Rose of Hope (45 page)

Though it might be too late for the children, a new cottage, sturdy, spacious and comfortable was to be built for Ceorl. In the meantime, he and his surviving family members would be sheltered with others.

“…
through the mercy of God rest in peace.”
The benediction echoed through the trees where the village had long ago chosen to locate the burial ground.

’Twas over, the dead laid to rest. Life for those remaining must now go on. It eased her heart there would be many willing hands among her people to care for the survivor’s needs as the seven-days passed.

She walked back through the village, Fallard’s arm draped over her shoulders. Her husband had done more than his part in the difficult digging for the graves. Now he smelled of sweat, wood smoke and cold air, a combination she liked very much. Cuddling closer, she took in the damage the storm had wrought to nature. Bedraggled blossoms drooped, the blooms already browning in the sunlight where they lay loose on the ground. Branches broken by the weight of ice littered the scene, while further on an entire tree had been felled. As the sun rose higher and its warmth increased, sharp snapping sounds, accompanied by the tinkle of shattering chains of ice, announced further limb breakage.

In yards here and there, animals killed in the storm—a few chickens, a suckling pig and a young goat—lay where they fell. Soon their frozen bodies would be butchered to preserve what meat could be saved.

’Twas hoped spring would now return and with it, warmer air to melt the ice. Already three of Wulfsinraed’s inhabitants were laid up with broken bones, and none had yet been out to the far-outlying farms to assess damages. There might yet be more deaths to mourn.

But not all the storm wrought was destruction. The glitter of light off the ice dazzled the eyes with the brilliant, broken prism of the rainbow, while soft puffs of breeze wrought music like that of tiny bells as ice rattled against ice on tree and bush. The entire landscape sparkled as if sprinkled with fairie dust. Had no one died to blight it, the exquisite wintry scene would have been unsurpassed in splendor.

The river flowed black and sluggish between the crusts of ice that rimmed its banks. As they approached the bridge, Fallard took her elbow to guide her across the span, still slippery despite the grit sprinkled liberally across its surface.

He saw her safely to the hall, but left her at the doors. “I ride with a troop this morn to take stock of damage in the outlying farms and make lists of needed supplies. We will return as soon as may be.”

He possessed her lips in a bruising kiss that spoke eloquently of the feelings he kept locked inside.

“Take care, Fallard. All of you.”

“That we will. You may count upon it.”

She watched him astride Tonnerre, one gloved hand grasping the saddle pommel. The fingers of his other hand raked impatiently through his hair—which was beginning to grow long enough to fall over his forehead—as he called last minute instructions.

He glanced at her. She sent a smile that triggered from him a teasing leer. A blush burned and she escaped into the hall, her heart happy that her husband found her pleasing, despite the sorrow of the day.

The stewards and their families were preparing to return to their homes. They wanted to leave before the ice melted and turned the roads into an impassable quagmire. All but Thegn Randel and Lady Lewena were anxious to learn what damage the storm had wrought to their holdings. But Randel Hall had been left in capable hands and its thegn deemed his return could wait another day. He rode out with Fallard.

Sir Aalot and Sir Gyffard had already left for Witham with their men, the horses picking their wary way along slick paths. That very morn, the two commanders had received new orders. Sir Aalot was to return to Witham and regular patrols, while Sir Gyffard was called back to duties in London.

Fallard had told her as soon as repairs of storm damage were well in hand, he would be sending out patrols under leadership of Jehan and Domnall, despite Cynric’s assurance all the rebels had fled. He and Trifine would take their turn leading the patrols after a reasonable time spent at home with their new wives.

She made her way around chests, satchels and piles of other baggage, sidestepping busy servants, and maids on various missions for their ladies. She reached the kitchen in time to hear Alyce berate one of the slaves whose carelessness with boiling water had resulted in an ugly burn to another girl’s arm.

She took note of the sullen expression of the young miscreant and decided to have Ethelmar discipline her when work in the kitchen was less hectic. The girl was given to whining and had been reprimanded more than once for laziness. Now, another had been hurt due to her negligence. Mayhap, a touch of the whip would serve to remind her of her good fortune in living at Wulfsinraed, for in many another burh, her heedless action would have resulted in a far more severe punishment than a simple tongue-lashing. Alyce and Alewyn were kinder taskmasters than most.

“Oh, my lady, ’tis glad I am to see you,” Alyce said as she returned to the dough she kneaded. “There is a matter needing your attention.”

“What is it, Alyce?”

“My lady, I am nigh ashamed to mention it, but ’tis in regard to the Lady Eufemma.”

Oh mercy, what complaint has the woman this time? How I wish a whip could be taken to her back!

Lady Eufemma was wife to Lord Estienne of Romleygh Hall, the closest, best appointed and most prosperous of Wulfsinraed’s fiefs. Normans both, and nigh as wealthy as King Philip, with whom the baron was close friends, they believed supremely in the superiority of their noble lineage. Lady Eufemma was most at home in the Court of France, and though Philip himself had commanded their move to England, she hated her new home with a high passion. She made no secret of the contempt she held for everything English—including the remnants of Saxon nobility. Her sneering regard toward Ysane had so angered Fallard he had taken Lord Estienne aside and ordered an end to it.

During her stay at Wulfsinraed, Lady Eufemma had driven Ysane nigh to distraction with constant harping on the inadequacies of Wulfsinraed Hall, and how much better
she
would be at managing the place. She found unending fault with the food and the comforts—or the lack thereof, as she had asserted—and complained incessantly over the dearth of suitable entertainment and the discomfort of their bower. This despite they had been given the most luxuriously and comfortably furnished of the guest chambers. Even the weather was bitterly berated by the couple.

When Ysane was forced to intervene when the lady beat one of the hall’s servants for no more reason than to ease her own frustration, she confessed her displeasure to Fallard. He admitted the baron was as disagreeable as his wife. ’Twas his belief their discontent was due to their resentment at being relegated to a stewardship, rather than being appointed Wulfsinraed’s masters. They had never forgiven King William, whom they detested and considered an upstart usurper of common birth, for appointing them to a social position lower than that which they believed their due. Lord Estienne had made more than one appeal to King Philip in an attempt to change their situation, but Philip had matters of far more import in hand and had finally warned them never to bother him again on the subject.

She sighed at this new umbrage from the ill-natured lady. “Tell me, Alyce.”

“Yester morn, the Lady Eufemma sent her maid to demand roast lamb pies of a special nature be prepared for their travel this day. My lady, the reciept for the pies was of a difficult nature, and took the best part of the day to complete. This morn, the Lady Eufemma required a taste. I fear she was most displeased, and she did throw the entire dish of pies to the floor and demand I make more. But even were there time, I could make no more, for one of the ingredients was pennyroyal, and I used the last of our winter supply in the pies she destroyed. What shall I tell her? ’Tis my thought she will make trouble for my people if I can satisfy not her desire.”

Ysane hid her vexation behind a stiff smile. “Worry not, Alyce. I will deal with Lady Eufemma. Since she has wasted the special dish prepared for her, she may eat of the same traveling repast prepared for everyone else. If she finds that not to her liking, she may go hungry! Now then, have you need of aid in finishing the day’s travel meals for the other stewards, or is all complete?”

“Oh, my lady, my most fervant thanks, but ’tis finished, except for the last of the honey cakes, which bake even now. All is in readiness.”

“As usual, Alyce, you and Alewyn have surpassed yourselves. ’Tis why I ordered a simple meal for sup. You have worked hard these past days and deserve an easier time of it this eve.”

Alyce smiled as she covered the bread loaves with a cloth and reached for another to clean her hands. “Aye, my lady, a simple sup ’twill be.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

By late noontide, all the guests but Lord Randel and Lady Lewena had departed. Ysane regarded the newly quiet hall with relief. The enjoyment in having visitors without the callous brutishness of Renouf and Ruald to ruin those visits had been wonderful. But having
all
of the stewards present under her roof at one time, for so many days, and under such arduous conditions had begun to pall.

She wandered the hall, offering encouragement to the slaves cleaning the guest bowers. She gave advice to servants restoring order to storage cupboards and chests rummaged by visiting maids, and listened in sympathy while Luilda ranted that someone had been among her potions and herbs in the buttery.

A goodly portion of the afternoon she spent closeted in the hoarding room with Tenney, Ethelmar and Alewyn, making lists of provisions needed to replace depleted stocks of everything from foodstuffs and linens to gaming pieces. Several sets of the hall’s various dice and board games were missing pieces, a situation not uncommon after a lengthy stay by so many visitors. Nor was missing linen. For reasons Ysane had never understood, some guests seemed to find her bathing and bed linens too desirable to leave behind.

But Tenney’s news dismayed her. “M-m-my lady,” he said, “’tis my s-s-sorrow to report the special
Hnefatafl
board is missing. I have servants s-s-searching the hall for it even n-n-now, but methinks it will be not found.”

“Oh, no. Not the one from the joint court of the brother-kings?”

“Aye, l-l-lady, that is the one. ’Twas used by the s-s-stewards last even and was in its place this morn. ’Twas accounted m-m-missing shortly before we began our t-t-tally.”

Ysane sincerely hoped ’twas simply misplaced. The set with its gameboard of rosewood, exquisitely carved jet and ivory game pieces, and double king pieces of silver was a priceless treasure, for it had been crafted for use in the joint court of Sigeheard and Swaefred, brother-kings who shared the rule of Eastseaxe in ages past. That any of her friends or stewards might have stolen the irreplaceable game was unthinkable.

The morn’s final disagreeable encounter with the Lady Eufemma crossed her mind. ’Twould take no effort of the imagination to consider Lady Eufemma might covet the set, and simply account it as her right to take such a precious item as recompense for what she perceived as ‘slights’ offered during her visit. ’Twas but a guess though, and without proof.

“You do right to search for it, Tenney,” she said, “but do you find it not, you must fret not. If ’tis gone, ’tis gone, and there are other sets.”

She rose, unobtrusively stretching stiff muscles, glad the preparation of the lists was finished. The first of the twelvemonth’s peddlers would soon arrive at the hall and now she was ready.

“I thank you all,” she said. “You may return to your regular duties.”

She wandered back to the bower she now shared with her husband. Opening his private chest, she fiddled absently with the items inside, finding comfort in touching his things.

Fallard!

Such a short time had passed since he rode into her life, and so much had happened. She yearned to slip away, far from the hustle and noise of the burh, to a quiet and private place where she could think undisturbed, not only on her life with her new husband, but on an unwelcome and disturbing thought.

Cynric had lied to her.

She sat in her chair before the brazier, her hands idle in her lap while her focus turned inward. It intensified her hurt to learn he
had
been nigh these past twelvemonths, but had made no effort to see her. Oh, mayhap ’twas true he had done pilgrimage to Germania, as he claimed. But such a journey, even supposing he had stopped now and anon, long enough to earn coin for continued travels, should have taken no more than a few months. Where had he been the rest of that time? She was certain she knew. In truth, her heart had suspected for a long time, all the while her mind prayed she was wrong. But the time frame involved was too coincidental. She knew him so well, knew his long hatred for the Norman usurpers. The knowledge terrified her for his sake…and what of Fallard, so fiercely loyal to William? What would her husband do, did he learn her brother fought with the rebels?

Weariness descended like a fog, overwhelming and chill. She flung aside her slippers and syrce, dropped to the bed, and cuddled into a fur. She slept so quickly she remembered not even closing her eyes.

***

She woke to darkness and languorous warmth all along the length of her back. The slow, lingering caress of a calloused hand traced across the curve of her hip beneath her cyrtel. The hand shifted at the same moment lips brushed feathery kisses back and forth along her shoulder blade. Shuddering with the joy his touch evoked, she caught her breath as Fallard’s arm slid round her waist to ease her closer. Soon after, she dissolved beneath an onslaught of shimmering, coruscating sensation.

When she woke the second time, she was alone again, and the light of early morn filtered through the window embrasures. She lazed beneath warm coverings in a sated languor, allowing her thoughts to drift, unwilling to awaken fully. Time passed. She neither knew nor cared how much. No one came to disturb her. Only when hunger raised an insistent head did she open her eyes to peer at the canopy above her. Oh, aye. She had missed sup the eve before. ’Twas no wonder she hungered. She stretched in lethargic content.