“As for a wife, it will be an English heiress. Some woman who brings him wealth and land. But I’ve heard nothing about that being arranged. So, we will have to do the best we can to help Fitzhugh furnish the castle. And make up for the fact that he has no wife or mistress to order his household.”
’Twas clear Fitzhugh had already charmed Hawise. She wasn’t willing to be that easily beguiled. “You may have no choice but to aid Fitzhugh. But I feel no responsibility to do so. I have agreed to help him obtain savory herbs for seasoning food. But that is the only reason I’m going to the castle. I don’t intend to involve myself in any other matters, even if Fitzhugh desires it.”
“You are willing to defy his wishes?” Hawise sounded shocked.
She should be terrified to displease Fitzhugh. He was her lord and master. But she did not fear his anger. What she feared was making him unhappy and never again seeing that warm smile of his. “I think Fitzhugh is a reasonable man. I think I can convince him I can best aid him and all of the Higham as a healer, rather than other ways.”
“You are bold, healer Rhosyn. Does that come from being Welsh? Are the women there more confident and independent by nature?”
“Perhaps. Cymraesau—that is Welshwomen—do have more rights than Englishwomen. But my attitude is also a judgment of Fitzhugh. He appears to be a man who doesn’t anger easily and who can be appealed to with reason.” What if she was wrong? What if his thoughtful and accommodating manner was all pretense? And what if what he wanted from her was not help with his problems at the castle, but the same thing Bellame had desired of her? Bellame had also been pleasant and flattering in the beginning. What if all that had passed between her and Fitzhugh so far was a lie?
But there were some things that were not a lie. Like the fire that burned between them. It had simmered there from their first turbulent encounter. If Fitzhugh wanted to bed her, she would not refuse him because she was unwilling, but for other far more complicated reasons. At least she hoped she would refuse him. There was a part of her that was not at all certain she could resist if he smiled at her, or even gazed at her warmly with his dazzling blue eyes.
*
She wasn’t going to come. He should have sent someone else besides Hawise. The timid widow was probably no match for the stubbornly independent healer. William pushed the gate open and entered the garden. He’d only been here once before, when he toured the castle and grounds when he first arrived.
He gazed at the tangle of vegetation and wondered when it had last been tended. A line of overgrown rose bushes grew along one side of the plot. They bloomed profusely in striking shades of red, yellow and pink. Their scent was intoxicatingly sweet. Flowers were something only a gentlewoman would plant. Anyone else would not want to waste space that could be used to grow food.
He bent down, trying to discern familiar plants from among the mass of green. It was hopeless. He could scarcely identify most vegetables before they were prepared and cooked. When it came to herbs, he had no idea.
He left the garden. No point waiting there until the healer came. If she did. He tried to decide if he should send someone else after her. But when he reached the bailey, he saw he would not have to. She was there, along with Hawise.
His chest tightened with longing at the sight of her. But she did not appear glad to see him. Her expression was closed and watchful. Her posture, stiff. She had made it clear she did not want to come to the castle. Maybe he was wrong to insist on it. But she would have to come here some time. He must make certain she knew she had nothing to fear.
He went to greet her. “Healer Rhosyn, I’m glad you have come.” He acknowledged the other woman. “Widow Hawise.”
Hawise bowed to him. His gaze returned to Rhosyn.
She held out her basket. “I have brought the garlic.”
“Let us take it to the kitchen.” He led the way to the back part of the castle where the cooking was done. When they arrived, Elidon looked up, startled. The dark-haired kitchen wench cutting up turnips stared at him. The bow-legged youth carrying two waterskins draped over his shoulders gaped openly. William suddenly realized how odd it was that he was even in kitchen, let alone involved in this whole matter of finding seasoning for the food.
He straightened. As lord of the Higham, he could do what he wished and involve himself in anything that pleased him. “This is Rhosyn, the healer. She has brought some wild garlic we can use for seasoning.”
The cook took the basket and removed the cloth covering. Glancing inside, he grunted. “’Tis better than nothing.”
William felt a stab of irritation. He wondered if the cook would be so dismissive if he knew that most of the garlic had been dug up by him. “I am going to have Rhosyn and Hawise search the castle garden for other savory herbs.”
Elidon’s normally glowering expression did not ease. “Naught will replace salt.”
William’s annoyance increased. The cook reminded him of his father. Neither man ever seemed to appreciate anything he did.
“I will need a gathering basket,” Rhosyn said. “Either that one, or another.
William gestured to the cook, who had the serving woman dump the basket of wild garlic on the table.
“You should cover it,” Rhosyn said. “Otherwise the roots will dry out.”
Elidon nodded curtly and handed the basket to Rhosyn. Elidon was clearly protective of his domain.
William motioned to Rhosyn and Hawise, “I will take you to the garden.” There was no reason for him to escort them, but he wanted to do so. Merely being in the presence of the healer satisfied him in some deep way. Although it also frustrated him. He wanted to be alone with her.
They made their way to the garden and he opened the rusted metal gate. “It has been neglected for some time. But perhaps you can find some plants the cook can use.”
The two women entered and he followed. There was no point for him to remain with them, but he could not help himself. The healer drew him in a way he had never experienced before.
Instead of immediately examining the main garden, the healer went to the roses. She bent to sniff the pale pink blooms on one particularly large and wildly unkept rosebush. Her eyes closed and her expression grew soft and dreamy. It made her look even more beautiful than ever.
She opened her eyes and looked at him. “I would like to take some of these rose blossoms. After we have harvested the herbs, of course.”
“What will you do with them?”
“They can be used to scent all sorts of preparation and cover up less pleasant odors.”
He gestured. “Take as many blossoms as you wish.”
“I will need another basket.” Their gazes locked once more. She was trying to communicate something to him. He realized what it was. She wanted him to leave.
He felt disappointment, but also a hint of anger. She had no right to banish him from anywhere in the castle. “I will leave you to your task,” he said curtly. “If I can find someone to bring it, I will get you another basket.”
*
Rhosyn bent down at the edge of the garden and pushed aside some of the taller plants to examine those underneath. She felt better now that Fitzhugh had left. While he was around, she could not concentrate. He was so fine to look upon. Like a hero in a bard’s tale. With that golden hair and those vivid blue eyes. His smile, showing strong white teeth. The sheer size of him. So tall and yet gracefully made, with long, long limbs and sleek, powerful muscles.
A shiver went through her as she remembered being so close to him when he held her wrists after she attacked him. She had been terrified then. But if he was that near to her now, she did not think it was fear she would feel.
“I found some mint,” Hawise called from the other side of the garden. “And over here, some dill.”
Rhosyn forced herself to focus. She was supposed to be searching for herbs, not daydreaming about Fitzhugh.
She went over to Hawise. “I suspected there would be herbs growing here, even as neg
lected as the garden has been.” After more searching, Rhosyn found some sage and parsley. She and Hawise filled up Rhosyn’s basket and then gathered more in case Fitzhugh brought another basket. “I suppose we will have to tell the cook how to use each herb,” Rhosyn said. “He does not seem to know.”
Or perhaps cook knew about garden herbs, but felt it was beneath him to see to harvesting them. Fitzhugh had not felt that way, although the task clearly was beneath him. Yet he had done it. What a strange man Fitzhugh was. So unlike an English lord.
*
William sent the maidservant Gillian to take a basket to the garden, then sought to busy himself with routine tasks. He visited the smith’s shop and spoke to Garrett about making hinges for the cupboard Aldreth was building for the bedchamber. Spent time in the stables talking with Urith the blacksmith about a horse that was foundering. Then, unable to stay away any longer, he returned to the garden.
Only Hawise was there, bent over pulling up plants. She straightened. “I decided to weed. It has been neglected so long.”
“Where is Healer Rhosyn?”
“She took the herbs to the cook so she can explain to him how they are used.”
“I will go and see if she is finished.” He wondered how crabby, irritable Elidon was dealing with the healer giving him advice. Likely not well.
But when William reached the kitchen, there was no sign of the cook. Rhosyn and the kitchen maid who had been there earlier stood by the table, deep in conversation. The blond, blue-eyed servant, who was obviously of Saxon blood, towered over the dainty Rhosyn. Behind the two women, one of the pot boys turned a spit on which several chickens roasted. William stood inside the doorway, reluctant to interrupt. He watched as Rhosyn gestured to one of the plants and said something about fish. The servant nodded.
It was good Rhosyn was passing on her knowledge to someone in the castle. Someone who might actually listen. Elidon would not have had the patience for this.
A moment later Rhosyn glanced up and saw him. For an instant, there was a flash of dread in her eyes. Would this woman never get over her fear of him?
Rhosyn gestured to the table. “Hawise and I found plenty of seasoning herbs. I am explaining to Hilde how they can be used to add flavor to different foods.”
“I am pleased. I thought your knowledge would be of benefit.”
“Of course, milord.” Rhosyn spoke the words by rote. Her manner remained stiff and wary, as if she resented him for insisting she come here to do this. She hadn’t wanted to come to the castle. What could he do to make it up to her? What could he offer her as payment?
“What would you like as payment for helping with the herbs? More food?” He gestured to a fowl roasting on the spit.
“Food is always welcome. And perhaps when a peddler comes, I will ask you to purchase me some things.”
“Such as?”
“Medicines I can’t easily make myself.”
“I wish the peddler would pass through soon. There are many things we need, curse Robert Roscales.”
“You said that you intended to journey to a port in Wales, so you could purchase goods there.”
“I still plan to do so. Have you decided if you would be willing to come and serve as interpreter?”
“I have not.”
It was like a bout of swordplay. He advanced and she retreated. Somehow he must break the stalemate. But how? He had wanted her to come to the castle so she might overcome her unease with him. Now she was here and his plan did not seem to be working.
Rhosyn turned to Hilde. “Do you remember which herbs I told you are best used dried?”
“I do.”
“Then I will leave you.”
Rhosyn picked up her basket. As she moved past him, William asked, “Where are you going?”
“To the garden.”
“I will have Hilde bring you the roasted fowl.”
As Rhosyn left, Elidon returned. He looked surprised to see William. “Milord, is there something I can do for you?”
William motioned to Hilde, who was assessing whether the meat on the spit was finished cooking. “I’m having some food sent to the healer as payment for help with the herbs.”
Although he said nothing, William could tell the cook thought it was very odd he was so concerned with paying the healer. And it was. The cook’s reaction reminded him of his true situation. The healer was his to command, not the other way around.
He suddenly felt very foolish and embarrassed. He should not be so worried about Rhosyn’s regard. She might be a healer, but she still had a duty to serve him. There was no reason for him to go out of his way to please her.
He curtly told Hilde to take the roasted fowl to Rhosyn when it was ready, then left the kitchen. As he made his way across the bailey to the barracks, he thought about how the healer had set against him from the beginning, trying to kill him before she even knew anything about him. Her animosity at that time might make some sense, based on what had happened to her in the past. But since then he had gone out of his way to prove he was a fair and reasonable man, who treated women with courtesy and respect. Yet she continued to act as if he was some sort of ogre. And as if he had lured her to the castle with evil intent.
A part of him regretted that he would not have a chance to see the healer before she left the castle, but another part reminded him that if he wished to see her, he could do so any time. He did not need to grovel at her feet and strain himself to please her. He was the lord of the castle. As his father would have said, it was time he started to behave like one.
*
Rhosyn and Hawise walked down the trackway from the castle. Rhosyn had her gathering basket full of rose petals and a few healing herbs she had found in the garden. Hawise carried the roasted fowl wrapped in a cloth. Rhosyn had insisted she take it, since the widow needed food much more than she did.
Rhosyn let out a long breath. It was a relief to be away from that place, full of the sights and smells that evoked dark memories of Cardiff castle. The massive stonework looming over her, casting a long shadow over much of the yard, the acrid smoke from the smith’s shop, the familiar scents of horses in the stables and cooking food in the kitchen. Even being in the garden among the roses had evoked intense recollections. Many of them were pleasant, but others were tinged with dark memories.
Now that she was away from the castle, she felt free again. Her body lighter. Her breath came easier. The view of the peaceful village by the river brightened her mood. It was not quite her home. Not yet. But there was hope here for a new beginning.
But even as she felt relief at escaping the castle, there was also a sense of loss. She liked being around Lord Fitzhugh; it had been a struggle to maintain her cold, distant stance. In the future, she must avoid being around him. Not an easy thing, since he could come and see her whenever he wished, or insist she come to the castle.
That thought fired her resentment and she fanned the blaze. She must not forget Fitzhugh was a Saeson. Underneath his warm, pleasant exterior, he was still an English lord, with absolute authority over the people of Higham. The power he possessed was terrifying. He had been agreeable and courteous with her, but that was because he wanted something from her. At any time, he might decide to take what he desired by force.
Lord Fitzhugh also seemed to be on Hawise’s mind. “Lord Fitzhugh continues to surprise me. The lord before him, Robert Roscales, he never had any concern for any of us in the village. Lord Fitzhugh did not have to pay you for helping to gather the herbs. He could have assumed you would do whatever he wished. That is how Roscales would have behaved.”
“I don’t trust him. I think he is kind and considerate because he doesn’t want to set people against him. He knows he is very young to control such an important and prosperous demesne. ’Tis likely he fears if the castle is attacked, he will need allies in the village. So he courts our favor, to make certain we are on his side.”
“I don’t care if that’s the reason he behaves the way he
does. I still find it gratifying to have an overlord who considers the well-being of his people. I don’t understand why you seem to have set against him.”
“My response to him is colored by what I have experienced with Saesneg—English lords in the past.” As soon as the words were out, Rhosyn realized she should not have said this. Hawise might ask questions. And she did not want to tell that tale, not to anyone.
Hawise’s voice was soft. “I am older than you, Rhosyn. Not by much in years, but because of what I have endured. I have learned you should not let the past control your decisions. You must see each day as a new beginning. I would not have survived if I did not think thus. As for Fitzhugh, of course I am still wary. But I’m willing to give him a chance. I will accept what generosity and respect he shows me, and think well of him until I know better.”
A sharp retort rose in Rhosyn’s mind. But she did not say it. She must remember what Hawise had endured. To lose your whole family, especially your children… Rhosyn could not imagine how awful that must have been. And yet Hawise was here, still struggling forward. Her face was lined with the marks of deep sorrow, but it was not etched with bitterness. She still smiled and was pleasant to everyone. Perhaps, Rhosyn thought, she should to try to do likewise. Perhaps she should give Fitzhugh a chance.
But doing so could be very dangerous. She could not allow herself to become entangled with this man. She could not let this big English lord pierce the armor she wielded against the world.
And she dare not let him get close for another reason. She desired Fitzhugh. It was shocking. After her awful experience with Bellame, she’d never believed she could have such feelings. She’d known someday she would have to lie with a man in order to produce a child, a daughter to whom she could pass on her knowledge. But she’d imagined the experience would be something she would have to endure, to tolerate. Now with Fitzhugh, there were times when she found herself actually yearning to be close to him.
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