Bone of Contention (11 page)

“I too,” Magdalene said, smiling. “So you knew the document was a forgery and even had some proof.”

“And so I told him,” Loveday snapped, “and I bade him leave, but he laughed at me and said what he had was quite enough and that I should be delighted with Lord Waleran’s choice since he had sent a strong man who could defend my property. He came close while he spoke and grabbed for me and said we should settle the matter at once by consummating our union, but I hit him in the nose so he let me go and I threw a bench at him and shouted for my menservants. He was strong. He knocked my steward down and it took three men to wrestle him down and cast him out of the gate.”

Niall snorted. “Strong? Maybe, but not skilled. It took me a quarter of a candlemark to beat him unconscious, and only because you yelled at me not to kill him, Loveday.”

Magdalene’s eyes widened. “You mean all this was going on right in front of Niall?” she asked, thoroughly confused.

“No,” Loveday said, frowning at Niall, “you are making me tell this story all wrong. Niall came the day after Aimery St.—”

“Aimery?” Magdalene repeated.

Could it be the same man who had tried to seize her in the Soft Nest the preceding night, she wondered? It must be. The name Aimery was not uncommon, but an Aimery who had obviously been badly beaten? The coincidence was too great.

“He said his name was Aimery St. Cyr, but he did not know a single word of French. Anyway as my men were dragging him to the gate, he shouted that he would make my servants sorry they had ever been born and before he was done with me I would be glad to take him into any hole I had in my body, that his master would give him a full troop to take my manor and burn it to the ground…”

“Stupid lout,” Magdalene hissed.

“He is,” Niall said, “but how did you know?”

“He tried to take me in the Soft Nest last night,” she said, lips thinned with distaste. “You are right, Loveday, he stank! I heard his name then and saw he had been badly beaten, so I suppose it was the same man.” Then she shook her head. “That doesn’t matter, and I suppose he didn’t burn the manor down. What did you do?”

“To tell the truth, I was frightened to death, but I had never before heard the names of the witnesses, so I thought they might be nobodies, and I decided I would try to plead my case with the king.”

“Better had you sent to your neighbors for help,” Niall said. “The king is overwhelmed with business.”

“So you did not receive any answer from the king?” Magdalene asked.

“I had no chance even to send my appeal. By then it was growing dark, and Niall showed up at the gate the next morning. I almost didn’t let him in until he called me by name and then when I saw him, of course I remembered him. His sister had just his look, that red hair and white skin. She was a sweet girl. I was so sorry when she died…and my brother too, of course.”

For a moment Loveday’s face looked old and drawn, its clean lines sagging as she recalled past grief. She was not beautiful, Magdalene thought, but certainly did not deserve St. Cyr’s description of her as a “whey-faced sack of mud.” Her hair was an indeterminate shade of brown as were her eyes, but those eyes were bright with intelligence, her skin was lovely as was the soft curve of her mouth. And her body was not sacklike at all; her full breasts lifted her gown becomingly and her waist and hips were all that a woman’s should be.

“Well, of course I asked why her gates were locked and why I was being threatened with pitchforks,” Niall said, “and she told me the whole story. I was…annoyed.”

Loveday giggled. “He was steaming mad. His face was so red, I thought his head would burst into flame.” Then she looked up at him with adoring eyes. “But he didn’t yell at me or hit me.”

“Why should I hit you?” Niall said in a choked voice. “I wasn’t angry at
you.”

“Yes, well.” Magdalene sighed. “With some men, their wife’s innocence is less important than having something to hit.”

Niall snorted. “Just as well then that St. Cyr chose that very time to show up. The steward called a warning that four armed men were approaching and I came running out—”

“Unarmed?” Magdalene asked.

“Oh no. There have been such grumblings and rumblings that I had my mail shirt on under my surcoat, and my helmet and shield are always on my horse. I was angry enough to ride out and take all four of them, but I have not been Lord William’s captain for some years without learning when to swallow my bile. I warned the men on the manor to get long staves or pitchforks and keep St. Cyr’s companions from taking me from behind. Then I bade the steward to open the gate. As I said before, I could have cut him down in two strokes, but Loveday shouted at me not to kill him so I beat him off his horse with the flat of my sword.”

“And the other men?”

“Two fled as soon as they saw me knock aside St. Cyr’s sword and realized the pitchfork men would not run. Two younglings had got out their slingshots and were pelting the third man with stones until he withdrew beyond the gate. Then I dismounted to cut St. Cyr’s purse to get the fake betrothal, and he drew a knife on me, so I used my fist on his head, threw him belly down on his horse, and drove it out.”

“Why in the world did you tell Niall not to kill the man?” Magdalene asked Loveday. “Now the chances are that for revenge he
will
come back with many more men and really try to burn down the manor and kill the servants.”

“I was afraid Niall would get into trouble,” she said. “If that man was truly at Noke by Lord Waleran’s order—and how else would he have known about me—and Niall killed him, Lord Waleran would certainly hear of it from the men who fled. Who knows what vengeance Lord Waleran would take for the despite done him in killing his man?”

“Yes,” Niall put in in an exasperated voice, “and that is why I daren’t take Loveday to my father to keep her safe. Lord Waleran could squash my poor father like a bug. Nor, of course, dare I take her to Lord William. He must not be embroiled in any fracas with Lord Waleran right now and, besides, what would he do with Loveday?” He hesitated, and then added uncertainly, “Could he ask the queen to house her?”

“She
is
the king’s ward,” Magdalene pointed out, but she sounded doubtful. Even if the king were willing for his wife to take Loveday into her Household, that could not possibly he arranged in an hour or two.

Before Magdalene could voice her doubts, Loveday said, “No. From what Niall has told me, Lord Waleran is so much a favorite with the king that if he went to Stephen complaining of Niall’s interference, I might be handed over to be delivered to St. Cyr.”

“So you have to take her and keep her safe until this matter of the forged betrothal agreement is exposed.”

Magdalene stood staring at Niall, eyes and mouth open in shock. Finally she swallowed and said, “You are serious? No, you are mad! I am a whoremistress. You
cannot
entrust a maiden to my care.”

“You are also the most honest woman I know, Mistress Magdalene,” Niall said. “If you say Loveday will be safe in your care, she will be.”

“Niall, do not be a fool. I am staying in a whorehouse. Last
night I,
myself, was nearly assaulted by a drunken client. I
cannot
swear to keep her safe.”

“But you did get away from the drunk,” Loveday said slowly, clearly thinking as she spoke. “And you did not expect it to happen, so usually you are safe from such affront. That means when you were attacked you must have been out in a public room for some reason—”

“I was seeing a client out,” Magdalene said pointedly, wanting to make her situation clear.

“Yes, well, of course—” Loveday offered a small smile “—I would not need to be out in a public part of the place for that reason. And I doubt the men who come there would invade your private quarters, even if they were drunk.” She thought another moment and then added with perfect calm, “Indeed, Mistress Magdalene, I will add my plea to Niall’s that you allow me to lodge with you.”

Magdalene drew a deep, exasperated breath. “But Loveday, even if you were physically safe, your good name would be sullied if anyone discovered that you had been staying in a whorehouse. And the Soft Nest is frequented by just the kind of people you know—merchants and substantial yeomen.”

“I still think it better than if I were caught by St. Cyr.”

“But people will talk. And in the future if your husband hears of it, he may begin to harbor doubts about your virtue, which could lead to some painful misunderstandings.”

“How?” Niall asked. “I will be her husband and since the whole thing was of my doing, how could I doubt?”

“And who will know of my staying with you? No one besides Master Redding knows I am in Oxford. If I veil myself so that no one sees my face… Mistress Magdalene, I doubt I would survive longer than it took to marry me and kill me if St. Cyr lays his hands on me—”

“And I
must
tell Lord William about that treacherous clerk.” Niall drew a sudden breath. “Good Lord, Magdalene, what if the clerk’s
purpose
was to embroil Lord William with Lord Waleran? I must go warn him. I must go
now.”

Magdalene’s eyes widened. Maybe
that
was the reason Waleran had chosen a totally unacceptable man, so that Loveday would refuse and whomever William sent—any one of his captains would have been more to Loveday’s taste—would defend her and involve William.

“Very well,” she said. “Go and tell William what has happened, and for God’s sake, tell him you have left an innocent maiden in the Soft Nest, and he must find other arrangements for her as soon as possible.”

“Bless you, Magdalene,” Niall exclaimed, bussed her loudly on the cheek, and ran down the stairs.

“I am not so innocent as all that,” Loveday protested with a grin. “What with spending half my time deciding which horse should cover which mare and what bull would best freshen this or that cow, not to mention watching to make sure we get our money’s worth from the stud if he does not belong to my own farm, I am scarcely ignorant of the coming together of male and female.”

“Oh yes, I was once a country girl myself,” Magdalene agreed thoughtlessly, laughing, then looked down and bit her lip, annoyed at what she had exposed. She covered by adding quickly, “But somehow it is different when it is men and women rather than horses and mares. I hope you will not be shocked.”

Loveday raised her brows. “I have servants, too, who are not always perfect.” Then she laughed. “I will not be shocked, but I hope you have an explanation for my sudden appearance.”

Magdalene laughed too. “It so happens I have. The true reason I have for being here is private, so I have been telling everyone who asked what I was doing in Oxford that I came to pick up a girl for my house in Southwark—” she sighed “—as if London had no girls. However, it is a convenient excuse. You can be that girl. I will call you…Maeve. But I am afraid I will have to tell the whoremistress of the Soft Nest the true tale or she might succumb to bribery and agree to use you.”

Loveday readily agreed. Magdalene picked up her shopping basket and gestured Loveday toward the stair.

* * * *

Fortunately, despite Magdalene’s qualms, Loveday’s establishment in the Soft Nest went without any difficulty. Master Redding, who had heard the tale of the attempt to force Loveday into marriage when Loveday sought refuge with his wife, quickly offered to contribute a veil and a light cloak to change Loveday’s appearance. His cooperation surprised Magdalene until she realized that his purpose was to be rid of Loveday before Waleran de Meulan could learn she had appealed to him for help.

He even sent an apprentice to lead Loveday’s gelding, still loaded with her travel basket, through the back alley and ride it to Blue Boar Lane. There Magdalene called Diccon to take the horse out back and leave him with her own mare and mule, and the apprentice was sent back to Master Redding’s shop. Then Magdalene simply led Loveday to the back chamber, mouthing “Come when you have time,” to Florete as they passed.

She felt Loveday stiffen after they entered the Soft Nest and she saw the women in bedgowns and thin shifts in the common room and by the curtains that lined the corridor. However, the girl relaxed when they entered the back room and cheerfully asked if she could help put away the items from Magdalene’s shopping basket. Magdalene waved toward a shelf near the left-hand bed, meant, probably, for a man to put his purse or other valuables on. Loveday carried the basket over and removed the long, buttered loaf, now wrapped in a napkin. She exclaimed with surprise when she saw already on the shelf a thin roll of parchment bound around a tightly stoppered ink flask and several quills.

“Could I—” she began, and was distracted when she found the strawberries. “Where shall I put these?” she asked.

Magdalene looked at what she held and laughed. “In your mouth…and mine.” And she gestured Loveday to bring them to the table where they promptly sat down to finish them.

Niall came in before all the berries were gone but only stayed long enough to snatch a few for himself and say that William begged Magdalene to keep Loveday for the night, or at least until he had a chance to ferret out what was going on. Niall also told Loveday not to worry about Noke, that he was returning to the manor with ten men to be sure it and her servants would be safe.

Magdalene saw him out, and stopped by Florete’s table to ask if she could rent clean sheets for the second bed. Then, unable to resist the bemusement in the whoremistress’s eyes, she told a brief version of who Loveday was and her need to avoid an unwelcome suitor. And to engage Florete’s sympathy, she pointed out that the man who claimed Loveday was the one Florete’s men had disposed of the previous day.

“Pretty little thing,” Florete muttered. “And she doesn’t need to walk on our road. She’s got lands. Yes, I’ll keep her secret and I’ll do my best to keep her safe.”

Satisfied, Magdalene returned to her room. Together she and Loveday made up the second bed. Then Loveday asked Magdalene if she could use the pen, ink, and parchment on the shelf.