Lord of the Manor (14 page)

“He is a bastard, of English peasant and Norman noble. As a child, he withstood the vile curses some flung his way. He grew up knowing his life would never be easy, and he never sought the easy way out. As a man, he has built a life that many told him he could never accomplish. Beware, Lucinda, if I find that by word or deed you betray him, put him in jeopardy
of losing what he has gained, I will come looking for you.”

With that, he walked away, back to the table and his ale.

Lucinda stared at him, indignant that he should think her capable of such treachery—and so blindly condemn Philip.

“Stephen.”

He looked up.

Shaking, she said, “As a child, Philip often hears the vile curses flung his way. Growing up will not be easy for the son of a traitor. As a man, I hope he accomplishes, honorably, whatever he wishes to accomplish. Should you so much as try—by word or deed—to turn Richard against my son, I will come looking for you!”

Not until she reached her hut and saw the blood pooling in her palm did she realize the shears had cut into her hand.

Through most of the evening meal, Lucinda succeeded in ignoring Stephen—who had usurped Connor’s usual seat across from her—and Connor, who scowled and picked at his food. Richard and Stephen discussed how the royal betrothal and eventual marriage of Princess Matilda and Emperor Henry might later affect England.

Lucinda didn’t voice her opinion that shipping a young girl off so far from home seemed a cruel thing to do to any child, royal duty or not.

“By the by, you never did say if you…saw the Lady Carolyn before you left for Normandy,” Richard said.

Stephen smiled like a cat who’d gotten into the
cream. “I did, and must say that our rendezvous went very well. She was quite pleased when I left her.”

Richard shook his head. “I wonder at your audacity. But then, I should not be surprised. Did the two of you come to some agreement?”

“Nay, not as yet. I do have several qualities she finds irresistible, but I am sure her father will want to examine my heritage and accounts before we make a bargain. Too, the lady might wish to again sample my attributes before she makes up her mind. I am not worried.”

Lucinda tried not to turn red, having caught the gist of their meaning. Merciful heaven, she’d examined Richard’s qualities and attributes enough times.

“I gather you have decided to ask for Carolyn.”

“Aye. As soon as I have done with this business of yours, and reported to Gerard, I will take the trip up to Northumbria to seal the bargain. Carolyn, too, has a few attributes which I would not mind seeing again. She will make a fine wife.”

“Somehow, I cannot see you settling down to married life, Stephen. You will make a poor husband!”

“Ah, but that is part of the beauty of this bargain. I made it clear to Carolyn that I find staying in one spot too long stifling. She has no objection to my traveling to visit my lands, to court, to Collinwood to see you or Wilmont to see Gerard any time I please. I gain all of the benefits of holy wedlock without the boredom.”

Lucinda snickered inwardly. The man was so full of himself that he couldn’t see that Carolyn gained as much as he. From experience, she knew that the most pleasurable times of a marriage were when the husband was gone.

“And what of you, Richard? How goes your search for a wife? Did you…see any of the heiresses on the list?”

Lucinda’s hand tightened on her goblet.

“Nay, not enough time.”

“You still have the list?”

Richard gave an indifferent shrug. “’Tis probably in my packs somewhere.”

“You should get it out, Richard. If you wait too long, some of the more eligible will be spoken for.”

“I am in no hurry. When one crop is harvested, another crop comes into season.”

“Aye, but the pickings could be slim. And you could use the funds for the many projects you have started in your various holdings. How goes the mill at Durwood?”

“Slow,” Richard said, and launched into complaints of lack of skilled labor and supplies in the area.

She hadn’t given a thought to Richard’s search for a wife since leaving court. Apparently, neither had Richard.

At some time in the future, Richard would marry. ’Twas proper and inevitable that he should take a wife. He would likely bring her here, to the place he considered his home. The woman would take over as chatelaine, take her proper place at Richard’s table— where Lucinda now sat—share his bed and bear his heirs.

Jealousy reared up and threatened her composure. Visions of Richard tumbling on a pallet with another woman rolled around in her head, bringing forth an unreasonable hatred.

She had no right to feel jealous because she had
no claim on Richard. He was free to wed where and when he pleased. He might share her meals and her pallet, but he would never take her to wife.

In his own way, Richard might care for her, but she possessed no lands to bring to him. His people considered her as dirt beneath their feet. Gerard would never sanction such a marriage, and Richard wouldn’t marry where his brother didn’t approve.

If married to Richard, she wouldn’t mind a husband’s constant presence. With Richard she could be herself without fear of reproach.

She could love him as her heart yearned to love him, without the heavy sadness that offset the bouts of joy.

’Twas foolish to wish for things that could never be, but still, the fantasy haunted her.

“W
hy does she not just push the baby out?” Philip asked.

A dainty palfrey labored in the stall, and Richard thanked the fates that she’d chosen to deliver during daylight hours instead of in the middle of the night. She was doing well for her first time. Soon now, but not quite fast enough for Philip, she would be a mother.

“’Tis not that simple, Philip,” Richard said, his hand on the mare’s belly, feeling yet another tightening. “Certes, she will push the little one out, but not until she and the foal are full ready. She will know when to push.”

Scrunching down, Philip leaned over to put his hand next to Richard’s. “’Tis hard work!”

“Aye, that it is.”

“And painful! And messy!”

Richard chuckled, remembering Philip’s exclamation of distaste when the mare’s water broke. “That, too.”

“Then why do they do it? I surely would hot want to.”

“Nor I,” Richard agreed. “But that is part of why females are female, to bring children into the world.”

“Like me?”

Richard ruffled the boy’s hair. “Just like you. Think on it, Philip. If your mother had not given birth to you, you would not be here now to watch the mare give birth.”

Philip’s face settled into a thoughtful pose. Richard knew another question would surface. The boy’s curiosity brewed question after question, some of them beyond Richard’s ability to answer.

Yet, he tried, at times just so he wouldn’t look bad in the boy’s eyes. Being a protector could sorely tax one’s pride. Now that he had Philip to look after, Richard could sympathize with his father, Everart. With three curious boys to satisfy, Everart had done so with patience and humor. Richard couldn’t help wonder if Everart had ever felt at a loss, as he sometimes did with Philip. As he probably would again someday, with his own sons.

The horse blew, struggling with her pains, probably wishing she was out in some clover-laden meadow rather than lying on this bed of straw.

Philip got up and walked around Richard to pat the mare’s neck. “’Tis all right. Hush.”

“Not too close to her head, Philip. Stay out of biting range.”

The boy scooted back a little. “She likes me. Why would she bite?”

“If a pain hits her too hard, she may lash out. Best your fingers are beyond her reach.”

“Oh.”

A good boy, was Philip, quick and eager to please.
A bright boy with a bright smile. A boy any man would be proud to call his own.

Hellfire, but Basil had been a fool among fools, spending all of his time in the relentless pursuit of land—Wilmont land in particular—instead of enjoying Philip’s company.

And Lucinda’s.

Richard rarely gave a thought to the man who had been Lucinda’s husband, Philip’s father. When he did, ‘twas usually to gloat—to himself—that what had once belonged to Basil now belonged to him. The lands. The boy. The woman.

Imagining those three as a family—well, it just didn’t work. He couldn’t picture Lucinda awaiting Basil’s return to hearth and home with the glee and anticipation that Ardith awaited Gerard. Nor would Basil have strode through the doors to sweep his son into a grand hug as Gerard did with his sons.

The belly under his hand convulsed again, but this time he felt a shift that hadn’t been there before.

Richard got up and flicked straw from his hose. “Come. ’Tis almost time. Let us give her room.”

Philip gave the mare a final pat, then followed out of the stall, giving way to the stable master and a lad who would oversee the birth and help the mare if problems developed.

Richard hoped everything would go smoothly, not only for the mare and foal’s sake, but for Philip’s. A birthing gone bad was a dreadful thing to watch, not the miracle he wanted Philip to witness.

“Oh, look! I see the foal’s hoofs!” Philip shouted, then stood openmouthed as the head and, eventually, the body appeared.

Though Richard had witnessed foals’ births many
times before, each time he came away awed that a bundle so big could reside in its mother’s body. The foal slipped out with nary a hitch, all black, slick and gangly.

“A male, my lord,” the stable master said. “A good-sized one, with all parts where they should be.”

Philip looked up, his mouth opening. Richard quickly cut off the expected question about misplaced parts.

“He will need a name, Philip. What do you think?”

The boy turned to look again at the foal. “He is all black. Mayhap Blackie?”

The foal chose that moment to try out his legs, wobbling so badly he went down on his haunches. Philip giggled, and from behind him, Richard heard other laughter—light, melodious and female.

Lucinda. She’d spent the past few days in her hut, working on her gowns, and today wore the one of light green. A refreshing change from the old peasant-weave of gray. Her plait of black hair hung forward, draped over her shoulder. Beautiful. Enticing. Like a lover should be.

She came up beside him, adding her scent to his already deluged senses. “I heard the foal had been born,” she said. “All is well?”

“Aye,” Philip answered. “He has all his parts! The legs do not work right, though. Mayhap we could name him Stumble!”

“Choosing a name, are you?” Lucinda asked.

“I already thought of Blackie.”

“Not a bad name, but I imagine common among black horses. What about Midnight?”

Richard heard the list of names that mother and
child continued to banter over, but paid little attention.

Lucinda and Philip were a family. Their affection for one another showed in the easy way they talked together, their smiles, their touches. Such as a family should be.

Like Gerard’s family. A loving wife. Adoring sons.

Lucinda and Philip needed no one but each other for their happiness, not even the man to whom they looked for their daily bread. They both liked him, but they didn’t need him.

Mayhap, someday, some woman would look upon him as Ardith looked upon Gerard. Some boy would run to him as Daymon and Everart ran to their father.

He needed to marry, as Stephen had taken such pains to remind him nearly a sennight ago. An heiress, preferably, who would bring land and coin to the marriage. Of such was made an empire.

Would his sons look up at him with the same trust and respect as Philip did? Would his heiress open her arms and warmth to him as willingly as Lucinda greeted him? Hellfire, could he go to another woman without remembering the feel and taste of Lucinda?

He captured a strand of her hair that had come loose from her plait. Silken black, like the foal. So often he’d compared it to the color of a raven’s wing.

“We will name the horse Raven,” he said.

“Raven?” Philip asked.

“Aye, ‘tis perfect.”

When Stephen returned from his errand, he didn’t come alone, but had the sense to bring the wagons loaded with goods inside the circle of the palisade and
leave George and his escort camped several leagues outside.

“I tried to tell George you were adamant, but he would not take my word,” Stephen said as they strode into the armory. “He thinks you refuse the bargain because you want a higher fee for Philip’s release.”

Several soldiers milled about the armory. Edric and Philip sat tossing dice. All looked up as Richard entered.

“How many men serve as George’s escort?”

“Twenty.”

Richard turned to Edric, now standing. “Choose another five men to accompany us, in full battle gear, ready to ride as soon as possible. I want guards positioned both outside the palisade and along the wall-walk.”

Edric barked orders. Men scrambled. Philip looked excited and fearful all at once.

“Don your mail, Stephen. You come, too.”

“Ah…Richard, a show of force is hardly necessary. I doubt that George intends to attack Collinwood.”

“Mayhap not, but I want him to know I am full ready to defend what I consider mine.”

Stephen sighed. “Full mail it is,” he said, then left the armory.

Richard strode toward where his chain mail and weapons were stored. “Come, Philip. You have polished my chain mail often enough. Now you can help me into it.”

Richard donned his heavy hauberk of thick leather covered with metal rings. He settled it on his shoulders, then sat down on a stool so Philip could shut the fastenings.

When done, Richard rose and stretched, testing. Satisfied that all was secure, he grabbed his baldric, the leather holder for his broadsword.

“May I come?” Philip asked.

“Nay, you may not,” he said.

“Why?”

Richard sighed inwardly. He should have expected this from Philip. Philip was much too small, too precious to be exposed to danger. The boy wouldn’t like that answer, however.

“You are not yet a trained soldier. You have no armor, no helm, no sword—”

“I do! Look!” Philip ran to Edric’s cot. From beneath, he pulled out a small, wooden practice sword. He slipped it into his girdle and strutted back toward Richard.

Aghast, Richard asked, “Where did you come by that?”

“Edric made it for me while his knee mended.”

Richard crossed his arms. “Did he also show you how to use it?”

“Some. Want to see?”

Richard nodded.

Philip pulled the sword from his girdle, set his body into a solid stance, and took several swipes at an imaginary foe. The child possessed a natural grace and mastery of movement that astounded Richard.

“Very good,” he said.

Philip tucked the sword away, a satisfied smile on his face. “Then I may come?”

“Nay.”

The smile drooped to a pout.

“I have another duty for you,” Richard said, slipping his sword into the baldric. “Three wagons sit in
the bailey. All of those goods need be recorded, carted and stored, and the wagons sent back out to George. Help your mother with the recording. Connor can see to the unloading.”

“But—”

“A good lord needs to know his Latin and numbers as well as how to wield a weapon. ’Twill be good practice for you.”

Philip’s nose scrunched in distaste, but he relented. “Aye, my lord.”

Richard slipped his sword into the baldric, then picked up his conical leather helmet with the silver studs and gleaming noseguard. He doubted he would need it. Truly, he wanted George to see him fullfaced, to see displeasure and resolve.

He plunked the helmet onto Philip’s head. ’Twas too large for the little head. The boy could barely see.

“While you help with the recording, you are also to protect your mother. Should the unforeseen happen, you are to guard her with your life.”

Philip’s shoulders squared. His body puffed up. “A good lord protects the womenfolk and children.”

Richard hid a smile. He put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and steered him toward the door. “That he does.”

The bailey swarmed with people. Near the palisade’s gate, Stephen, Edric and his soldiers awaited him, mounted. Odin pranced at the head of the line.

Richard strode toward the wagons. Philip’s little legs pumped fast to keep up.

Lucinda stood at the tail of the head wagon, parchment in hand. Connor stood nearby, directing the men who had already begun the task of unloading the crates, sacks and kegs. Near the head of each wagon
stood a guard, keeping each of George’s drivers in his seat. The work stopped as he approached.

Lucinda’s gaze slid from his face, to his mail, on down to her oddly attired son, then back up. He thought to take a moment to utter soft words of reassurance, then decided not to. She didn’t trust words. His actions would better serve his purpose.

He leaped up on the back of the head wagon. He didn’t need to call for his vassals’ attention. All looked to him. ‘Twas his first real test as their lord. They had sworn their fealty to him in return for his protection.

Richard swept a glance though the bailey, noting his soldier’s positions. All were in readiness.

He pitched his voice deep and loud so all could hear.

“The goods in these wagons represent a full year’s worth of tribute from the lands of my ward. I receive them early because George harbors the mistaken belief that I can be easily swayed from my duty as protector of the boy. George is about to learn the error of his thinking. Richard of Wilmont is not swayed from duty toward
anyone
over whom he holds lordship.”

He swept the crowd again, letting his promise register.

“As soon as the wagons are unloaded, send them out and shut the gate behind them. Do so quickly. I want these wagons close on my heels. Let no one leave the protection of the palisade, and let no one open the gate to any but me or ours.”

Richard jumped down beside Lucinda, signaling one of the guards to come forward. “Should you find
anything amiss,” he told her, “send Theo out with a message before you release the wagons.”

“As you wish,” she said. He heard it, a slight waver to her voice. Worry.

He cupped her cheek. “You are not to fear, Lucinda. I will not allow George anywhere near you or Philip.”

“Have a care, Richard,” she said. “George is as dangerous as Basil was.”

His chest fairly swelled. She worried not for herself or her son, but for him. If he didn’t have on chain mail, he’d have pulled her into an embrace. He settled for a touch of his lips to her forehead.

“If I remember correctly, within one of these carts is a cask of wine. Draw us a flagon, for later. Be aware, woman, that I intend to sip most of it from the cup of you.”

She blushed furiously. “How can you think of…merciful heavens, go. And Godspeed.”

Chuckling, he pushed his hands into gauntlets as he crossed the bailey. He took Odin’s reins from the stable master and mounted the destrier with a flourish. A tug back, a signal of knees, brought the horse up into a rear, his front hooves flailing. The horse came down snorting, pawing at the ground, eager to be off.

“You know, Richard,” Stephen said flatly, “for one who hates being the center of attention, you are giving an outstanding performance.”

“I merely show off Odin’s training.”

“Indeed.”

“Ready?”

“Lead on, oh mighty lord.”

With a tap to Odin’s sides, he did, more sedately than he might have if his brother’s words hadn’t
leaned toward sarcasm. Stephen had made his point, and was correct. Still, Richard rode more lightly, smiled more widely, just because Lucinda worried over him. Foolish, but there it was.