"This is nothing to the point, Roger." The countess interrupted sharply with the privilege of a mother. "You may be as angry as you please, but you know that that will only make Walter worse. Do stop shouting and think of something practical or the family will have worse shame than a robber baron to bear—it will have a member on the gibbet."
"I tell you, I—" Hereford stopped suddenly. His color faded slowly to normal as he stood staring into space, and he put a hand up to pull gently on the lobe of one ear. "Tell him instead to stop being foolish and to meet me here after Epiphany. I will have work for him of just the kind he likes. He shall have rich booty and, in addition, will bring honor instead of dishonor to his name."
"You would not have me set a trap for him, Roger? He is my son too, though you are more dear."
"Do you think I have changed so much, Mother? Nay, I speak the honest truth. I did not tell you, for it cannot matter to you, but I met with Gaunt and Gloucester when I first came from France and I have large plans." He smiled at her widening eyes. "Do not trouble your head over these things. They are not a woman's affair—at least, not an ordinary woman's," he added, thinking of Elizabeth, "but Walter may well be useful to me and satisfy his craving for power at the same time."
Lord Hereford's party topped a small rise, and Roger looked with relief at the gray stone towers of Castle Chester. He had been so anxious to make good time that they had ridden far into the night and camped in the open, and Lord Hereford as well as his men was nearly frozen. A raised hand brought Sir Alan of Evesham to his side.
"Ride ahead and let Lord Chester know we are but a few minutes behind you. If he is not within, you had better ask for the Lady Elizabeth."
"Yes, my lord. Shall I ask for quarters for the men?"
"Yes. I will not send them back in this weather." Lord Hereford smiled. "Fair frozen, are you not, Alan?"
"Ay, my lord. That we are, and not used to it any more neither. But it is good even to be frozen with you in the lead again. I do not say that Lord Radnor was neglectful in guarding your lands, for he was most zealous in keeping them quiet, but I for one am sick of the same dull patrolling, and he is a man of sour temper to work for."
"Never mind, Alan. You will see hot enough action and in strange places in plenty soon now. I am not given to idleness."
"That you are not, I warrant my head on it, my lord."
The Earl of Chester was not at home; he was out hunting, for it was a sport he was violently addicted to and neither cold nor wet could dissuade him from the chase. Elizabeth, greeting Alan with courtesy, for he was wellborn, though a younger son and therefore employed as Hereford's master-at-arms, concealed the mixed emotions his news aroused in her. After making him comfortable with hot wine and a place by the fire in the great hall, she hurried off to arrange for quartering Hereford's men. In these uneasy times, the men-at-arms’ barracks were full.
Arms and food stores would have to be shifted from the ground floor of the donjon to other places in the keep, the arms to some tower room, the food to sheds in the bailey. The hearth, Elizabeth said, looking with disfavor at the accumulated filth in it, would need to be swept clean at once and a large fire lighted. The banks of the Dee were frozen, but she ordered a group of male serfs out to gather what fresh rushes could be found. Others were to be brought from storage in an outhouse, mixed with dried marjoram and rosemary, and spread on the floor. She sent a page for the head cook and gave orders that another pig was to be slaughtered and another side of venison taken from the salted meats to be added to the dinner meats.
"First he says he is coming in two weeks and four days later he is here," she grumbled, suppressing a little thrill of excitement. "I swear that he does it to be contrary, give trouble, and catch me unprepared.”
Having set the servants to work, Elizabeth made her way to the kitchen. “The meats have not been hung and cannot be roasted," she said to the cook a little breathlessly. "You will have to boil them well first to soften them and then bake them on the open coals to give them some taste. Remember to put in plenty of pepper. If you have not enough, I will give you more. Use all the broken meats for pasties, and be sure that ten at least are made for the high table. Doubtless his lordship will wish to hunt with my father tomorrow and they will need to break their fast with more than bread and wine."
"Yes, my lady, but—"
"But what?" Elizabeth said, turning furiously on her servant. "Am I the cook here or you? Can you do nothing without my help? Shall I come and stir your pots?"
"No, my lady," the man replied meekly, backing away. It was not unknown for her ladyship to use her nails when she was in this temper. "I only wish to say that there is no time to bake extra bread and we are short because tomorrow is baking day."
"Idiot! Send to the alehouse and take all they have. Send also to the village and scour the huts. You should get a loaf or half a loaf from each. If they have none it will do them no harm, fighting men must eat first. Yes, yes," she said sharply, turning on the page who had come to tell her that Lord Hereford had arrived, "I am coming."
Damn the man, she thought, tears rising to her eyes as she smoothed her hair with her hands, pinched her cheeks, and bit her lips, he must needs arrange it so that the first time he sees me in two years I am dressed like a slattern and all unkempt.
She knew neither of course was true. Elizabeth was most particular about her appearance, even in private. What she meant was that she was not perfumed and bejeweled as she would be in full court dress, as Roger had always seen her previously. It did not occur to Elizabeth to wonder why she should care how she looked if she was truly unwilling to awaken Hereford's passion, nor why her breath should catch when she saw his rather slight form poised before the fire in conversation with Alan of Evesham. His cloak had been cast aside and his mail hood pushed back, his gold hair vying in brilliance with the embroidery of his surcoat.
Elizabeth checked her footsteps and deliberately advanced more slowly, struggling also to control her breathing, which seemed to have gone a little out of order. Alan touched his master's arm and Hereford turned quickly, leaving his sentence unfinished. He started to come toward her and then stopped.
"My God," he breathed softly, "I had forgotten how beautiful you are. No man could trust his memory for that. I kept telling myself that I exaggerated, but in fact you are lovelier than anything I dreamed."
Elizabeth stopped too, clasping her hands together to stop them from trembling. "What a graceful remark! Did you spend your entire ride here planning the words, my lord?"
That broke Hereford's reverent mood and he came forward again swiftly, laughing. "I might count on you, Lady Elizabeth, to depress my pretensions and puncture my vanity. Nonetheless, I swear that it was you alone that brought forth the praise. I had no such sweet words in mind at all. I could think of nothing the entire way but how cold I was and what a fool a man must be to love a country with such a climate."
"Then perhaps you should have stayed where you were well satisfied. What should you return in such haste for? Is there anything of value here that you feel cannot wait forever?"
Hereford took her hands in his; she attempted to pull them away, but his grip tightened painfully and she desisted.
"Your hands are like ice, my dear, and you are trembling. What is the matter?"
"I am cold, my lord. That is all the matter. What do you expect when you descend on us thus without warning and I must go into that freezing barracks below to see it made comfortable for your men."
"I am sorry if I have made trouble, Lady Elizabeth, but I—" His blue eyes had been darkening steadily as his glance swept over her, and his expression was frankly covetous. "I just felt that my lands might wait."
Elizabeth freed herself with a desperate jerk and walked to the hearth. She was sorry a moment later because she could not stop shaking and in the heat of the blaze she could scarcely blame it on cold. Alan of Evesham withdrew a little as Hereford followed her, to allow them some privacy. Roger sto
od a trifle behind and to the right of her as she watched the flames but made no attempt to touch her.
"For one thing, Elizabeth, I came back for you."
"My manners are too good, my lord, to laugh in a guest's face, but I have seldom had them put to such a test as they suffer just now."
Hereford was puzzled in spite of Chester's warning. Women often said they were angry with him in his absence, but a few soft, flattering words and a few glances of open admiration ordinarily brought them quickly to heel. This time when both words and looks were not mere flattery but totally sincere and should therefore have worked even better, having the ring of truth, the lady did not respond. Every sentence seemed to make her angrier.
"I do not lie, Elizabeth—you permit me to address you so?"
She shrugged. "How can I stop you? You will, no doubt, do as you please."
"In all truth I suppose I will, but I will always try to please you too. I have often blamed myself that I did not offer for you before I left for France, so that I could have taken you with me. I thought of it, but everything was so hurried and at odds, and my situation so precariousI could not ask a woman like yourself to share so uncertain a future."
"You brought yourself to it in the end, however. Are you sure it was your situation and not my father's that restrained you?" Scorn was thick in her voice, making her words slow and heavy. "In all truth! In all truth he was then in prison. Did you not wish to be sure that he would still have lands to give me before you committed yourself?"
Hereford blushed hotly. "By God, you know how to prick a man where it will hurt."
Elizabeth turned on him with eyes like coals. "Why should it hurt if it be not the truth? I have no fault to find with your desires to increase your estates, my lord, it only sickens me that you overlay them with honeyed talk of my beauty. If she held my lands or some of greater value, no doubt you would take a cow to wife."
The earl opened his mouth and clamped it shut again. The cold fire of his eyes met and held her burning glance; once more he opened his mouth and shut it, this time with lips bitten together into a thin line. Then his color lessened and his expression softened.
"I will not quarrel with you, Elizabeth. If you can really believe that of me, I have no wonder that you are angry."
He spoke sadly, and to a certain extent he was sad, but he was also determined to have Elizabeth and her dowry. If blatant admiration would not soften her, perhaps reason would. It was true that Elizabeth was no ordinary woman, and by now it was plain that his usual approach would have to be modified to deal with her.
"What do you want me to do?” Hereford then asked. “Do you wish me to tell your father that I will take you without a dowry? I am even willing to do that, as far as I am concerned, but think what will be said of your father, that he sent his daughter penniless from his house—or yourself, that you came like a beggar maid to me. Who will you hurt in the end but your own children? Your lands, as you well know, can never belong to me. They will be a livelihood for your second son or dowry for your daughters."
The amber eyes grew quieter, long black lashes dropping finally in a vain attempt to hide their remorseful expression. Hereford half put out a hand to take her arm and, as he saw her stiffen slightly, dropped it. His clear, light voice was a little husky as he tried to drive home his point.
"Your lands can mean nothing to the Earl of Hereford, Elizabeth, but you, yourself, can—nay, do—mean much to Roger."
Elizabeth turned away. "You have not had much of a welcome, my lord, I am sorry. I cannot tell why I am so cross, but my father can warrant my words that you have not been the only sufferer. Perhaps I should go out and come in again. I might behave better on a second entrance. I have a sour disposition and a bitter tongue. You should consider well whether you wish to take such a shrew into your home."
An expression of satisfaction, quickly veiled, came into Roger of Hereford's face. "Nay, my lady, do not missay yourself. Your temper is hasty and your tongue sharp—I have felt both before—but there is no sourness in your disposition. You have ever been quick to forgive an honest blunder and I know you do not cleave to your wrath. If I desired a mawkish milksop for a wife, I could have chosen from a hundred wellborn and well-bred girls."
"Ah," Elizabeth cried spinning round, "you can say nothing against my birth so you say you think I am not well-bred." But now her eyes were alight with laughter and a slight flush gave that delicious violet overmantling to her cheeks.
Hereford hastily dropped his eyes to hide their avidity. He had her gentled now and he did not wish that any emotion of his should unsettle her again. "Well," he drawled stepping back a little to give her room for movement. If he infuriated her enough to make her swing at him, he wanted space to dodge. "Not everyone greets their guests, not even humble suitors, by telling them that they have caused inconvenience. It is a new experience for me, at least, and by virtue of that must have some interest."
This time he had guessed right, however; although Elizabeth's flush deepened, she laughed. "Lord Hereford, you are a beast. How dare you trample a woman already overthrown. Is that true knightly conduct?"
"No, my lady," he replied meekly, but with twitching lips, "but then, you know, I am no knight."
"That is nonsense, Roger," Elizabeth said, forgetting her assumed formality in her surprise. "What do you mean you are no knight?"
"Just what I say." He laughed at her shocked expression. "You know that a man sometimes swears fealty at his knighting ceremony, and in a case such as mine where the only man of fit rank to knight me would be the king, it would be customary to do so. I did not wish to swear to Stephen—therefore I have not yet been knighted. Ergo, I am no knight." His face sobered. "I have never broken an oath I made, Elizabeth, I pray that no force will ever be strong enough to make me do so."
"That I readily believe. I have always admired that in you."
She had a look of frustration as she spoke which told volumes about what her pride had suffered through her father's political vacillations. Her love for him could triumph over her shame enough to allow her to stand by Chester in all his twistings and turnings, but she felt the shame bitterly all the same. Quite suddenly Hereford's past knowledge of her strength, her ambition, and her pride was reawakened from a dim memory of something unusual to a reality of something magnificent, something even more remarkable than her quite astonishing beauty.
"Sit down with me, Elizabeth," he burst out. "I have something very serious to say to you." He hesitated uncomfortably because he knew Elizabeth's devotion to her father and he wished to avoid infuriating her by criticizing Chester and yet to induce her not to transmit what he was about to say to him. "I did not write to your father because—because—"
"Because my father is often not very wise and is sometimes too talkative. Say what you wish, Roger."
"Well then, Gaunt met me at Seaton and proposed—I hardly know just how to put this, but I suppose it is best to speak plainly. I am no hand, you know, at talking around a subject."
"If you are going to speak plainly, we may be safer in my solar. Come up with me. Are you hungry? Dinner will be a little late."
"We broke our fast in the field, and not too liberally. I was anxious to get here in good time so we rode half the night. If you have something to hand, it would be welcome."
"Go up, then, Roger, you know the way. I will just tell the maids to bring you some cold meat."
Two chairs faced each other in the solar before the fireplace, high-backed, in a wood deep-carved with stylized lions and fleurs-de-lis, smooth as satin and dark with continual polishing. The cushions were of a bright blue sarsenet, embroidered by Elizabeth's skilled fingers in the same stylized pattern as the chair carvings. The room was lighter than the great hall because the walls of the keep were thinner on this third floor, and, behind the heavy screens which separated Elizabeth's quarters from the sleeping and working area of the other women, voices and the soft sounds of female activity came faintly. Hereford paced
restlessly, his thoughts divided between the fierce reawakening of his passion for Elizabeth and the problem of whether or not to include Chester in his political plans. He started nervously when the screen scratched as Elizabeth passed too close to it and spun on his heels, hand on his sword hilt.
"You remind me of Lord Radnor when you do that, although I cannot think of two men more different in looks and disposition."
Hereford smiled a little sheepishly. "Sorry. I have been under arms so constantly these past two years that I find it hard to remember when I am with friends."
"Were you not among friends in France?"
"Friends? To whom is the Empress Matilda a friend? Henry is loyal enough, but sometimes I think he too looks over his shoulder when he is among his mother's adherents. The woman is—is like a ravening beast. Even Geoffrey the Fair cannot live with her, and you would not think that anything a woman could do would disturb him. She hated me, moreover, because I preached caution to her son."
Elizabeth came up close and took him persuasively by the arm. In her interest in what he had to say, she had completely forgotten his reasons for being there. "Come and sit down. I can hardly imagine you preaching caution, even to a madman, and Henry, from what I have heard, is not without sense."
"No. He is wise far beyond his years. Young as he is, I believe he can whip the curs of this land to heel. Nonetheless, he is young and sometimes his spirit chafes at this continual delay. He would be king and try his wings."
"He is a far cry from king and not like to see that state soon—if ever. When Gloucester died, the driving force behind the rebellion crumpled. You cannot have failed to hear."
"That is what I wished to speak to you about. You are no ordinary woman, Elizabeth, and I feel that, being as you are, you have a right to know what I plan to do. If I succeed—if I succeed my name will stand next to the king's at the head of the council. But if I fail, I will be ruined." Roger's eyes flickered, their blue incandescent. "When I offered for you, I did not know this was coming."
Knight's Honor Page 4
