”
“My slave has my son!”
“Slavery has been outlawed, Lord Taurin. You cannot have a slave.”
Taurin’s spine stiffened. But not in defense, Clara was sure. Not with the way his head tipped knowingly to one side. It seemed he was prepared for that and had an answer at the ready. A chill raced down her spine as she wondered what he would say.
“Nay, ’tis against the law to have a Christian slave. The girl and her family don’t follow our faith. They are pagan.”
Clara gasped. Kenneth turned slightly. “Is this true?”
“I don’t know,” she stammered softly. “I didn’t ask Rowena. Is it that important?”
“Aye, or else Taurin would not remind Lord Adrien. It could change everything.”
Her throat hurt and she swallowed to soothe it. Was it possible? Clara had not dared to take her to the church for services, nor had the girl asked to go. Holding her breath, she snaked out her hand to grip Kenneth’s arm. If what Taurin said was true, ’twould be dangerous for Rowena. The law didn’t protect her.
But Rowena was young and naive, having lived all her life in an isolated farm. Mayhap she’d not even heard the Good News, for there were many who still chose to follow the old pagan ways.
A wash of worry poured down Clara’s frame. Next time she saw her, she would ask Rowena. Yet, as she decided this, fresh worry rinsed like cold water through her. What if Taurin was right?
Taurin spoke again, and the hairs on Clara’s arms prickled. “The girl is my mistress. I only want to see that she’s safe.”
“Then go get her.”
“I have yet to find her!” With that remark, Taurin’s voice thinned, his patience obviously stretching to the limit. “If I knew where my mistress was, Lord Adrien, I wouldn’t have ridden in late last night. But you have a woman here who knows where she is!”
“And who is this woman?”
“Her name is Clara. She’s your midwife. She has a sister named Brindi.”
Bands of steel wrapped around Clara’s chest. She could barely breathe, and what little breaths she took caused spots to dance through her vision. Kenneth’s hand found hers and squeezed it tightly. The pressure ached the healing cut in her palm, but Clara made no move to pull away. Indeed, she stood stock-still, afraid the crowd around her would part and leave her open to Taurin. Somewhere to the left, a babe cried, followed by a toddler’s howl. A soft voice tried to soothe both children.
Again, she was thankful for the wimple and veil, which she’d drawn modestly over her cheeks and nose. The crowd around her, people whom she’d met only briefly, did not even glance her way. All were mesmerized by the confrontation in front of them.
She squeezed Kenneth’s hand in return, all the while sending up a prayer of thanks that God had given him to her, if only for a few days.
Aye, Kenneth was a comfort, she thought, biting her lip. He’d been a disturbance in her home, and yet his very presence comforted her. He was here, protecting her.
Ahead of them, Lord Adrien rose. “I will not hand over anyone to you simply because you demand it. These people look to me for protection. I pledged to God, to my wife and to them I would keep them safe. What do you plan to do with this woman? Does she not have the right to certain protections?”
“She will tell me where my mistress is!”
“No God-fearing man should have a mistress!” the chaplain interrupted. Clara wet her lips. So true were those words, but they were often ignored.
After a glance to the chaplain, Lord Adrien turned to Taurin. “Even our king obeys that commandment, for he loves his queen very much.” His stern expression deepened. “How will you extract your information from this midwife? Your reputation is not one of gentleness.”
“The way I get answers is of no concern to you, Lord Adrien. The woman has wronged a Norman, and she should be punished.”
“I have no proof she has wronged you or any other Norman, Lord Taurin.” Adrien’s voice remained cold and calm. “I cannot see how any Saxon woman here could wrong a Norman. You should already have realized by now that my village is filled with modest women who don’t speak to strange men. It took me a year before some would even look me in the eye, so I doubt any of them could have wronged you or any Norman here. And because I vowed to protect them, I certainly cannot allow any one of these good women to enter into your care.”
Lord Adrien then sighed. “But, anticipating your request and in all fairness to you, I have assembled all the women of the village, and you may question any of them, here and now, with all of us as chaperones.”
Taurin spun and several ladies in the front row shrank back. Clara had to admire Lady Ediva’s ingenuity. Her idea to have each woman wear a wimple and modest dress was perfectly in keeping with Lord Adrien’s words. Aye, even the weather today favored the modest clothing.
Taurin’s glare raked through the crowd, with women looking away or pressing closer to their menfolk. Clara fought her instinct to glare back at him. But she, like others, kept her gaze averted and downcast.
He spun back to face Lord Adrien. “These women are all wearing wimples! I cannot tell their hair color! How am I supposed to find the right woman?”
“Why would you want to know their hair colors?”
“You know why! Order them to remove their wimples, de Ries!”
Calling Lord Adrien by his last name did not amuse the man. Clara swallowed and crept closer to Kenneth. He held her hand tightly in encouragement.
Abruptly, the chaplain pushed to his feet. “Lord Taurin! ’Tis an inappropriate order and ill-mannered of you to demand it!”
Aah, so that was the reason for the chaplain’s presence on the dais.
Taurin growled out something Clara didn’t catch. Then he drew in a breath and stood tall. “My apologies, Lord Adrien. ’Twas indeed an unnecessary demand. I am only beside myself with worry for my child. But know this. I will keep searching until my last breath for the babe, for all of my people are precious to me, as yours are to you.” He dipped his head in a show of respect.
“But if it pleases you, my Lord Adrien,” Taurin went on, “I would like to stay for a short time. Last night, my courser threw a shoe, and ’twill need to be shod again. Have you a farrier here?”
“Aye, our smithy shoes horses. My squire will take care of your horse.”
“Nay. My mount is willful and strong. I have seen your squire and he is too small to handle him. I would prefer that my courser be put into—” Taurin waved his hand carelessly about “—your sergeant at arms’ hands. The horse is valuable to me.”
“Valuable?” she whispered so very low that only Kenneth could hear. “He cursed the animal last night and ran it with a shoe missing!”
Adrien stared at Taurin. Clara could not believe the strength of willpower within the man. He, nor his wife, nor the chaplain, even glanced her way. Nor did any others. Lord Adrien must have great control over the people here and over his men, for not once did any of them look her way.
Of course! ’Twas no doubt part of the plan to keep her anonymous.
“As you wish, Lord Taurin. Where is my sergeant?”
“Sir!” Kenneth released Clara’s hand and stepped forward through the crowd, sideways slightly so that the parting of people would not reveal Clara. Her heart leaped briefly at his forethought.
Kenneth stood beside Lord Taurin, and Clara could see that he was slightly taller. “See to Lord Taurin’s mount,” Lord Adrien said. “Ensure it is properly shod.”
“Aye, my lord.”
“So, Lord Taurin,” Adrien said, rising. “I see that the rumor of you devastating villages and scaring women is only that. You are a reasonable man. And my people can return to their homes safe in the knowledge you will not harm them.” He smiled. “I knew ’twas so. No Norman who has pledged himself to King William would be so cruel. And I can see that you are faithful in your pledges. The next time I am in London, I will be sure to mention your honorable nature to King William.”
The veiled threat lingered above all in the Great Hall like a heavy smoke, and Clara allowed herself to ease out the breath she’d been holding.
She dared one last glance at Kenneth as he stood beside Taurin. Taurin nodded curtly toward the dais before striding out. Kenneth, without looking her way, exited with him.
The crowd filed out after them, and Clara was careful to position herself in the center. She peeked out from under the veil and tight wimple to meet Lady Ediva’s eyes. The woman looked at her, but ’twas the shortest of looks.
As she exited the keep on swift feet, Clara spied Kenneth leading a big stallion through the bailey gates with several of Taurin’s men in tow. She glanced swiftly around, all the while being bumped by the crowd of villagers as they hurried down the steps. She didn’t blame them one jot. Taurin had a way of scaring the most stalwart person, with the exception of a few Normans like Kenneth and Adrien. She was glad Brindi wasn’t there.
Clara turned. Only one woman trotting down the steps met her gaze and ’twas only briefly. Clara looked away, moving sideways toward the kitchen garden. There, in the shelter of where the keep nearly touched the outer bailey wall, the cook sat preparing some roots for supper. She looked up, her face a mask of disapproval.
“I’m looking for Brindi,” Clara said.
“I sent her to help the smithy’s wife. Those were her two babes you heard crying in the Great Hall. Brindi knows the boys, so I sent her to help the family.”
Clara gasped. Brindi had walked straight to where Taurin’s men would be! And the smith’s wife, Gwynth—or worse, the older babe, a toddler whose speech was strong—could easily call out her unusual name!
Chapter Fourteen
Clara hurried as quickly as she could through the bailey gate without drawing attention to herself. To her left was the path to the village. It divided, with one branch leading to the smithy’s house. Clara glanced feverishly about, but Brindi was nowhere in sight. She speeded her steps.
Behind the small house was the smithy’s forge, and there she spied the back end of a large horse, its tail swishing. Clara stopped at the door to the house and rapped quietly, hoping that Gwynth and not Brindi would open it.
Her knocking wasn’t quiet enough, and out of the corner of her eye, she spied two men peering around the corner of the smithy.
Kenneth and another Norman soldier, the one who’d spoken to Taurin last night, frowned at her. Immediately, Clara stilled and drew her veil up modestly. Kenneth turned, ignoring her completely.
The soldier looked to Kenneth. Her basic French caught the question “Who is she?”
Kenneth glanced again across the short distance of hard-packed ground to meet her eyes. And for that moment, Clara had no idea what Kenneth might say. Nor could she read his expression, it seemed so bland and uninterested.
He shrugged and answered in a mix of French and English. “Une aimee. A godsibb.”
A gossipy friend? Clara flushed and kept her face averted. Immediately, Gwynth opened the door. Clara hurried inside. “Is Brindi here?” she whispered after she shut the door firmly.
“Nay. I sent her home.” Gwynth took Clara’s hands in hers. “’Tis obvious that Lord Taurin will do everything he can to find you. You should leave.”
“They know I’m here. Now I must trust in Kenneth d’Entremont to protec
t me.”
“The man out there with the horse? My husband likes him, but he isn’t a baron like Lord Taurin. What power does he have?”
The voices from the shop rose, and Clara moved toward the door. “I should get back home. I don’t want Brindi to be alone.”
She slipped out, pausing after a few steps. Kenneth was explaining to the smithy in English what needed to be done.
“Will you finish the shoeing today?” the Norman soldier asked the smithy, also in English.
“Nay.” The smithy set down the big stallion’s leg after inspecting it. “This courser has large hooves. I’ll need most of morning on the morrow to get the fire hot enough to make the new shoe.”
“The morning? Start it now, Saxon. ’Tis only just after noon.”
The smithy shook his head. “Wood alone cannot get my forge hot enough. I’ll need dried peat.”
“Then get some.”
“I need to find some first.” He glared at the soldier. “I know of one place, but I cannot get it this afternoon.”
“Why not?”
Clara swallowed as the smithy frowned and answered, “’Tis too far for me to go and return. I will not leave when the sun is dropping. The peat bog is not safe after dark.”
“’Tis only a bog. Why would it not be safe?”
The beefy Saxon paused. Then, looking uncomfortable, he finally said, “Last week, I went to dig peat and set it up to dry. I heard someone in the bog. I couldn’t see him, but he was there.”
“Just another Saxon digging peat. Ignore him. None of you are allowed in the forests anyway, though we know you hide your thieves in there. Mayhap we should go with you.”
The smithy bristled. “Whoever it is has scared off others, too. There are rumors of whispers in the wind and things tossed at visitors. I heard a fearful cry once that would freeze your bones. I can’t say what or who was there, but it followed me last week and stole my lunch.”
Immediately, Clara pressed her back against the smith’s house and drew her hand to her mouth to stem a gasp. She hadn’t seen any evidence that the peat bog was still used. That was why she’d chosen it. But the smithy used it, and apparently others, as well. She leaned her head against the rough daub of the wall as she tried to order her heart to stop pounding.
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