Domning, Denise (13 page)

"At first it was so wonderful," Hugo spoke on, "she made me feel glorious. She was sweet and kind, and I dreamed that we might be wed. I gave her things, beautiful things, gifts of love."

"Tell the guards to find the Lady Maeve. They are to tear the town apart if they must," the young man thundered. "Stay here with him. I will bring her back." He sprang to his feet and loped out of the hall. She took his place, her arms supporting the wardrober on his bench.

"But it was not enough for her. She said it was dribs and drabs and was not she worth more than that?" A single tear trickled out from beneath his closed eyelid. "When I told her I could do no more, she threatened"—his eyes flew open, and he grimaced in pain—"she threatened to tell Lord Rannulf. I have worked here for nigh on thirty years," he told Rowena.

"I know," she said gently, laying her cool hand against his clammy brow. "You are a fine treasurer. Never have I seen so clear a hand or so steady a pen. There is much to be said for the fact that you did not try to hide your crime. It is as if you wished for someone to find you out."

"Perhaps I did." He closed his eyes and coughed out a sob as tears squeezed one after another from the corners of his eyes.

She held his hand until the priest knelt beside him. Then, anxious to give confessor and penitent their privacy, she shooed the servants away.

"We have her, my lady." Two guardsmen approached her with Maeve trapped between them. The noblewoman cursed and fought, her feet kicking out at them even while they tightly held her arms. "She was trying to leave by the postern gate."

"Good. Keep hold of her. You—" she pointed to a man—"go find Lord Gilliam."

"Oh, do, dear, do find him," the woman hissed, suddenly quiet between her captors. "And then what will you do? You cannot force your position with me. Think these servants will do your bidding if I tell them no? I have let you play the role of Lady Graistan," she spat out the honorific, "but you are mistaken if you think you have any real sway here. They fear me; they know the cost of crossing their true lady.

"You there," she called to a woman servant who stood watching the drama play itself out. "Do you remember what happened to you when you refused my order?" The maid gasped and cradled her hand to her bosom. She backed steadily away from the front of the circle, glancing from one nobleman to the other. Maeve's laugh was low and cold. "Oh, your servants remember me well."

"Threaten one of them and you threaten me," Rowena snapped.

"Oh, tra-la, listen to the peahen try to crow. And what could you do to me? Besides, you want your fortune returned," she said lightly, as if she were not trapped between two burly men.

"Bitch." Gilliam strode across the hall, staring in deadly earnest at his sultry sister by marriage. "You'll tell the Lady Rowena what you've done with it."

Two small spots of rage touched her cool, smooth cheeks. "A beardless boy and a nun cannot take from me what I have worked so hard to gain. Do you think for a moment that Rannulf will believe your accusations? Think again. With that commoner in his grave, who will say me yea or nay? It is I who will win this war. Rannulf loves me well, for he dares do nothing less."

Gilliam rocked back as if hit. "You lie."

"Oh, lover, you are jealous," she crooned sweetly.

Rowena made an irritated sound. "You may taunt him all you like, but I believe I know better. As beautiful as you make yourself to be, he did not look your way. Instead, the one you wished for as your lover has kept you locked out of his solar. Could the truth be, he did so to keep you from crawling into his bed? He was wise enough not to put himself in your power by committing incest."

Gilliam laughed in black amusement. "You have met your match, whore."

"You think to goad me, do you, boy? Do not bother, for I know well who I am and what I do. It is you who must have a care where you step, for we are two of a kind."

He blanched. "What do you mean?"

"That's right, lover"—she smiled sweetly—"two of a kind. If I covet my sister's wealthy husband, at least I have done no more than covet as the peahen has so cleverly divined. Can we say the same of you?"

"My lady," the priest whispered into his lady's ear, "it is done."

"He is gone?" she asked, turning toward the priest so he could read her lips.

"Aye, he just slipped away."

"I thank the Lord God you were here for him," she said quietly. "Have the servants help you take him so he might be prepared for burial." She returned her attention to the noblewoman. "And what of her?" she asked Graistan's steward, but the young man stood frozen in place. "Can you make her tell you where she has hidden it?" she prodded, hoping to awaken him from his stupor.

"Aye, lover, make me tell. But, if I tell where my treasure is, I will have to tell our fine lady all else I know."

"Nay," he cried out in wild desperation, then hid his face behind his hands. "No, I cannot," he breathed and fled the room.

Maeve's laugh was wicked. She turned her colorless gaze on her lady. "And, now, Lady Peahen, what will you do with me?" She straightened to stare condescendingly down at the Lady Graistan.

"Vile creature!"

"That may be," she said, as if considering the merits of the statement. "I have always felt a kinship to the spider who traps the innocent and unwary in her sticky threads. Here at Graistan, I found secrets aplenty to fill my web and satisfy my needs. Do you think yourself beyond my power? Think again. Confine me here, and I'll have a servant who knows the value of my coin open the door. Will you separate my head from my neck, as you are so fond of threatening? Even dead I can still destroy all you have built, for no matter how you try to explain to your lord, he will not believe what I have done. He dares not, for to do so is to face his past."

Rowena stared at the woman, hearing the ring of truth in her words. Then, she raised a scornful brow. "Oh, you make this puzzle so complex only to lose yourself in your own maze. You are right; there is little I can do to you here. But you have admitted to certain sins, and I am duty bound as your lady to care for your soul. It is time and prayer that you need.

"Nearby lies a small convent and, if I remember rightly, their order is silent and most strict in manner. No doubt the abbess will have a quiet cell with a lock on the door where you may spend your time in contemplation while you find your peace with God. It will cost me only a little to compensate her for her trouble. When my lord husband returns, he may do with you as he wishes."

"Nay," Maeve screeched, struggling against her captors. "You stupid twit! You fool! Do this, and I will see you pay dearly for it. No one crosses me." Rage lent her strength, and she nearly tore free of the guards. "You will never get your coins from me."

Lady Graistan only laughed. "Believe me, sister, I will find a way to get their value from you. Bind her and take care how you do it. She is a sly vixen and must not be allowed to escape. I will go with you to pay my respects to the abbess and make certain the cell is appropriate for the Lady Maeve."

"When he finds you've left me rotting in a filthy convent, he will come for me. Then, you must hold dear to your precious solar, for that is all you will hold when I am done with you." The words were uttered like a curse.

The challenge awoke something dark and hard within Rowena. She stepped forward, her hands clenched, her eyes ablaze with the fire of possession. "Your power here is done. What you see now was created by my work and my love. Everything and everyone within this keep is mine. No one, especially not you, will take it from me. This I vow."

Maeve threw back her head and laughed, the sound fraught with evil. "So be it," she cried out as her lady stood watching the men bind her. "If I have to kill you to get it back, I will. You are no different than the servants. You have crossed me; now know my vengeance."

Loud gasps and the murmur of "witch" rippled through the servants. Their lady heard them and knew their fear might just do what Maeve threatened. She raised her voice until it carried clearly about the hall. "Foolish creature, if words are all you have left to throw at me, you are defeated indeed. Know that from this day on that you have no power here. Go, find your peace in the convent. In the name of our Blessed Lady, the Mother of God, I beseech you to confess your sins and cleanse your soul." She turned to the men who tightened the ropes. "Gag her so she can say no more."

Rowena stayed to watch, but against all logic, fear nagged at her. Why should she believe Maeve's words? Surely, once he heard the truth, her husband would be glad of what was done this day. Even if he cared for Maeve as she had claimed, for the good of his hall and his folk, he would have to keep her away from Graistan.

Chapter 8

A soft breeze heavy with the perfume of late spring blossoms set the amethyst silk of Rowena's wimple fluttering against her cheek. She impatiently trapped the ends of her headdress beneath the heavy silver necklace she wore. This simple chain was the perfect complement to her dress, an overgown of silver and lavender silk atop a gray undergown embroidered in amethyst and silver. Magnificence to compensate for her husband's absence.

By tradition the Lord and Lady Graistan led the town's May Day festivities. Unfortunately, Rannulf's last message said he yet waited to be freed from attendance at the royal court. Rather that she were dressed more comfortably and attending these doings at his side. She sighed; she didn't have time for regrets. Today, she would be contracting to buy those supplies her lands did not produce, as well as arranging for the sale of Graistan's surplus wools and wheat before joining the town's council for the midday meal.

As she entered the courtyard from the hall, Gilliam strode out of the stable door, his mail gleaming silver beneath his blue surcoat. "Are you ready to leave?" he called out to her.

"If my maids are ready, so am I," she returned. "Now, do you remember what I have told you?"

He laughed at her tone. "Yes, maman. Twist your chain in your right hand, and I am to dicker for yet a lower price. Twist your chain in your left hand, and the price is right. But why not speak for yourself?"

She snorted in disgust. "Because I am only a wife while you are steward for the great Lord Graistan. Stewards are supposed to chaffer for their lords' goods."

"If I must work the whole day, I will miss all the fun," he grumbled.

"You are such a child." She laughed at him, her amusement taking the sting from her words. She knew well enough how little he liked his stewardship, yet how determined he was to do a fine job to please his brother. "Now, if I could find those lazy maids of mine, we could be on our way."

"We come, my lady," Ilsa shouted in reply from the hall door. She was resplendent in green and gold wool. Her two daughters, dressed in brown and gold, descended the stairs behind her ready to accompany their lady for the day.

Gilliam's blue eyes sparkled with amusement. "Look, an old sow turned into a silk purse."

"Nasty brat," the old woman retorted.

"Oh, be still you two," Rowena sighed in feigned irritation. "Shall we?"

"I am at your convenience, my lady," he said, signaling to the men-at-arms who would escort them, and they entered Graistan's town.

Although dawn had come only an hour ago, the market square was packed with merchants from across the land ready to sell everything from early spring vegetables to splinters from the True Cross. Those who could afford it had set up a makeshift shop decorated with ribbons, flowers, and bright paints. Others simply lay their goods upon a rough blanket for all the world to see. But, poor or rich, every one of them sought customers' attention by shouting out the virtues of their wares.

The aromas of baking onions, brewing ale, and roasting meats mingled in air that bore the more exotic scents of cinnamon and clove. After the weeks of Lenten fasting, the variety of tastes easily tempted passersby into gluttony.

Everywhere, people laughed and shouted. Pipers piped and drummers banged loudly while onlookers kicked up their heels. Beggars mingled with merchants, cutpurses carefully practiced their art, townsfolk dressed in their finest were crushed against the louse-ridden serfs in ragged homespun.

None of this distracted Rowena. Her time was devoted to judging the quality of goods she found. For the most part she was pleased. And, although they were glad to see that Graistan keep was once again buying goods, the merchants found its new steward to be hardheaded in his bargaining.

By noon she was finished, much to Gilliam's relief, and they joined the town council for the feast. The aldermen, made up of the town's wealthiest guildsmen, were accompanied by their wives and children on this shaded dais. Only by a slim margin did Rowena's silk outshine these women's bright samites and rich sarcenets. And not a few of them stared at her gown in obvious envy.

After a meal replete with fine wines and many dishes, there was nothing left for her to do but enjoy the day. Here at the town's center, the better actors performed their plays while the acrobats twisted, tossed, and turned their bodies with amazing agility. Musicians, looking for patrons and silver coins, sang their sweetest below this platform. And, of course, there was the piercing falsetto of the puppeteers who's set their stand exactly at the platform's steps.

Before long, she found herself chatting with the young wife of a master guildsman. Like herself, she was newly married and not from the local area. They passed the time pleasantly discussing the management of household servants as the afternoon slipped away in easy enjoyment.

Rannulf halted before the town walls, his bay dancing slightly with its desire to continue on. "Give me a moment, Roland," he muttered to the creature as he studied his home. Graistan's curtain walls cut a stern gray line through the heart of this town his great-grandfather had fostered. The very sight of the towering keep within them eased his soul like nothing else could. The place was eternity itself.

He smiled. Jordan waited inside for him. Then, his smile faltered. Also within was his new wife. His joy at homecoming soured. A pretty penny he'd cost himself by marrying her. The king had demanded double the fine for wedding without royal consent. His father by marriage would pay the first half, but he'd have to foot the second bit. This atop what he still owed the crown for releasing his forest and chase from the royal control. This Plantagenet was expensive. First, the Crusade, then the ransom paid to the emperor, and now a scutage to finance the reconquest of Richard's French and Norman holdings from Phillip of France. There was not enough money in all England to satisfy its king.