A Knight to Remember (21 page)

“Pembridge.” Neda invested scorn into the name, and Edlyn jumped with guilt. “Always out for his own profit. Never thinking of what would happen to his people if he supported Simon de Montfort and he lost.”

“Simon de Montfort hasn’t lost yet.” Like an aching tooth that disturbed Edlyn’s concentration again and again, the knowledge that this was only a temporary respite from the rebellion returned to her.

“The rumors say that his support among the barons has eroded.” Neda nodded wisely.

“Nevertheless, he’ll have to be finally defeated,” Edlyn said. To accomplish that, Hugh would have to return to battle, and Edlyn would be alone to fret and cry once more.

Only, she’d sworn not to love Hugh. She’d sworn she would never look in the mirror again and see her own eyes bleak with foreboding. She hadn’t broken her own vow yet.

Had she?

Neda said briskly, “But Pembridge has already lost this holding, and that loss must grate on him. This demesne is his primary source of income, and I expected him to protect us with a little more wisdom.”

Curiosity forced Edlyn to inquire, “He didn’t marry in the past year?”

“Nay. He didn’t want to marry, he said, although he indulged himself where he would.”

“’Twas his duty to marry and carry on his line.”

“He was a single-minded man. He wanted who he wanted and no other, and I believe the one he wanted was unattainable. Although”—Neda shooed Edlyn toward the shelter of the blacksmith’s open-faced shop—“the last time he visited, he said he’d be bringing his wedded lady home within the year.”

Had Pembridge been watching her at the abbey, waiting until her time of mourning was over?

That was stupid. He wouldn’t have believed any one woman was worth so much trouble. Edlyn stilled the slight tremble in her hands. “Where is Pembridge now?”

“Chasing around after de Montfort, I suppose.”

Edlyn sighed in relief. She didn’t cherish the idea of Pembridge skulking in the forest, brooding over his dispossession. Brooding because he’d lost her.

Neda added, “Unless he’s regained his senses and gone to the prince to pledge his undying loyalty.”

“It’s too late for that.” Edlyn prayed it was so. “Hugh is in possession of this holding and of Pembridge’s title, and the prince wouldn’t be so foolish as to change his mind. He’d have Hugh in revolt then.”

Neda’s mouth quirked with a humor that flashed a previously unseen dimple in her cheek. “From what I’ve seen of your lord, that would indeed be foolhardy. Nay, Pembridge has lost Roxford, just as he deserved, and my husband will not hesitate to pledge his fealty to Lord Hugh.”

“I will so assure my lord. He’ll be pleased to know that.” She groaned as the realization struck her. “Oh, Neda, we’re going to have to organize a ceremony for Hugh’s vassals to swear fealty.”

“I can do that.”

Neda’s casual dismissal startled Edlyn. Every lord
knew the importance of the ceremony of fidelity. Every vassal, every servant came to their lord, offered gifts, and swore before the priest and witnesses to support and obey their lord. Once that was done, any betrayal could be rewarded with condemnation and death.

Hugh worried Burdett would break faith with him, for despite the fact the prince had commanded Pembridge’s subjects to cleave to Hugh, some men took their own vows more seriously than the dictates of the prince. Hugh had no way of knowing if Burdett was one of those men.

Speaking slowly and seriously, Edlyn said, “This most important ceremony should be honored with a clean keep and copious feasting to bind the vassals to us with reverence and gratitude. You can organize the ceremony for the whole estate?”

“’Tis my duty, my lady.”

Edlyn took a breath to argue, but Neda stood imperturbable, like a woman who had organized hundreds of ceremonies. As she probably had. Edlyn let her breath out with a long sigh. Neda’s promise relieved her of another anxiety and left her free to concentrate on her new position of lady—and her new position of wife. “What day would be best?”

“The village reeve will have to be there, as well as the sheriff. Does the lord have other estates he wishes to involve?”

“Nay. No other estates.” Although with Hugh’s ambition…“Not yet.”

“Then…shall we say…in four days?”

“Four days.” To prepare enough food for the hundred hungry people who would come to stare at the new lord and his lady.

Even now, Neda seemed unconcerned. “Step back, my lady.” She clucked her tongue in disgust and
pointed at a green shoot that curled up and around the supports of the blacksmith’s shop. “’Tis blister vine, and a pest.”

“Wretched stuff.” Edlyn stepped away from it. She’d suffered its effects more than once in her search for herbs.

Neda gestured to the keep. “It creeps up the walls of the castle all the way to the top of the battlements, finding root between the stones. I fight it constantly. We’ll tear it out and have it burned.”

“Be careful,” Edlyn warned. “Even the smoke is tainted and blisters the skin and claws at the eyes.”

“Then I’ll be sure to do it before the ceremony.” Neda smiled. “We don’t want to poison our guests before they can swear their fealty.”

“We’ll go to the
blacksmith next.”

“Aye, let me see the man who will shoe my horse.” Hugh said it heartily, but in his wildest imaginings, he’d never thought he’d be following his steward, a dozen of his curious knights on his heels. So far, he had inspected muddy fields, village huts, storage barns, and all the while, rain dripped down his neck. Was this the life of a lord?

He walked slowly until Sir Lyndon had caught up with him. “This could wear on a diligent knight quickly.”

It was just a quip, a quick word to try to lighten Sir Lyndon’s displeasure, but it didn’t work. The corners of Sir Lyndon’s mouth lifted briefly, and he said distantly, “Aye, my lord, ’tis true.”

Hugh walked on, trying to think of something else to say, but Sir Lyndon sulked like a woman. No, like a child, because Hugh had never seen Edlyn behave so perversely.

“Ah, let th’ new earl alone, ye ol’ mule!” a woman’s voice brayed.

Hugh looked up and saw her standing in the door
way of one village hut, her generous bosom lightly laced into a flimsy shift.

She gestured at Burdett. “He wants a drink o’ me ale.” She grinned at Hugh and showed several missing teeth. “Don’t ye, m’ lord?”

“Ale.”

Hugh heard Wharton exhale the word like a man’s dying prayer. Wharton was no doubt bored, and all of Hugh’s men wore similar glazed expressions. Only Sir Lyndon looked polite, and Hugh couldn’t wait to escape his company.

Hugh made a decision of which Burdett would disapprove. “Aye,” he said. “I want a mug of ale to wet my throat.”

As Hugh anticipated, Burdett looked shocked. “But we’re not done with the inspection of the village, my lord, and after that—”

“Ale.” Hugh headed for the alehouse, his big feet squishing the charcoal-colored mud that Burdett claimed was so fertile. “Now.”

The warm rush of bitter air from the hut smelled like heaven to Hugh. He’d not been in an alehouse for too many moons, and he chucked the alewife under the first of her chins and said, “Bring us all a mug.”

“Aye, m’ lord.” She hustled away, her ample shape jiggling, while the men sidled around the table in front of the fire and relaxed with a sigh. They left the end for Hugh. He took a stool and straddled it, then pointed at the far end. “Sit down, Burdett.”

The steward found a stool. He wasn’t yet comfortable in this tight-knit company of knights and squires.

Wrapping his arm around the alewife as she placed a handful of mugs on the table, Wharton asked, “What’s yer name, ye fair young thing?”

The alewife let go of the handles and slapped his fingers. “I’ll not tell ye. I’m savin’ meself fer th’ lord.”

“Fer Lord Hugh?” Wharton burst into laughter. “Ye’ll wait a long time fer Lord Hugh, me pretty. He’s newly wed, an’ him an’ his bride fair shook th’ rafters all last night while they beat th’ mattress.”

The men rocked with raucous laughter while the alewife leaned back, arms akimbo, and inspected Hugh. “Does he speak th’ truth, m’ lord?”

Hugh pulled a horn mug across the rough wood of the table. “I’m newly wed,” he allowed.

“Then,” she said, wrapping her arms around Wharton, “me name is Ethelburgha.”

The knights roared this time, and Burdett joined in. “Easy Ethelburgha, we call her in the village.”

Ethelburgha shook a finger at Burdett. “Don’t be tellin’ all me secrets.”

“It’s no secret.” Burdett took the mug Sir Philip passed him. He waited until every man clutched one, then he rose. “I propose a toast. To Hugh, earl of Roxford, with my thanks and my eternal gratitude.”

Hugh laid a hand on Wharton’s arm when he would have stood to second the toast. He wanted to know his steward’s mind, and he decided to learn it now. “Gratitude? Why, pray tell, are you grateful to me?”

“For allowing me to remain as steward of Roxford Castle.” Burdett lowered his mug and spoke earnestly. “My lord, I am truly grateful.”

“But are you loyal?” Hugh asked.

“To you, my lord? You can be assured of that.”

“Why should I trust you?” Hugh challenged him. “Didn’t you pledge fealty to Pembridge? Don’t you have a passing pang of distress over his loss?”

Burdett looked down. Picking his words carefully,
he said, “The former earl was my master for many a long year, and I have served him well and faithfully. Thus I would never scorn him in my speech.” He looked to Hugh over the watchful gazes of the knights. “Yet Pembridge freely sacrificed Roxford, and it is to Roxford Castle I am truly committed. My father was steward here and my grandfather. If Prince Edward had commanded I remain faithful to Pembridge, so I would have done. But the prince commanded I change my fealty to you, and so I do.”

Hugh liked the sincerity in Burdett’s tone. He liked that Burdett was committed to Roxford above all things, but—“That doesn’t bode well for me should I fail Roxford in any way.”

“I do not know you well, my lord, but you don’t seem to be a man who disregards the source of his title and nobility for ambition and greed.”

“When the prince calls, I will go,” Hugh answered.

“That is your duty, my lord.” Burdett leaned his knuckles on the table. “Mayhap I am but a quaint relic, but I believe in duty above ambition and loyalty above greed. In short, if Edmund Pembridge had kept his vows to King Henry and Prince Edward, I would not be sitting here drinking with you now. I would be holding you at bay outside the gates, and you would never take Roxford while I breathed.”

“Well spoken.” Hugh agreed and released Wharton’s arm, and Wharton tumbled Ethelburgha aside and rose to join Burdett.

“So I’ll join ye in yer toast t’ Lord Hugh, long may his line increase!” In a more personal tone, he said to Hugh, “’Tis glad I am I lived t’ see this day.”

The rest of the men stood also and clicked the mugs, and while they drank, Hugh found himself blushing as red as any maiden on her wedding night
under the barrage of good wishes. Luckily for him, it was dark and smoky, or he’d be teased as if he were a maiden, too. “My thanks, good men.” Hugh lifted his mug in return. “It would never have come to pass without your stalwart company.”

He took care not to show Sir Lyndon extra favor, and all accepted the tribute with equal grace. Again they clicked their mugs, and again they drank. Then it was time for a refill.

Still on his feet, Wharton raised his mug. “To Roxford Castle, may it always be prosperous and the cornerstone of our good fortune!”

The men drank, and Dewey let out a belch loud enough to make Ethelburgha giggle.

Sir Philip raised his mug. “To our king, may he escape Simon de Montfort to reign again!”

A few heads turned to Burdett to see if he would drink, but he cried, “To the king!” with the rest of them.

They drank again, and Ethelburgha poured them another refill.

Still standing, Sir Philip said, “And to Prince Edward! May he triumph over the royal enemies with the help of Lord Hugh, and may we all live through the battles unharmed!”

“To the prince!”

Most of the men had subsided onto the benches by now, but Burdett managed to retain his footing. Lifting his mug, he toasted, “To the lady Edlyn. May her womb be ever fertile and her belly ever full, and may she continue in grace and compassion forever!”

Hugh’s men cheered, and Hugh lifted his mug with the rest.

Then he slammed it on the table. “Are all women so imprudent?”

The laughter and camaraderie stumbled to a halt, and the knights looked around at each other in bewilderment.

Only Burdett, flushed now with drink, seriously considered the question. Seating himself, he said, “I don’t know how imprudent the lady Edlyn is, my lord, but in my experience, women are usually…difficult.”

Sir Philip nodded wisely. “My wife was more than difficult. She was impossible.”

With a snort, Wharton said, “Me wives have been nigh t’ hopeless. Talking, talking, talking, even when we were humping, an’ then they were complaining about it being too short, or too long, or not often enough.” He noted the amazement that marked each face turned toward him and subsided into his ale.

Ethelburgha patted his head and filled his mug.

“My father always used to say he would have never married but he tired of his own hand.” Every head turned toward Dewey, and his fair skin turned red. “Well, he did!”

Hugh said, “Edlyn was angry because Neda kissed my boot.”

“Whose boot did she want her t’ kiss—hers?” Wharton laughed briefly, then read the answer in Hugh’s face. “Naw, ye’re jesting!”

Burdett groaned. “Women. Always making a man’s business their business.”

“Trying to take credit for the lord’s generosity,” Sir Lyndon said, and he sounded surly.

“But you wouldn’t have said they could stay if Lady Edlyn hadn’t begged you,” Dewey said. Everyone turned and looked at him again, and he turned redder than before. “Well, you wouldn’t!”

“’Twasn’t her decision,” Wharton said.

“Don’t you worry, my lord.” Burdett watched as
Ethelburgha refilled the pitchers and set them on the table, then he poured ale into every mug he could reach. “My wife’ll set your lady straight. She said she would.”

Hugh lifted his brooding eyes from the swirl of ale in his cup. “How?”

“Well…” Burdett clearly squirmed on his stool. “My wife’s a proud woman. When she kissed your boot, I was surprised. I wondered if she…ah…I wondered…that is, I thought she did it for…me.”

No one laughed. If anything, they were horrified at the emotion his unchecked phrases revealed.

Burdett hurried his speech, and he slurred a few words. “Her public demonstration of gratitude would be supplemented by a much warmer, sincerer demonstration of gratitude in private to Lady Edlyn, and I pray, my lord, that that will ease Lady Edlyn’s chagrin, and thus your discomfort.”

“That’s not fair!” Wharton objected.

“Ah, leave it.” Sir Philip turned his mug around and around. “Women are powerless. None of them have a man’s good sense, but it still can’t be easy.”

“What would a woman do with power?” Sir Lyndon demanded. Then he answered his own question. “Squander it, that’s what.”

Wharton stood on the bench, and he pointed his finger around the small room with a scowl. “A woman doesn’t know what t’ do with power. Most women don’t know what t’ do with a cooking pot. I tell you, when we let women rule our lives, they create nothing but havoc. We’ve got t’ start treating them like they deserve, giving them an occasional smack, using th’ stick fer—”

Hugh heard the thunk before he realized anything was amiss.

Wharton flew up. His feet whipped around. He hit the ground on his back, and all of the breath left his lungs with a grunt.

In the place of Wharton, Ethelburgha stood. She bristled with indignation, like a hedgehog at the sight of a wolf pack. “Ye’re all a bunch o’ asses an’ lickspits.”

“Ethelburgha!” Burdett staggered to his feet.

Ethelburgha pointed at him, and as if her finger contained power, he sat back down.

She said, “Every time yer armies march through this village an’ burn me alehouse, I wish men’d learn what every woman knows. Th’ sense is peace at all times an’ in all places, not yer eternal squabbling’. If one o’ ye had th’ brains God gave every girl-baby, ye’d go thankin’ yer women fer teachin’ ye all ye know about kindness.”

Dewey muttered something.

Hugh thought it sounded like respectful agreement.

“What her ladyship’s askin’ is but credit fer her wisdom, an’ ye men’re too blinded wi’ pride t’ give it.”

Sir Philip could scarcely speak for choking. “You can’t talk to the earl like that.”

“I suppose she can.” Hugh stood and wrapped his cape close around his shoulders. “What am I supposed to do, kill the village alewife for insolence on my first day here?”

“Some men might,” Ethelburgha said.

“You gambled well,” Hugh started for the door. “Whatever your opinion of me, I’m not so asinine as that.”

“So go an’ give yer lady thanks fer doin’ what ye wished when she married ye, an’ that’s givin’ ye th’ benefit o’ her experience managin’ estates.”

Hugh’s head snapped around, and he stopped before exiting. “How did you know that?”

Burdett sat with his hand over his eyes. “Ethelburgha knows everything.”

“Not everythin’, but I know who yer lady is an’ what she was t’ me old master,” Ethelburgha retorted.

Hugh heard her and he kept walking, and Ethelburgha kept following him. As soon as she cleared the door, he grabbed her fleshy arm. She tried to twist away, but he clutched the fat that jiggled there. “My lady didn’t know your old master.”

She walked sideways when he pulled her away from the alehouse so his men wouldn’t hear them.

She never stopped talking. “No one knew th’ master, but he had a way o’ stalkin’ a woman that sucked th’ goosebumps up on th’ flesh.”

He didn’t believe it. He’d asked Edlyn if she knew Pembridge, and she’d denied it. Yet he remembered the way her eyes fell away from his when he questioned her, so now he asked, “What makes you think he stalked my lady?”

“He used t’ go t’ Jagger Castle an’ come back wi’ that wild look in his eye.” Ethelburgha jerked herself free and rubbed her arm. “An’ all th’ maids wi’ brown hair an’ green eyes would tremble an’ hide.”

“That’s hardly proof of wrongdoing by my lady!”

“I’m no mean gossip, m’ lord.” Ethelburgha’s eyes snapped, and she poked him in the chest with her pudgy finger. “I didn’t say there was wrongdoin’. If there’d been wrongdoin’, I wouldn’t have told ye. ’Twas a wandering minstrel who gave me th’ gossip, m’ lord. He said th’ folk at Jagger Castle buzzed about their lady’s virtue in th’ face o’ her husband’s adultery, an’ when I said I didn’t care about folks so far away, he laughed an’ said I ought, since ’twas me own lord who sniffed after her.”

“Why wouldn’t she tell me?” Hugh asked, half to himself.

“Because havin’ Edmund Pembridge lurkin’ behind ye is nothin’ t’ brag about, m’ lord.” She lowered her voice. “I’m tellin’ ye this because Burdett wouldn’t listen. He says I’m just a woman an’ t’ stir me kettle an’ leave th’ thinkin’ t’ th’ men, but I tell ye, m’ lord, Pembridge never let anythin’ go that he wanted. As long as he lives, I fear fer Roxford, an’ ye should fear fer yer lady.”