Domning, Denise (10 page)

"But that was Rannulf's mother's." Maeve's silky voice brought all attention back to her. "Why, how often he has shared with me the story of that bed." She looked through the door into the chamber beyond it. "I have often admired its beauty."

Rowena stared hard at the woman with her painted face. It would hardly surprise her to learn her husband had slept with the sultry bitch despite the threat of incest. But, if the creature thought that gave her some claim here, she was greatly mistaken. "Since you have admired the bed, perhaps we could give it to you so you may have the use of it."

The serving women tittered their amusement, but the comment did not give Lady Maeve even an instant's pause. "Why thank you for offering, sister, but there is hardly room for it in the women's quarters."

"Well, then, it must be stored. Oh, and by the by, does your offer of assistance still stand? There is so much to do this day." She waited, knowing full well what the answer would be,

"How I would like to," the noblewoman replied with a sigh that was meant to convey consternation, "But I did promise the girdler I would be at his shop this morn. Perhaps when I return?" She let the question hang in the air while she nodded her farewell and left the room.

Rowena's laugh was short and hard, then she turned to the women. "Now, since you know what you must achieve, I am off to the kitchen to see what I can do with the food in this place." She retreated to her bedchamber and removed her cloak. Practicality won over image; it was going to be a long, dirty day and was much better faced in something she did not mind ruining. As she made her way slowly from her bedchamber to the hall, she cataloged in her mind the chores to be done and who would do them. How odd that the removal of a single bed could make her feel as if this place was home.

Hours later found her at the foot of the steep, twisting stairs in the keep's northwest comer. Far above her on the tower's third floor lay a tiny wall chamber and her destination. She hesitated.

It made no sense. If Rannulf so prized his bastard son, why did he keep the poor child trapped in this room away from hearth and kitchen? Well, no longer. A man-child, even an illegitimate one, was the promise of the future and needed to be carefully guarded.

She glanced down at herself and wiped dirt-streaked hands on her skirt. The filth of Graistan was horrendous, and it seemed as if most of it now coated her. After the noon meal, she'd donned a servant's rough overgown to protect her clothes. She could hardly wait to be out of them and soaking in a tub of warm water. Well, as soon as this chore was finished, so was her day.

With a tired sigh, she started climbing. Her mind wandered to tomorrow's chores as she began organizing them by their importance. The darkness in the stairwell was almost complete except where the orange sunset exploded through the two west facing arrow slits. She heard nothing until he flew into her.

For one breathless moment, she teetered backward. Smooth stone wall offered no handhold for her clawing fingers. With a desperate lurch, she regained her balance. Heart pounding, she leaned against the wall, her fingers shaking with the knowledge of how close she came to falling.

"I did not see you," whispered her assailant as his small hand touched hers. "Did I hurt you?"

She breathed deep to steady her nerves. "Nay, by the grace of the Lord God. What of you?"

"Nay."

"Has no one ever told you not to run on these stairs? We could both have been killed." Her voice was harsh with fear.

His trembled briefly. "I am sorry," then, as if suddenly remembering, he continued more strongly, "and you may not speak so to me. Alais says all the maidservants must speak to me with respect. You have not been respectful."

How old had they said he was? Five? Surely no more than that. Rowena snorted in indignation. "I do not need to be respectful to little lordlings who endanger my life. I should take you over my knee and show you how much I respect you with the palm of my hand. Come, better that I return you to your Alais and tell her what you've done."

The tremble was back. "No, please, I am sorry I was mean. Do not take me back. I am running away."

She stared hard into the dark, trying to better see his features. "Running away? But, where to and why?"

"To the kitchen. I am so hungry, but Alias says we cannot have anything to eat until after nightfall when the new lady will be abed." The boy gave a small sob. "Why did my papa have to get a wife? Now Alais says we must hide from the dragon while my papa is gone."

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Dragon?"

"That is what Alais calls the new lady because she will send me away to be a beggar if she finds me."

"A beggar? Nay, you are mistaken." Had she unknowingly said something that had been taken as a threat toward the boy?

There was a long pause. "Do you think so?"

"Oh, of that I am quite certain. You will never be a beggar. Someday, you will be the lord of Blacklea."

"But," he said, the tremble gone again from his voice, "Alais said."

"Alais is wrong," she retorted.

"Jordan," called a woman from above them. Her voice was at once angry and worried. "Jordan!" Slow, plodding footsteps followed.

"Oh, no," Jordan whispered, grabbing her hand. "Do not let her take me back there. I hate that room. I want my own bed. My papa will reward you if you take care of me," he generously offered. Eager fingers tightened around her palm.

"I can help you more than you think, but only if you do not act like a coward and run away."

"I do not want to be a coward," he said, "I want to eat."

Rowena laughed out loud. "Jordan is here," she called upward. "We are coming up."

The footsteps stopped. "Who is there?" The woman's voice was harsh and accusing.

"Only a dragon," she replied. There was a loud gasp, the footsteps hurried back up the stairs. She clasped the boy's hand in hers. "Come with me."

They climbed a few stairs before Jordan spoke. "Why did you tell Alais you were a dragon?"

She paused beneath the second arrow loop. The dusky glow of the setting sun burnished the boy's hair with the same auburn lights she'd seen in his father's. Still holding his hand, she studied him, then shook her head in wonder.

Jordan was his father's very image. His eyes were the same, clear gray; his mouth had the same bend. No wonder Lord Rannulf had claimed him as his own; he could not deny him.

"Why," he demanded, then his eyes narrowed. "I have not seen you before. Are you a servant to the new lady?"

"Worse," Rowena said with a smile. "I am the new lady herself."

His eyes widened, then he smiled as if they were sharing a jest. She caught her breath. It was her husband grinning at her irate protests of innocence. "You like lads, I can tell. You will help me with Alais." He tugged at her hand as he hurried them up the stairs.

A few more turns and they entered a small chamber. The room was cold and damp, cut as it was from the very thickness of the walls. Two straw mats lay on the floor with only a few, thin blankets to make them into beds. A small horse carved from wood lay on its side in one corner, while scattered in another were tiny, wooden men from a chess set. And then there was Alais.

She was seated on a stool, her massive thighs pouring over the edges. Fine, light hair straggled from beneath her stained and untidy wimple. The plain gown she wore was patched and stained. This slovenly creature was hardly the sort Rowena would have expected as a nobleman's nurse.

"Look, Alais," Jordan called, "I have found the new lady, and you were wrong. She likes lads. Now we can go back down; we can eat." His enthusiasm made him jump. "Tell her we can eat," he said to his stepmother.

"I cannot tell her anything until you have properly introduced me to your nurse, Jordan," she chided gently. "You must ask me my name, then you must tell it to your nurse so that she may know it. Someday, you will be a knight, and a knight is always careful to observe proprieties, even where servants are concerned."

The woman frowned at this, her beefy arms crossed over her pendulous breasts. It was obvious she did not consider herself a servant.

"I am Jordan FitzRannulf," he replied with a half attempted bow toward the newcomer. "What is your name?"

She was pleased to see someone had tried to teach him manners. "I am the Lady Rowena of Graistan and your new stepmother. It is very nice to have you in my family. Now, you must introduce me to Alais," she prompted.

Jordan nodded, then tightened his mouth in concentration. "Alais, I have brought the Lady Rennena—Ronnena." He whirled back to his stepmother and whispered, "What is it?"

She laughed. "It is an English name, and some find it hard to say. Those whose tongues will not do it often call me 'Wren.' So may you, if you like."

He sighed in relief. "Alais, here is the Lady Wren. Now, we can go eat." He grabbed at his nurse's hand, as if he by his tiny size could lift the huge woman.

"Alais," Rowena said, all the warmth gone from her voice, "immediately return Jordan's belongings to the women's quarters. Come, lad, I will find you something to eat." She held out a hand to the boy. "Your nurse has work to occupy her just now."

The heavy woman leapt up with surprising quickness from her stool. "Be gone with you," she cried out, snatching at the boy and missing. "He is in my charge until Lord Rannulf returns. Do not interfere. The Lady Maeve has told me of your ilk and vowed to help me protect him from you."

Rowena's eyes narrowed. "Is this your protection I see here? Hardly protection; instead, I say you have threatened this boy's well-being. I find you incompetent in your position and hereby relieve you of it. Run to Lady Maeve, if you wish, but she'll be no help to you. Now, go find your living elsewhere."

Alais screeched out her denial, tears bursting from her eyes. "Do not take my baby from me," she sobbed. "Nay, you cannot force me to leave him. He needs me!"

Jordan stared between the two of them. "Alais must leave?" he asked quietly.

His stepmother nodded. "She was far too careless with you."

"But, who will care for me while Papa is gone?" His eyes were wide with fear.

"I will," she replied firmly. "Do you know Ilsa, my maid?" When he nodded she continued, "She will help."

"But, what if I need to see Alais?" There were tears filling his eyes now.

"Do you need her?" Rowena asked with a sigh.

"Oh, aye, she is my Alais," the boy replied.

The Lady Graistan turned to the massive woman. "For his sake, you stay. However, from this day forward anything you do with him will be by my command. Disobey, and you will go."

"Thank you, my lady," she sniveled. "Thank you."

"Alais will stay with you because you love her." She held out her hand, and Jordan took it without hesitation. The warmth of his fingers in hers made her smile. "Now, boy, shall we find you something to eat?"

"To eat, to eat, to eat," he sang happily as he bounced alongside her out the door and down the stairs.

It was well past Compline when Rowena finally crawled beneath the bedclothes. While Graistan had yet to offer up its secrets, she already knew something was very wrong here. True, not so long ago, every castle, abbey, and town had been stripped virtually bare to ransom England's King Richard from the German emperor. That still couldn't explain why this keep lacked enough in store to withstand even the briefest siege. And, what little was there was of the poorest quality. For now she would buy what she needed from local merchants with a promise to pay when Lord Rannulf returned. That would give her the time to learn more about Graistan's resources before she reviewed the accounts kept by Hugo Wardrober.

With a yawn, she slipped down beneath the bedclothes. A smile quirked at her lips as she touched her bedpost. How odd that two days ago she had despised this bed. Now, it marked this room as hers, shared with no other, just as the rest of Graistan would be hers after she was finished. She would put her mark on it all. She dropped quickly into a contented slumber.

Chapter 6

Rannulf sighed and paused in checking the links of his mail hauberk. He'd not had a squire with him in two years and had become accustomed to doing this chore for himself. Outside his tent door a steady drizzle fell as it had for the past two days. The rain had temporarily stilled the terrible noise of the siege engines and sent men to gather quietly around their fires or in their tents. For the time being the world was once again a peaceful place filled with the contentment of a newly awakened spring.

He held his hands above the glowing coals in the brazier's flat pan before returning to his task. Stretching awoke the tiny creatures that had taken up residence on his body. His skin crawled with their movements.

He was tired; tired of his tent, tired of being filthy, and, most of all, tired of pitting men and machines against unyielding walls. The siege had been under way for nearly a month without any success. However, news was that Richard had departed the Low Countries for England. With the king once again in his realm, Nottingham keep would have no choice but surrender.

"My lord, may we enter?" asked Temric from the door.

When he looked up, he all too quickly recognized the mud-bespeckled man behind his master-at-arms. "God's teeth, what now?" An irritated gesture of invitation brought both men into the tent.

With a cockeyed grin and an abbreviated bow, the messenger from Graistan stepped forward and handed his lord the leather wallet he carried. "In that lies a message from Master Hugo and one from your lady. There is also a message to you from Lord Gilliam. He says: 'I hope you are tolerably well but know you cannot be happy without your bathtub. Your lady is doing a fine job, but she raised Hugo's ire when she set me to gathering information from your bailiffs. We have discovered there should be more supplies within Graistan than there presently are, and we cannot yet account for the lack. As to her request of you, I can only say that I find her to be levelheaded and having the greatest care for those things that are yours.' That be all, lord."