Honor & Roses (13 page)

She knelt on the floor in front of Theobald, and reached for her uncle’s hand. She pressed her forehead to the back of his hand, in a pose of piteous, ladylike submission.

A man would have to be made of stone to not be moved by her. Alric would have given her anything.

Theobald stared at his niece for a moment, but his expression softened slightly. “There is something in what you say,” he ground out.

“Thank you, Uncle!” Still on her knees, she looked up at him with shining eyes.

“Hold one moment, girl. I didn’t agree to anything.”

“But you need not agree to a single thing. Just let them continue living there in peace. They’ll add your name to their prayers.”

Which Theobald probably needed, Alric thought.

“I’ll do nothing for the moment. When autumn comes, and winter, then I’ll reconsider.”

“Thank you, thank you!” Cecily beamed at Theobald, then glanced at Alric.

He hoped Theobald might now be in a mood to listen to something that had been bothering Alric.

“My lord, I believe that Meaholt is no threat to Cleobury, particularly if the current, ah, inhabitants remain there. You should be more concerned about the approach from the south.”

“Oh?” Theobald arched an eyebrow.

Alric said, “If you want to defend Cleobury and the land east of the river, you ought to place more men where the ford is. There is word that the Welsh know of that ford. They may use it to pass east again.”

“I do not share your concern,” Theobald said. “There is someone at the ford. Those are all the eyes we need.”

“But, my lord…”

“Do you think yourself above me? Am I to take orders from you now, knight?”

Alric restrained himself. “No, my lord.” As if he needed a reminder of the difference in his status and that of Theobald…and Cecily.

“We will not speak of the ford again,” Theobald said.

“You asked me to survey these lands for weaknesses,” Alric said.

“And so you have. You surveyed
my
lands, at
my
request. That is all.” Theobald’s glare was icy.

“Yes, my lord.”

Theobald waited a moment longer. When Alric didn’t speak further, he grunted, evidently satisfied. “Escort my niece to her chambers and lock her in.”

“Uncle!” Cecily burst out.

“You’re lucky your punishment is only that!” he thundered.

He then slapped a brass key into Alric’s hand. “Return this to me when she is safely put away.”

“Yes, my lord.” Alric gestured for Cecily to walk ahead of him. “My lady.”

Cecily looked defiant for a moment, but as she glanced between Alric and Theobald, her shoulders sagged.

“Will you send Pavia to accompany me when she returns?” she asked meekly.

“Most assuredly,” Theobald said. “Now go.”

Cecily allowed Alric to escort her to her chambers, though she looked longingly through every window, as if to escape.

“I warned you there would be consequences,” he said, aware of her line of thought.

“I thought if I played the meek lady, he’d be moved.”

“So that’s what the kneeling and the soft eyes was all about?” he asked, enlightened.

A ghost of a smile crossed her face. “Did you believe it?”

“It wasn’t something I expected. I still picture you climbing orchard trees and exploring caves with the rest of us, as you did growing up.”

“My uncle would have me be proper,” she said, the smile fading. “By which he means silent and obedient, embroidering by the fire.”

“He should know better then. You never stayed inside when you could be out,” Alric said.

“But now he’s locking me in, and he makes you turn the key!” she said.

“It’s not my choice.” He wasn’t pleased at the task, though. Nor did he like how Theobald called Cleobury ‘
my
land.’ The man seemed to be forgetting that he only held the title in trust for Cecily, the true heir. “I’ll watch over things for you,” he said, “until your uncle sees sense.”

“My gardens…” she began.

“I’ll tell your servants, though they surely know what to do.” He stopped at her door, opened it, and gestured her to enter.

Cecily paused on the threshold. “I feel like a hostage.”

“Not for long, if I can help it,” he said. “When next your uncle summons you, tell him you’ll never go unescorted again. Make him believe it. Play the lady again if you must—I could see that it helped. If you don’t, you may live in this chamber till winter.”

“I would climb out the window first!” she declared.

Alric smiled, but shook his head. “That’s not the face of repentance, Cecily. You need to practice more. And you’ve got some time to do precisely that.”

He pulled the heavy oak door shut and locked it, hating himself for doing it. He served Cecily and her family, yet he’d just made her a prisoner in her own home. Was his role to defend her or jail her? He had no answers, only the brass key in his palm.

Troubled, Alric returned to Theobald’s study.

“Your key,” he said, holding it out. “Your niece is confined, just as you wished.”

“Just as I ordered,” Theobald corrected, snatching the key back.

“As you say, my lord.” Alric decided the older man was far too attached to his temporary power. Did he intend to keep Cecily locked up indefinitely?

Theobald pocketed the key, then gave Alric a thin smile. “You have not been back to your own estate yet, Sir Alric.”

“It runs well enough without me,” Alric said. That was true. A man by the name of Morris had been steward of Hawksmere for decades. He handled all the day to day business, leaving Alric free to serve as a knight, just as Morris did for his father before him.

“Nevertheless, you ought to go. Manors need a master. Go home,” Theobald said. “I’ll summon you when you are needed here.”

“Yes, my lord.” Alric knew enough of politics not to argue, and he suspected Theobald didn’t like how Alric and Cecily united against him on the matter of Meaholt.

* * * *

He left for Hawksmere the next morning, taking only Edmund along with him. The boy would find it useful, since a squire often had to travel with the knight he served.

It was an easy journey of less than a day’s ride. During the years when he trained at Cleobury, he was able to return to Hawksmere often, and thus kept in touch with his people there.

However, it hadn’t felt like home for many years, especially not since he’d gone off to war. In fact, he hadn’t even considered traveling to Hawksmere until Theobald pushed the matter. His heart was at Cleobury.

Still, he had to go sometime. Alric wasn’t the sort of man who tried to catch servants shirking, so he sent word ahead. When he arrived in the late afternoon, he found everyone waiting for him—about twenty souls, half villein and half free.

“Welcome home, Sir Alric,” Morris said. He stood at the head of the assembly, a squat, bearded man in sturdy country clothing. One would never guess he ran the whole estate.

“Thank you,” Alric returned, dismounting.

Edmund mimicked him, and Alric announced his name to the group.

A lad seized the reins to take the horses to the stables, and Edmund said he’d tag along.

Meanwhile, Alric spoke to Morris. “Home indeed. I wasn’t sure I would recognize it.”

As Alric looked around at the collection of buildings, though, he found little had changed. Hawksmere was a modest estate, not much more than a farm. The manor house stood two stories tall, a sturdy home of dark timber, plaster, and a thick thatched roof. The outbuildings were similar in style. He felt a certain comfort as he surveyed everything. This
was
his home. These lands supplied his livelihood. When he gave up his knighthood—hopefully at the end of this war—he could retire here. He’d settle in, reacquaint himself with the land and the people, find a wife…

He instantly pictured Cecily as his wife, and that brought an abrupt end to his musing. She would never fit into life at Hawksmere. This place was barely more than a cottage compared to the great manors she was used to. Or would she? Few things seemed to delight her more than working in the soil of her gardens. Perhaps life at Hawksmere wouldn’t displease her. But no, it was a dream anyway. She’d be married off to some great lord first.

That evening, he dined in the main hall with Morris.

“First time in years this room has been so well lit,” Morris commented as they began to tuck into a course of mutton. “The place is dark and cold when the lord’s away.”

“God willing,” Alric said, “I’ll soon be back here to live. The life of a soldier on campaign is wearing thin. To think I once ached to be a knight. Now, I just ache.”

Morris laughed. “You have many more years before you’re too old to be a knight.” He took a long sip of ale. Hawksmere’s brewster was a widow who knew her craft. The ale was the best Alric had in years: clean tasting, gold-tinted, and not cloudy at all.

“I don’t want to spend all those years as a knight,” Alric said. “If I wait much longer to retire, I’ll make Hawksmere my deathbed, not my life. My father spent too much of his life away from here, and my mother spent her life waiting for him to return. That’s all I remember of my childhood before my training began…just waiting for my father to return.”

Alric took another sip of ale. When his father had returned to Hawksmere, it was in a coffin. Alric had been eleven years old. The face of the dead man was like that of a stranger. His mother was never the same after that, though she lived for several more years before succumbing to an illness one winter. She’d faded away gently. At least Alric had been able to be with her at the end.

“Don’t know why it matters so much to me,” he muttered. “You keep this place in order.”

“Not the same as the lord being here,” Morris said. “As soon as you’re ready, I’ll happily tell everyone to take their troubles to you!”

“If this fighting ever ends, you mean.”

“The war cannot go on much longer,” Morris said, in an attempt to cheer Alric up.

“That is for King Stephen and his cousin to decide,” said Alric. “Till then, I serve my liege lord.”

A woman entered with more food, hot from the kitchen. She placed fresh bread on the table and refilled the mugs from a pitcher.

Alric nodded to her. “Looking the same as ever, Edith.”

She shook her head. “How can a noble soul such as you lie to me? I’m older and fatter!” she said, not caring at all. “You though, sir! When you rode up, you were the spitting image of your father, bless his soul. I almost forgot your name.”

Alric remembered his father as a towering figure, and he couldn’t picture himself in the same way. “Sorry to hear you’re going blind.”

“I can see well enough!” she declared.

After Edith left, the conversation shifted.

“How fares the lord Theobald?” Morris asked. “We don’t always hear the news out this way.”

“Not much to tell,” Alric said, with a shrug. “He’s not remarried after all these years, but he continues to be healthy, for all I can tell.”

“What’s the word on his niece’s marriage?”

Alric put down his mug. “Cecily? Her marriage? I’ve heard nothing.”

“Theobald’s been seeking a suitable match for her for the last two years. But he seems to be particular, for he’s turned down the last four offers for her hand.”

“And you say you don’t hear much out this way,” Alric said, trying to remain nonchalant. “Yet you know more than I do.”

“Well, it’s a matter of some concern for the shire. She’ll inherit all the lands in the de Vere name. A well-chosen match—meaning a man who owns the right lands—will make someone a power to reckon with.”

“Her future husband, you mean.”

“I was thinking more her sons, should she have any.” Morris shook his head. “Lucky for her that her uncle is picky, though. The offers so far come from men I’d not let my own daughter marry, even if she got to wear silk and furs the rest of her life.”

“Who’s offered?”

“Hmm.” Morris looked thoughtful. “There’s Adam Tuchet—a venal scab who’s the mere shadow of his father. The young baron Folville—a fine name, but he holds only debts now. Richard Mallory—he fancies himself far above his station. And then there’s John of Nowell. The rumors that follow him say he’s a cruel man who treats his hunting dogs far better than his women.”

“You’re well informed.” Alric could curse himself for being so ignorant of the facts.

“As I say, it’s of interest to us. The balance of power could very well shift in this shire. Or another, should she marry a lord from elsewhere.”

“She never even mentioned the offers,” Alric said.

“I doubt she heard them. Theobald rules with a tight fist. He’ll make the choice for her.”

“Cecily ought to have a say in the matter.”

“If her father had lived, it would be a different story. The lord Rainald doted on her!”

“Yes,” Alric said musingly. “He did.” The idea of Theobald scouting for suitors while Cecily was kept in the dark irritated Alric no end. He wondered if he should mention it, if only to give her warning. But then, it was not his place to do so. Unless he made it so. It all depended on who he chose to serve: the lord, or the lady.

* * * *

The next day, Alric showed Edmund the estate, from the buildings nestled together to the small lake that gave the place its name.

“This was all your father’s?” Edmund asked.

“And his father’s too,” Alric said, “who gained it after serving the king.”

“So if I became a knight and fought, I could be granted lands like this?” Edmund looked awed, even though Hawksmere wasn’t that impressive a domain, at least not compared to Cleobury.

“Before you become a knight, you need to master being a squire. Let’s get to work.”

Following a round of fighting practice that day, Alric held up his sword after Edmund cleaned it, tilting the blade toward the light. “There is a spot of water still here in the gutter,” he said critically.

“Does that matter?” Edmund asked. “It’s just a little drop.”

“Which will turn into a little spot of rust, which eats at the iron and slowly weakens the blade. If I swing this in battle and the blade shatters, I’ll be unable to defend myself for the next parry, and I’ll die. A drop of water from a lazy squire may be what kills me.”