Juliana Garnett (25 page)

“My lord?” Alain looked at him curiously, and Luc rose abruptly to his feet.

“My brother has arrived with guests. Jean-Paul may stay, but his companions are to be sent on their way in the morning with food and a gold coin apiece. Point them toward Malcolm, if you like.” He paused, frowning. “And, Alain, see you that my brother has his needs met, but is not left to his own ends. He may roam the castle freely, but I want him watched. He is not to leave without my permission. Is that understood?”

“Of course, my lord. I will see to it at once.”

“Good.” Luc rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “Your hard work in my absence will be rewarded well, Alain. Much has been restored, it seems. On the morrow, we will survey the castle and set about repairing the broached ramparts that are not yet mended. I have in mind a new wal to be built about the whole of it, like those in Spain and Normandy.”

“With battlements?” Alain nodded approval. “A garrison could hold off an entire army with such strong defenses, my lord. I hope we do not soon need such a wall.”

“I do not anticipate it, but neither would I be such a fool to think myself secure enough to let down my guard. King Sweyn of Denmark lies now in the Humber River for the winter, and Earls Cospatric and Edgar are just over the border with King Malcolm. Those ravening vultures would like nothing better than to get a foothold on William’s lands, and Wulfridge lies near
both those enemies. I must be ever vigilant. How many men are left to tend knight service?”

“Besides the six vassals who swore to you before you left for York, there are three who did not answer the call to arms, but are bound to Wulfridge.”

“Send for them. I would hear their oaths of fealty or pledge of war, and know where I stand.” He paused. “Are there preparations made for Christmas?”

“None yet, my lord. It is so near, and we knew not when you would return.”

“Make plans. Invite those three barons, as well as the others who have sworn to me.”

“But, so many, seignior! Our stores may not last if we dole out too plentifully—”

“As you said, Alain, there is plenty of game in the forests. Take you huntsmen and bring back boar and deer, as well as as many fowl as you can provide. We have the sea at our very door teeming with fish for the table, and I warrant there are many here who earn their livelihood that way. Offer coin. That will be more than enough incentive.”

Alain goggled at him. “
Pay
for what is yours by right of sovereignty, my lord? That would be foolish, and set a dangerous precedent. Indeed, it would be best to send armed men to demand our full share, and then they would be—”

“Send armed men, if you like, but with purses of coin to pay for what we need.” Luc’s cool tone penetrated the squire’s indignation, and he paused to stare at his lord with eyes still wide. “I will not beggar my own people to provide feasts for men already fat with plenty. Starving serfs make poor labor. And while I think on it, provide free materials for repair of their homes, and a measure of free wood for their fires. List beside each man’s name how much he required, and explain that it will be portioned out now, but next year they will pay for it with tender of crops and beasts for my storehouses. If any should be hungry, he is to come to me for food, and he will be given what
is needed for these lean times. In times of plenty, they will give generously in return to replenish the stores against the coming winter months.”

Alain looked stunned. His mouth opened and shut, and finally he nodded, a short jerk of his chin that plainly told of his opposition. “As you will it, my lord. But I must state again that it is a dangerous precedent.”

“No doubt. But well-fed, content serfs are unlikely to offer aid to outlaws seeking to stir rebellion, and much more likely to inform their lord of such attempts.” He smiled slightly. “I will deal fairly with all who deal fairly with me. And I will destroy those who do not. See that my offers are made, Alain. But now, send to my chamber food and wine, as I have not eaten this eve. Nor has my lady.”

Alain hesitated, then said stiffly. “My congratulations on your marriage, my lord. The lady is as lovely as she is brave.”

“Yes. I recall well her bravery. And her temper. Tell me, Alain, what you know of the man you set to guard her. Giles.”

“Giles … ah yes. He was one of Sir Simon’s men. Did he displease you, seignior?”

“He displeased the lady. When I reached York and questioned him on it, he claimed he was bade by you to see to her welfare, and to offer her your kind regards should she be pleased to accept them.”

Alain paled a little, but nodded. “Yes, my lord, so I did. I admit—I was taken with her. I thought—as you may recall—that if she should be given as wife, the king might look with favor on my suit if the lady was willing.”

“The lady was not.”

“No, my lord. And as it has happened, she chose the better man by far. Forgive me if I have displeased you.”

Luc studied him a moment, the flushed face and fair hair tumbling into his eyes, hands clasped nervously around Luc’s chain mail hauberk. He shrugged. “I am not displeased, but
would remind you that I did warn you the lady was not for you.”

“Yes, my lord. If I had known you wanted her, I would never have—”

“That is not it at all. I had no designs on the lady, only her father’s lands.” He paused, realizing how foolish he sounded in light of all that had happened, then shrugged again. “She is beautiful and any man would be tempted, but the king’s will mattered above all. It pleased William to wed her to me to bind Saxon and Norman together.”

An expression of contempt creased Alain’s face. “Saxons will never be as Normans. All know the English breed an inferior race.”

“So I have heard it said. Yet I was born near Oxford, and spent the first years of my life on English soil, so I would have a differing opinion.”

Alain swallowed hard. “I had forgotten, my lord.”

“Have my supper sent to me in my chamber. Enough for two. And a slab of beef or mutton joint as well.”

The squire did not question the last, though he gave Luc another odd look before he departed, shutting the door softly behind him. The sudden draft made the candle flame dance wildly, and Luc stared at it for some time before rousing from his reverie.

It was late and he was bone-weary. The morrow would come soon enough with its problems and challenges. Not the least of which was his brother. Discretion bade him send Jean-Paul away, yet the memory of another time intruded to remind him that this was still his brother. Half brother, but his own blood. Should he yield to the appeal in Jean-Paul’s eyes? Once, he would not have. But hatred destroyed the vessel in which it was carried, and he had learned to let go of that useless emotion years ago, before it ruined him.

A muffled yelp drew his attention, and his head jerked up at a sudden commotion in the hallway. Shouts in French and English
rose into the air, mixed with snarls of bestial rage. Luc strode at once to the door and jerked it open, then came to an abrupt halt at the scene that met his eyes.

Backed against the stone wall of the corridor, a dagger in one fist, Jean-Paul glared at Ceara. The white wolf crouched low at Ceara’s feet, hackles raised, curved teeth gleaming in the dim light of a wall torch. Only Ceara’s hand held back the wolf.

Ceara glanced at Luc, her voice cool. “Give me but the word, and this knave will do for Sheba’s supper, my lord.”

Luc motioned impatiently. “Call off your wolf, Ceara. What is the cause of this? I told you that this beast might be too dangerous to allow inside—”

“If the beast you refer to is yon quaking knave, then I do agree with you, my lord. He needs be taught a lesson in manners, and Sheba thought only to school him well.”

Luc’s gaze shifted to Jean-Paul, who shrugged sullenly. “I thought her a serving wench.” He gestured at Ceara with his dagger, which earned more snarls from the wolf. “Hold the cursed beast, for the love of God,” Jean-Paul pleaded. “Luc—bid this silly bitch control her wolf. I will not accost her again, I swear it.”

“The silly bitch you speak of is my wife, Jean-Paul.”

Luc’s soft, deadly tone penetrated his brother’s fear, and he looked toward him with sudden consternation. “I did not know, I swear it. But look at her, garbed like a peasant—how was I to know?”

Indeed, Ceara wore none of the finery he had purchased for her in York, but one of her shortened tunics, well worn and barely covering her long legs. His mouth tightened with irritation, but reproofs for Ceara would be done in private, not in front of his brother.

“You have no leave to accost any woman on these lands, Jean-Paul, whether she be serf or lady. If I should hear of it, you will deal with me, and I do not think you want that.”

Drawing himself up, Jean-Paul sheathed his dagger. “You have grown more like our father than you would like, Luc.”

Fury rattled him so that for a moment Luc could not speak. Then he said, “You may be my brother, but liken me to our father again and you will regret it.”

Silence fell heavily, with only the labored pants of the wolf filling the air between them. Finally Jean-Paul looked away, nodding his head, his voice a low mutter.

“I meant nothing by it, Luc. Pray, pardon me.”

“Ask the lady’s pardon for your rough treatment. She might be willing to give it.”

Another silence stretched between them before Jean-Paul drew in a deep breath and turned to Ceara, bowing stiffly in her direction. “I crave your pardon for offending you, my lady. It was a mistake.”

“Speak to her in English, Jean-Paul.”

He repeated it in English, his voice sullen, and Ceara lifted a brow. “Indeed it was a mistake if you think you can force your attentions on any woman. Count yourself fortunate you are not a tasty morsel for my pet, nor are you yet bereft of what little manhood you may possess.”

Jean-Paul’s eyes flared with anger. “You have a sharp tongue, my lady.”

“Aye, and a sharper dagger. Mark it well—should you think to lay hand on any woman here, I will know of it, and I will see that you pay dearly.”

“Enough.” Luc stepped between them. In English, he bade them both go their own ways, and added to his brother, “In the morn, we will meet after we break our fast, and discuss the future.”

Putting a hand on Ceara’s arm, he steered her to the antechamber he had just left, holding tightly when she tried to pull away. “Our supper is growing cold, my lady. Bring the wolf.”

She shot him a quick glance, then shrugged. “Sheba, to me.”

The wolf backed away from Jean-Paul, hackles up and ears
flattened. A savage expression on the animal’s face made Luc doubt his wife’s assurances that this wolf was tame, and he gazed at Sheba dubiously as she finally turned to heel at her mistress’s side.

As if reading his thoughts, Ceara said softly, “She is very protective of me, my lord.”

Luc shut the chamber door behind them. “So it seems. She will need to be if you insist upon wearing such attire about the halls, for few men would not think it an open invitation.”

“I had not intended to wear it about the halls. Rudd had brought me warm water for a bath. I was already in the tub when I realized he had forgotten soap. I sought to call him back, and that was when I was accosted. In the privacy of my own chamber, it should not matter what I wear.”

“Yet you were not in your chamber.” He crossed his arms over his chest, frowning at the obstinate set of her mouth. “You are no longer just a Saxon baron’s daughter, Ceara, but an earl’s wife.”

“What is that to me? Do you suggest that I am more now than I once was?” Danger glinted in her eyes and her tone, and her small hands curled into fists at her sides.

Irritated, Luc shook his head. “I mean only that if you dress like a serf, you will be treated as one.”

“Ah, I see. Only Normans are moral. Saxons are wanton, and therefore welcome to advances. Is that it, my lord?”

“No. You twist my words.”

“Do I? Yet I am chastised and the man who accosted me goes free with only an insincere apology.”

“Heed me well, Ceara. If any man should touch you, he will answer to me most harshly. I do not allow that which is mine to be mishandled. But you will come to me with your complaint, and not put yourself in danger by tempting men to do as that one did.”

It was the wrong thing to say. He knew it as soon as it was out, but the words were spoken and could not be recalled.

Bright flags of rage stained Ceara’s cheeks like crimson banners, and her blue eyes sparked furiously.

“You Norman swine,” she hissed so venomously that the hackles rose again on the wolf’s back. “How dare you speak to me as if I am a child? I told you how it came to be that I was garbed so, but hear this—when this was Lord Balfour’s hall, no man would dare touch me whether I was covered in wool from chin to foot, or in naught but a smile. If you cannot control your own, how do you expect to hold Wulfridge against those who would wrest it from you?”

“That will not be your concern.”

“Will it not? Once my father said almost the same words to me, yet he died and it was left to me to hold this land against invaders. Can you swear it will never happen again, my lord? Can you promise me that Wulfridge will never be my concern again?”

Angry now, he crossed to the table and splashed wine into a goblet. Twisting the goblet stem between his fingers, he glanced up at her. Her shortened tunic clung to her in places, damply, as if she had just bathed. Warrior maid, golden hair tumbling over her shoulders and around her face, the wary wolf at her feet … she was a more impressive sight than she knew. How had she managed so well when her father died? It still amazed him that she had the courage to try, for it would be daunting for a trained warrior to go against such odds, much less a girl of such a tender age. Not even with experienced advisers at hand would there be much chance of success, yet she had held out for three months against superior forces.

His anger drained away and he set his untouched wine down on the table. Surprising himself, he shook his head. “No, I cannot promise you will never face such danger again, Ceara. But I can pledge that I will secure Wulfridge well while I live. In my life, I have also known defeat, and it set as ill with me as it does you. I do not intend to suffer it again, nor allow my own to suffer such a fate.”