Conquering William (9 page)

Crows cawed loud and raucous over the silence in the bailey. Heads whipped between him and Sister. “I want everything out of the barracks.” Pinning the men nearest him with a hard stare, he raised his voice. “All the filth, all the beddings, everything. I want them out and burned. Rufus.”

The man’s head snapped up.

“Build a fire in the center of the bailey. The men of Tarnwych do not live like swine.”

“Everything.” Sister’s voice rose from behind him. Sweet Jesu, this would not end well between him and this woman. She had enough love for her neck to remain on the steps leading into the keep. “Is such wanton destruction necessary?”

“Everything.” William shifted his glare from man to man. “Right now. Burned.”

“How will the men sleep?” Alice appeared at his elbow.

For her sake, William tugged hard on the reins of his temper. “They will not sleep until the barracks are cleansed of filth and vermin.”

Dunstan cracked his knuckles and planted his feet akimbo. Aye, another reckoning came there too. William met his stare. He ached to take the big bastard on, right here and now. Disappointment soured his gut as Dunstan turned and shouted orders to the men around him. The man would make a good commander, if he could bend his bull neck to his new master.

“Will you not rest?” Alice touched his wrist. “They could clean the barracks in the morning.”

Nay, he could not rest. He needed activity, something to keep his mind from the building anger within him. “I will rest when my men rest.”

Alice took a soft breath, and nodded. “I will see that the serfs make up fresh pallets. The men will need them when they are done.”

A small victory but it coiled within William and calmed the fire in his blood. His Alice would stand by him on this. From the keep entrance, Sister Julianna watched them through narrowed eyes.

* * * *

Bone-weary, Alice returned to the hall after she had changed her gown and confined her hair. A new mood sparked the air as she entered. Faces full of questions turned her way as she murmured her greeting in passing.

Muted sounds drifted up the stairs from the bailey. Men’s voices, raised and then lowered, the crack of wood, and the low buzz of activity. William worked out there, beside the men and if she judged it right, the work would take all night. She did not visit the barracks, as Sister judged it unwise, but she had noted the condition of the men as they rode. Seen how they compared with Aonghas’s men, and if the barracks matched their residents, then she applauded William’s wisdom.

Serving women carried out the meal and placed it on the tables, a testament to William’s kitchen foray. Great platters of meat appeared, bringing with them the hearty scent of venison. Alice dared not meet Sister’s eye, but she felt the rise of outrage battering against her as fresh breads and greens accompanied the meat. Where had Cook obtained fresh vegetables at this time of year? Later, she would ask Cook, but for now the tempting aromas set her tummy growling. Aspic jellies and blood puddings were added to the happy murmur of the hall. She had not eaten since they left The Crags. A quick bite of bread and cheese as they had rested the horses could hardly sustain a body.

“Have the men outside been fed?” Alice called to Gord where he sat at the table nearest the dais.

Gord cast a yearning gaze at the bounty set before him as he rose. “Nay, my lady.”

“Would you see to it?” Commands coming from her mouth sounded odd. “Make sure they receive their share.”

“They are working,” Sister said. “They will not have time for eating. Your husband has seen to that.”

“William would want them fed.” Alice’s head reeled a bit at her own daring. Seldom had she countermanded Sister, and never before a gaping hall full of people. “If Tarnwych is to have an effective army, they must be cared for.” Nobody had told her this, but it stood to reason. “And on the morrow, Gord, would you put the seamstresses to work on new raiment for the men? We looked like beggars before Aonghas.”

“Aye, my lady.” A slow smile of approval spread over Gord’s thin face.

Alice drew courage from it and retuned his smile.

“They have raiment.” Sister’s dry tone pricked at her pleasure.

“They have rags,” she said, forcing her voice to remain firm. “We cannot send them out into the cold without adequate covering. Our Lord would not condone such dreadful cruelty.”

“Sir William sent his squire for new horses,” Gord said. “But the men will need weapons, as well. I will call for the blacksmith when I go the village in the morn.”

How had she not seen what a treasure she had in Gord? Perhaps because this was the first time she had actually commanded the man. “Perfect.”

The next day passed in a blur of activity for Alice. Gord made good on his instructions, and the keep hummed with new activity. She stood at the center of the mayhem, issuing further instructions, answering questions, and filled with a sense of purpose that made her never-ending list of tasks seem lighter. Serving maids gathered linens, stuffed pallets and pillows, and cut rushes for the barrack floors. Seamstresses pulled bolts of cloth from the stores and spread it over the trestle tables in the hall. Their chatter as they worked filled the austere place with life and cheer.

Out in the bailey, the blacksmith got the old forge running, and his fires belched heat into the overcast day. Over the clang of hammer on anvil, work continued on the barracks. It gave her a thrill of excitement every time she glanced out the casement and saw the men-at-arms scurrying this way and that, their posture taut with purpose. William broke his fast outside with the men and worked alongside them throughout the day.

The hall that night fair buzzed with the number of voices. Scrubbed clean with damp hair and fresh faces, the men skulked into the hall and took their places at the newly set out trestles. Fires blazed in the hearths, dispelling the chill from the walls. Cook blossomed under her new freedom, sending yet another excellent meal into the hall.

Beside Alice, Sister refused all offers of richer fare and worked her way through a bowl of thin beef broth. Alice rolled her eyes when Sister requested yesterday’s bread, and near laughed aloud when the serving woman reported Cook had fed the pigs with it.

Sinful, perhaps, but Alice tucked into her dinner with relish. Her heart lifted as she looked about her at the contented faces in the hall. Despite Sister’s dire warnings, the men did not get drunk, belch or pinch the serving women. Alice would wager their night and day of grueling work had exhausted them. It had thrilled her to do her part, and have the new pallets stuffed and smelling of heather delivered to the barracks. Today her keep functioned as a keep should, a place of refuge and respite.

William entered the hall and her breath gave a curious hitch. Hair still slicked to his head from bathing, he wore a simple linen tunic, still much finer than aught she owned. The deep blue fabric imperfectly mimicked his eyes as he looked at her and waved. As he moved through the hall, people returned his greeting. He stopped at the men’s table, clapped a hand on the shoulder nearest him, bent and spoke with them. A deep, base guffaw rippled through the hall. Her husband had this way about him, as if he carried a pocketful of faery dust and scattered it about the heads of those he encountered.

She liked a lot less how the women blushed and simpered as he greeted them. Even old Maggie, eighty if she was a day, bridled and batted her eyes at him.

“Ah, my Alice.” He took the seat beside her with a smile that twined inside her chest. “How I have missed your lovely eyes.”

Sister’s head snapped in their direction, her gaze burning the side of Alice’s face. “My stagnant pond eyes?”

He grinned and motioned for wine. “Is it poetry you require of me now, my lady?”

“Thank you, nay.” She could not resist the sparkle in his eye. “I have had an adequate sufficiency of your verse.”

“Wise woman.” He sipped his wine and gave a sigh of appreciation. Slumberous warmth filled his gaze. “Far better to glut yourself on my other skills.”

Alice’s throat dried. Not since he had kissed her had William gifted her with that look. It crept across her skin in a tingling rush of awareness, and she shivered. This man was her groom, not yet husband. A low thrum hummed in her belly, spreading its tendrils outwards.

“Wine?” William’s voice startled her. A serving girl stood beside her, Lord knows for how long, waiting to know if she wanted her goblet filled.

Over his shoulder Sister’s dark eyes met hers. Mouth twisted in a sneer, Sister turned her shoulder on her.

“Nay.” Alice waved the girl away.

William dug into his meal and Alice let out her pent breath. Thank the Heavens he had decided against pressing the issue. She rather fancied a goblet of wine, but with Sister already wroth over her unbound hair when riding with William, followed by their disagreement in the hall yester eve, abstaining seemed wiser. The weight of Sister’s voiceless anger pressed on Alice’s shoulders. In her life, Sister had been the one constant, the person who stood by her when all others passed on. Only the most ungrateful of people would turn their back on such unselfish devotion.

* * * *

His Alice looked pretty tonight, despite the hideous wimple concealing her glorious hair. The trip to The Crags had agreed with her, and a charming blush of color stained her wan cheeks. Her support of his efforts had pleased William immeasurably, and he meant to encourage her taking charge of her keep.

God’s teeth, his tired limbs ached. A night drinking with Aonghas, followed by last night without sleep, and this day spent in hard labor had him bent like an aged crone. As much as he enjoyed Cook’s renewed efforts in the kitchen, it did prolong the meal until his head threatened to drop into his trencher.

Although tempted, he doubted he would be of much use to Alice in the bedchamber.

Sister Sunshine rose, casting an immediate pall over the hall. “I will now lead the keep in prayers.”

Oh, dear God, nay. Dismay reflected on the faces in the hall sent his gut sinking into his boots. Sister Sunshine, he would wager his life, shunned any quick benediction sort of worship. Alice rose and followed in Sister’s wake, dispelling his desperate hope of missing prayers and finding his bed.

Fortifying himself with a large sip of wine, William stood and offered Alice his arm.

She blinked at it, and then placed her hand on his sleeve. Small and delicate, with slim, elegant fingers capped with neat, trimmed nails. He had the sudden desire to see his jewels adorning her hand.

They entered the chapel at the far end of the hall. Taper smoke drifted in the flickering golden light, stinging his tired eyes. Tarnwych folk filed in and crammed the benches until a few hardier souls took positions against the wall. For a keep this size, the chapel was small and cramped with low stone arches pressing close to their heads. Behind the altar, the plain, mean casements glared at the congregation. He took his place beside Alice and tried to get comfortable on the hard wooden bench.

Sister Sunshine stood beside a rotund priest, who nodded as she whispered in his ear. So the goose led the gander here too. Despite the cold in the stone walls, the press of so many bodies warmed the chapel and sweat beaded on his forehead and slid down his cheeks. The smell turned his stomach. At Anglesea, Lady Mary insisted on weekly bathing for all residents of the keep. As boys, he and Roger had never managed to outfox their mother and escape their scrubbing, no matter how hard they tried. Lady Mary had the sharpest eyes at Anglesea, and whatever she missed, Nurse would catch.

Having grown to manhood in such a close and loving family, he had taken it for granted. Unfamiliar faces surrounded him in the chapel. In time they would become his family, but for now, he wished Roger sat beside him, fidgeting and cursing beneath his breath. Henry, the pious brother, would lean forward and glare at Roger to sit still. William had always sat between Faye and Beatrice. He used to make a game of seeing if he could get Faye to break her perfect poise, and Bea was always good for a giggle, even on the most somber of occasions.

Alice shifted on the bench beside him, her slight, heather-scented warmth a comfort against him.

The priest opened the singing of the mass with a deep, sonorous voice that swelled rich and lush through the chapel. Incense twined with swirling taper haze and heat. The priest sang on, a surprisingly beautiful voice that fell on the ear like a lullaby. William swallowed a yawn. He blinked against the weighted air, his eyelids growing heavier and heavier.

* * * *

William’s soft snore filled the gaps in Father Mark’s mass.

Sister’s head snapped in William’s direction. Her eyes narrowed to mere slits.

Alice crinkled her face into a silent apology and nudged William.

He came awake with a jerk.

Alice dared not glance his way. The uncomfortable desire to giggle grew inside her and she jammed her nails into her palms. Still, silent laughter quivered in her belly and rose like bubbles in her chest. She was going straight to hell. Giggling in church, indeed.

Sister’s expression dispelled the laughter. Sitting rigid, her set face fixed on Father Mark, Sister worked her rosary beads through her fingers in a blur. Would it be wrong for Alice to pray Father Mark got through mass quickly? For certain it would, and Father Mark loved his singing voice too much to cut mass short. She should spend this time in careful contemplation of her sins, ready to make her confession. Did finding your husband beautiful constitute a sin? If aye, she risked eternal damnation.

William slumped against her shoulder in a hard, hot press of man. She gave him another nudge, but he murmured and his head lolled forward. He could not be comfortable falling asleep sitting on the hard benches. But William slept like a babe. During mass. With Sister, no doubt, praying with all her might, but whether she prayed for William’s deliverance, or cursed his sacrilege, Alice remained uncertain.

Thankfully, he responded as Alice prodded him into kneeling and standing when required. The effort it took had her nerves jangling and she welcomed Father Mark singing out his final blessing and sending them all out into the world again.