Alinor (24 page)

William of Salisbury arrived on the 26th, bringing with him Aubery de Vere, Earl of Oxford—who had not even been invited. Alinor greeted him with effusive cordiality and protestations of joy at his condescension, while her mind spun like a top. What did he want here? What had he come for? And there were another 50 mouths to feed and, far more serious, another nobleman of such stature as could not be accommodated in the hall. To move someone already established in a chamber out into the hall would be equivalent to starting an unending blood feud. Smiling sweetly, Alinor excused herself from her guests and gave instructions for some men to clear the chamber that had been kept for Ian. Damn him and rot him, she thought, he can sleep on a pallet in the maid's portion of my apartment. The maids could lie on the antechamber floor between them, thus preserving the decencies—if anyone would care or notice at this late date.

Naturally Salisbury asked for Ian. Alinor told her story again, feeling as if she had only to open her mouth and the words would pour out over and over, preventing her from saying anything else ever again. Salisbury said nothing, but Alinor did not like the expression that came into his eyes. For the first time her rage changed into a sickening fear. She had been so intent on the contest of wills she imagined was being played out that it had never occurred to her that some harm might have actually befallen Ian. This was no time for pride. Again Alinor excused herself to her guests and went out into the bailey, where she sent a groom for her huntsman.

"It is not like him," Salisbury's voice said behind her as she waited for her man to arrive. Alinor jumped with surprise, not having realized that he had followed her, and Salisbury begged pardon for startling her. Then he returned to his theme. "Madam, I do not wish to worry you or to croak forebodings at this joyous time, but it would be well to send out to seek for him."

"That is what I am about to do, my lord," Alinor admitted. Color rose into her cheeks at the look he gave her. "It is not that I have been indifferent," Alinor protested. "It is that we—we had some sharp words and I thought Ian was sulking. But you are right. It is not like him. He is no sulker. Had I time to think, I would have realized it." Tears rose to her eyes. "Curse my pride and my temper," she whispered.

"Now, do not begin to imagine him dead in a ditch or you will be furious with him all over again when he walks in hale and hearty. It may well be he is delayed by something neither you nor I have considered. He cannot be sore hurt or dead. He was not alone. His men and his squires would have come to tell you."

To that specious piece of reasoning, the more ridiculous because of the anxiety that was mirrored on Salisbury's face when he mentioned Ian's squires, Alinor did not have to reply. The groom returned, breathless and fearful, to say the huntsman was nowhere to be found. Alinor hissed with irritation.

"Madam, be calm!" Salisbury snapped. "The man is doubtless about some business. Do not give an order you will be sorry for."

For a moment Alinor was speechless with surprise. "He has been my servant for more than twenty years," she said repressively when she regained her voice. "You need not fear for him." Then she turned to the nervously waiting groom. "Send Beorn to me."

Salisbury was almost as surprised by Alinor's tone as she had been by his. Indignation passed almost instantly into indulgence. She does care for Ian, he thought, and she is overset by worry. "Do you wish me to instruct your man?" he asked kindly.

That question nearly turned Alinor to stone, but in the next moment she could not help laughing. "He would not obey you," she said. "No servant of mine would obey that kind of order unless it came from me. A fine state I should be in if my servants would obey any lordly seeming man who gave them an order. I would not permit
you
to be insulted, my lord, but in a less anxious moment, if you will dress one of your men in fine garments, you can watch what my servants will do upon my order, even as you bid them cease. I promise you, I will call a halt before murder is done, but that they would do also, if I bid them."

"Lady?"

The full impact of Alinor's remarks had not hit Salisbury because he had been watching Beorn arrive at a dead run. He had thought, until Beorn spoke, that this must be some urgent news. Then he realized it was a normal response to a sharp order given by this woman.

"If the reavers that Lord Ian captured were to turn upon him, how many men would you need to quell them?" Alinor asked Beorn.

The master-at-arms looked startled. "Them? Lady, now that S—that their leader is gone, a rabbit with a loud squeak could put them to flight."

Alinor frowned. If Beorn was so sure, whatever danger there was, if there was any at all, did not come from the prisoners. Ian had kept only his few Welshmen and northerns with him, and she feared a rebellion of the captives could have overwhelmed them. Beorn did not suffer from the vainglory of a young knight who thought he could conquer the world, however. If anything, he was overcautious when asked for an opinion. Thus, if he said the captured reavers were no threat, they were none. If some other armed group had attacked, she would need information before she could act with intelligence.

"Take a few men, then, and seek out Lord Ian. If all is well, tell him that the Earl of Salisbury and Lord Llewelyn are asking for him. If some ill has befallen, discover if you can what force we will need to set it right. In any case, send back to me in haste whatever news you find."

"It will be late, lady."

"At any hour day or night, Beorn."

"As you will, lady."

Salisbury had listened to this exchange with a growing sense of amusement. It was apparent that the impression of Alinor he had received from Ian had been misleading, to say the least. A frown flickered across his face as he wondered if that could have been deliberate. Many men tried to take advantage of Salisbury's affectionate relationship with his brother. It was only a flicker of doubt that disappeared at once. Ian had never asked for anything. Nor, now that Salisbury thought of it, had Ian actually said anything much about Alinor to him. The talk had always been of Simon, of his strength and wisdom. It was from that Salisbury had assumed that Alinor was even more helpless and dependent than most women. In fact, Salisbury had openly warned Ian against marriage with a weak and stupid woman. He had been mildly piqued at the offhand assurance Ian had offered that he had no intention of seeking out such a one.

No, Salisbury thought, looking at Alinor's vivid, lovely face, while she watched Beorn's retreating back, she is neither weak nor stupid. "Come in, Lady Alinor," he said, touching her arm gently. "It is cold and you have no cloak. I begin to think I was a fool to raise this worry in you."

"Never that, my lord," Alinor responded with a slightly absent smile. "It is never hurtful to discover the truth of an unusual happening."

Night had fallen, but the merrymaking was still going strong in the great hall. Alinor was well pleased with her guests. Their spirits were high and the talk and laughter were loud enough that from time to time the dancers had to shout for silence so that they could hear the musicians. Although her toes tapped to the measures, Alinor had refused all offers to dance. She would, of course, have danced with Ian, but since he was not there she did not think it fitting to give her company to any man merely for the sake of pleasure so soon after Simon's death. Unfortunately this thrust her into the orbit of the older ladies, or those who for some other reason would not dance, the most demanding of whom was the Countess of Salisbury. Whatever small irritation had remained in Alinor regarding Salisbury's tentative assumption of authority disappeared completely. Poor man! No wonder he thought all women were idiots.

"And of course I could not go to France," Ela of Salisbury continued in her high-pitched yet drawling whine. "My health would not permit it." William is so inconsiderate. He knows I have not the strength to attend to the children and the estates, yet he is forever rushing off here and there—"

"I am sure he does not do it apurpose," Alinor murmured—not at all sure.

If she had been Salisbury, Alinor thought, she would have left for the outer edge of the world—and stayed there. Either that or strangled the woman. The fact that Salisbury's wife not only bore no bruises but was obviously not afraid of her husband convinced Alinor that Ian was right about him. He was a good man. More than that, he was a saint, Alinor decided, as the countess' voice began again.

"You think he must do whatever the king orders," she whined, "but it is more than that. I tell him he loves his brother better than his wife or children. He is always eager to run John's errands, as if he were a nothing. Lesser men should be employed. And John knows how weak I am. If William said I was ill—but he does not believe how tortured I am."

And neither do I, Alinor thought, so annoyed by the pitch of the voice and the fluttering, repetitive gestures that she did not notice the very shrewd expression in Lady Ela's pale blue eyes. She looked only at the plump body and the very pretty, rosy face. You are as strong as an ox, you lazy bitch, Alinor thought.

"Men often do not understand such matters," Alinor remarked, concealing her contempt. "I have always found it best not to speak of my health at all."

"That is easy to say for someone who does not suffer ill health," the countess drawled.

There was a note of pride in her voice, Alinor noted, and in spite of her distaste for the woman, she felt a touch of sympathy. The ill health was her one distinction. Alinor raised her eyes and happened to catch sight of Isobel, who was dancing as lightfootedly as a girl with Robert of Leicester. If Isobel had not married William, who patiently taught her to handle such responsibility as she was capable of, Isobel would have become as much a bore about religion as this woman was about her health.

Farther down the hall a flash of red hair made Alinor smile. Joanna was in seventh heaven, romping with the other noble children. The two ideas connected in her mind. Better suffer boredom than need the distinction of ill health or excessive faith. Joanna would not be taught the pleasures of idleness. She would be taught that she was a necessary and valuable part of life and thus she would set a high value on her own worth. Alinor would enquire among the guests for a suitable middle-aged gentlewoman. With such a woman and Father Francis to guide her, Joanna could be left to manage Roselynde while Alinor and Ian went on progress.

"Lady Alinor," Lady Salisbury whined, "I asked you if you were never ill."

"I beg your pardon, madam. I was watching my daughter at play. No, I am never ill."

"You are not troubled by your flux?"

"Not at all, nor, to speak the truth, by breeding. I have found the last month tedious because it was difficult to ride, but—" her voice checked. Sidling down the room, pressed as close to the wall as he could get for fear of touching and thus contaminating the gentlefolk, was Alinor's chief huntsman. "I beg you excuse me, Lady Ela," Alinor said hastily, controlling the tremor of nervousness in her voice. "I see a servant of mine where he should not be, and I must speak to him."

Deaf to the plaintive protests that reprimanding servants was the work for higher servants, not for a lady, Alinor rose and hurried toward her man, gesturing him to go back to the stairwell.

"Lady, we have him," the huntsman said eagerly, as soon as Alinor reached him.

"Who?"

"The messenger."

Alinor had almost forgotten him in her anxiety about Ian, but she did not allow her disappointment on one subject to blind her to the importance of the other. "Come," she said briefly, and led the way upstairs. If this was the king's messenger that had been taken, no ears but hers must hear of it. The huntsman looked around curiously when they emerged into the women's quarters. He had never been above the great hall and never expected to be, but aside from instruments for weaving and spinning now pushed all together near the walls to make room for the beds of some of the guests, there was nothing to be seen. All the women were below.

The luxury of Alinor's chamber made his eyes bulge. He stopped in the entryway, reluctant to tread upon the glowing rug and, when Alinor gestured him forward impatiently, he was so impressed with the softness and warmth beneath his feet that he almost lost his voice. "Well?"

The sharp question galvanized the huntsman into action. He drew a scroll and a purse from his breast and passed them to Alinor. "His clothing and weapons I left in my hut with one of the men to guard them. I was afeard to bring them in among so many."

"Wisely done! Well done!"

It was the king's seal on the message. Alinor took a deep breath. As to this part of her plan, everything was working to perfection. She emptied the coins from the purse and pressed them into the huntsman's hand.

"This is the man I looked for. Do not stop any further messengers. You have
him
safe? Will he know any of you again?"

"He is trussed like a chicken for roasting and blindfolded. He might recognize the voice of John of the Marsh, but I do not think it. John took him by jumping from a tree. The man was stunned, and we took care to blindfold him at once."

"Has he said aught?"

"Only again and again that he is a king's messenger and threats as to what would befall us if we did not release
him
unharmed on the moment."

"Oh, most excellent! Listen close. One is to tell him, disguising his voice as best may be, that it is confirmed he is a king's messenger. Thus, instead of slaying him out of hand, one of your number will try to obtain a ransom for him from the Lady of Roselynde. If she will pay, tell him, he will be freed. If not, he will die. Now he will bid you take the message you reft from him to me. Then the one who speaks with him is to laugh and refuse, saying the lady would pay no ransom if she had the king's message already. Do you understand? But let that man tear off the seal and give it to a forester to bring to me."

"Yes, lady."