Domning, Denise (19 page)

It was his wife who answered. "He sought to drive Lady Maeve from the table by eating like a peasant. He drank from the pitcher and spoke with his mouth so full that he spewed crumbs at me." She leaned forward to look past him at the young man, her blue eyes dancing in amusement. "There, I have paid you back for every one of those silly jests of yours."

"Augh!" the young knight clutched his chest, "I am mortally wounded."

Rannulf forced himself to smile at their banter. "What reason had you for driving Maeve from my table?"

His brother's grin slipped just a little. "I said all I will say about her yesterday."

"How can you be so sure? After all, you knew her only a little."

"I am sure." There was no amusement left in his face now.

"Are you certain there is no other reason?" He needed to say no more. Gilliam knew. He saw his own heart reflected in his brother's eyes.

"Nay," the boy breathed, vehemently shaking his head.

"Sweet Mary, but I am sorry I said anything," his wife sighed. "This is a subject best left to die."

He threw his hands up in submission. "I still cannot believe her capable of all you describe. Nevertheless, it is resolved and I will hear no more talk of you leaving Graistan, brother."

The young man stared at his hands, then raised his head. Pain, deep and intense, filled his eyes. "Why would you wish to keep me here? At best I am a poor steward. It seems I am the cause of only your trouble, never your good." He threw himself to his feet, but Rannulf caught him by the arm.

"That is not true. There have been times when you were my only good. Do not leave." Why had he spoken of the past? How could he have believed the wound would so easily heal in Gilliam when it had festered for so long within himself?

His brother only shook his head and averted his eyes. When he was finally released, he fairly ran from the room. Rannulf stared after him, not knowing how to mend the gap between them. He started with surprise when his wife lightly touched his arm.

"I doubt he will leave you," she said. "He dearly loves Graistan, but I believe he loves you more."

He turned toward her. "You are fond of my brother." There was no need to question what he knew to be true.

"I suppose I am," she said, her brow creased in consideration. "He has been a great help to me in these past months, although I at first despaired of understanding why you had made a steward of a man who could neither read nor write. Now I see it is his loyalty and his love you value. But, he's no clerk and would be far better suited to holding a keep of his own, even if only as your castellan."

"No doubt you would think so. A castellan travels less frequently than a steward." His voice was harsh.

She shot him a curious look, as if she could not understand why he'd said what he had. "Do you think me so close with a coin that I would begrudge the cost of a steward's travel?"

How easily she danced around the truth, never denying she was attracted to his brother, only evading the issue. He could tolerate no more of this topic. He turned his attention back to his bread and cheese.

"I missed you at mass this morn, my lord. You left without telling me your intent. I asked the chaplain to delay the service, but you did not come. Will you attend on the morrow?"

"It is my business if I do or not," he said harshly. He could hardly bear to scrutinize his own soul much less let a churchman have a try at it. Her suddenly horrified expression almost made him laugh.

"You never attend mass?" she breathed in question.

"Did I attend mass at our wedding?"

"Aye." The answer was whispered, although she obviously found meager solace in the thought.

"Let me worry over my own soul," he said.

"My lord, we are ready as soon as you are." It was his chief huntsman.

"Good," Rannulf said with relief, glad to be freed of this conversation. "Find Sir Gilliam and say to him, I beg his pardon and dearly desire his company this day. If he resists, tell him I will tie him to his steed if need be."

"As you wish, my lord." The huntsman laughed and strode away as he came to his feet.

"My lord." His wife caught him by the sleeve. "Are you still set on a grand celebration for this wedding? We were to discuss it."

"Later. I am tired of plans and schemes and contracts. We will talk when I know whether Sir John accepts her or not."

"Please, I beg a moment with you. I swear that is all it will be." She came to her feet, her lower lip caught between her teeth, the very picture of consternation.

"As you wish," he replied, and led her to the hearth, away from the general bustle of the servants. "Speak, I am listening."

She stood uneasily before him. "I know you will probably not credit what I say, but my heart insists that I speak. It is wrong, this wedding of yours. She is not fit to be any man's wife—"

Rannulf abruptly raised his hand, and his words overrode hers. "If you intend another harangue against her, I will not listen. I have made my decision."

She stared up at him for a long moment, the worry in her eyes slowly dying away. "Aye, I see that you have," she finally said in reluctant acceptance. With a heavy sigh, she turned and picked up a stick. "Sir Gilliam says Ashby is only a wooden hall with a single village on its lands." As she spoke, she poked at the coals that lay upon the hearth floor.

"Now what is your point, woman? Stop that before you choke us with smoke."

She set the stick atop the burning logs. "Is this man you've chosen strong enough to control her? More importantly, what if she refuses to accept him as her husband? Can you control her?"

"She will accept him," he said in absolute confidence. "I am her guardian and may marry her as I see fit. John is a good man. She could do far worse."

"Lady Maeve is accustomed to a more luxurious way of life. Ashby will not support her needs." Her voice was even and unemotional.

"No doubt it is better than a convent," he retorted.

"So you would say. Would you grant me favor?" He stared down at her. There was nothing in her clear blue gaze or the soft set of her lips to indicate what sort of boon she wanted. Under his scrutiny she smiled a little. At last, he nodded.

"For the sake of your folk, my lord, please, do not release her from the convent until the very day she is to be wed. I know you do not believe what we tell you, but the servants are uneasy with her here."

He felt the tension drain from his shoulders as he relaxed into consideration. What was it he had feared she might ask? "I think it is all foolishness, but I cannot deny that others do not see it so. I will honor your request for that reason."

It was in obvious relief that she took his hand and briefly raised it to her lips. "Thank you, my lord."

The shock of her touch ran through him like a sword's thrust reawakening his latent desire for her. How did she do that to him? He reached for her, meaning to draw her into his embrace when she spoke and destroyed the moment. "But what will you do about the coins she stole from you? How will you get them back from her?"

He froze. So, here was the point to her softness. She would not try to humble him by revealing to the world what a fool he'd been to so implicitly trust his wardrober. His pride would be destroyed so that she might gain some power over him. "You've no proof she was involved."

"How else can you account for her rich gowns and jewels? Unless it was you who supplied this poor widow her finery." There was something more than curiosity in her tone.

"Me? I needed buy her nothing, for she had plenty when she came."

"If you did not buy them, then who did? There can be no doubt that she bought them here. Several merchants actually came to ask after her when she no longer visited their establishments. If you will not believe me, ask them. And where, save Graistan's coffers, could she have acquired her riches?"

Rannulf stared down at her for a long moment, remembering the times he'd complimented Maeve on her attire. It had pleased him that she took such care with her appearance, for it reflected well on Graistan's prominence. Why had it never occurred to him to ask her where she'd come by her gowns? He'd just assumed she made them from the fabrics in his storerooms. As his doubts rose, his pride reared back and would not let him face them. To acknowledge the possibility of his wife's accusations was to render himself thrice a fool.

"What would you have me do? Tear the clothing off her back?" he asked stiffly. "When she is married, she will trouble you no longer."

"That is all?" she protested. "But, she has stolen from you."

"If I do not choose to call it stolen, it is not stolen," he returned angrily. Why could she not let it be? She was determined to prod and poke on what was rapidly becoming a very sore issue with him. "There is no more to be said."

She huffed in annoyance. "I cannot understand your attitude. You say to me that the king had demanded double the marriage fee for the honor"— her voice lingered sarcastically on the word—"of marrying me. That is two year's income. He also levied another scutage. And yet, as if to reward this woman for her many misdeeds, you shower her with a dowry and a costly wedding ceremony and forgive her her thefts."

Rannulf tried unsuccessfully to control his seething temper. Not only did she seek to humble him, she would do it before the whole hall. "Are you jealous?"

"Nay," she shot back, her word like the scrouge of a whip, "I am livid. What she has taken belongs to my children. I will not have their inheritance stolen."

"How touching," he said coldly. "Instead of harrying a defenseless widow, why not extend your concerns to conserving expensive spices used in unnecessary feasts. If this is your way of guarding my treasury, you'll not be long at my purse strings."

She stared at him, her slender jaw tight with rage, her eyes snapping blue. "For shame! That celebration was necessary, indeed, for the servants needed to honor you if only to remember who is their lord. Your neglect here is legendary. As for spices, we have none save pepper. All that was in our meal was the cook's skill and what herbs grow in our garden. It lightened your purse not one whit."

How dare she chide him as if he were a child. He grabbed her by the arms. "Lower your voice, madam, or better yet, shut your mouth."

She tore free of him, her breath coming in hasty gulps. "You great ass," she finally got out. He stepped back at the rage in her eyes. "I have worked my fingers to the bone turning this pigsty into a home for you, and you, you—oh!" With that she turned and ran to the stairs.

Rannulf stared after her, stunned into immobility. Then came anger. What right had that immoral little shrew to call him an ass?

"Rannulf," Gilliam called from across the room. "They cannot hold the dogs much longer."

With a foul word, he stormed for the door. Never had there been a more ill-fated combination of that woman and her tongue. While her curves tempted him, her every word sent him bristling to arms. In the courtyard, he leapt into his saddle.

Gilliam grinned at him. "Marital troubles, brother? What you need is a little blood to clear your thoughts." His grin only widened when his brother scowled. "Your loss is my gain. Now I am sure to have the better day. All those who did not lay their money on me are poorer already." He set heels to his mount and raced past the stable and out the gate. Despite himself, Rannulf laughed and threw himself into the mad race to catch his brother.

Rannulf sat before the fire in the solar. He was bored. Although the hour was late, the days of mid-June were long and the sun still hung above the horizon. There was nothing left to do this day. Temric and Gilliam were occupied in the stable, and Jordan was already abed despite the continuing brightness of the sky. He'd considered asking his wife to come bear him company, but quickly discarded the notion.

How simple it had been to adopt a pattern of avoiding her, for if they did not speak, they did not fight. What he'd meant to last only a few days, until his bruised pride had healed, swiftly became seven, then fourteen. After Ashby's agreement came, those two conflict-free weeks grew into nearly six, as he waited for Oswald to secure royal approval for the wedding through his master, the bishop of Hereford. By then, shunning his wife during the day to keep the peace had become a habit he was loath to end.

But their nights were different. Within the intimacy of the bed curtains, he saw no reason to resist his attraction for her. So he gathered her into his arms and made her body sing to his needs.

The door opened. He turned in anticipation only to sigh in disappointment as he nodded to his wife. Her eyes held such an odd mixture of tenseness and sadness, he was tempted into asking, "Is something amiss?"

She paused, then seemed to think the better of speaking and walked to the window instead. The graying light accentuated the hollows beneath her eyes. He knew better than any how troubled her sleep had been these last few nights.

"Was there something you wanted?" he prodded. There must have been some reason for her seeking him out. After all, she had quickly accepted their daily silence and even made certain their paths never crossed during their waking hours. It was obvious that she, too, found their carefully enforced truce a relief.

"Have you had any word?" she finally asked without looking at him.

"Nay. I will warn you when I do." He stared down at the flames.

She sighed raggedly and turned to him, almost grim in her movements. "Are you still set on this celebration? You said once that you wished to review the accounts to better understand your situation. If you will just look, you will not be so quick to berate me for crying lack when the planning begins."

He frowned. She seemed as dull and leaden as the gathering clouds. "Are you well?" he asked, finding in her face some small signs of illness.

Surprise flitted across her expression for a brief moment, then her eyes became lifeless once again. "I am well enough, my lord."

He shrugged. If she did not want to speak to him about it, he would ask no further. "You do not sound yourself."

"Myself?" she whispered, an almost sarcastic edge to the word, then hurried on. "So will you do it?"