by Jill Hughey
The noise continued from the hall for hours. The men practically shouted their conversations and laughed drunkenly. Occasionally, a woman cackled or shrieked. Rochelle huddled on the thin pallet, wrapped in the blanket Ingrid had brought. She had changed into her fresh clothes, but they were also damp from their snowy days in the leather bag. She knew she would be warmer without them, yet could not imagine being in this house in her undergarments, or worse, naked.
Magnus rested on the floor between her and the door that thankfully had a small bar she put in place as soon as Ingrid left her the second time. She’d forced herself to eat a little, feeding Magnus the remains of her bland meal, then propped herself up against the cold wall, her dagger clutched under her cloak.
She had begun to doze when someone banged on the door. Magnus barked, inciting hoots of laughter from the hall. It took her hours to sleep after that. She thought of David, at first gentle imaginings of him sitting with her, his arms wrapped around her. She then began wondering again how she had come to be here, and niggling annoyance crept into her mind. Her worry that Doeg had somehow harmed him never left her completely, but she couldn’t help but speculate. If David had believed her and Theo when they warned him about his wretched brother, Doeg would not have been at Alda in the first place and she certainly wouldn’t be here.
She began to move past hurt feelings toward anger. She began to wonder if David would really follow her here or if she would have to be her own savior.
Chapter Thirty-two
The headaches were a test of David’s will, requiring intense concentration to keep from running mad, or running himself through. He did not know when Rochelle would come to him. He simply endured in his own private hell as he had before.
David lost all sense of time after talking to Doeg. He’d slumped down to the floor near the desk, going flat to his back, the balls of his hands digging into his temples, his jaw clenched against any sound. He drifted in the pain, caught in a perpetual nightmare, paralyzed by a constant, unbearable agony from which his mind could not awaken. The gray light increased at the windows and muffled sounds came from the hall, all part of some other world that could not occupy the same space as his torment.
Marian found him near midday, hidden from view behind the desk. She’d been pacing, waiting for word from Ardo who’d she’d sent searching despite Woden still being safe in the stable. She’d stopped near the office door when she heard the rasp of heavy breathing. She crept in, trepidation clear on her face. As she knelt beside him, she whispered, “Dear God, what did he do to ye?”
Her voice came from a distance and it took him a moment to decipher her words. “My head,” he croaked, then winced at the pain his own voice evoked.
“One of yer headaches?”
“Rochelle” he whispered. “I need her."
Marian inhaled sharply. “She is gone.”
“Gone,” he choked as he tried to roll to his side and push up. A white explosion seared behind his eyes. He fell back.
“Lay here, laddie. I’ll be getting her healing things. Stay right here.”
He heard her footsteps recede as she called for help.
A blanket over him. “Can ye move over just a tad? Ye will rest better on this pallet for the night.”
Hands lifted and guided him, cradled his head onto something infinitely softer. “I want Rochelle,” he said again, hearing the desperation in his voice and not caring.
“Drink this.”
A warm drink. Rochelle’s potion. The same healing flavor again and again. Darkness came.
He drifted again, finally asleep, the pain prodding from the outside now, instead of acting as a clawing part of him.
Weak light pushed at his eyelids. He slit them. His head responded, but not with the crashing extravagance of the night before. He took in the room, the office at Alda, so unchanged despite the private war he’d just fought in it.
And what had his mother-in-law said about Rochelle?
He sat up too quickly, ending up with his head in his hands, until the room stopped turning. When he opened his eyes again, Marian stood in the doorway.
“Tell me where she is,” he rasped.
“Yer brother took her to Bavaria.”
“Took her!” David struggled to his feet, grabbing at the edge of the desk. “Why?”
“He said ye told him to. Made it sound like a test of her loyalty to ye.”
David shook his head emphatically, immediately regretting it. “When? How many days ago?”
“They left yesterday, early in the morning.”
David flung himself toward the door, ending up on his knees.
“Now just wait a minute, lad,” she said softly, putting her hand on his head where he knelt. “Yer no good like this. Ye’ll be needing a meal and another good night’s sleep before ye dart off.”
“No, I want to go now.”
“Rochelle would never forgive me if I let ye go to keel over heaven knows where. She thought Doeg had let ye to die somewhere and it seems he did, but I will not be losing ye now.” She tugged at his arm. “See if ye can sit up to eat.”
David drank another cup of the headache remedy as he forced some food into his gullet, occasionally asking the hovering Marian a question to try to sort out why Doeg would have taken Rochelle away. He remembered the three of them in the office. That hadn’t ended well. He remembered telling Doeg to leave him in peace, which is when his memories became blurry. Doeg returned sometime, but David could recall nothing his brother had said. He remembered his own pleading to bring Rochelle to him. Could he have mistakenly said to take her?
No. Never. Even in the utter madness of his pain he would never give another man permission to remove Rochelle from their home. Not even Doeg.
He must go after her to explain, no matter how badly it hurt his dignity that his loathsome weakness had left him completely incapacitated. If only he had asked for her help when he’d felt the first hint of the headache. His pride truly did go before his fall.
“Did you say Rochelle thought Doeg had done something to me?” he asked Marian.
“When ye dinna show up to ride with them, she was sure of it. She dinna want to go without ye. Doeg said you would catch up to them, but she told me to find ye, that something was wrong. And she was right. Yer brother left you in agony.”
David looked grimly at his plate, no longer able to blindly defend his brother, but not yet ready to denounce him either. His vision blurred. He tried to focus. He had to go after her.
Marian touched his shoulder. “It is nearly dusk. Go to yer bed. Ye will do her more good when ye are in a condition to travel than in the state yer in now.
David trudged up the stairs to ease himself carefully across the bed. His face landed in Rochelle’s pillow. The smell of her made his throat ache with loneliness. He curled his fingers into the softness, wondering again what had led to this separation. Rocks by the river. Iron bloom. Salt. The image of the men at the wagon. Doeg. What would he give to have her here, lecturing him about salted pork?
When David rose the next morning, snow coated the ground while more steadily fell. Marian grimly handed him another steaming cup of the healing brew. Worry lines rimmed her mouth and eyes. Traveling in snow was foolish and dangerous, and now her only child was out in it. David ate and drank quickly. He pushed back from the table as Ardo entered the hall, the grayish light of the wintry dawn barely brightening the doorway.
The man stood by the door, shifting from foot to foot. “It is snowing,” he announced.
“Yes, I have seen it,” David said as he picked up the heavy bag of food Marian had packed.
“Samuel is young. I wonder how he will fare.”
David felt the mantle of responsibility press down on his shoulders. He didn’t give a damn about Samuel as compared to Rochelle. But as Ardo expectantly peered up at him, David knew it was about more than Samuel. It was the salt. The people needed it. Now.
He wracked his brain for a solution that allowed him to leave f
or Bavaria. Now. Who could he send to make sure Samuel and the precious salt were safe? No one. Woden was the best horse and David the most experienced traveler. And Rochelle would want her tenants to come first. She would expect their needs to rate above David’s wants.
“Fire and smoke,” David cursed. He stalked to the stable, leaped onto Woden, starting toward the road at a quick trot. Another rider, dusted in white, approached out of the thick snowfall.
“David, what brings you out on a morning like this?” called Theo’s voice, his smile dimming as he took in David’s expression.
“I have no time to explain. My damned head has had me down for days. Now I need to ride in two directions at once.”
“Been married a few weeks and already made a muck of things?”
“You have no idea.”
“Where is Rochelle?”
”Doeg has taken Rochelle to Bavaria.”
“Pardon?”
“You heard me.”
“You let him take your wife!”
“I did not let him. It was during the headache. I do not know what happened but now she is gone.”
“She must be terrified,” Theo breathed.
David looked at him sharply. “What are you talking about?”
“She does not like Doeg. She knows he tried to have her kidnapped. She suspects he was behind The Black’s attack on you at the tournament. She does not trust him and now she is out there alone with him? How could this happen? You are such a jackass! How could you let this happen?” Theo was shouting by the end.
It was not to be borne. David had pictured her tired, cold, hungry and furious with him. He had even imagined her feeling a little bereft at his apparent dismissal of her from her own household. That she might feel fear had not even entered his mind. She’d never liked Doeg, never felt comfortable with him, but David had ignored her to the point that her opinion didn’t even exist. Her being frightened never even occurred to him.
A pain pierced his heart, squeezing in his chest until he could hardly breathe.
Theo continued, only slightly calmer. “I am sorry to tell you, she was right. Just coming from Sewell’s. He sent for me after the tournament. Said he saw someone there he recognized. Guess who? Your brother, the same man who told them Rochelle wanted to be rescued along with details of exactly when and where to do it.”
The world tilted and David was sliding, cut loose from the underpinnings of his past, though only for a moment. A firm image formed in his mind, anchoring him. Rochelle. He quickly made the only acceptable decision. “I do not care about the salt. If the peasants get hungry they can eat me. I am going after Rochelle.”
“Wait! What salt?”
“Samuel is supposed to be getting salt in Ribeauville. He will probably find disaster in the snow. I cannot think about that now. I have to get to Rochelle.” He turned Woden east.
“I will go after Samuel. Do not worry about him. I will go. You find your wife! And dammit, this better be the last time I have to fix things for you!”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Rochelle woke to a tentative knock. Her neck and back protested as she straightened from the slumped position she’d slept in. She had no window to tell her if it was day or night. The hall beyond her door had gone silent.
Another soft knock sounded.
Magnus snuffled at the door, unalarmed, so Rochelle rose with a groan, lifting the bar to open it just a crack. Ingrid’s wide hazel eyes peered in at her. “If you need to use the privy and take your dog outside for a little walk, this’d be the time,” she whispered.
Rochelle peeked around the door.
“The men are in their quarters. You should hurry. Them that drink too much don’t always sleep long.”
Rochelle did hurry, the smell in the privy enough to drive her back into the wretched house. She stood by the fire trying to get warm until she heard the first stirrings of men behind a door adjacent to her own. She slipped into the depressing storeroom that represented safety, grabbing a fresh torch off the wall on her way.
She paced the room as she considered her quandary. Soon Ingrid knocked again. Rochelle was surprised to see a large pile of clothing in her arms. Behind her stood Drogo.
“You will earn your keep. Do this mending,” he announced. “I do not like noblewomen in my hall, but you will come out for dinner tonight.”
Rochelle nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She wanted to lecture him with righteous indignation and tell him exactly what she thought of his hospitality. She silently backed away so Ingrid could drop the clothing inside the door. She poked at the pile with her toe. The girl returned shortly with thorn needles, thread, and a small oil lamp. Rochelle could have wept with gratitude when she dragged two chairs in the room, then sat down with her.
They sorted through the dirty clothing, apparently Drogo and Doeg’s based on the quality of the cloth. Each chose an item to mend, with Rochelle choosing the easiest repair she could, hoping she did not leave the garment worse than she found it.
“Are you married?” Rochelle asked companionably.
“My husband died last winter.”
“Oh. I am sorry.”
“Me too. He was a good man.”
“You came to work here after he died?”
“I worked here as a girl. Had to come back so I could take care of my son.”
Rochelle nodded. “The men here seem rough. Do they bother you?”
“Not any more. Doeg went after one of them for hitting me once. They leave me alone now.”
Rochelle nearly dropped her sewing. “Doeg defended you?”
Ingrid nodded.
“Why?”
Ingrid lifted her thin little shoulders in a shrug. “He don’t like the women to be hit. He could take the lot of them drunks on, even with his bad arm. I’ve seen him do it.”
Rochelle had trouble melding Ingrid’s indication of Doeg’s morality with her own observations. “It did not seem like the women were well treated here. I guess I was wrong.”
“I didn’t say we were treated nice. We don’t get smacked very often. Almost anything else goes.” She worked her needle with jerky tugs. “We are still just women. Men have no end of ways to break a woman down without using fists, if you know what I mean.”
Rochelle considered the ugliness of that idea while making a hash of a sagging hem. “You are expected to, umm, accommodate these men?”
“I don’t,” she said, shaking her head vehemently. “The others do, mostly for the money.”
“You are not forced to?”
“No.”
“Because of Doeg?”
Ingrid shrugged again. “Like I said, it didn’t used to be like this here.”
Drogo summoned Rochelle for dinner by beating on the door and shouting at her. She walked out stiffly, her hand curled into Magnus’s fur, fingers sore from a day of accidental needle pokes. Drogo pointed to the chair at the opposite end of the table from him. At least she wouldn’t be sharing a bench with any of the clods watching her like hunters tracking a doe. There were fourteen men at the table, including Drogo and Doeg. They came in all shapes, sizes and ages, and to a man stared at her, a few with suggestive leers. The redheaded brute to her right actually licked his lips.
The heavy-bosomed serving women carried in platters of gristly meat and plain boiled vegetables. Wine and ale began to flow. Rochelle nibbled at some bread, watching with horrified fascination as the men gobbled at the meat, leaving only large bones behind. They drank freely, though she noticed Drogo hardly ate or drank at all. He leaned back in his chair, seeming amused by her presence despite his distaste for noblewomen.
“How does our food compare to that at your own home?” he yelled down to her.
The room quieted. Excitement bloomed on the men’s greasy faces.
“It is a fine meal,” Rochelle said clearly. “I thank you for the food.”
“And the hall? Doeg makes it sound as if David is now richer than me.” Doeg sat to his right
, rigid and forbidding as always.
She tried to be diplomatic. “Alda’s hall is very dull compared to your own.”
The men laughed appreciatively. “To Drogo’s hall!” they shouted, slopping their drinks on the table.
“In what way is it dull?” Drogo probed.
She pointedly watched one of the serving women approach. “It lacks some of the baser comforts. Nor do we entertain nearly as much company.”
His eyes narrowed. “I wonder at David sending you here.”
Rochelle glanced at Doeg. “It is not for me to question.”
“Indeed not.” He scratched his cheek. “Did he put a babe in your belly yet?”
The table’s occupants erupted in hooting laughter. Rochelle felt the stain of a blush rise up in her cheeks.
“Do not look so shocked. I just wonder at him. I hardly let my wife out of the house until she gave me two sons. You look comely enough, and Lord knows he is a great strapping man.” He looked at Doeg, his eyes darkening to a cruel chill. “Perfectly wrought.”
Doeg did not react, while the other men stared at her even more intently. “She is comely,” the redhead agreed.
“I do not think David would approve of your discussing my appearance so freely,” Rochelle said with force.
“Too bad he is not here,” Drogo replied. “Then we could ask him.”
One of the men grabbed a serving woman, pulling her into his lap to squeeze at her breast. She put her arm around his neck and waited placidly while he kneaded her flesh. The other men cheered him on. Drogo watched for a moment before addressing Rochelle again. “Maybe he has lost interest in you. Or perhaps he is hoping you will learn to become a good Bavarian woman.”
“Father,” Doeg said softly. “Do not tease her.”
“Shut your yap,” Drogo ordered amidst the rising turmoil.
Rochelle sensed oncoming danger as if it was a material thing moving through the room, as if she could reach out to touch it. The men either stared at her or watched the man fondling the woman in his lap. He abruptly dumped the servant on her feet, then grabbed her hand to pull her toward the sleeping quarters.
