Lord of the Manor (8 page)

They entered Westminster Hall just as King Henry called for silence so the ceremony could begin. With his hand on her elbow, Richard guided her to a spot along the wall that offered a fairly unobstructed view of the raised dais at the far end of the hall.

The nobles had spared no expense for their court finery. Highly decorative embroidery, worked in gold
or silver or bright hues, in patterns she’d never seen before, trimmed dalmaticas and gowns of silk or tightly woven linen. Some smiled in obvious delight with the king’s political move, others frowned in deep disapproval.

The betrothal of Princess Matilda to Emperor Henry V of the Roman Empire took little time. Papers were signed. Gifts were exchanged. Promises were made. Upon such actions were two mighty kingdoms joined.

She looked up at Richard to comment, but he wasn’t paying heed to the events taking place on the raised dais. His gaze flickered about the hall, as if looking for someone.

Or looking for danger.

A prickling sensation skittered across the back of her neck, turning her from Richard to observe the crowd. No one seemed to be watching her, yet her senses had come alive at a perceived threat.

She might be making something out of nothing, but she suddenly longed to return to the shelter of Wilmont’s chambers.

“Seen enough?” Richard said.

“Aye, my lord,” she answered, probably betraying her discomfort, but at the moment she didn’t care.

Lucinda followed Richard out of Westminster Hall, staying very close in his wake.

Very early the following morning, Lucinda stood outside of Westminster Palace near the supply wagon in which she was to ride. Philip was so anxious to leave that he’d already climbed into the wagon and taken a high seat on a crate.

The assembled company consisted of the same men
who’d accompanied Richard to Westminster, with the exception of two, who were now mounted and ready to leave with Stephen. The brothers were nearby, saying farewells.

“Have you sufficient funds?” Richard asked his brother.

From atop his destrier, Stephen answered, “Of course. I also have the list.” With a widening grin, he continued. “If this proves accurate, Richard, I shall expect a healthy reward upon my return.”

“We will discuss a reward if you return with your head still atop your shoulders,” Richard countered his brother’s teasing. “Have a care. We know not how George will react to the news, and may be forewarned.”

The prickling on the back of her neck returned. She’d known all along that someone who knew Basil’s relatives might be here at court, might inform them of what she’d done. ’Twas only since the betrothal ceremony, however, that the threat of harm seemed so immediate.

For the first time since their initial meeting at court, Stephen looked at her. “’Tis you who should have a care, Richard. Watch your back,” he warned, then wheeled his horse and galloped off.

Stephen’s warning didn’t surprise her, yet his words roiled in her gut like a rotted piece of meat. Thankfully, she need not deal with Stephen, but with Richard, whose rancor didn’t run so deep.

Richard gave a hand signal. His men-at-arms fell into formation, half in front of the supply wagon, half behind. Just as she was about to climb into the wagon, she felt his hands at her waist. He lifted her, turning her body around, with little effort.

As always, the warmth of his hands and shock of his touch reverberated through her body. Not trusting her voice, she let the sensation ebb before she said, “My thanks.”

He nodded, his gaze flickering around the insides of the wagon. “You and Philip should do well enough in here.”

Lucinda knew how uncomfortable bouncing around in the wagon could be, having done so for three days with an injured ankle. “How many days until we reach Collinwood?”

“If we traveled straight to Collinwood, it would take four days. However, you will have a break in the middle because I must stop at Wilmont first.”

Lucinda felt every drop of blood drain from her face.

“Wilmont?” she whispered, unable to say the name louder. Only in her most horrible nightmares had she dreamed of entering the fortified castle at Wilmont, or of facing Baron Gerard within his lair.

“You need have no fear,” Richard said. “I will not allow you within Wilmont’s walls.”

R
ichard kept his distance from his charges for the two days required to reach Wilmont. He knew how they fared, for Edric took his duty seriously and reported on the state of Lucinda and Philip’s health. For some reason, Edric also thought it important to relate each cute or funny story of Philip’s antics in the wagon.

The boy, at least, was enjoying a delightful journey.

Lucinda, according to Edric, became more fretful with each passing league. Richard saw no reason. He’d assured her that she wouldn’t step within Wilmont’s walls, which meant she needn’t face Gerard or Ardith.

She should believe him, and thank him. Instead, she’d made it easy for him to keep his distance by nearly snubbing him. As if he were to blame for her uncommon situation. As if he were about to give her over to Gerard and some unimaginable horror.

Hellfire, Gerard would want as little to do with Lucinda as she did with Gerard.

In the waning hours of the day, he pushed the company
hard to within a short distance of Wilmont. He guided the company off the road to a sheltered glade near a fast-running stream.

He tossed Odin’s reins to a man-at-arms. “Take him to water and rub him down with grass, but do not take the saddle off. I will be leaving shortly.”

After he saw his charges settled, he would head for Wilmont, where he could sleep in a comfortable bed and enjoy Ardith’s tasty meals. Away from Lucinda.

Lucinda eased out of the wagon, Philip jumping down after her. She brushed the dirt from the boy’s tunic, as was her habit.

Richard beckoned to Edric. “Choose three men to camp here with you tonight,” Richard ordered the one man in his guard whom he knew possessed a tender spot for Philip. Edric would let no harm come to the boy or the mother. Too, Lucinda had developed some trust in Edric. ’Twas to this old, crusty soldier she gave her smiles or a few words around the nightly campfire. The smiles and conversation Richard neither wanted nor encouraged. “I am leaving Lucinda and Philip in your care while I go on to Wilmont.”

“Aye, my lord. Will you be back on the morn?”

“Pitch three tents and take enough food from the wagon for two days. If I will be away longer, I will send supplies from the castle.”

Edric turned and went about the task of setting up camp. He also stopped for a word with Lucinda, apparently informing her of Richard’s orders.

Lucinda glanced his way, but showed no sign of her feelings about the arrangement. She tucked Philip’s hand in hers and headed for the stream. A soldier followed the pair.

She would be safe here while he concluded his business with Gerard.

The sound of two horses, coming on fast, didn’t surprise Richard. He’d expected one of the patrols that roamed Wilmont lands to find him, but he didn’t expect to spy his brother, Gerard, atop one of the horses.

“Hail, Richard!” Gerard called out, reining in his horse, a huge grin on his face. “I did not anticipate seeing you for some days yet.”

“Gerard,” Richard said flatly, wishing his destrier was within reach.

Gerard’s gaze took in the activity around him, his smile fading. “Where is Stephen? Why do you set up camp?”

“Stephen is well. A few of my men will stay here this night,” he said, then tried to smile. “Return to your hall, Gerard, and order a fresh keg of ale made ready. I will join you shortly and tell you all.”

Gerard leaned forward in the saddle. “You act oddly, Richard. What has happened?”

Richard crossed his arms. Knowing he was courting his brother’s flash-fire temper, but willing to do so to send Gerard away, he said, “More than I care to relate in an open glade where everyone can overhear us.”

“All did not go well at court.”

“Nay, it did not. I will fetch my horse and—”

Hoping that the rustling behind him signaled Odin’s return, Richard looked over his shoulder.

Lucinda and Philip were cresting the incline that led up from the stream. She stopped short and went deathly pale as she recognized Gerard. Her hand darted out to grab Philip’s tunic and haul him in close.

Gerard became livid, apparently identifying Lucinda on sight, as Stephen had. “What in the devil’s name is
she
doing here?” Gerard shouted, setting his horse to skittering.

Richard prayed for patience and the right words. “’Tis part of what happened at court, Gerard.” He laid a hand on his brother’s knee. “I swear, you need have naught to do with her or the boy. This is not the place for explanations. Let us get to a private place, first.”

Gerard stared at Lucinda a moment longer, then looked down at Richard. “I will
not
have the bitch and her pup in my hall!”

Richard fully understood Gerard’s feelings. However, his patience with his brother was beginning to fray. Gerard should know that Richard would do nothing to hurt or insult either Gerard or his wife.

“I did not intend to bring them within your walls. They stay here this night, under guard.”

“As far as I am concerned, you can leave them for the wolves!”

Richard ignored his brother’s ignoble statement, taking it for what it was: Gerard’s resentment that, again, Basil of Northbryre was to affect his life.

“You will say nothing of her to Ardith,” Gerard continued, his fury ebbing somewhat. “I do not want my wife distressed.”

Richard shook his head. He wouldn’t, though he wondered how Gerard would avoid telling Ardith. She would know the moment Gerard entered the hall that something was amiss, and had a way of extracting explanations from Gerard even when he didn’t want to give them.

“Go, Gerard. When I am able, I will follow.”

“Be quick,” Gerard ordered, then wheeled his horse and tore up great divots of grass in his haste to be gone.

Richard turned. Lucinda stood as frozen in place as a statue, and wore a shade of sickly gray. He thought for a moment to ease her fear, to tell her that Gerard’s anger was often loud and spear-point sharp, but rarely prolonged or lethal. Gerard’s infamous battle roar had earned him the title Lion of Wilmont, but only at extreme provocation did he bare his teeth and pounce.

Better to let her fear, he decided. Lucinda would receive no warmer welcome at Collinwood. There, her fear would serve her well, keeping her alert for any danger.

“Edric, have you all you require from the wagon?” he called out, anxious to follow Gerard.

“Aye, my lord,” Edric answered.

“Then have the men form up. We will be away as soon as I fetch Odin.”

Richard passed Lucinda and Philip on his way to the stream, stopping only long enough to issue a warning. “Stay close to camp and Edric. Wolves are not the only dangerous animals that roam this forest.”

Lucinda allowed herself to breathe. The immediate danger had passed. Gerard was gone and Richard was leaving.

She loosened her grip on Philip’s tunic, her knuckles having turned white and stiff from holding on so tightly.

“Mother, that man on the horse looked just like Lord Richard. Is he Gerard, the baron?”

“Aye,” she said.

They looked so alike as to be twins! But there the
similarity ended abruptly. She highly preferred Richard’s calm demeanor to Gerard’s volatile manner.

The shock of seeing Gerard had rooted her to the forest floor, nearly scaring her witless. She’d had only enough sense about her to grab hold of Philip.

She couldn’t allow that to happen again. A man like Gerard would sense her fear, use it to his advantage. Thank the Lord, she needn’t enter the castle, might not face him a second time.

“Are there bears in the forest?” Philip asked, picking up on Richard’s warning of dangerous animals.

“Mayhap,” she said. “You should ask Edric, he will know.”

As Philip ran to Edric, Lucinda looked about her. There might be wolves and bears roaming about, but the fiercest prowler of this forest was the lion who reigned supreme over Wilmont.

Richard perched on the foot of the bed he would occupy tonight, his elbows on the knees of his splayed legs. A few feet in front of him, Gerard straddled a wooden chair, arms crossed on the back’s top, a jewel-encrusted goblet dangling from his fingers.

Between them sat a near-empty keg of ale.

Richard gave Gerard every tidbit of information or gossip he’d garnered at court. Which petitions were granted and which denied. Who rose in Henry’s favor and who slipped downward.

Not enough land had passed hands, or into the wrong hands, to threaten Wilmont. Many heiresses remained heiresses, still up for grabs, including the Lady Carolyn whom Stephen had vowed to bed.

“Did he?” Gerard asked.

“I have no notion. He did not say and I did not ask.”

Gerard sat very still and quiet while Richard told of how he’d become Philip’s protector. While concerned when told of Stephen’s journey to Normandy, Gerard eventually agreed that Richard’s decision to send Stephen had been wisest, under the circumstances.

“So,” Richard concluded his tale, “I will take Lucinda and Philip to Collinwood. I stopped at Wilmont only to let you know how things stood.”

Gerard’s ire rose. “I regret that Henry chose to inflict punishment on Wilmont through you. On the morrow, I will send a message to Henry, tell him to rescind this ridiculous edict. Surely he can place the child in another’s care.”

“Leave it be,” Richard heard himself say.

“Leave it be? Surely you jest. Had I been there, I would have told our interfering king exactly what he could do with—”

Miffed, Richard interrupted. “Gerard, Henry insisted that either you or I accept Philip. If you protest, he will only become angered and demand you take the boy. Do you want that? Or would you prefer a permanent rift between Wilmont and the monarchy?”

“You
know
I want neither! But to have Henry shove this galling wardship down our throats is not to be borne.”

“You need not bear it. I will, for all of our sakes.”

“And the woman?”

“I must tolerate her presence for two years. ‘Twill be a test of endurance, I assure you.”

Gerard had no notion of how hard a test of Richard’s fortitude lay ahead. Having Lucinda about, day
after day, month after month, would test his mettle to a high degree.

Even now, he wished she were here, massaging away the knots of tension in his neck. ’Twas a mistake to have let her minister to his pain. To learn of the magic in her fingertips. To enjoy each manipulating stroke.

Richard pulled the list of Philip’s holdings from inside his tunic and handed it to Gerard. “Besides, the wardship does bring rewards.”

Gerard looked it over, then let out a long, low-pitched whistle. “Rewards, indeed. Worth fighting for, if necessary.”

With a wry smile, Richard said, “Stephen already claims recompense for going to Normandy to look them over. Should I require your help to secure them, I suppose you will want a share, too.”

“Naturally. Do you think my help necessary?”

Richard told Gerard all he knew of George, and of Lucinda’s warning that George might not give up the tributes easily, even by order of the Duke of Normandy—Henry, King of England.

Richard got up, intending to dip his cup into the ale keg. The lightness of his head—and the sight of the bottom of the keg—stopped him.

“I need food, Gerard.”

“Evening meal is some time off, but I am sure Ardith can provide something to put in your stomach.”

Richard followed Gerard down the passageway and stairs that led from the bedchambers down to the great hall. Boyhood memories sprang up, prompted, he supposed, by the changes he noted along the way.

Ardith was now chatelaine of Wilmont. She’d
made small changes, here and there, to the interior of the castle. Added candles in more ornate stands. Tapestries—which depicted peaceful pursuits instead of glorious battles—now blocked drafts. Banners in bright colors graced the rafters, hung beside the ancient weapons of Wilmont forefathers.

The place seemed warmer and more friendly, more tolerant Even Gerard’s mother, Lady Ursula, had lost some of her old bitterness, which might be the greatest change of all. She sat near the huge hearth, working spindle and distaff, and managed to acknowledge his presence with a slight nod of her head when he and Gerard approached her.

“Mother, have you seen Ardith of late?” Gerard asked. “Richard’s stomach grumbles.”

Without missing a beat in her spinning, she smiled wryly and said, “Your sons, Gerard, have a fondness for rummaging about in the stable. Shortly after you and Richard went up the stairs, they came in fairly reeking of horse droppings. Ardith decided to cleanse both the boys and their clothes by taking them down to the stream.”

Roaring a string of blistering oaths, Gerard turned heel and ran out of the hall, Richard close behind.

Lucinda sat on a log, her bare feet soaking in the stream. She wished she could shuck more than her hose and shoes and wallow in the crystal-clear water. Mayhap later, if Edric allowed her the privacy, she would. For now, she kept watch over Philip, who’d waded out to his knees, the hem of his tunic getting wet.

She harbored no illusions about her status. Somewhere in the woods behind her lurked a guard, watching
her and Philip to ensure they remained safe, and safely within reach. She surely wasn’t welcome at Wilmont; Gerard had made that quite clear. Not that she wished to enter the man’s lair. Nor, she knew, would the people of Collinwood be pleased to see her. That, too, she could accept.

In less than a fortnight, since leaving the village where she’d found a measure of contentment, her entire life had turned upside down and sideways. The king had granted her petition for a protector, and she had to admit that though hardship lay ahead, Philip’s future looked brighter. And though she had reservations about placing Philip in Wilmont’s care, she conceded that, of all the brothers, Richard was the best choice. He’d already taken measures to see Philip’s inheritance secured, and would likely raise Philip the best he knew how.

’Twas her feelings for Richard she wrestled with now.

She’d thought her marriage had soured her for all men for all time. Basil’s brutality should have purged her of kindly thoughts for any male. She’d truly thought it had, until getting to know Richard.