Rosehaven

by Catherine Coulter

  Lady Moraine sighed. “He is my son. Wear the gown.” She smiled suddenly. “He was also right. I would say anything to protect you.” She hugged Hastings tightly to her chest, then released her, patting her cheek. “Just two nights and it is over.”

  When Hastings came into the great hall there was immediate silence. Everyone knew what had happened and knew what would happen now. She stared straight ahead. Severin rose. In his hand he held a rope.

  He said nothing, merely motioned her to the fireplace where Edgar the wolfhound was staring at her with unblinking eyes.

  “Sit down,” he said.

  She sat in the rushes.

  He tied the rope around her ankle, the other end around Edgar’s neck. He motioned for Alice to serve her. He returned to his chair.

  “Your food has been tasted. Your wine has been sipped.”

  “Why bother with the tasting when you believe I poisoned the wine myself?”

  “Enough, Hastings.”

  And that was that. Talk was slow to resume. All the people she had known since she was born did not meet her eyes. She knew they were wary, mayhap even scared of their new lord. She ate a bite, then turned when she heard Gwent say something.

  She heard a slurp. Edgar the wolfhound was swallowing the large hunk of fish he’d stolen from her trencher.

  She heard a laugh. It was Lady Moraine, curse her. Evidently her wonderful son had jested with her.

  At least Marjorie wasn’t there.

  But she would be the following night.

  Hastings said nothing to anyone. Some time later she was dozing, her back against Edgar, when she felt the knot being unfastened about her ankle.

  “Come to bed, Hastings.” He was holding out his hand to her. She ignored him, rose slowly, and walked past him to the solar stairs. He did not come after her.

  27

  “EVERYONE SAW HIM TIE YOU TO THAT FILTHY WOLFHOUND, like an animal, tethered in the rushes. I believe I can still smell the wolfhound on you. Do you also have fleas and lice?”

  Marjorie gave her the sweetest smile.

  “Aye, it is a difficult odor to get rid of,” Hastings said, and ate another bite of sweet yellow cheese. “But the rushes were fresh with rosemary. There were no fleas or lice.”

  “It is interesting that Severin ordered me to my bedchamber, yet he tied you to the wolfhound for all to see. I was told you threw the laver at him. You are not very wise, Hastings. A woman who is not particularly beautiful should learn wisdom.”

  “You are right about that.” Hastings drank the rest of Gilbert the goat’s milk. She had awakened feeling queasy that morning, but now she was filled with energy, her step light, her heart so heavy she didn’t think she could bear it. And here was Marjorie laying her sneers on with a trowel.

  “I will enjoy seeing you tied to the wolfhound this evening meal. I wonder if Severin will invite me to sit in your chair?”

  “If he does—” Hastings broke off. Severin came into the great hall. He was sweating, his hair plastered to his skull. There was blood on his clothes. He was grinning, Gwent just behind him, slapping his shoulder.

  “I have killed a boar and given it to MacDear. See to its preparation, Hastings. Alice! Bring us ale!”

  Hastings left the great hall without another word. Later she went to her bedchamber to fetch the vial. She would take him a goblet of sweet wine that Lord Graelam had brought to Oxborough and in it would be the love potion. She would make sure there was no other woman around. She would sweetly beg his pardon for hurling the laver at him. She would try not to choke on her words as she spoke them.

  She had failed, she thought, as she searched behind the herb jars for the vial. She was preparing to drug her husband so that he would love her. She was pathetic.

  In the end it didn’t matter.

  The vial was gone.

  Severin stood in the bedchamber door, the rope in his hand. “Come, Hastings.”

  She was sitting on the bed. She didn’t look at him, just shook her head.

  “You will come willingly or I will carry you. This is your final night. Anger me not.”

  “Nay. I cannot bear it. I will not willingly let you tie me to Edgar again. I will not do it.”

  His eyes darkened as he walked quickly to her. He picked her up in his arms and carried her down the solar stairs. “Now,” he said close to her ear, “do you wish everyone to see you being hauled here or will you walk to the hearth and accept your punishment?”

  She swallowed. “I will walk.”

  He set her down, watched her straighten the old gown, and walk, head high, to the hearth. Edgar the wolfhound looked up and barked, his huge tail wagging.

  She heard Marjorie laugh. She heard Eloise giggle.

  “Sit down, Hastings.”

  She sat, not moving even after he had once again tied the rope about her ankle and the other end around Edgar’s thick neck. “Take care Edgar doesn’t steal your dinner tonight.”

  Then he was gone, striding to the high table where Alice stood beside his chair, holding a large platter piled high with boar steaks.

  When Alice brought her trencher, she whispered, “Only tonight, Hastings, then it will be over. Everyone is angry about it, but none know what to do. Gwent said he would have knocked his axe along Severin’s head if he had called him a liar. Then he added that you had kicked Severin in his manhood. That, he said, was worthy of your punishment. That and you ran away from Oxborough and stabbed yourself with that knife. Gwent tasted your food and sipped your wine. It is fine. Eat, Hastings, and soon this will be over.”

  But she didn’t. She didn’t look toward the tables. She knew Marjorie would turn and wave to her or just look at her. She heard her bright laughter, knew she was speaking to Severin. Finally, she couldn’t help herself. She looked up to see Marjorie leaning across Hastings’s empty chair. She was holding up her wine goblet. She heard her say to Severin, “My lord, do taste my wine. I had it brought from Sedgewick. Perhaps you will enjoy it.”

  It was in that instant that Hastings knew that Marjorie had stolen the vial. She had poured the Healer’s love potion into the goblet, drunk from it, and was now giving it to Severin. If he drank it, then he would love Marjorie.

  She leapt to her feet, only to have Edgar leap to his also, barking loudly, believing it a game.

  She watched Severin bring the goblet to his mouth. She saw Marjorie’s white fingers on his sleeve, tugging at him. He drank the wine even as he was looking at her.

  Hastings sat back down. Edgar put his massive head in her lap. She looked up to see Trist running through the rushes to get to her. He ran right up Edgar’s back and sprawled on top of the wolfhound’s head.

  She reached out to pet him. Edgar slobbered on her hand. “It is too late, Trist. She has won.” She leaned down and laid her head next to Edgar’s. She felt Trist drape himself over her shoulders.

  She awoke the following morning to see Severin standing, fully dressed, by the bed. Trist was on his shoulder, licking his whiskers. He still looked thin, his stomach caved in, but he was fast improving.

  “I carried you up last night,” Severin said. “You never awoke. Dress yourself, I am taking you to see the Healer. She said she could cut out the stitches today.”

  He looked just the same. Of course, she had yet to see him with Marjorie. She was certain he would gaze upon Marjorie and look besotted.

  “I do not need you with me, Severin. Surely you have many important things to do. The stitches are nothing.”

  “Dress yourself, Hastings. I will not tell you again.”

  Why did he care? She pulled back the covers only to realize that she was quite naked. Her eyes flew to his. She grabbed the covers and jerked them to her neck.

  He sighed and turned on his heel, saying over his shoulder, “I will see you in the hall. You will break your fast before we leave.”

  Why would he take off her clothes if he was besotted now with Marjorie?

  The Healer lightly pres
sed her fingertips against the wound. Her head was back, her eyes closed.

  “Well?” Severin said.

  “Oh, you are still here, my lord?” The Healer turned and gave him a sour look. “I do not like you in my cottage. You are too big. Like most men, you take up too much room. My poor Alfred must remain outside whilst you are here. Now, take Hastings home. She is fit. The wound has healed very nicely. If it pleases her, you can play your games with her again. As I have told Hastings, these games are not to my liking, but she is young and does not know better. Aye, take her away from here.”

  “The babe is well?”

  “The babe is resting comfortably. Worry not. Men never worry about the babes in their wives’ wombs. They care only when a boy is produced. All this worry—it might be a girl, my lord, then you would have wasted all this concern.”

  “You are wrong, Healer,” he said. He leaned down and straightened Hastings’s shift and gown. He offered her his hand. “Come, let us go home.”

  When Severin was ready to lift her onto Marella’s back, Hastings said, “Oh, I am sorry. I must ask the Healer a question. I will return shortly, Severin.”

  He waited for her outside the cottage, staring at Alfred, who was sitting in the center of a pool of sunlight, lazily bathing himself.

  “Healer, it was the woman Marjorie who gave Severin the potion. She drank of it, then handed it to him, and he drank as well, all the while they were looking at each other.”

  “You have ruined this royally, Hastings. By Saint Ethelbert’s teeth, you have just given your husband to another woman.”

  “You are certain that the potion will result in their loving each other?”

  “Naturally I am certain. Ah, Hastings, I should strangle you for your carelessness. She stole the potion, didn’t she? Nay, don’t bother to make excuses. Well, it is over for you. Even when you get her back at Sedgewick, he will follow her there. He will be unable not to. I am sorry, Hastings.” She turned away from Hastings, shaking her head even as she began to stir the pot over the fire.

  “What did you want from the Healer?” Severin asked.

  Hastings didn’t realize that tears were pooling in her eyes.

  “You are very pale, Hastings. Damnation, you are crying. What is wrong? Is it the babe?”

  She couldn’t speak. She shook her head, letting him help her onto Marella’s back. “It is nothing, Severin. Nothing at all.”

  It was late that afternoon when Marjorie found her. She hadn’t truly been hiding from her, but the spinning shed had become her refuge in but two short days.

  “Hastings, aye, I see you are here. Many wonder where you are. I simply said that you were still embarrassed from your humiliation the past two evenings. Everyone understood that. All hope you are duly chastised.” She laughed as she lightly stroked her fingers over some newly spun wool, a coarse gray to be sewn into tunics and gowns for the castle servants.

  “What do you want, Marjorie?”

  “Nothing, really. Did you see Severin? He and I took some bread and cheese and wine to the beach. It is a lovely day, the sun bright, the sea a vivid blue. We much enjoyed ourselves, but you knew that would happen.”

  Hastings felt a bolt of pain in her belly.

  “I will not be returning to Sedgewick, Hastings.”

  It was too much. Hastings rose slowly from her stool, handing the spindle back to Mara the spinner. She left the weaving shed, Marjorie behind her.

  “Such a coward you are, Hastings. You are like a whipped dog. You slink away.”

  Hastings knew in that instant that she wouldn’t have stopped herself even if she thought about it for a long year. She whirled about and threw herself at Marjorie, grabbing her glorious silvery hair and pulling with all her strength. “Bitch! You damnable bitch!”

  Marjorie wasn’t a weakling. Soon the women were rolling in the dirt, shrieking at each other, poking each other, but it was Hastings who did not release Marjorie’s hair. She scratched Hastings’s face, kicked her in the belly, managed to roll over on top of her, all the while trying to get her hair free of Hastings’s fist.

  Severin couldn’t believe his eyes. None of the men could. Severin cursed even as he ran to them, waving Gwent back. He clamped his hands under Marjorie’s armpits and lifted her off Hastings. Still Hastings didn’t let go of her hair. Marjorie shrieked in pain and kicked out, hitting Hastings in the belly again.

  “Let her go, Hastings! Damnation, don’t hurt the babe.”

  Hastings saw her husband over her, holding Marjorie, and without a word she released the hair. She was left with a good-sized tangle in her hand. That pleased her.

  Severin set Marjorie on her feet.

  “What is happening here?”

  Slowly Hastings rose. Her sleeve was torn free from her gown. She was filthy, but on the other hand, so was Marjorie.

  She felt the small rivulets of blood streaking down her left cheek. It was nothing. She had a fistful of Marjorie’s hair. She smiled at the woman and tossed the wad of hair into a mud puddle beside her.

  She said in a voice bright as the sun overhead, “Why, my lord, Marjorie wants to return to Sedgewick. She is unhappy here. When I told her that I wanted her to remain, that you as well wished her to stay, she became angry. She values her independence; she values caring for Eloise by herself. She wants to leave.”

  “I am tired of your lies, Hastings.” He turned to Marjorie, whose lip was bleeding and swelled. That made Hastings feel very good as well.

  Hastings said, “Are you not used to all my lies by now, Severin? Can you not picture me pouring poison into my own wine goblet? Can you not imagine that I spilled it on purpose for Trist to drink?”

  Severin whirled about to face her, his hands on his hips. “Be quiet, Hastings. Hold your sharp tongue. What happened? Why are you like two fishwives trying to kill each other?”

  Marjorie only shrugged. “It is a private matter, my lord, nothing to concern you. Your wife has no control. You have remarked on that before. Indeed, you punished her for being so ungoverned. She has not learned. Mayhap she needs more nights next to Edgar.”

  Hastings took a step toward her. Severin quickly stepped between them. “No, no more. There will be no more fighting between the two of you, else I will punish both of you. Go now. You are both filthy as Edgar after a boar hunt.”

  Marjorie was whistling as she walked through the great hall.

  “Hastings, wait a moment.”

  She turned to see Gwent staring at her, his distress evident. He walked to her. “I have come to a decision, Hastings,” he said, lightly touching her shoulder. “I will see that the woman is returned to Sedgewick. All want peace again at Oxborough. There will be none as long as the woman remains here. You are not able to deal well with her. You carry the lord’s heir. I will see to it.”

  “Severin will not let her go,” Hastings said, shrugged, and walked up the solar stairs.

  “Aye, he will,” Gwent called after her. “I have spoken to Lady Moraine and she has told her son what he must do.”

  As if that would make any difference, Hastings thought, wincing at a pain in her left leg. When had Marjorie kicked her in the leg?

  In the dark of the night, Hastings was in a deep sleep, dreaming of the lupine that bloomed so vividly in her garden, and how the lupine was really a deadly poison and someone was going to pour it into Severin’s goblet. Then something wasn’t right. There were no more lupines. There was the light touch of a hand on her belly. The hand was pressing ever so gently, lightly, stroking her belly, touching the pelvic bones, gently rubbing over the scar from her wound.

  She placed her hand over the one on her belly. The hand stilled, then she slipped her own beneath it. She was touching her own flesh. She was naked. What had happened to her night shift? But she didn’t really care. The hand was caressing around hers, fingers sliding beneath her palm, between her flesh and her hand.

  Her brain was still heavy with sleep. She knew she should pull away, bu
t she didn’t. Fingers splayed lower. It was Severin. His hand, his fingers, his touch that made her feel so urgent. Aye, Severin. He parted her flesh and was touching her, lightly rubbing, finding a rhythm that she’d forgotten existed. It had been so long, too long.

  “What are you doing here?”

  His fingers stilled. “This is my bed and you are in it,” he said, and started his rhythm again. She tried to pull away from him, but he pressed his other hand against her, holding her still on her back. He was on his knees between her legs.

  She didn’t understand why he was touching her like this. Then his fingers went lower, opening her, easing inside her, and she arched her back. She didn’t want to, but she moaned. Her own moan brought her fully awake. She knew what he was doing to her, but she didn’t care. She wanted more. She wanted pleasure and she wanted him even though she knew that soon enough he would be gone from her.

  “That is good,” he said very quietly, even as she felt his warm breath against her flesh. He blew against her, and she shuddered like a leaf in an autumn storm. Then his fingers delved deep inside her, even as he touched her with his mouth.

  She cried out, thrashing beneath him, her fingers digging frantically into his naked shoulders. She screamed, “ Severin!”

  “Aye,” he said, his breath hot against her flesh. “Take your pleasure, Hastings. Now.”

  And she did. She welcomed him wildly when he came into her, shoving deep, high inside her. She locked her legs about his flanks, drawing him deep and deeper still, and when his fingers eased between their bodies to touch her, she felt again the rippling pleasure building and building until soon she could no more control that pleasure that swamped her than she could have prevented herself from throwing the laver at him.

  When her pleasure crested, his did just a moment later, and she gasped into his mouth, “I love you, Severin. I’ve loved you for a very long time.”

  He froze over her, then shoved hard and fast until he fell over her, panting hard.

  Her wits came back slowly. She couldn’t take the words back. The words lay between them, hard and real and immense in their power.