“Why?” He looked genuinely puzzled.
She wondered if he could really be so naïve. “Because some medicines are very dangerous if given in the wrong amounts or combinations.”
“Ah.” He studied her some more, his bright blue eyes boring into her. This interchange made her very uncomfortable. What if this man was asking these things because he wanted to discredit her healing abilities? Or suggest they were somehow sinful or sinister?
Again, she thought of the grimoire. Such precious knowledge, handed down for so many generations. It was her responsibility to protect the book and make certain it didn’t fall into the wrong hands. Ideally, she should pass it on to her daughter.
But having a child seemed unthinkable. It meant lying with a man, giving birth safely and raising the child until the girl was old enough to learn everything Rhosyn’s mother had taught her. How in the world would she ever do that?
“Is that the sleeping potion?”
Fitzhugh’s question jerked her to awareness. “Aye.” She held out the jar. “Take two spoonfuls when you wish to sleep.”
He took the stoneware jar from her, his huge hand swallowing up the container. “Will it make me muzzy-headed in the morning?”
“It should not. ’Tis not that strong.”
“But you think it will work?”
She shrugged. “Everyone is different. It depends on why you have difficulty sleeping.” She met his gaze, feigning confidence. If people believed a treatment would aid them, it always worked much better.
“What do you wish in return?”
For you to leave and never come back. She could not give that answer. “Some food for my larder would be pleasing.”
He nodded. “I’ll have some brought to you.”
You won’t come yourself? Where had that thought come from. Nay, she did not want that!
He touched his neck. “Or perhaps I will bring it myself. Then you can tend to my wound and see how it’s healing.”
When he left, the cottage seemed empty. He had transformed it, filling it with his big body and male energy. As soon as he was gone, her dwelling went back to being safe and peaceful again. And yet, she couldn’t relax.
She cleaned up the few drops of blood he’d shed and tidied her stillroom. Then she paced restlessly about the cottage before deciding she should go herb gathering. Late summer was a good time to harvest meadowsweet flowers.
Chapter Three
“Comely little thing, the healer, despite her unfortunate coloring,” Rollo, riding beside William, uttered the words in a sniggering tone. William wanted to knock the knight off his horse, but he told himself to ignore his cousin. There was no point in aggravating Rollo, who was already bitterly jealous of him. They had grown up together, trained as squires and then knights. Fought side-by-side in France. But now William was the lord and Rollo no more than a knight in his retinue. He could see why his cousin was resentful, which was why he told himself to let the matter go.
But somehow he could not let it pass without responding. “Odd that you think her coloring is unfortunate, when it’s much like your own.” He flicked a glance at Rollo’s dark brown hair and dusky skin.
“I’m a man, so it’s different. And while my coloring may be dark, I have my father’s height. The Welsh are all short and stubby. One of the reasons they usually attack on the sly, shooting their crudely-fletched arrows out of nowhere. They don’t have the long arms to wield a weapon like a real knight.”
A typical response from Rollo. The man was always finding ways to put other people down. William forbore to mention that tall was a relative term. Rollo was very much of average height for an English knight. But he did add, “At any rate, ’tis not like you think. I went to the woman’s cottage to get a sleeping potion. Nothing more.”
“You were certainly gone a long time.” Rollo’s sneering tone was back.
“The healer had to make up the medicine. It took a while.”
“Ah. And I suppose you got that love bite on your neck while you were waiting for the medicine to brew. Quite a nibble she took out of you. But I’ve always heard those Welsh wenches are fierce.”
William clenched his teeth, then forced his jaw to relax. “Naught happened between me and the woman. I scraped my neck on a branch in the woods.”
“If you say so. And in fact, I’m pleased to know you have no interest in her. Clears the way for other men to pursue her.”
Rollo’s words alarmed William. But he dare not let his cousin see his distress. If Rollo thought William fancied the Welshwoman, he might decide to pursue her himself simply out of spite.
He shot the knight a warning look. “She’s a healer and deserves respect. Her skills are important to the villagers and everyone at the castle.”
“You mean she’s a witchwoman. They know all about love charms and magic potions and that sort of nonsense. If I’m wounded or struck down with an illness, I’d much prefer having Father Kennet tend me.”
“Father Kennet? Truly? When I met him, it was early in the day and he was already drunk. Not to mention, he lacks any practical skills. Indeed, ’tis fortunate I know how to read and write, since the priest appears almost illiterate.”
Rollo’s expression grew sour, and William suddenly wished he’d held his tongue. When he was growing up, his father had hired a priest to teach William and the other boys at the castle to read and cipher. Rollo could have attended the lessons, but he had scoffed at the idea, saying a knight didn’t need to know such boring, stupid things. Later he had seemingly realized literacy was an important skill to have if a man wanted to rise in status.
William had resented all the time spent inside the church pouring over the dusty manuscripts and getting his hands stained with ink, but now he was very grateful for his father’s foresight. If any messages arrived, he could read them himself, and not have to trust the interpretation of someone else.
They reached the castle and rode through the open portcullis. After dismounting and handing off Trueheart to the waiting osteler, William walked toward castle. Rollo followed. “What do you think about the villagers? Will they transfer their loyalty to you? Or do they resent you for displacing Roscales?”
From any other man, it would be a reasonable question. From Rollo, it seemed like an attempt to needle him. “Only time will tell.” William changed direction and strode to the stairs, intending to seek refuge on the battlements. If Rollo asked what he was doing, he would say he was inspecting the defenses. Of course, he’d already done that several times. Up on the curtain wall was one of the few places he felt like he could escape all the worries weighing on him.
Reaching the ramparts, he gazed out at the lands surrounding the castle. Golden harvested fields, dark fallow ones and green hedgerows made a pleasing patchwork. The apple trees in the orchard were arranged in neat lines. Even from this distance the trees appeared to be heavy with fruit. The gold-green meadows along the river promised a second harvest of hay.
Observing the peaceful landscape, he sought to summon up a sense of satisfaction and pleasure. But Rollo’s words nagged at him, making him recall the venomous look Roscales had shot him before riding out of the castle, trailed by his garrison and a line of wains carrying his household goods.
Roscales would never get over the humiliation. Which meant William had made a mortal enemy. Depending on what allies he could bring to his cause, Roscales could potentially make William’s life very difficult. He thought suddenly of the healer. What if she was loyal to Roscales? Perhaps that was why she had tried to kill him. But that made no sense. It was much more likely she was simply a vulnerable woman who feared being ravished and who had lashed out in terror.
Although that wasn’t normal behavior, especially for a healer. She should be used to people coming to her cottage for remedies. What had happened to make her so skittish and afraid? Perhaps she had been raped before coming to Higham. The thought enraged him. She was so finely made. For some man to besmirch such graceful beauty se
emed obscene.
Of course, he was hardly any better. There was an element of lust in the way she possessed his thoughts. He’d been drawn to her from the moment he first saw her. Had she set some sort of spell on him? But why draw him to her and then attack?
It was a puzzle… and one he must stop obsessing over. There were far more important things demanding his attention.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs. He tensed, dreading that it might be Rollo. Relief swept him when he recognized the slender, brown-haired knight: Adam de Verdun. He liked Adam, and trusted him far more than most of the knights in his retinue. Adam had also grown up with William and he was familiar with the rivalry between him and Rollo. He’d always taken William’s side, and William didn’t think it was simply because William was the heir. Adam appeared to dislike Rollo as much as he did.
Adam rested his hands on the parapet and gazed out. “A beautiful summer’s day,”
“I’m having trouble tearing myself away. But I must. There is so much to do.”
“It doesn’t seem right that Roscales stripped the castle as he did.”
William nodded grimly. The hall held trestle tables and benches and naught else. No chairs for the lord and honored guests. No tapestries on the walls, silverplate or other serving dishes. Even the fire implements were missing.
The upper portions of the castle were the same. No furniture or wall hangings, bed linens or mattresses. No brazier, stools or benches in the solar. The whole castle was naught but an empty shell. Considering all the things that needed to be replaced, William felt his shoulders slump. Where was he going to get all the furnishings they needed, and do it before winter? His father would have ideas, but curse it, he did not want to ask his father!
Adam turned towards him. “What are you going to do about everything that’s missing?”
William tried to sound confident. “I’m certain there’s a carpenter or wheelwright in the village who can make some simple wooden furniture. That should get us by until I have time to go to London or Chester and purchase finer goods.
“There might be a port in Wales that imports luxury items. Surely that would be closer.”
Adam always had good ideas. William was fortunate to have the man at his side. Maybe the healer would know about Welsh seaports. Another excuse to speak to her.
Here he was, thinking of her again. Why did she possess his thoughts so keenly? Once more he considered the idea she had put a spell on him. But that seemed absurd. She’d wanted nothing to do with him and could not get rid of him fast enough, even after she’d gotten over her fear he meant to rape her.
“Pembroke, maybe,” Adam said. “The de Clares are wealthy enough they probably import many goods directly, rather than transporting them from London. Cardiff is closer, but it’s not as secure. While Randolph Belleme holds it right now, the Welsh are always plotting to seize it back again.”
Adam was ambitious and kept abreast of politics, probably more than William did. From now on, he would have to pay more attention to the barons in this part of the country and their shifting alliances.
They stood there a while longer, companionably regarding the lovely scenery. Eventually, William realized he’d better go down. “Mayhaps by now the evening meal is ready. At least Roscales didn’t take the cook.”
Adam followed him to the stairway “Rumor is the cook refused to go. He has family in the village and wasn’t fond of Roscales anyway. Thought the man was miserly and petty.”
“That’s the gossip?”
“Yea. ’Tis said Roscales made everyone eat pottage, while he dined on beef and venison.”
Some of William’s gloom lifted. If Roscales was disliked and resented, it would make his job of winning the local people’s loyalty far easier.
But when he reached the hall, he was confronted with another household crisis. The cook, Elidon approached, his face even redder than William remembered from when he’d first met him. The cook’s dark eyes were glowering. “That bastard took the salt and all my spices.”
“Who?”
“Roscales, who else? Not the man himself. I would never have allowed him into my kitchen. But he was always good at getting people to do his bidding. Damn the poxy wench!”
William raised his brows questioningly.
Elidon’s expression grew even fiercer. “’Twas Agnes, I’m certain of it.”
“How did she get the key?” William asked, although he had a fair idea already.
Elidon lowered his gaze. “I was a fool and fell for her sly smile. Now that I can finally cook properly, I have naught to season things with. And the extra salt was kept in the salt cellar in the hall, which is gone now too.”
William repressed a sigh. Seasonings were a luxury and not used for every day meals. But salt—without it most food was very bland, especially the kinds available this time of year, before butchering time. And they must have salt by the time they culled the herds and brought the pigs in. Otherwise there would be no way to preserve the meat for the winter.
“How soon before a peddler or other tradesman travels to the area?”
“Mayhaps another month. He usually comes in spring and fall.”
“Do you know of any fairs or festivals nearby where there might be traders or merchants we could buy spices from?”
“None I’m aware of. But I don’t pay much attention to such things.”
Of course not. A cook was unlikely to ever travel to a fair.
William felt a new weight on his already burdened shoulders. Furniture and furnishings, and now seasonings and salt. He was drowning in these practical details. It seemed clear he must make a trip to some larger settlement and bring back what provisions and furnishings he was able to purchase. In the meantime he must try to find some source of salt or other seasonings. He would ask in the village.
Immediately his thoughts turned to the healer. She would know of herbs and plants that would add flavor to food.
He thought of going to her cottage right away. But he was reluctant to seek her out again so soon, especially this late in the day. He also feared his yearning for her. She was so different than any woman he’d ever met. Despite her dainty size, there was something fierce and strong about her. She lived independently, self-contained in her little cottage, skilled and knowledgeable of things that were a mystery to most people.
So aloof and exotic she was, like some rare creature, a white hind or fabled unicorn.
Now he was being fanciful. She was merely a woman. Her beauty was nothing extraordinary. Her dusky skin, dark eyes and hair were far different than the feminine ideal most men favored. But William found himself drawn to her more intensely than he’d ever been with any woman.
“I suppose I can use extra onions to try and add flavor to the stew.” Elidon’s grumbling interrupted his thoughts. “We have plenty of those in the souterrain. And I know wild garlic grows in the woods. If we can find someone who knows where to locate it.”
The healer would know. Here he was again, thinking of her and seeking a reason to see her again.
A short while later, William, his knights and most of the castle inhabitants ate their first meal together in the hall. There weren’t enough tables or benches and some people had to sit on floor. There were barely enough bowls, spoons and other utensils, although fortunately, those were stored in the kitchen area and had not been seized by Roscales.
Afterwards, William went to the priest and asked him if he had any writing materials in the chapel or the small chamber where he dwelled. Father Kennet appeared confused at first but then searched in the sacristy and came up with an ancient sheet of vellum, a very dull quill pen and a jar of dried out ink. William added water to the ink and sharpened the quill. Then he went up to the solar, took a seat on a stool at the small table he’d taken from kitchen, and with the light from the green glass windows supplemented by the light of an oil lamp he borrowed from the chapel, made a list of the tasks he must do immediately.
When he finished, he
felt both soothed and daunted. While his pathway forward was clear, it was also a long, grueling one. Putting the list aside, he took out the jar the healer had given him. His mind flashed back to their struggle in the stillroom and the way she’d fought him, like a trapped bird struggling for freedom. He recalled the feel of her body against his, so lithe and slender and yet surprisingly strong.
He put down the jar and told himself he must stop thinking about her. He had promised her he was not that sort of man, to be ruled by lustful thoughts. The fact was, even if she got over her fear of him, and he could find a way around the gossip and jealousy a relationship with her would incite, there was no way he could ever act on his desire for her. He had killed one woman with his inability to control his crude, animal urges; he would not risk killing another.
He went back to the list, adding a few details. Then he paced around the solar, imagining what it might look like furnished. It needed some colorful tapestries on the walls, to brighten the space and keep out of the chill of the stonework in the winter. A rug of some kind, to provide cushion and warmth underfoot. A brazier for certes. The solar was overly warm this time of year, but in winter it would be freezing without a source of heat. He also needed a decent-sized chair and a more solid table. And a bench by the one window. Perhaps with some cushions.
He could not help feeling there were other details he was overlooking. Things a woman would add to the space to make it more comfortable and pleasing to the eye. He needed a wife, and yet he dreaded where that would inevitably lead: the pressure to consummate the marriage and beget an heir.
There must be some way to get help in properly furnishing the castle. He wished his mother could come and stay for an extended time. But she had her own household to run, and if she visited she would want to bring his father. And his father would inevitably find fault with the way William was running the castle and the manner in which he was dealing with the villagers.
Lord of Secrets Page 3
