Rosehaven

by Catherine Coulter

  When Hastings came into the great hall, a blanket wrapped around her, there was the poor brother whose tooth had been paining him on his knees on the stone floor. He was moaning and pressing his hands against his jaw. Blood was dripping through his fingers. The abbot stood over him, holding the tooth in his hand, looking grim and pleased. “It is done. Whine no more.”

  “I could give him something to slow the bleeding,” she said quietly to Severin.

  “Nay, you cannot. The abbot would go into a frenzy of religious fervor were you to do anything.” He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Let us sleep, Hastings. Morning will come early. Let us pray that the rain stops. I want to leave this place.”

  The rain did stop near dawn the next morning. Severin awakened her with a kiss to her temple. She opened her eyes and looked up at him. She lifted her hand and lightly caressed her fingertips over his mouth, his nose, his cheeks. She smoothed his eyebrows. “I am glad you kept me with you.”

  “Aye, but there is no time to ask for more of a show of gratitude.” He pulled off the blankets and rose.

  Within the hour they were riding from Wigham Abbey. Hastings turned in Marella’s saddle and stared back at the grim stone buildings. Even in the morning sunlight, it looked inhospitable. “I wonder if convents are as depressing as that place.”

  “Benedictines relish the torture of their flesh,” Gwent said. “Let them all rot. I do not imagine that it much pleases God, but who knows?”

  Tabar was better. He was even whistling. He was effusive in his thanks to Hastings.

  “He is young,” Severin said. “He will glow and squeal his infatuation for you but then it will disappear. I will suffer him until he cures himself of you. If it is not soon, I will cuff him hard and that will clear out his wits.”

  Hastings laughed. She poked her husband’s arm. He smiled at her and stretched out his hand, gripping hers.

  Gwent grunted and said under his breath, “He has not mucked up the miracle, praise be to God.” He had never seen his master so at ease with a woman. Even with most men he was silent, his speech terse. He heard Severin laugh. It was indeed a miracle. All the men looked quite pleased.

  15

  THEY REACHED YORKSHIRE ON THE AFTERNOON OF THE fifth day. The weather remained warm and dry. They passed to the east of Leeds, on toward the coast, to the town of Hawksmere. Langthorne village lay just behind at the head of the estuary. Hastings was both excited to see Langthorne and anxious that her mother-in-law had been found by now. Poor woman. She prayed the Healer’s herbs would help her. But sickness in the head was frightening simply because there were no sores, no fever, no broken bones. It was hidden. It was unknown. Thus it was to be feared and reviled.

  Langthorne keep stood on a slight rise at the head of the estuary. It looked as old as the black rocks that poked up randomly in the fields. There were gouges in the outer walls, stones spilling out like waterfalls of rock. The fields surrounding the outer walls looked devastated, the people ragged and poor. She’d known that Severin had wedded her to gain money to renew his home, but she hadn’t expected it to be quite so bad. His expression was set. He said nothing. He would have come here soon enough, but she was glad that it was sooner. There was much to be done to bring Langthorne back to its former glory, whatever that had been. It would be passed down to her sons and daughters. She didn’t want it to be a ruin.

  His mother was at Langthorne. Sir Roger’s men had found her sitting on a branch in a tree, her bare legs dangling. She laughed as she waved to them.

  “I regret, my lord, that it took us three days,” Sir Roger said, all pleased with himself. There had been no surprise when their party had ridden into the inner bailey. It was obvious he had discovered that Severin was coming. He was a tall man, thinner than the legs of the trestle tables in the great hall of Langthorne. His hands moved constantly. She didn’t know if he was naturally nervous or whether this nervousness was brought upon by Severin’s presence and how Severin would deal with Sir Roger’s lapse.

  “Is she normal?”

  “Aye, she appears so. She is quiet, so the women tell me. As I said, she was laughing and waving. That is the only way we found her. Who would think to search up in the trees?”

  “May I see her, Severin?”

  “Aye. Sir Roger, this is my lady wife, Lady Hastings.”

  “My lady. ’Tis an odd name you carry.”

  “But ’tis solid, Sir Roger. When you say my name you have no doubt that you have said it.”

  “I will believe what you have said though my wit must have more time to glean your meaning.”

  “She is like that,” Severin said, and cuffed his wife’s shoulder.

  “I do not see Trist, my lord,” Sir Roger said. “He is well?”

  “My damned marten wasn’t to be found when we left. I believe he is spending more time in the forest, perhaps mating. We will see.”

  Hastings followed Severin up the narrow stairs to the small chamber where Sir Roger had moved his mother a short time before when he had taken a mistress, thus needing the larger chamber. The new chamber, Sir Roger said, all affability, was quite adequate.

  Adequate, hah, Hastings thought, when Severin unlocked and pushed open the door. The room was dark and narrow. It smelled of stale reeds and urine. There was one narrow window that had a square of bear skin over it. The reeds on the cold stone floor were filthy with rotted food and excrement. Hastings simply stood in the doorway, so dismayed that at first she didn’t see the woman who was standing still as a pillar, her back pressed against the stone wall.

  “Mother,” Severin said, but made no move toward her.

  The woman shook her head but didn’t move. “Who is she?” She raised her arm and pointed at Hastings. “Why are you with this girl?”

  “She is my wife. Her name is Hastings.”

  “I am not stupid. I remember now. She is the heiress, the one you had to marry to save us.”

  “Aye. I’m pleased you remember. How do you feel, Mother?”

  “Feel? Are you blind? Just look at my feet. They hurt. Sir Roger’s bitch made me flee the keep and I had to hide in the forest for nearly a week before I managed to gain the attention of the men-at-arms who were riding below. I had to hide in the tree so the wild animals wouldn’t kill me. They said they were looking for me. The bitch must have gotten frightened that I would die and Sir Roger would be angry. Just look at my feet. No one cares about my feet.”

  “I do, madam,” Hastings said. She turned to her husband. “Please have one of the men bring my trunk of herbs. May I speak to your mother, Severin?”

  He was staring at his mother, clearly uncertain.

  “I am larger than she is. If she becomes violent, I will be able to deal with her.” She turned to the fat woman who was hovering behind them. “Bring me warm water, a bathing tub, and many bathing towels.”

  The woman’s three chins wobbled. “Aye, my lady.”

  “This is one of the women you selected to see to your mother?”

  “Aye, it is. She has gained more flesh than seems possible in such a short time. You will call me if you need anything. I will go into the hall and speak with Sir Roger. I would know more about this situation.” He paused a moment and looked around him. “I do not like this chamber. It would depress the spirit of a healthy man.”

  “Aye, it would. We will speak of it later, my lord.”

  He was still frowning when he left her.

  “My feet!” he heard his mother screech.

  Hastings managed to get her mother-in-law to sit on the narrow, musty bed. The coverlets were thin and smelled dirty. When she saw her feet, she wanted to cry. They were torn and filthy, some sores crusted, others still oozing blood. She looked up at the now-silent woman whose dirty hair hung in strings to her meager breasts and said quietly, “Madam, allow me to take care of you.”

  The woman stretched out a dirty hand and lightly touched it to Hastings’s cheek. “I was once pretty like you are.
It was a very long time ago. There was a man I loved. He looked very much like the man who was standing in the doorway with you. He died, you know. It was a petty thing, the way he died. He was drunk and fell from his horse into a ditch. There was water in the ditch, just a small amount of water, but he landed facedown and drowned. Is that not petty?”

  “Aye, it is. The man with me is your son, Severin.”

  “Severin? I wonder why he is named Severin. I would have called him William, after the great conqueror. I remember Severin. He was a quiet boy, but strong, so very strong. I remember how he once lifted me above his head with just one hand. Then he left. Ah, but my feet hurt.”

  Hastings tended her mother-in-law herself. She didn’t want the fat woman in the same chamber with her. As for the second woman Severin had picked to care for his mother, she never saw her. It was some minutes before she thought to ask, “What is your name, madam?”

  “I am Moraine. I was once pretty, like you are.”

  “You still are,” Hastings said, her voice grim as she held Moraine’s filthy, bleeding foot in her hands.

  “Sir Roger says that my mother escaped when one of her women became ill, nothing more. He was very sorry for it. But he found her and she is safe. He apologized sincerely for not sending a messenger, but he did not wish to unduly alarm me. He did find her unharmed, so my trip is wasted. He promised to punish the man who rode to Oxborough. I told him that the man wasn’t to be punished, that I had planned to come soon in any case.

  “Then he said his mistress, Glenda, was always kind to my mother—indeed, that she would weep when my mother forgot who she was and where she was. He said my mother was very fond of Glenda when she wasn’t succumbing to her madness. He seems very pleased with himself that he found her and that she’s alive. As to her small chamber, as you know he sees nothing at all wrong with having moved her into it. After all, my mother is mad. Most of the time she isn’t aware of where she is, thus why waste the large bedchamber on her?”

  “Did you kill Sir Roger, Severin?”

  Slowly, very slowly, the ferocious frown disappeared. He stopped his urgent pacing. He smiled down at her. “My blood was hot enough to do it, but I held back. Perhaps he deserves it, I’m not yet certain. But it amazed me, Hastings. He truly saw nothing at all wrong with what he has done. I believe he even expects me to reward him for finding her. When I would have questioned him more, he left the hall when my attention was elsewhere. By Saint Olaf’s elbows, even the ale he served me tasted of piss.”

  “Let me kill him instead. I’ll wager you will find out he does deserve it.”

  That brought him to a stop. He arched a black eyebrow. “You are but a girl, yet you speak like this?”

  “Aye, a dagger through his black heart. As for this mistress of his, you heard what your mother said. Something about the bitch making her flee Langthorne. So Sir Roger denied that. I would like to know the truth of it as well. If the mistress had something to do with it, then I would like to tie her to a stake in the village and keep her there for all to see for at least a sennight. It would rain at least three times in that period.”

  “Why do we not simply tie both of them to the stake, naked, back to back?”

  Her eyes glittered. “I like the way your mind snaps to the perfect punishment. You said that Sir Roger sees nothing wrong with what he has done to your mother. I would imagine that because he treated her with indifference, the two women you picked to care for her became quickly hardened. I don’t know where the second woman is. Your mother is very thin, Severin. Her feet are very bad—she was barefooted the entire time she was hiding in the forest—but I have treated them as best I can and bandaged them with clean linen. I have given her some of the potion the Healer prepared. She is sleeping now, in one of my night shifts. Her clothes were filthy. This fat woman probably ate all your mother’s food.”

  “Where have you put her?”

  Hastings smiled slowly. “In the chamber Sir Roger moved her out of. In the lord’s chamber. I had two of the servants move in a small cot for her. She is now sleeping on clean covers and she herself is now clean. Do you mind sharing with your mother?”

  He shook his head.

  “I, ah, had all of Sir Roger’s clothing and possessions and those of his mistress moved to the small chamber where they had put your mother.”

  “I like the way your brain works as well, Hastings. Excellent. I wish to question Sir Roger more closely. His mistress is visiting in the village, he told me, but she should return soon. Then, very briefly, before he escaped me, he complained that the money I have sent has not been enough to accomplish anything. It has bought only enough food to keep the people from starving. That isn’t right.” He stopped, cursed, then fell again to pacing.

  Hastings looked about the hall. “This is very strange, Severin. Sir Roger is still gone. We are very nearly alone here. What is happening?”

  “I don’t know. Gwent and our men are looking about to see what needs to be done to the barracks, to the keep itself, and to the peasants’ cottages and the fields. It doesn’t look very hopeful, Hastings.”

  “No matter. You will fix it. I wish the man would return so that you may question him.”

  “We will see once he returns. I believe he was so surprised at my anger that he wanted to take himself off, perhaps speak to his mistress and decide how best to deal with me. Aye, I shall tie them both to a stake in the village.”

  She laughed. It was the first sound Sir Roger heard when he came into the dim hall, his mistress, Glenda, behind him. All would be well. His heart slowed. He realized the moment the words had escaped his mouth that Lord Severin wasn’t pleased to hear him complain about the money he had sent to Langthorne. Then he had seen Gwent just outside the hall and the look the lout had given him had shriveled him to his toes. Thurston had looked grim. That mangy bastard betrayed him, had sent the messenger to Lord Severin. He could give him orders, but he could not have him whipped. He was Lord Severin’s man. Damnation.

  It was true that he had panicked when Lord Severin had come from seeing his mother. He had seemed angry. But why? She was alive, wasn’t she? He, Sir Roger, had found her. The mad old woman wasn’t worth more than a man’s spit. No, Lord Severin would have to reward him for finding that mad old crone. He would give him another bag of coins. Aye, everything would be all right. Still, he thought to pray as he moved forward.

  “My lord, my lady,” he called, his voice complacent now, with more than enough deference to please the master. “I am pleased that you are here, though your visit is a surprise. Your dear mother is fine, just as I told you. The women you selected have cared well for her, except that the second one died so now there is just one.”

  “The fat one,” Hastings said.

  “She must have meat on her to deal with a madwoman.”

  Hastings wanted to choke his neck with her own hands. His neck was skinny. She could choke him, she knew it. She felt Severin close his hand over hers. It stilled her. She realized she was breathing fast and forced herself to ease. She saw the girl standing to Sir Roger’s left side. She was very young, plump, pretty, her hair light and thick, in fat curls down her back, held with a gold net. There was such a look of self-satisfaction on her face that Hastings’s breathing speeded up again. Sir Roger had just proven himself a fool.

  “Glenda,” Sir Roger said, “fetch our lord and lady some of the special wine and bread and cheese.”

  The girl gave him a sullen nod and left the hall. Perhaps, Hastings thought, Glenda had eaten her mother-in-law’s food. Her bottom was good-sized. She would be as fat as that serving woman when she was twenty.

  Sir Roger rubbed his hands together as he motioned Severin to the lord’s chair, its beautiful carved arm posts dull and dirty. He looked at Hastings and shrugged.

  “You may remain standing by your lord,” he said to her.

  “There is no lady’s chair?” Severin asked.

  “It is in the lord’s bedchamber,” Sir Roger
said.

  Severin patted his leg. “She will sit here until you have the lady’s chair fetched for her, Sir Roger.”

  “Oh, aye, my lord.” Sir Roger called to a ragged serving boy and spoke quietly to him. Then he straightened, his eyes going to Glenda, who was directing two servants who carried trays with wine, goblets, bread, and cheese.

  The food was set upon a trestle table. Hastings rose and waited. Severin rose slowly, saying, “Sir Roger, bring my chair to the trestle table.”

  The man gaped at him, then managed to pull the large chair to the nearest end of the table. “My lord,” he said. Severin knew exactly what he was thinking. He was a knight. What right did Lord Severin have ordering him to do a servant’s task?

  Hastings sat on the bench at her husband’s right.

  They drank the wine and ate the bread. No one said anything. Glenda sat herself at the other end of the trestle table beside Sir Roger.

  “You told me that the money I have sent isn’t enough,” Severin said matter-of-factly. He tore a piece of bread off with his teeth.

  “Aye, my lord. Mayhap I should not have mentioned it to you so soon after you arrived, but it is a concern. I have used the money wisely, but there is so much that needs to be done before Langthorne regains its previous grandeur.”

  Hastings kicked up some of the dirty reeds with the toe of her boot. “Aye, you are right, Sir Roger. I have always found that one must have money to keep a great hall clean. Sweeping up old reeds and replacing them must be more costly, though, than even I imagined.”

  Sir Roger paid her little heed, merely shrugged and said, “There are few enough servants and they are a surly lot. Some even escaped Langthorne after the marauders devastated the area and killed your brother. I didn’t have enough men to catch them. My Glenda does her best with them, but it is difficult.”

  “Aye, my lord,” Glenda called out. “The lot we have are pigs.”

  She had a lovely musical voice. Her teeth were white and straight. She was rubbing herself against Sir Roger’s arm. The man’s eyes glazed. Sir Roger was an even bigger fool than Hastings imagined.