by Alexa Aston
He lifted the black and white pup to his chest and saw it was a water spaniel. They were trained to flush game for falcons or for hounds and oftentimes were adept at swimming and could retrieve water fowl. Most importantly, they were known for their good nature.
Impulsively, he said, “You are coming home with me, my fine fellow. I have just the lady that will be pleased to have you as her companion.”
Ancel couldn’t wait to see Margery’s face.
Chapter 12
Margery tried not to show her concern when Ancel didn’t return by the evening meal. She sat on the dais alone, missing his company, though dozens of lively conversations filled the great hall. She looked out, happy to see so many people present—soldiers and serfs alike—all looking tired but full of life as the day came to an end.
Mealtimes under Lord Umfrey had been somber affairs. Very little conversation flowed throughout the room. Umfrey himself spoke occasionally to Thurstan or Gervase, usually to grumble about something. The nobleman never addressed her and Margery had liked it that way. When he did take note of her, it was because he wanted something done in addition to the many duties she had to fulfill each day.
They still needed to hire more servants. Margery had Sarah and Agatha help her and Maud prepare tonight’s meal and the two sisters were the only servers. Margery was thankful Ancel had insisted on installing a cook. By watching Maud, Margery could tell how talented the woman was and knew she would be an asset to Highfield. Still, it would be nice to have a few more hands to clean and help cook and serve the meals. She wondered if Ancel had employed any servants while in Billericay.
Thoughts of the roaming bands of highwaymen on England’s roads caused her to worry about his safety since he had traveled alone to the town. Yet of all the men she had known, Ancel was the most capable. If trouble presented itself, she doubted anything would happen to prevent him from returning to Highfield.
To her . . .
Margery longed for his kiss again. For his touch. In a short time, Ancel de Montfort had come to mean her entire world. She never knew she could be so happy, especially at Highfield. What had once been her prison, with Lord Umfrey as her jailer, now became a place of happiness. She knew the estate would thrive under Ancel’s hand—as would she.
From their brief time together inside the secret tunnel, Margery knew a world of mystery awaited her. Ancel’s touch had made her body tingle and throb and long for more. She prayed a selfish prayer to the Virgin Mary, one that had Thurstan Vivers dead and never returning to Highfield. Her stepbrother had been vile and uncouth and terribly lazy. She hoped she never saw him again and that the king made good on his promise and awarded Highfield—and her—to Ancel.
Even if Thurstan came home, Margery believed that Ancel would sweep her away as he’d promised. Whether to the royal court in London, where, hopefully, she could find someplace to serve, or to his parents’ estate, it didn’t matter. Highfield would not be safe for her under Thurstan’s hand.
It did make her curious about her real father, not Lord Joseph Ormond, a man she barely remembered and had no respect for. How had her parents met? How did they come together? Margery wondered if she would ever know the true tale but it had felt right to share what little she knew about it with Ancel. She longed to share everything with the dashing knight. The thought of sharing her body with him had her shivering in anticipation.
Sarah and Agatha cleared the tables as the meal ended. The tenants, some old and some new, left in groups to settle in to their abodes, while the soldiers sat about telling stories or tossing dice. Margery decided to retire to the solar and hoped Ancel might visit her there upon his return.
It made her uncomfortable sleeping in the same bed where Lord Umfrey had slept. She’d awakened from a nightmare last night, the sounds of her stepfather’s screams ringing in her ears. As she looked around knowing he’d been taken to his death from this very room, a chill penetrated her body. She went to the bed now, stripped of bedclothes by the angry peasants, and picked up the torn, bloodied cloak that she’d worn at the battlefield. Wrapping it around her, she left the bedchamber and went to sit at the table in the solar, thankful that it still remained.
A knock sounded and she rose to answer it. A giddy feeling ran through her and she hoped Ancel had arrived and come to visit.
Margery opened the door and was greeted by his sunny smile. She would never grow tired of it, no matter how many times he shared it with her. Then her eyes fell to his chest and what he had gathered in his arms.
“A . . . puppy?”
Ancel laughed and swept inside the room. Margery closed the door and faced him as he held the small dog up for her inspection.
“What do you think?”
She closed the distance between them and petted the animal’s head. It looked painfully thin. But the dog’s liquid brown eyes called out to her, tugging on her heartstrings. Then it licked her hand and gave a small woof.
“See, he likes you,” Ancel proclaimed, his eyes merry. “Here. Take him.”
Margery gathered the puppy in her arms and brought him against her. He rested his head against where her heart beat. She was convinced the dog smiled up at her.
Looking back at Ancel, she said, “I don’t recall a puppy being on the list, my lord.”
His eyes lit in mischief. “You are teasing me, Margery Ormond. And no, he wasn’t one of my purchases so he didn’t cost a single coin.”
As she stroked the dog, Ancel explained where he’d found the animal and how he’d freed it.
“I thought he would make a good companion for you. He’s a water spaniel, so if you don’t want him, I suppose one of the men would know how to train him so he could be used for hunting once he’s matured.”
She gazed down at the warm bundle of fur and her heart melted. “Nay, my lord. I want him all to myself.” She cocked her head and asked the dog, “What shall we call you, my little one?”
“’Tis a boy,” Ancel confirmed. “I checked.” He thought a moment. “More of him is black than white but all four paws are white. How about Whitefoot?”
Margery playfully tugged on one of the puppy’s hind paws. “What do you think, Whitefoot? Do you like that name?”
The dog wiggled in her arms so she put him down. “I think that’s a perfect name for him. But I’m sure he’s hungry. And his fur and paws are filthy,” she added, looking down at her now-muddy cotehardie.
“I’ve taken care of that,” Ancel said. “Sarah is heating water for a bath and Maud said she would bring up something for him to eat.”
Margery laughed. “Already you are quite spoiled, Whitefoot,” she declared. “A bath and then dining in the solar? Next thing we know, you will think you are royalty and demand to sleep in a bed.”
Another knock sounded and Ancel admitted Sarah and Agatha, both carrying pails in each hand. Their mother followed a few paces behind the women.
“He’s a right cute one,” Sarah said as she set her pails down.
Margery saw one of them was empty. Sarah poured water halfway up into the empty one and then removed a bar of soap tucked under her arm.
“Put him in, my lady, and I’ll give him a good scrubbing,” she said.
“No, Sarah. You’ve all had a long day. Sir Ancel can help me wash Whitefoot.”
“Whitefoot? Is that his name?” Agatha asked. “Oh, he looked up. Hello, Whitefoot.” She giggled as the puppy began running in circles, chasing his tail.
“Here’s some food for Master Whitefoot,” said Maud. “He’s got a bit of roasted chicken to nibble on. Poor little mite. We’ll need to fatten him up.”
“Thank you all,” Ancel said. “We can manage the rest.”
The three women left and Margery fed Whitefoot his dinner by hand. Between bites, he licked her fingers. She hoped, at first, that he did so in affection but she realized it was because they’d become coated in grease from the meat.
They bathed the dog, no small feat since he twisted and squirmed from start to finish.
After rinsing him, Whitefoot had shaken the excess water off and run around till he tired himself out. Margery and Ancel watched his antics, highly entertained. The dog finally curled up next to Ancel’s boot, resting his head on top of it.
“Thank you for my gift,” she told him. “Whitefoot is better than anything that was on my list. But how did your trip to Billericay go?”
He told her of all the goods and livestock that he’d purchased and when everything would arrive. She couldn’t believe he’d been able to find so much and arrange for its delivery in such a short length of time.
“I also hired a carpenter who will arrive in the morning,” Ancel shared. “With all of the furniture that was broken or stolen, he’ll be busy for some time crafting new items. His name is Harry Bacon and he will bring a seamstress, Christine Morley, with him.”
Margery frowned. “But we don’t need a seamstress, Ancel. I am perfectly capable of—”
“I know you are,” he said as he took her hand and entwined his fingers through hers. “But Christine is coming all the same. She can make a new wardrobe for you and clothing for any of the servants, aprons or whatnot, and she can even help you with weaving new tapestries. I know how those help keep out the cold. Winter will be here before we know it. It’s not too soon to begin thinking of that.”
Everything seemed to be right in her world. Margery had a hard time believing how things had turned upside down and inside out in such a short time. Ancel thought of everything, even bringing her Whitefoot. Feelings she’d never known stirred inside, though Margery refused to put a name to them.
“I will need to head back to Billericay to seek a steward. I didn’t have enough time to speak to anyone who might fill the job. It’s one of the most important ones on an estate . . .” His voice trailed off. “No, I won’t be going to Billericay,” he said firmly. “I had said I would send a missive to my parents. I think I know of someone at Kinwick who might be willing to fill the position.”
“This is a man you trust?”
“Aye, much more than meeting with strangers in Billericay.” Ancel brought their joined hands up and brushed a kiss against her knuckles before releasing her hand. “I will write to Mother and Father now and inquire about Clifton Walters.”
Margery rose. “Then I will bid you goodnight.”
Ancel took a step toward her. A soft growl floated up from the ground. He leaned down and lifted a sleepy Whitefoot from his boot and then placed his hands on her shoulders.
“Goodnight, sweetheart.” He brushed his lips against hers. “Sweet dreams—to you and your sleeping pup.”
*
Ancel left the solar and retreated to what he determined had been used as the steward’s office at Highfield. He had investigated the room before his trip to Billericay and found parchment and ink there, though he had bought more while in town since the supply was perilously close to running out. He hadn’t spared the time to examine any of the estate’s records. At this point, he preferred training with the men and ensuring that Highfield was well protected from any attack. He would allow the new steward to wade through the murky waters of numbers in the ledgers, which he often didn’t have the patience for, unlike his younger sister, Nan. If allowed, Nan might drown herself in numbers. He chuckled at that thought.
Drawing out quill and ink, he readied them and placed a fresh sheet of parchment on the desk. He would be brief, which his father would appreciate and his mother would bemoan, but Ancel wasn’t ready to tip his hand as to what the king might or might not do regarding Highfield. Dipping the quill into the ink, he composed the missive.
Greetings, Mother and Father –
I am sure news of the peasants’ uprising has reached you. It started in London and spread beyond to Kent and Essex. Know that it has been crushed and that I am safe and well, though not with the royal guard at present. After the king’s army fought the rebels at Norsey Wood outside Billericay, some ten leagues east of London, I was charged with securing a place called Highfield, an estate only six leagues east of London. The estate’s proximity to London and its being in the heart of Essex (where the rebels originated), made it a chief concern of the king.
For now, I am in charge of the place, since its baron was murdered in the rebellion, as was his younger son. The elder, who would inherit the title and land, has yet to be found. I have a small force of troops that the king let me handpick. Buckingham and Sir Thomas Percy, the co-commanders at the battle fought at Norsey Wood, each lent me ten of their finest men, as well. The estate is secure and being fortified against future attacks. I have had to recruit new tenants to deal with the wheat harvest. Things are running smoothly and a great part of that is due to the assistance I have received from Lady Margery Ormond, the previous baron’s stepdaughter. She is a gracious noblewoman and has the manor house well in hand, which allows me to focus on safeguarding the estate.
One reason I am writing to you is to inquire about Clifton Walters. I know he was training under Diggory, our own steward. Would Walters be available to come to Highfield and serve as its steward? I trust Diggory, who knows more about Kinwick than anyone except Father and I remembered he thinks highly of Walters. With Walters having trained under Diggory, I know he would be prepared for any situation. The king would also be grateful to see Highfield running smoothly and thriving once more.
I cannot say how long I might remain at Highfield. I am the king’s man and will do his bidding. I hope, if and when I return to London, that I can visit with you there if not at Kinwick itself. I miss you both.
Your loving son,
Ancel
He let the ink dry on the parchment as he read through the message twice. He said what he’d needed to without revealing anything regarding his feelings for Margery or his hopes for gaining possession of Highfield.
Satisfied, Ancel rolled the parchment and found sealing wax. He would give this to Will Artus in the morning and have the squire ride to Kinwick.
Chapter 13
Ancel exited the chapel after mass and stopped Will. He removed the rolled parchment from his gypon and handed it to the squire.
“This is for my parents, Lord Geoffrey and Lady Merryn de Montfort. They reside at Kinwick Castle.” Ancel gave Will instructions on the best route in which to reach his home and a few coins for the road. “You may break your fast first but I want you to ride out when you’re done.”
“Do I wait for a response, my lord?”
“Aye. In fact, I am hoping that a man name Clifton Walters will accompany you back to Highfield to serve as its steward. It should take you three days to reach Kinwick. You may stay the night once you’ve arrived and then return.”
Will tucked the missive inside his gypon. “Thank you, Sir Ancel, for trusting me with this mission.”
Ancel watched Will hurry off and catch up to the two other squires. He smiled, knowing how his mother would fuss over the boy and feed him until Will would think he might burst. A wave of homesickness washed over Ancel. Though he enjoyed being part of the king’s guard and had liked his brief time at Highfield even more, Kinwick would always be home. He hoped one day he would be as good a parent to his children as his parents had been to him.
With Margery by his side.
The more he thought of her as his wife, the more Ancel grew to like the idea. Most men would not bother to look past her tremendous beauty but he admired her spirit and intelligence. Margery would make an excellent mother—and he would enjoy making their children with her.
Tamping down the lust that rushed through him at that thought, he started toward the manor house. Before he reached it, he saw that a rider approached. Ancel recognized the soldier as Terryn Althilos, a fellow knight in the king’s guard.
He acknowledged the man, who swung from his horse. “Greetings, Sir Terryn. What brings you to Highfield?”
“The king’s orders, Sir Ancel. He wants you to accompany me back to London at once.”
Ancel kept a neutral expression on his face. “Did
he say why?”
“Nay,” Terryn replied. “I bring no missive, just his majesty’s command that you return quickly.”
“Is this permanent, or will I be able to finish my assignment at Highfield?”
“I couldn’t say, Ancel. The king is guarded in both actions and words these days,” Terryn confided.
“Then let me fetch my armor while you water your horse.”
Terryn laughed. “I’d say I would go to the stables to do that and have someone saddle your horse but I’ll wager Storm’s nasty temper still gives everyone fits and you’ll need to ready your horse yourself.”
Ancel smiled. “My horse does have a mind of his own. He tolerates Will Artus at times, though, and, interestingly enough, Storm has grown quite fond of Lady Margery, who lives here at Highfield.”
“Storm is fond of . . . a lady?” Terryn snorted in surprise. “What is this world coming to?”
“Ah, if you saw the lady in question, you might understand Storm’s resistance crumbling.”
Terryn looked interested. “You know, Ancel, we could make time to break our fast before we leave for London. I would like to catch a glimpse of Lady Margery and judge for myself why Storm has gone soft.”
Ancel signaled a soldier over. “Take Sir Terryn’s horse and see that it’s watered and fed. Not too much, for we’ll be on the road to London soon.”
He led his fellow guardsman into the great hall and over to the dais where Margery was seated, sipping ale.
“My lady? I would like to introduce Sir Terryn Althilos to you. He is a member of King Richard’s royal guard. And this is Lady Margery Ormond of Highfield.”
Terryn bounded onto the dais and captured Margery’s hand. “’Tis an honor to meet you, my lady.” He bent over her hand and brushed his lips against her knuckles.
A flash of jealousy rippled through Ancel.
“I am happy to meet you, my lord. Would you care to join us and break your fast?”
Terryn smiled. “I would like that very much, my lady.” He seated himself next to Margery and gave Ancel a sly smile as Agatha poured ale for them.
