He stilled. It was dark in the bedchamber. She couldn’t see the wickedness on his face. “Aye, perhaps. Does ‘shrew’ fit your mouth? Or prefer you ‘fishwife’ or ‘ harridan’?”
“You are saying that it was all my fault, this rift between us?”
“Naturally it was all your fault. You’re proud, Hastings, and stubborn as a stoat. I am a man of peace. I am reasonable in all my dealings, with both men and women. I wanted no battle with you, but you fought me for no reason that I can remember.”
It was too much. She slammed her fist into his belly. He wasn’t prepared for it and thus she did make him start at the jab of pain. He moaned, grabbed her, and pulled her down onto her stomach. He swung his legs over her and kept his hand on her neck to keep her down. He realized in an instant of time that his belly didn’t hurt all that much at all. He realized in the instant just beyond that one that he was astride her white buttocks and both of them were naked. He eased his hand from her neck, down her back, until he held her in place with his hand pressing at her waist. He looked at her squirming beneath him and wanted to be inside her, then, no more words, no more fists to his belly. He was breathing hard. He jerked her onto her knees, ready to thrust into her, then he stopped. No, he couldn’t. She wasn’t ready for him. He would hurt her. She would call him an animal again. He would muck up the miracle.
He touched her soft flesh with his finger and was so grateful he nearly wept. She was ready for him. He slid his finger into her and to his utter, besotted surprise, she moaned. He was trembling with this response from her, so unexpected was it. “Hastings, what is this? How can you want me when I have not kissed you or fondled you?”
Her head was buried in her arms. She was embarrassed, but not so embarrassed that she wanted him to stop.
“Come into me, Severin. Now. Please.”
It took no more than that, just those few simple words and he was above her, pushing into her, feeling her pull him deeper, feeling her delight in him and what he was doing. It was too much. He did try. He thought he’d die. He only yelled once, surely not such a loud yell, but it was a yell, and his lady mother jerked upright on her narrow cot and said, “By the Devil’s cloven foot, are we under attack? Where is my husband? Where are my sons?”
Severin was throbbing deep inside her, his seed still spilling into her. He tried desperately to get a hold on himself, but he could barely breathe, much less talk.
Hastings said, her voice surprisingly even, “My lady, we are not under attack. It was simply your son, held for a brief moment in a dream. He will be all right shortly. He usually is.”
“Ah, that is a relief.” Lady Moraine fell back again, and in but a moment she was breathing low and even in sleep.
Severin pushed into her again, he couldn’t help himself. He stayed within her, looking at himself joined into her. He leaned over to fondle her breasts, to knead her belly.
He had given her no pleasure. But he would. He was regaining his manly vigor. He pushed again, slowly, and was pleased that he was hard again. He withdrew, pulled her onto her back, and came over her again. He lay flat on top of her, his hands cupping her face, gently smoothing her hair from her forehead and eyes.
“I wish I could see you clearly. Do you want to hollow out my guts again with your fist? Do you believe me selfish? Do you believe Alice would find me unworthy?”
“Nay,” she said, and brought his mouth down to hers. She felt his fingers smoothing over her belly, felt those fingers of his become damp with her as they stroked her. When she would have cried out in her pleasure, no thought of her mother-in-law twelve feet away from her, Severin covered her mouth with his and took her cries deep into him.
He said on the edge of sleep, “I will fix Langthorne on the outside if you will fix it on the inside.”
“Aye, I will do that,” she said, bit his shoulder, kissed the salty flesh she had bitten, and curled tightly against him. She said against his chest, “Haven’t I brought you to heel very well, my lord?”
But Severin was asleep, at least she thought he was, at first. But was not that snore a bit too loud? Perhaps a bit contrived? Was his hand squeezing her buttock a bit hard?
He was a man she could get very used to having close by, she thought, and settled even closer. Her palm was splayed wide on his belly.
The following morning when Severin awoke, Hastings was gone. He saw that his mother still slept. It worried him until he lightly touched his fingertips to her throat. The beat was strong.
When he entered the great hall, his chair was seated at the trestle table, there was white linen covering the wood, and a pewter plate set in front of the chair. The hall was filled with men. There were at least four women serving dozens of loaves of bread, the smell rich and yeasty. There was butter and flagons of ale. There was even cold capon for him. He had told her to fix the inside of Langthorne. Evidently she had. But this quickly? Was she a witch? Where was she?
He ate, Gwent and Thurston on each side of him. Sir Roger sat beside Thurston, his look determined. Severin said nothing. He saw Glenda serving the men. She did not look happy but she was moving quickly, her movements graceful and efficient.
Where was Hastings?
He was nearly finished breaking his fast when there was a sudden silence in the great hall. He looked up to see Hastings standing beside his mother—aye, it was his mother, but he would not have believed it except Hastings was there as well. She was clean, her hair was combed and braided loosely about her head. She was wearing a gown fitted at the waist, the arms fitting tightly to the elbows, then flaring out so that they touched the ground when her arms were lowered. There was a set of keys on the gold chain about her waist. She was smiling. Then she looked up at Hastings and laughed at something she said. It wasn’t a mad laugh, but a sweet, bright laugh.
She didn’t look at all mad.
He felt a spurt of optimism, then shook his head. No, he remembered that she could be like this following those deep, long sleeps of hers. It was just a matter of time before her mind faded again and she would look at him as she would look at a stranger. He noticed she was limping slightly.
His mother smiled at everyone until she saw Glenda. She shrank against Hastings. Severin rose and strode to them.
“Mother?”
“Aye. My Severin. Is it really you?” She raised a thin, white hand and lightly stroked his face. “All the others are dead, your father, your brother, but you are not, thank the gracious Lord. You are very handsome, my son. I am glad you are home.”
He hugged her, saying in her ear, “Don’t be afraid of that plump wench over there. I will see to it that she never comes near you again.”
“She is not a nice girl,” Lady Moraine said, and hugged her son. “I am very hungry. Have you eaten everything or is there a heel of bread left for your poor mother?”
She was jesting with him. He looked over at Hastings, whose expression was unreadable. Why wasn’t she smiling like a loon? What was wrong?
He escorted his mother to the high trestle table and sat her in the lady’s chair beside him, a chair she had sat in her entire married life. He himself served her. He looked down and saw that Sir Roger was staring at her as if she were a ghost come to plague him. Clearly his mother had not done well here under his care. Had he never allowed her to eat in the great hall?
As for Glenda, that wench didn’t seem to be paying any attention at all to the high table, her eyes on her wooden plate, her knife stabbing at the thick slice of bread. He would ask Hastings to get to the bottom of this. What had Glenda really done to his mother?
He himself found out the answer to that question that same afternoon when he chanced to leave the men who were working on the western outer wall to have Hastings bathe and bandage a cut he had on his thumb. Actually, it was Gwent who had told him to seek out his wife. “Aye, my lord,” he had said, looking at that bleeding thumb, “your wife would have my toes for mulch were I not to send you to her.”
And so here he
was, standing in front of the open door to the lord’s bedchamber. He heard voices from within. He started to open the door and stride in when he recognized his mother’s voice, but not her voice from the previous evening. No, this voice was low and thin, a thread of fear in it, and it raised the hair on the back of his neck.
“I knew Sir Roger as a boy. He was sweet and slow and his father forced him to learn to be a knight. He had no chance against you. You have made a fool of him. You shan’t have him. My son will not allow it. You thought I would die, didn’t you, when you forced me into the forest with no cloak and no slippers?”
“Aye,” Glenda said, and she didn’t sound a bit scared. Indeed, there was venom and resolution in her voice. “I’ll be rid of you again, you mad old woman. You don’t belong here. As soon as Lord Severin and that bitch wife of his leave, I will take over again and you will see who is the real mistress of Langthorne. Until then I will bide my time. Aye, I will continue to sew more of my gowns for you since I have no choice, but when we are alone again, you old crone, then you will wear what you deserve to wear: rags and naught else. To waste clean water on the likes of you, it turns my belly. Aye, you’ll see. It won’t be long until your son leaves. You believe anyone will heed you? No, all wait for you to sink into your stupor of madness again. No one will believe you if you say anything against me.”
Then he heard the sound of a hand slapping flesh. He opened the door to see Glenda over his mother, his mother sitting in a narrow chair, Glenda holding both her arms, leaning close to his mother until she was pressed against the back.
“Come on, you miserable hag. Why do you not start screaming now, you mad old woman?”
17
WHEN SEVERIN WAS AT HIS MOST FURIOUS HE LOOKED AS calm as King Edward’s chancellor, Robert Burnell. He walked into the chamber, saw Glenda jerk about to see him, saw her face freeze. She slowly moved away from his mother. He said nothing, just smiled at his mother, walking straight to her.
“You are lovely, madam,” he said, leaned down, and kissed her.
She looked terrified. He continued to smile at her and lightly stroke his fingertips over her pale cheek. He called over his shoulder, “Glenda, come here.”
His mother paled even more. “I don’t want her here,” Moraine whispered. “Please, Severin, do not let her come close to me again.”
“Ah, but I do want her to come here, Mother. Please do not worry. I want you to trust me.” He turned to the young girl who was standing there beside him, her arms folded beneath her breasts, shoving them up and forward, for his pleasure, he supposed.
“I was standing outside the door. It was cracked open. I heard what you said to my mother.”
The girl didn’t move. She merely smiled up at him, clearly disbelieving him. “I just told her how very lovely she looked. I told her that it would give me great pleasure to sew more gowns for her. Surely this is what you heard, my lord.”
“My man Gwent hates cheats. I hate liars.” He calmly grabbed Glenda’s hand and dragged her to him. He stripped off the clothes she was wearing, new clothes, clothes she had not given over to Hastings the day before. He stripped her to her plump hide. He even pulled her out of her stockings and shoes.
“Now,” he said, “I believe there is something for you to wear in my mother’s old trunk. If you don’t wish to wear the rags you made her wear, then you may travel from Langthorne naked. It matters not to me.”
“My lord, you cannot mean this. Surely, I cannot go out of here naked. The men would ravish me, they would—”
“That is likely,” Severin said, sounding bored. “Do what you want, Glenda. I just want you gone by the midday bells.”
He watched Glenda scurry from the bedchamber. He turned to his mother and smiled. “No one will ever torment you again. No one. I give you my oath on it.”
Lady Moraine was wringing her hands. “She is cunning, Severin. Sir Roger had no chance. He did not know that she dragged me from Langthorne and left me to die in the forest.”
“He should have known. He is a man. He is responsible for Langthorne and all its people. A man must be responsible for his actions. I will send Hastings to you. I wish to see color in your cheeks.”
Not only was Glenda gone by midday, but Sir Roger was also, the pouch of coins gone as well.
“Shall I find them, my lord?” Gwent asked, and rubbed his gnarled hands together.
“Aye, Gwent, find them, take the pouch, then let them go. I fear Sir Roger will not be long pleased with his actions. I rather believe he deserves what will happen to him. I think it more a punishment than simply killing the fool.”
“It is an idea that had not occurred to me, my lord,” Gwent said. “There is the feel of a never-ending pain for Sir Roger in it. Aye, it’s good.” He strode from the great hall.
Severin turned to see Hastings walking slowly, her head down, toward him. She frowned as she kicked dirty rushes out of her path. And he saw her clearly thinking that she had forgotten the rushes. Then, when she saw him, she stopped and turned red in the face.
He raised a thick black eyebrow at her. “What have you done, Hastings? Worry not about the rushes, you will change them quickly enough. It matters not.”
She stared at him and suddenly she was again as clear to him as Edgar the wolfhound. He laughed. It was too much, she ran at him, pounding her fists against his chest, which gave him no pause at all. He continued to laugh until he realized that his men were looking at him, utterly bewildered. He brought her fists down in his large hands and held them at her sides. “What is wrong, sweeting? Has someone offended you? Why did your face turn red when you saw me?” Then he said, very close to her ear, “Ah. I plan to take you in a very different way tonight. I want you to think about it, Hastings. All the ways a man and a woman can come together. We will do all of them and I vow you will like them, each and every one.”
She whispered against his chest, “But my bottom was in the air.”
“Aye, I just wish there had been some more light. All I could do was feel you. A lot of soft, extraordinary flesh, Hastings. Your bottom pleases me. I told you that it did, do you not remember?”
She groaned, then pulled back in the circle of his arms. “You will mock me until I will want to kill you, Severin. Now, I heard what Gwent said. I think you are wise. As for what you did to Glenda, I trust you did not enjoy it as you stripped her.”
“Not at all,” he said. “I have scarce ever been so angry before in my life, except those times with you, of course.” And she knew it was true because he was looking toward Thurston, thoroughly distracted. “Go, my lady. I have much to do before our meal.”
It was one week later that Lady Moraine, not quite so pale and thin now, said in a clear, crisp voice, “I know who Thurston must marry.”
Knives and spoons clattered to plates. There was utter silence in the great hall. Severin wasn’t yet used to his mother being with him in her mind, but she had been, with no relapses since Hastings had begun giving her the Healer’s potion. She drank a bit of it every morning.
“Who is it, Mother?”
“He must have sons, thus I cannot wed him, but I know of a proper girl, daughter of Sir William Dorset. He has a small keep near Hawksmere. She should be of marriageable age now. What say you, Thurston?”
Thurston was trembling. He was now Sir Thurston of Hornsby, his father’s small keep near Kentleby. He was going to be Lord Severin’s castellan at Langthorne and now he was going to have a wife. A wife. He wasn’t ready for this. He said, “I—I do not know, my lady. A wife would be a lady and she would expect me to know how to act and speak and I could not belch or make other noises that would offend and—” His eyes rolled back in his head.
Lady Moraine said in that same crisp, clear voice, “ Hastings, perhaps Thurston needs some of the Healer’s potion to steady him. Have I enough to share with him?”
Thurston persevered. He wedded Blanche, the nineteen-year-old daughter of Sir William Dorset, exactly one week af
ter Lady Moraine had made her announcement. Hastings was pleased. Blanche had, as had Hastings, run her father’s keep since the age of twelve. She would see that everything stayed aright.
Lady Moraine remained clearheaded. She put on flesh. She smiled and jested. Severin had stopped shaking his head whenever he happened to look at her. He was getting used to a mother who was as she once was. Still he worried. “You believe the Healer’s potion has really worked, Hastings? You believe this miracle will remain?”
“I don’t know, Severin.”
“I want my mother to return with us to Oxborough.”
She gave him a big smile and hugged him. “I was praying you would want that,” she said, and came up on her tiptoes and kissed his mouth. He went silent, still surprised when she showed him affection anywhere outside their bedchamber.
Gwent had remarked one day that it appeared to him that Severin was a happy man, a man more than content with his beautiful wife.
“Beautiful? Hastings? Nay, Gwent, she is but ordinary, in her looks and in her intelligence. Her nature is even ordinary and—”
Hastings had yelled, flying at him, but he was ready. He caught her, lifted her beneath her arms, and held her high, laughing up at her. “That will teach you for listening to others’ conversations, madam.”
Gwent had stared at the two of them. He slowly shook his head. He turned and walked away, for surely Severin would kiss his wife in but a moment. He prayed that nothing would happen to ruin the contentment.
The next morning they left Langthorne to return to Oxborough. Gwent lifted Lady Moraine onto her palfrey. He’d told Severin that he would watch out for his mother. He would tell Severin if anything untoward occurred because he knew Severin was worried. His mother had been very quiet since the day before.
Rosehaven Page 18
