A Lord for Haughmond (27 page)

     They rode past the village well. Opposite stood the green, where cows did graze in the summertime. Shutters at the tradesmen’s homes had been thrown open for business. Drawn by the sight of travelers, Henry the butcher and Edric the spicer came to their counters for a closer look.

     Beside the village green stood the pillory. Katherine recognized Old John locked within the stocks. She started at the disturbing sight of his bloody-hued face, then realized ’twas likely stained with beet juice from those who taunted him. His hands, old and gnarled, were not as strong as they once were. Frequently his barrels did leak. He sat with bowed head, looking up at her out of the corner of his eye, as though he should be denied the right to look at all.

     Her mouth thinned into a grim line. She had not been here to defend him from Gilbert, Sir Geoffrey’s steward. ’Twould be her first order of business.   

     The bells in the church tower began to peal, and more inhabitants converged on the roadway.

     “Bless you, Lady Katherine!” sang out one woman.

     “Welladay, mistress!” called the shoemaker, waving, a bit of leather clutched in his fist.

     Katherine was no less grateful. Watching Rhys the whole day had been a strain on her nerves. ’Twas good to be distracted. She breathed deeply. ’Twas time to set aside childish dreams.

     The road wound around the eastern slope and turned up the hill, taking advantage of the more gradual approach for carts and wagons and weary travelers. From high atop the gatehouse, the wardcorne’s trumpet announced their arrival. At the sharp sound, a handful of linnets scattered into the air, their flashes of scarlet bright against the overcast sky, their flight mingling with the smoke from the chimneys of the castle community.

     A cold blast of air blew Katherine’s hood from her head. Accustomed to the winds that commonly whipped around Haughmond, she tugged it back in place. Bending her head into the gale, she urged her horse across the drawbridge and into the barbican. 

     Suddenly Rhys’s angry shout rent the air beside her. Setting spurs to his destrier, he charged through the gate with a loud bellow.

     Startled into action, Katherine kicked her mare likewise and followed in his wake. What she saw snatched the last remnants of warmth from her limbs. In the midst of the bailey Sir Geoffrey sat atop his charger betwixt two packed wagons.

     In the fading daylight, Rhys’s sword flashed as he swung it from his scabbard and thrust it toward the knight.

Chapter Nineteen

     Katherine brought her horse to a skidding halt beside Rhys where he stood in his stirrups, his

drawn sword to Sir Geoffrey’s neck. Behind them, the castle captain-at-arms charged from the

gate tower with his own sword raised high.

     Gripping the pummel of her saddle, she swung out of the sidesaddle and dropped to the muddy grass of the baily. “Let not Sir Geoffrey steal so much as a single silver spoon from Haughmond,” she called out to him, holding high the royal parchment. “By the king’s command, he is no longer lord here!”

     She thrust it into the captain’s hands. Since he was unable to read, the king’s wax seal must have been the deciding factor. His dubious frown disappeared from his scored face. He handed it back and with a loud shout, ordered his soldiers into position.

     On the wallwalk overhead came the sound of running boots as archers amassed and notched their arrows. Out of the gate tower poured soldiers, with their long bows and deadly looking maces.

     “As you value your skin, stand away from Lady Katherine’s possessions.” Rhys’s demand rumbled across the confines of the walled bailey.

     Poised near Rhys and his protection, Katherine waited with impatience. She knew she must keep well beyond the reach of Sir Geoffrey, else he might attempt to snatch her for ransom.             

     Slowly—plainly reluctant—Geoffrey and his men retreated to a safe distance.

     Running to one of the baggage wains, Katherine scrambled up to the seat beside a young serf lad sitting with hunched shoulders and a stricken expression. Balancing on her knees, she untied the canvas covering and flung it aside. Her eyes widened in disbelief at the amount of plate and silver and furniture tossed haphazardly within.

     Looking toward Sir Geoffrey, her eyes narrowed. “You do betray Haughmond’s trust. If I were a man, I’d skewer you right quickly for this filching. Mayhap the king will be displeased with your avidity and throw you in The Tower.”

     Geoffrey chuckled as he reined back his high-spirited mount. “Do not threaten me, Katherine, when my own son is your newly wedded lord and master.”

     Murmurs of disbelief punctuated the air, from the wallwalk to the steps of the keep. Where a cluster of servants hovered, shock strained their faces.

     Ignoring his baiting words, she levered herself back to her feet and turned to face him from the wagon. “How meet that you do thieve Haughmond’s treasures.” 

     Geoffrey glared at her. “Alas, your dear mother was unable to bestow upon you any measure of civility.”

     “Civility!” Katherine snorted in disgust. “’Tis a rare commodity hereabouts, as scarce as hen’s teeth, much akin to your mode of mourning, I avow. Begone with you! Let Haughmond not be further polluted by your presence.” She jerked her head toward the entrance where soldiers gathered. Long bows poised within their powerful fists, they stood braced, ready to let loose their deadly arrows at a moment’s notice.

     “You are not rid of me so easily, young Katherine.” Geoffrey de Borne frowned his displeasure. “My influence remains in the guise of my son. Will you be the better for it?”

     He mocked her, of course. She could do naught but watch as he turned his mount toward the gate. Beneath the silent scowls and somber faces of the castle soldiers, he and his household knights disappeared into the barbican. A moment later their hooves thudded over the drawbridge. 

     Katherine heaved a sigh of relief that two conundrums were so swiftly resolved. Sir Geoffrey had gone. Good riddance to him! But more importantly, her captain recognized her authority.

     Yet another vexation did sit beside her. She eyed the young serf. Within his work worn tunic, his shoulders slumped forward and one wool stocking seemed to echo his mood, for it sagged below the knee where the cross-garter had come untied. He bore the most prodigious look of dread in his hazel eyes she had ever remarked upon the lad of three years and ten.

     “Be at ease, Alwin.” She gave his shoulder a quick pat. “There is no blame attached to you.” She clambered down from the wagon. Smoothing her gown into place, she lifted her gaze and gave him a tight smile.

     The youth swiped his eyes with grimy hands, leaving streaks of dirt across his pale cheeks. “Another wagon did depart ere ye arrived, mistress.”

     “’Twas not your fault. You could not prevent the pillage,” Katherine sighed, her heart lurching at the pain etched into his thin face. “Did Sir Geoffrey misuse any of our people whilst he was herein?”

     “Nay, mistress. He were more intent in thievin’ our valuables than in doin’ harm. Thank the good Lord he did ignore the lasses.” Alwin’s voice broke. “But yer aunt’s vestments—them in the chapel, and her cross—they’re bound for Myton in an old cart.”

     More than likely the old cart that had bore her mother’s body back to Haughmond. That sad day did seem ages agone. Katherine sighed again. ’Twas likely other problems, too numerous to count, awaited her. Already her people looked to her for guidance. She must needs possess a calm demeanor. And a steady hand. 

     “They can be replaced, Alwin. You cannot. Get you down from there and seek out your father. These wagons need unloading before it grows dark.”

     The leggy youth leaped to the ground. “We couldn’t do dif’rent, mistress.” He shook his head as though he were trying to rid it of all the nits in the world. His pointed felt cap slipped down over his left eye. Impatiently he shoved it back. “Sir Geoffrey spoke very stern, like he yet ruled the fief.”

      “Be not dismayed. Make haste, Alwin, while you can yet see.”

     The lad nodded and departed on a run.

     Sibyl, loyal servant, nursemaid to three generations of Katherine’s family, and Aunt Matilda’s right-hand helper, came forward. Smelling of wood smoke and onions and dressed in a homespun tunic of nut-brown, she wiped the front of her stained apron far more than was necessary, indicating her agitation.

     “Be ye home for good, mistress?” she asked in a fervent voice, her eyes brimming with tears.

     Katherine nodded.

     “Praise Saint Winifred! ’Twas certain I was, the blessed saint she’d listen,” the older woman exclaimed through a watery smile, wiping her apron afresh. Alarm twisted her face and her tone grew fearful. “But oh, deary me, yer husband don’t be Sir Geoffrey’s son, do he?”

     “Tush! Visitors require our hospitality.” Katherine spoke with calm authority, knowing the castle must avoid more panic and unrest. “Fetch our guests some victuals against their hunger, Sibyl. They’ll wish to seek their rest. See that chambers are prepared, and hot water readied.” She turned to Anne seated in her saddle next to Simon. “You can assist her, Anne. Oh— ” She whirled back and called after Sibyl, “Tell Gilbert I require him at once.”

     Leaping down from his saddle, Simon helped Anne dismount. Bestowing him with a grateful smile, she followed after Sibyl, while his eyes followed her every step.

     Katherine looked up at Rhys. He had sheathed his sword and silently contemplated her from his saddle.

     “Well, what say you?” she finally asked, when all he did was stare at her, as he had the first time they met. Her throat tightened at the bittersweet memory.

     “My compliments!” A brief smile broke his stern countenance. “You subdued all who besieged you—like a seasoned commander, like the lord of the castle. ’Tis obvious you were born to be the chatelaine of this domicile, my lady.” Dismounting, he handed his reins to Simon.

     The squire led the horses and mule toward the stables in the outer ward.

     “Your role does suit you admirably.”

     Katherine glowed warmly at the unexpected compliment. She started toward the tall square keep and Rhys fell into step beside her.

     “Would you indulge my curiosity and show me this wondrous castle, which I well-nigh possessed? I wish to examine it close.” Rhys’s voice was low, almost a whisper, like he shared a secret for her alone.

     Katherine looked at him sharply and shook her head at his bland expression. “Don’t make light of your loss. ’Tis not customary for one to appraise his lost spoils.”

     They climbed the steps that marked the entrance to the keep, where torches were lit against nightfall. Two soldiers standing guard outside pulled open the heavy doors.

     Rhys stepped through the entrance behind Katherine and looked around. “I don’t begrudge Dafydd his spoils, so long as you do show me a measure of compassion. You have chambers, no doubt, where we can be at ease?” He settled a pointed look upon Katherine. “Let us mount to
your
chamber where I might be allowed some comfort. ’Twas a cold and arduous journey as ever I have known.” He abruptly slapped at his arms, as though to warm them, and slid his gaze from her. Tilting his head back on his shoulders, he inspected the timbered ceiling.

     Horrified at his dastardly suggestion, Katherine exclaimed, “You would seduce me in my chamber? You do seek to set in motion events likely to wreak havoc with our lives.” 

     Rhys pulled his attention away from the high ceiling and bestowed upon her a calm and steady gaze, far and away too innocent after such an infuriating suggestion.    

     With her chin set imperiously, Katherine swept past him as fast as her weary legs could carry her. Spying Sibyl across the hall, she called out, “Where is Gilbert? I grow impatient for his arrival.”

     “I am come, m’lady.”

     With measured steps, the castle steward strode from the kitchen. Tall and solidly built, he had intimidated Haughmond’s inhabitants for years, having answered to no one but Sir Geoffrey and had grown arrogant in his power. Coming to stand before her, Gilbert neglected to bestow the deferential bow befitting his rank.

     Silently collecting herself, Katherine prepared to do battle with Geoffrey’s man. Forced to look up to meet his dark and cunning eyes, she settled a grave look upon him, remembering the pain of the old man in the village stocks. “John Cooper cannot be locked in the stocks the moment my back is turned.”

     “He do scamp his work. The reeve reported the misdeed. John, he should be grateful I didn’t beat him with a birch cane.” The steward looked down his nose at her with open disdain.

     Her palms grew clammy. “John Cooper’s only crime is that he is an old man.” She spoke with a calm she was far from feeling. Gilbert’s high-handed demeanor maddened her. More worrisome, she feared she would not be able to force him to her will.

     “His leaky kegs has caused mayhem for the alewife. ’Twas her what brought forth the complaint, m’lady.”

     “And what do you, besides punish him—an old man who has seen better days? Does it replenish the alewife’s stock?” Katherine swallowed down her fears as she looked into the steward’s stern features. “I doubt me ’tis meet you should continue as steward, if you do treat my people thus.”

     The man scowled. “I look out for yer interests, m’lady.”

     “Nay, you look out for Sir Geoffrey’s interests and they are not mine. See you the difference?”

     “Aye,” the steward replied. “But there’s been no cause for complaint. If ye wish ta change how I do my job, ya only needs tell me what’s what, and I’ll do it.” His gruff tone broke, became more polite with each word he uttered. “I don’t mean ta give offence. I have a wife and three children. What becomes of them should my services not be needed?”