Lord of the Manor (6 page)

“You will accept Philip as your ward,” she stated.

“You would rather go to Gerard?”

“Nay, but—”

“Henry gives us few options, Lucinda. The choice is between me and Gerard—unless we can contrive a miracle.”

Lucinda was about to say something when Philip yawned hugely. The boy laid his head on her shoulder, his eyes drooping with fatigue.

Richard ducked under the arch that led to the two bedchambers beyond the sitting room. He went into the master chamber and fetched a wolf pelt from the
scarlet-draped bed. ’Twas really Gerard’s bed, but available for his use when at the palace.

The bed, piled high with furs of wolf and bear, was the most comfortable he’d ever slept on. He’d even shared it a few times with a wench from the palace kitchens who’d taken a fancy to him—or to the down mattress. Not that it mattered which she truly preferred. She assuaged his needs and he asked nothing more.

’Twas far too easy to envision Lucinda snuggled down on the mattress, surrounded by fur. Her violet eyes shining with desire, her lips parted and wet and—

Hellfire. His lust was damn inconvenient, not to mention unwarranted and unwanted. He must somehow reassure both mother and son they would come to no harm while in his care. Yet here he stood, picturing Lucinda on her back with her legs spread and arms open. Beckoning him to her.

She would be horrified to know how his thoughts ran. Or would she? Of course she would!

Just as he was horrified. The woman was the widow of the man who’d ordered Gerard’s murder, who’d run the people of Collinwood so far into despair and hunger that even after three years of his lordship they were wary.

And he was of Wilmont, the family who’d brought Basil to his downfall, and death. Who’d made it necessary for Lucinda to flee Northbryre with little more than the garments on her back and a babe in her arms.

Hatred would always exist between Wilmont and Northbryre—unless the boy could be swayed.

No miracle would happen to release him from this duty, though he intended to ask Henry to amend the
edict. He would accept the boy as his ward, but not the mother. Surely, Henry would see the sense of his request.

Richard spun around and went back into the sitting room. He tossed the wolf pelt in a corner for Philip to use as a pallet to nap.

The child was but six, an amendable age. And truly, a cute little tyke. Perhaps, with education, persistence and discipline, the boy could be saved despite his lineage.

“Come forward, Philip.”

Lucinda tightened her hold on her son.

As he’d feared—the mother sought to interfere. Philip’s obedience to his lord was crucial to a proper wardship.

“Come forward, Philip,” he repeated, more firmly.

Philip slipped from Lucinda’s lap and came to stand before him. The child’s eyes reflected no fear. Richard put his hand on Philip’s shoulder.

“You understand I am now your protector, and you my ward?”

Philip nodded.

“As your lord, I will expect obedience and fealty. Do you know what those words mean?”

“I must do what you tell me to do, and…” He shrugged his small shoulders.

“You will promise to serve and be loyal to me, to not betray me, no matter the temptation.”

Philip turned slightly, as if to look back at his mother for permission to make such a promise.

Richard held the boy still. “’Tis a matter between us, as lord and vassal. In return for your pledge, I will feed, clothe and shelter you until you reach your majority.
I am an exacting master, but not a harsh one. What say you, Philip? Have I your oath?”

The boy stared at him hard for a moment, then asked, “We would live with you, at Collinwood?”

We.

“If that is the king’s will.” ’Twasn’t a lie. He hadn’t yet asked Henry for release from that portion of the edict.

“And I can have a destrier, like Odin?”

Richard sighed inwardly. A boy Philip’s age would likely sell his soul to the devil for a destrier. All Richard would have had to do was promise the boy a ride on Odin to gain his cooperation. Still, someday, Philip would learn the importance of an oath, and Richard wanted to seal the bond early.

“When you are grown, and if you earn the honor.”

Philip smiled. “I promise.”

Richard pointed to the wolf pelt he’d fetched earlier. “My first command as your new lord is for you to take a nap. While you sleep, I will see the king to seal this bargain.”

Philip needed no more urging to curl up on the fur.

Richard walked over to the chair where Lucinda sat. In nearly a whisper, he asked, “If Henry had not included your wardship in the bargain, where would you have gone?”

“I had not decided. We were looking for a suitable town or village when you found us on the road.”

“Give the matter thought. I intend to ask Henry to amend the edict to abolish your wardship.”

“Generous of you, my lord.”

Her tone said she didn’t truly think him generous, but at the moment, he didn’t care. His greatest concern was that she not run off with Philip.

“I expect you to be here when I return. Be aware, madam, that if I must chase after you and the boy, I will not be as understanding and gentle as before.”

Lucinda glanced at her son. “You cannot hold Philip to such an oath. He is too young to understand its meaning.”

“Mayhap,” Richard conceded. “However, you are not. So you decided. Do you teach him honor or treachery? ’Tis your choice, Lucinda.”

B
arely an hour had passed when Richard, followed by Stephen, returned to the chamber. Lucinda didn’t need to ask the outcome of the audience.

Richard, with discernible disgust, headed straight for the flagon and poured a goblet of wine. He spared a glance for Philip—still asleep on the fur Richard had provided—then sank into a chair and into a sulk.

Stephen’s fury couldn’t be mistaken. He stormed across the sitting room, entered the main bedchamber and slammed the door behind him.

Not many moments passed before Richard spoke.

“Henry is adamant that either Gerard or I accept Philip’s wardship, which I accepted. You may or may not be pleased to know that Henry retains the legal right to your fate. He does, however, insist that you accompany Philip and remain with him for two years because of his tender age and the hardships he has already suffered.”

Lucinda nearly blew a relieved breath, until she realized that after the two years passed, the king could order her to marry where he wished. But then, she was a widow—admittedly an out-of-favor and impoverished
widow. The king had had the right to marry her off ever since Basil’s death. If she hadn’t kept her whereabouts secret for these past three years, he might have done so already.

Henry’s decision not only took her fate out of Richard’s hands, but also granted her a reprieve.

“I am pleased,” she said. “Two years gives me time to somehow amass funds to pay the fine should I choose not to marry again. And I do not wish to marry again, ever. Once was quite enough.”

Richard shrugged a shoulder, indicating his disinterest in her views on marriage. “Have you no dower lands from which to draw funds?”

“Nay,” she said, hoping he would ask no more questions on that embarrassing subject. Basil had bought her from her father for a paltry sum.

“Then the only fees we need try to collect are those due from Philip’s lands in Normandy.”

“Aye.”

“Stephen has offered to make the trip to Normandy. To whom does he go for an honest accounting? George?”

“He will get no honesty from any of that family. I assume, however, that Basil’s cousin George collects those rents now due Philip.”

Richard gave an aggrieved sigh. “’Tis the one time I wish Northbryre had not burned to the ground. I would give a hefty sum right now to have Basil’s ledger of those lands and rents.”

Lucinda pursed her lips. Dare she try to bargain with Richard? ’Twould be extortion, if one looked closely, but the trade she had in mind would solve one of her problems nicely, as well as one of his. He
would think ill of her, but he already held her in such low esteem that it mattered naught.

Would he hold Philip accountable? She didn’t think so. Though Philip’s oath of fealty to Richard wasn’t binding, Richard’s oath to Philip carried the weight of an overlord to his vassal. Too, Richard’s treatment of Philip indicated his intent to keep his relationship with Philip separate from his dealings with her.

At least, she hoped she read his intentions correctly.

She gathered her courage and asked, “How hefty a sum?”

His eyes narrowed. “You know from whom I can get the information?”

“Aye, for a price.”

He crossed his arms on the table and leaned forward. She squelched the urge to lean back. Under his intense scrutiny, she fought to remain intent on the conversation, not an easy task when staring into his clear, green eyes. Those eyes could lead a weaker woman astray. She’d once been a weaker woman. No longer. She could ill afford to succumb.

“Would the information be accurate?”

She nodded.

“From whom?”

“Me.”

“You jest!”

She shook her head. “’Twas I who kept Basil’s ledgers. He never bothered learning to read or cipher and mistrusted clerics. I know what was due from every holding, both in Normandy and England.”

He leaned back in his chair, astonished. After a long silence, he asked, “For what fee?”

“My bride’s price,” she stated. At his further surprise,
she explained, “In two years’ time I will again be vulnerable to Henry’s whims. Should he decide to wed me off, you will pay the fine so I need not marry.”

“I must feed and shelter you for two years. At the end of that time, I would prefer you marry so I can be rid of you.”

Lucinda expected his objection, yet his bluntness stung. She held back the sharp retort about to slip from her tongue. During her years with Basil, she’d learned to choose words carefully when contesting a man’s wishes.

“I like the king’s edict no more than you. I can affirm that the rents from Philip’s lands will more than cover your expenses for his keep. Nor do I plan to let you hold me hostage to your whims. I can earn my own keep.”

“How?”

“I possess the same household skills as any other noblewoman. My knowledge of the healing arts is noteworthy. I can read and write both Latin and Norman French. I can cipher. I kept Basil’s ledgers because he trusted no cleric. Surely, I must possess some skill of enough use to you to earn my meals and sleeping space.”

He looked her over in a slow, assessing manner, from head to toe and back again, lewdly suggesting another method by which she might serve him.

Her face warmed with embarrassment How dare he infer that she might earn her keep on her back? Why did her woman’s places tingle at the thought of lying naked beneath Richard’s powerful, well-formed body? ’Twas folly to wonder if coupling with Richard
would be different from her horrible experience with her husband.

Men were men. They wanted one thing from a woman—a convenient body upon which to vent their lust, a warm place in which to thrust to appease a base urge.

Richard might be younger, more handsome and vigorous than Basil. But he was merely a man with a man’s cravings, which she did not intend to satiate.

“My husband often remarked on my failings as a bedmate,” she said in as stoic a voice as she could manage. “You will be highly disappointed, my lord, should you choose to test my skills as a whore.”

“Your comely face and shape might lead some other man to overlook that you have rutted with Basil of Northbryre, or that you lack skill in the bedchamber. I assure you, however, that I am not such a man. Have no fear that I will ever be so desperate for companionship that I would take my most hated enemy’s widow to my bed.”

As she was telling herself that Richard’s words were reassuring, Stephen came out of the bedchamber. He’d changed his sherte and dalmatica. The tuniclike garment of brilliant scarlet, trimmed with embroidery of gold thread, blared his noble rank.

“I am off to evening meal,” he told Richard, never acknowledging her presence. “Are you coming?”

Richard nodded at his brother. “I will join you shortly.”

Stephen hurried out, as if he couldn’t bear to breathe the same air as she. Richard downed the last of his wine before he rose from his chair.

“I will have food sent up for you and the boy.”

“That is not necessary, my lord. Philip and I can eat at the abbey upon our return.”

“I sent word to the abbey that you will not be returning. You and Philip will stay here in Wilmont chambers.” He waved a hand at the arch. “Beyond and to the rear is my bedchamber. Take from my bed whatever pelts are necessary to make a pallet out here.”

Lucinda fought panic. Noblewomen didn’t reside within a man’s chambers without a chaperon present. Her reputation—what little she had left—would be utterly destroyed!

“Surely you jest! Philip may stay, but you must allow me to return to the ladies’ court in the abbey, as is proper.”

“What I must do is ensure that the king’s edict is obeyed. Therefore, I have placed a guard outside the door with orders that neither you nor the boy is allowed to leave.”

Stunned, realizing that he intended to keep her confined as if she were his prisoner, she couldn’t find the words to object as he continued.

“You will find parchment, quill and ink on the table in my chamber. Making a list of Philip’s holdings should keep you busy until I return.”

Then he was out the door.

Richard’s coldness and utter dismissal of her concerns and wishes sent a chill down Lucinda’s spine. Neither, she noted, had he agreed to her price in return for the list.

Lucinda opened the door, and true to Richard’s word, a guard stood without A large man with an unwavering stance and expression, he didn’t seem vulnerable to any plea she might make for release.
Too, she’d seen how Richard’s men obeyed his orders without question. She suspected that not one of them would disobey him no matter how prettily she begged.

She closed the door and leaned against it, taking a deep breath to calm her scattered thoughts and racing heart. She’d felt trapped before and dealt with it. Until now, she’d always managed to make the best of a bad situation. First during childhood with uncaring parents, then with a mean and unscrupulous husband. She could do so again while under Richard’s care.

Briefly, her anger flared and she considered telling Richard that he could bloody well get his information elsewhere. Instead, she went to fetch the writing supplies.

His bedchamber proved austere. A bed, with a thick mat piled generously with pelts, surrounded by heavy draperies, stood against the far wall. No fire burned in the hearth. One chair, a small table, and a trunk—which she assumed contained his garments—completed the furnishings.

She fetched a pelt from the bed. Bear. Black and shiny and warm to the touch. ’Twould make a soft, comfortable pallet. She hugged it close, hoping its softness would soothe her trepidation. But the fur smelled of Richard, of the man who held her son’s future in his hands. Who could break her in two if he wished. To whom she couldn’t deny a strong physical attraction and still be truthful with herself.

She’d witnessed Richard’s softer and nobler side while on the road. He could be gruff, but he could also smile. A cuff of his hand would send her flying across the room, but he had yet to touch her in anger.
So far, each time he’d laid hands on her, she’d felt not only his strength but his gentleness and warmth.

He valued honor and duty, and so would value honesty. If she gave it to him, would he return it in kind? Mayhap, when she gave him a full account of Philip’s lands, he would see that eventually paying her bride’s price wouldn’t be a sacrifice when compared to what he was gaining. And mayhap, if he learned to trust her, or at least not hate her, the next two years might not be harsh.

And after that?

Lucinda returned to the sitting room and placed the writing supplies on the table before spreading the bear pelt near the hearth next to Philip. Her son slept the sleep of the innocent, without worry or nightmares. She pushed back the lock of his hair that always fell forward when he slept.

For now, she would see Philip settled, then worry about her own future.

Richard tried to force Lucinda out of his musings. But no matter how engaging the people around him at table, or how tasty the food, or how entertaining the jongleur, his thoughts wandered back to the woman he’d imprisoned in Wilmont chambers.

He’d placed a guard at the door, true, but not only to keep her from whisking her son away. Too many people had suffered under Basil of Northbryre and wouldn’t hesitate to harm his widow and son in retribution. Lucinda might not be able to get out, but no one could get to her, either.

Stephen slid onto the empty bench on the opposite side of the trestle table. “I have learned much about this George. Indeed, he controls Basil’s former lands
in Normandy. He will be greatly surprised to learn that Lucinda and Philip are still alive. It seems Basil’s family assumed that the pair died along with Basil. When do you wish me to leave for Normandy?”

Richard pushed aside a trencher of food he’d barely touched. “The royal betrothal ceremony takes place on the morrow. Any time after that is fine.” He locked his eyes on his impetuous brother’s. “Stephen, I thank you for taking on this task, but I want you to take great care. Do not rush into an encounter with George. If you find it prudent to inform the man of my claim on Philip’s holdings by messenger, do so. Have you chosen the men you will take with you?”

Stephen waved a hand, brushing Richard’s concerns aside. “Aye, I have. You worry too much. I do not intend to incite a potentially lethal confrontation with George.” Stephen grinned. “In truth, I have the easier duty. ’Tis you who must inform Gerard. Will you send a messenger?”

In answer, Richard simply grunted, sending Stephen into gales of laughter.

Informing Gerard just might be the more onerous task. Gerard would
not
be pleased, but given the alternative, couldn’t complain overmuch.

“When you leave for Normandy, I will head for Wilmont,” Richard said. “Gerard will rant and rave, but in the end, will be relieved he is spared Philip’s wardship.”

And mayhap, Richard added silently, by accepting the duty with grace, King Henry’s ire toward Gerard would ease. Not that Gerard would admit that he cared one way or the other.

Stephen’s gaze drifted away, to somewhere over Richard’s shoulder. His hand lightly touched Richard’s
arm. “There,” Stephen said so softly that Richard strained to hear. “Look. The woman in the blue gown. Is she not a vision?”

Richard turned to look. “Aye,” he said, noting her shining auburn hair and wide brown eyes. Her shape, lithe and supple, was clearly defined beneath shimmering, sky blue silk. She was beautiful, but his idea of a vision had changed lately. To his chagrin, he’d come to prefer raven black hair—and violet eyes—over all other colors. “Who is she?”

“Carolyn de Grasse,” Stephen said, entranced. “Not only is she beautiful, she possess the voice of a lark.”

One of the heiresses on Stephen’s list He knew his brother better than to think that only the woman’s beauty attracted Stephen.

“And well landed,” Richard said, realizing who her father was. “You aim high, Stephen.”

Stephen nodded slightly, his eyes still on Carolyn. “She is her father’s only heir. ’Tis rumored she seeks a husband who can protect her lands and give her strong, healthy sons to continue her family line. And I think she favors me.”