by Jill Hughey
Why did he want her estate anyway? With his money and his sterling reputation with the emperor, he could approach any number of families for a daughter’s hand in marriage. In fact, he should inherit half of his own father’s estate when the time came.
“Do you find churches comforting?”
Rochelle whirled at the words, perturbed to see the brother, Doeg, standing in the center of the chapel. The man put her on her guard for some reason. “Not particularly. I am admiring its construction. It is a complex building.”
“I do not like churches. This one especially feels like it is closing in around me.”
She tried to be pleasant, and answered lightly, “A priest might say that is an indication of a guilty conscience.”
His blue eyes went flat. “Priests. Probably another reason I do not like churches.”
The man was more handsome in the popular sense than his brother. His hair was blonder and his eyes a clear blue. His face was thinner, his nose more refined, and he carried himself with the hauteur of a nobleman. But his eyes held no warmth. Rochelle felt the urge to back away from him, sensing he did not like her and knowing there was no chance of changing his mind. Not that she cared.
“So, you have signed the contract?” he asked pointedly.
“Yes.”
“I knew you would. David always gets what he wants.” He delivered this announcement with one of his chilly smiles, but there was something else laced in the words. Could it be jealousy?
She glanced up at the gallery, hoping to see David at the railing so she could call him down, but there was no sign of him. “David and Theophilus went upstairs to see the metal railings. They must have found something else of interest.”
“Oh, metal,” Doeg said dismissively. “He is obsessed with it, and not the valuable shiny kinds. He lurks around blacksmiths with the hope of someday carrying a spata he crafted himself.”
“Do not give away all my secrets,” David called jovially from the back of the chapel. “I am sure Rochelle has had enough surprises for one day.”
“Too true,” Doeg answered easily. “You should return her home, David. I have not seen you in months. We have much catching up to do.”
“I will meet you at the north gate in half an hour,” David said agreeably.
Rochelle slipped past Doeg to join David near the atrium, silently giving a prayer of thanks. In just a few minutes, she would be rid of him and his disturbing brother. She could plan her journey home, and hopefully slip away to Alda with no more baggage than she’d brought.
After they exited through the bronze doors, she turned to David, victim of her relentless curiosity. “How do you make a spata? How big is one? I have only seen drawings.”
He gave her an odd look, then reached across his front to pull a wickedly long, double-edged blade from the sheath on his left hip. Reflected sunlight dazzled her as he swung it in lazy circles. “About that big,” he said.
“Is it heavy?” she asked, oblivious to the noblemen giving them a wide berth on the path to the gate.
He stopped brandishing it to hold it out to her on both hands like a gleaming silver platter. He hesitated for moment, and it occurred to her that he did not like other people to handle his weapons. Or perhaps he thought she might stab him. The idea made her lips quirk and she glanced up from under her lashes, wondering if he could read her mind. His brow cocked again, then he indicated the blade with a jerk of his chin.
She put her palms under it, barely lifting it, feeling its heft without really removing it from his possession. Her eyes widened. “It is heavy! You want to make one of these?”
“More than one,” he replied as he sheathed the spata. “I would like to work weapons.”
“You are rather old to begin an apprenticeship.”
“So I have been told. Which is why I plan to build a forge and hire a master weaponsmith.” He stopped at the palace gate to push his cloak over one shoulder. “I know you are tired of being grabbed, so I will ask you to hold my arm while we walk in the streets.”
She could think of no polite refusal. She gently laid her hand on the proffered forearm, immediately aware of its firmness and warmth.
“Where does Alda figure into your plans for weapon-making?” she asked as he guided her around a pile of horse leavings.
“I suppose it is where I will build the forge.”
Was he serious? Was he laughing at her question? “The closest blacksmith is in Theo’s town, Ribeauville.”
“I know him.”
“We have never needed our own smith,” she continued cautiously.
“He will not be your smith, he will be my smith. He — and I — will be making fine weapons which men all over the empire will want to purchase.”
Rochelle’s brow furrowed. She was not one to turn her back on a profitable business venture, but weapon-making? One would need a convenient source of iron, or whatever swords were created from, and endless firewood to heat the forge. She hoped he knew something she did not about iron mines near the estate. Their supply of wood was good enough, though she hadn’t figured on a forge consuming unknown quantities of it.
“Is there profit in it, after you have paid for the materials and the firewood and the labor?”
David looked at her sharply. “I do not know. Yet.”
Rochelle mentally shook herself. Of course he didn’t know. He hadn’t even been to Alda. He hadn’t hired his smith yet. Her brain just worked this way, immediately analyzing a proposition for its strengths and weaknesses.
If she’d learned anything in the past three years, it was that nothing was ever as easy as it ought to be, especially where trade was involved. She nearly told him this, but bit her tongue. There was no sense in worrying about it further because she had no intention of marrying the man, hence there would be no forge on which to make or lose money.
To her relief, he didn’t talk to her any more. In a few moments, he stopped to knock on a door she belatedly realized was her own. She reached around him to push it open. Gilbert halted partway across the room. Her mother rose from a chair, hands clasped under her chin and a wobbly smile on her rosy face.
Rochelle frowned at her, but refrained from criticizing in front of a stranger. She turned to say goodbye to David, disappointed when he came in and closed the door behind him.
“You should bar this door. This is the city. You are surrounded by all manner of inhumanity.” He aimed this censure at Gilbert, who bobbed his balding pate before scurrying back to the kitchen.
If anything, this scolding of their servant only broadened Marian’s smile. She turned expectantly to Rochelle. “How was yer interview with the emperor?”
“I will tell you about it later. David would only be bored since he witnessed it himself.”
“Boring is not the first word coming to mind, considering you all but told the man ‘no’ to his royal face.”
The Bavarian showed definite signs of irritation all of a sudden.
“Ye did not,” Marian breathed.
He walked to Marian, towering over her. “You, madam, should not be surprised. Keeping your daughter uninformed of the subject of that interview was foolish.”
“Well, I…” she stammered, her neck bent back as she stared up into his face.
“You chose the road that was easiest for you, as you said yourself, and made today infinitely more difficult and perilous for your daughter.”
“Perilous!”
“You nearly lost your estate today. If it was just yours to lose, then I would not care. You risked your daughter’s future. She could have been separated from a home she is obviously quite fond of. It was poorly done.”
Marian sank dejectedly onto the seat behind her, breathing heavily. “I thought ye and Theo would explain it better….”
“No. You thought –"
“Please!” Rochelle interrupted. “You have said enough. Do not forget your promise to meet your brother.” She only wanted to get the man away from her mother. Out
of her house. Gone from her life!
David studied her levelly. Again, she sensed some underlying irritation. What in the world did he have to be irritated about? He had gained everything today.
“As you say,” David agreed, turning sharply on his heel. He stopped at the door. “When do you journey home?”
“Soon,” Rochelle answered vaguely.
“Can you be more specific or shall I set up a watch on your door?”
Rochelle had just begun to open her mouth to let loose when Marian quickly interjected, “We had not really decided that yet. Perhaps ye and Theophilus would join us for dinner tonight? And a brother, did ye say?”
Rochelle clenched her teeth together.
David raised one brow at her then turned to Marian. “I can speak only for myself, but I would be honored to join you.”
“We will plan for the three of ye. At sunset?”
“Until then.” He left without a backward glance, closing the door firmly behind him.
Marian smiled at Rochelle. “I like him, girlie.”
Rochelle groaned as Gilbert hobbled from the kitchen to bar the door.
Chapter Seven
David stalked down the street, angry for letting the chit get under his skin. He wished Doeg had found a topic of conversation other than metal. He never would have shared his ideas about the forge with Rochelle today if Doeg hadn’t mentioned it.
She’d cut right to the quick with her question about profitability. It wasn’t so much the notion of her questioning him he found irritating as the fact that he had no answer. It had, in all honesty, never occurred to him to find out the cost of iron or tools, or, perhaps most importantly, labor. It took hundreds of hours to craft a well-made spata. He knew all too well the price of one. The fact that it was the most expensive weapon in a warrior’s inventory might not necessarily translate to it being a profitable item to sell from the countryside of Francia.
One question from Rochelle had exposed his ignorance and the soft underbelly of a dream he’d carried for years. One question! In fairness, he couldn’t blame her. She hadn’t criticized his plan. On the contrary, she’d given it honest consideration and asked the most blatantly obvious question. Can it be profitable? So profoundly simple, yet it had escaped him.
He was a soldier. He showed up in the spring, he helped conquer someplace or another, he collected treasure, and hopefully lived to see autumn. He’d always pictured the acquisition of his own estate as the reward of that career, the beginning of a simpler, safer life. Now he could see he might have to adjust that expectation. Safer, yes. Simple? With profits and Rochelle to worry about? Perhaps not.
Doeg and Theo waited at the gate. “You do not look like a man who just snapped up one of the best estates in Francia,” Doeg called, waiting until David reached him to continue. “That neighbor, Sewell, was a wealth of information.”
The mention of the boy’s name only made David’s expression blacker. “I hope you encouraged him to ply his affections elsewhere.”
“My, my, we are protective already.”
“Did you?”
Doeg opened his mouth, then closed it again, finally answering, “I warned him about your skill and your temper.”
“I do not have a temper.”
Theo raised his brow. “You do this afternoon. No matter, a night of manly celebration will cheer you. What shall the three of us do?”
“My future mother-in-law has invited us for dinner,” David replied.
“You met her,” Doeg exclaimed with satisfaction. “Sewell told me about her, too.”
Theo scowled. David glanced between the two of them. “Told you what?”
“Something that is well known locally, though the scandal has begun to fade as her generation dies out.”
“Scandal?” David asked.
“Marian?” Doeg asked innocently. “Is that the right name?”
“Yes,” David and Theo answered in harmony.
“She is of undetermined lineage,” Doeg stated.
“Christ on the cross, Doeg, just say what you mean,” Theo said with exasperation. “Marian was a slave.”
Distaste curled David’s lip.
“Rochelle’s mother was a well-used slave who Rochelle’s father took a fancy to,” Doeg said salaciously.
“You make her sound like a prostitute,” Theo protested. “Rochelle’s father first felt pity for her, then he fell in love with her. He freed her years before he married her.”
“There is no doubt of Rochelle’s parentage?” David asked.
“None at all,” Theo replied.
“Still,” Doeg argued, “If you marry this girl, one quarter of your offspring’s blood will come from heaven knows which subjugated flock of peasants!”
David considered this for a moment. “I do not think I care about that,” he finally answered. “Marian is cowardly. Other than that, she is a perfectly presentable noblewoman. Her history, in fact, explains a few things. I appreciate the information. Thank you, Doeg.”
Doeg scowled.
“What else did Sewell tell you?” David asked.
“Well,” Doeg said flatly. “”The estate is very rich. They make excellent wines. Her tenants worship the ground on which she walks. She keeps to herself, not socializing with the other nobles.”
“Because her parents were ostracized when they married,” Theo added defensively.
“As David may well be,” Doeg reported. “Sewell does not think the people of Francia will stand for a forced wedding with a Bavarian.”
“She is nineteen years old,” Theo protested. “Never been offered for but now that someone else may get her, they are in a snit?”
“Wait, wait, wait,” David interjected. “Both of you, calm down. I am betrothed to her. Whether Sewell and his neighbors like it, the decision has been made. I do not care if none of them ever visit me, nor will Rochelle, since it is not a pleasure she had to begin with.”
The two men subsided with grumbles.
“Theo, do you think any of the nobles will try to interfere?”
Theo considered it for a moment. “Haven’t heard enough talk to be sure, but it would not hurt to leave Aix. In fact, it would be best for you to get married and put an end to it.”
David nodded. “Unfortunately, Rochelle is in no hurry to wed, but she is anxious to leave for home as soon as possible.”
“She is probably much needed on her estate. Might be prudent, given her current notoriety, for you and I to escort her at least to Ribeauville.”
“I need to visit there in any case, and cancel those rooms I had rented for the winter,” David noted with a satisfied smile.
“A few of my men can escort the ladies from Ribeauville to Alda, and you can follow when you are ready.”
“Excellent. We will tell her tonight.” David could see her face now. She was accustomed to making the plans, not following them. At least in matters concerning her safety, that had already changed.
Rochelle hunched on a three legged stool in the corner of the kitchen watching her mother tend the meat. She was pouting — there was no other word for it — as she turned the betrothal problem over in her mind, searching for an escape route. At Alda, she would have walked out into the fields or ridden among the grape vines until an idea clarified out of her turbid thoughts. Here in the city, surrounded by buildings and unfamiliar people, the only sense of home was in the kitchen. She wished she could be a carefree child again. She closed her eyes, pretending. The smell of cinnamon and leeks simmering with the beef helped carry her back. Marian’s high-pitched humming of a song she would never teach her daughter was as familiar as her own breathing. The distracting noises on the street and a sense of impending doom kept bringing her forward to her own time and her current set of troubles.
“I wish you had not invited them,” Rochelle groused, not for the first time.
“Stop yer brooding,” Marian replied. “David is yer betrothed! Any girl is anxious to get to know her future husband!
”
“I am not any girl, Mother. I have never had fanciful dreams.”
Marian poked at a pot of vegetables. “Marriage is not a dream. It is how women get children and protection. If ye like him, then all the better.”
“And if I do not like him?” Rochelle asked with more than a little pique.
Marian turned to her thoughtfully. “Ye will never know if ye do not spend some time with him. Fetch the pitchers of water and wine. Did you set out the cheese the way I asked you?”
“Yes, Mother. I did.” Rochelle trudged back to the main room. They had pushed the rough table near the central fire. Gilbert added a few logs, only aggravating the smoky haze hanging in the air. The bench occupied one side of the table, and by gathering every other chair in the house, they’d come up with one for each end and one for the other side. They’d set the table with mismatched wooden spoons and a hodge-podge of metal and wooden plates and cups, the compilation of which made for a very shabby presentation. The food was enticing enough. A wedge of cheese sat on a cloth next to a chipped wooden bowl filled with sweet apples. Several loaves of heavy white bread lay directly on the table. She placed a tall thin ewer of water at one end and a short fat ewer of wine at the other.
Rochelle was startled by the front door rattling against its bar, followed by a thunderous knock. Gilbert shuffled forward, groaning as he lifted the heavy board so he could pull the door open.
“Well done, man,” David said approvingly as his eyes scanned the room to settle on Rochelle. He seemed in better spirits and he had changed his clothes, sporting a deep green tunic and matching cloak trimmed with soft rabbit fur.
She smoothed her own clothes under his thorough inspection, then fingered the embroidered sleeve of her pale green tunic. She had only brought the one gold girdle, but she had added delicate hoop earrings beaded with tiny emeralds that glinted against her thin veil. Something gleamed in his eyes, something that swirled through her to that newly discovered, excitable place she feared.
“Move on,” Theo’s voice said from behind David, who quickly stepped aside to allow Theo and Doeg into the house.
