The More I See You (22 page)

Richard could think of several stronger terms, but he refrained from suggesting them.

“What did they do when you ordered them to work?” he asked.

“Order?”

Ah, that was the problem. Richard shook his head slowly.

“Jessica, you do not ask laborers if they will do as you bid them. They agree to that bargain when they agree to work for you. What you do is go over to them and begin to assign them tasks.”

“And if they say no?”

Richard was very tempted to do the ordering for her, just to save her the grief, but he knew better. These were Jessica’s lads and they had to understand from the start that she was in charge. They never would if he stepped in now.

“If they say you nay, then you show them the gates and invite them strongly to make use of them.”

“And if they all leave?” Her voice was hardly a whisper.

“I’ll hire you more skilled laborers,” he promised. “Having these lads leave is the least of your worries. Making certain that your walls are straight and your floor is level are your first concerns. This hall will stand until your time if you build it aright.”

“My claim to fame,” she said, smiling weakly.

He reached out and tugged gently on a lock of unruly hair, then tucked it behind her ear. “Aye, wench, your claim to fame.” He pulled his hand away quickly once he realized what he was doing. “What will be your first task?”

“Leveling the ground,” she answered promptly.

“Where is my ring?”

She held up her hand. He’d bound a strip of cloth around the band to tighten it before he left the bedchamber that morn. His ring sat on her thumb; too big, but it would do.

“Now, you’ve taken up enough of my time with these womanly trivialities,” he said. “I’ve a garrison of knights to train, you know. Important work,” he stressed.

A sudden fire blazed in her eyes and Richard nodded with satisfaction. The wench was powerfully easy to govern, a task made all the more simple by the fact she wasn’t aware of him doing it to her. He lifted a single eyebrow in challenge, inclined his head in his most lordly manner, and walked off.

Once he’d reached the barbican of the inner bailey gate, he snatched a worn cloak from one of his guardsmen, wrapped it around him to conceal his armor, and climbed up to the walkway. He meandered down the way, keeping the hood close ’round his face. He stopped just above where Jessica’s men rested comfortably and turned just far enough to be able to see and hear what she would do.

Jessica strode over purposefully. He had to admire her carriage. Worthy of any commander, to be sure. She clapped her hands a time or two.

“Hear me,” she commanded. “I’ve drawn a deep mark in the dirt where the walls of the great hall will be. I want the ground inside those marks completely free of rocks and debris. And,” she added, “this isn’t a request.”

Her English wasn’t good, but Richard knew that was because she was trying to speak a language that had been dead to her for several hundred years. She was understandable; nothing else mattered.

One or two men rose, then saw that their fellows weren’t moving and sat back down.

Jessica folded her arms over her chest. Richard almost smiled at that. Then he hastily wiped any trace of expression off his face. No sense in letting anyone see his moment of weakness. He gathered his amusement and admiration for his future woman and held it all inside, where he could enjoy it privately.

“Perhaps I wasn’t clear enough,” Jessica said. There was an edge like a steel blade in her voice, sharp and cutting. “I want the ground cleared. Now.”

“Says who?” a lad asked scornfully.

“I am in charge,” Jessica said. “I wear my lord de Galtres’s ring. That is enough for him; it’s enough for you.”

One of the others guffawed. “Like as no’, ’e’s tumblin’ ’er,” the man said, laughing again. “Are ye good atwix’ the sheets, lady?”

Richard took a step forward, then realized he’d fall from the walkway if he moved any farther. The blood thundered in his ears, but he forced himself to listen and remember just who had made the comment. The man wouldn’t leave the gates without a token of his displeasure.

Jessica smiled. How she did it, he certainly didn’t know, but she managed.

“Anyone else agree with him? Yes? Please step forward.”

A dozen lads stood up and sauntered over. Richard threw his cloak back off his shoulders and signaled to the score of knights who immediately caught sight of him. If those men took one step closer to her, they’d be dead. A score of crossbows were immediately trained on the bailey.

Jessica gave the men another smile. “The gates are behind me. Walk through them on your way out.”

“Just a bloody moment—”

“Out!” Jessica barked.

“I’ll speak to His Lordship about this,” one of the men snarled.

“Give him my regards while you’re at it,” Jessica said. She waved the men toward the gate, then looked at the remainder of her workers. Richard made sure the louts were leaving before he turned his attentions to the rest of her lads. A score and ten, possibly two score. She’d be lucky to keep half that.

“Anyone else feel inclined to forfeit a steady job and excellent pay?”

Twenty men walked away. Richard did a quick count. A score left. That wouldn’t build a hall. He’d have to hire more men, but he’d do it gladly. He waited until he saw that the remainder of the laborers were starting to do as Jessica bid them, then ran back along the battlements. He tossed the cloak to its owner and thumped down the stairs.
He strode out to the lists, unsmiling. He had six men to beat the hell out of before he could do any work.

He walked straight up to the man who had insulted her and smashed a fist into his face. The man didn’t get up. Richard identified the other five, who had all gone pale, and pointed toward the outer gate in the distance.

“Take your fellow and begone. Show your faces inside my gates again and you’ll not leave alive. No apologies will be accepted,” he added, when one of the men opened his mouth to speak.

Richard turned to the other score.

“I’ve little time. What miserable troubles do you have?”

“My lord,” one of them began, stepping forward, “the woman, she thinks to give us orders.”

“Did you not see my ring on her finger?”

“Aye, milord, but she’s a woman—”

“She’s building my hall.”

“But, milord, I can’t work for a woman!”

“Fine, don’t,” Richard snapped. “’Tis less gold out of my coffers if you leave.” He turned on his heel and walked away.

The matter was far from his mind, though, and he watched out of the corner of his eye as eighteen of the twenty went back inside the inner bailey. A nod sent a handful of mailed knights striding after them. Richard knew no words were necessary to tell his lads that he expected Jessica to be protected. Every last man in the bloody keep could do little but gape at her when she passed. She’d come to the lists once and only once. Two men with broken bones were enough to convince him she was a distraction none of them needed while training. In truth, having her work on the hall was a perfect way to keep her tucked inside the bailey, though he half suspected she would continually have an abundance of guardsmen she didn’t need.

Eighteen men were soon huddled in a group on the side of the field. Richard savored a bit more pleasure as he beckoned to their new leader. The old one had obviously
thought no gold in his pocket to be preferable to working for a woman. Fool.

The new man stopped and made him a hasty bow. “Milord, she won’t have us back.”

Richard lifted an eyebrow. “Indeed.”

“Milord, I’ve a family to feed,” the man complained. “I need this work.”

“You should have thought of that before.”

“Milord, she’s just a woman!”

“Never,” Richard said quietly, “
ever
say that about Jessica Blakely. She is not a woman to underestimate.”

The man chewed on that one for a moment or two. “Milord, would you speak to her?” He dropped to his knees. “I beseech you.”

“I’m not the one to be begging to,” Richard said, turning his head and spitting, as if he had nothing better to do. “But I’ll come along, just for the sport. I’ve need of a cup of ale anyway.”

He led the pitiful group of laborers back up to the bailey. Jessica was knee-deep in giving instructions. When she saw him, and what was behind him, she turned.

“Well, buckaroo,” he said, hoping she would recognize one of her future words and understand he was trying to send a message with it, “I see you’ve let these men go.”

“I did,” she said calmly, clasping her hands behind her back.

“I understand they’re willing to work now.”

She shrugged. “They didn’t seem too apologetic, nor very willing to listen. I don’t have time for that kind of man.”

Richard sighed heavily, as if it truly grieved him. He turned to the men and held up his hands helplessly.

“You didn’t apologize well. I can’t help you.”

The leader stepped forward. “But, my lord!”

“I have no say in this.”

The man approached Jessica. “Lady Jessica, we want our jobs.”

Jessica looked up from where she was digging a rock out of the ground. “No.”

The man gaped. Richard wanted to laugh.

“But, my lady, please!”

Jessica rose and looked at the man. “Do you have any idea how carefully this project must proceed? A rock laid improperly, a stone set crookedly, and the entire building will be askew. I need men with good eyes and strong backs. And ones brave enough to have a woman lead them. These other lads are courageous. Are you?”

“Aye, lady,” the man said. He didn’t sound too convinced, but Richard knew he’d gain respect for her soon enough.

“Then go pick up rocks,” Jessica said. She turned back to her digging, dismissing the men, who immediately set to work.

Richard started to walk away but Jessica’s calling his name stopped him.

“Aye?” he asked.

She smiled and the beauty of that smile smote him in the heart. He had a hard time catching his breath.

“Thank you.”

He nodded weakly. “Aye.”

“That’s yee-hah. It’s what buckaroos say.”

“Yee-hah,” he offered.

She laughed. She looked at him and laughed again, then settled back to her work, still chuckling. Richard had no idea what was so damned amusing, but he had the feeling she was laughing at his expense.

He tried to dredge up some foul humor but it wouldn’t come.

He was still reeling from the impact of her smile.

Hugh de Galtres stood near the gatehouse, milling about with a handful of his brother’s peasants as they prepared to go about their business inside the bailey. Unfortunately, he didn’t have much strength to mill about properly. He was using most of it to keep himself from falling down on the spot.

He hadn’t expected his unannounced—and clandestine—return home to have affected him so. All he could do was clutch the stone of the wall behind him and gape like a half-witted peasant lad at what he saw.

Or, more to the point, didn’t see.

Everything was gone. He’d heard rumors of the like, of course, but he’d hardly believed them. Now he knew they were true. Richard had torn down everything, including a good deal of the outer walls. Those had been rebuilt, but the inner buildings were still a fond dream. There were stables, aye, and a poorly constructed garrison hall, but nothing of the splendor Hugh had enjoyed in his youth.

At least he told himself it had been splendid.

And he forbade himself yet again to remember how his
father had sent him away to live at another keep at such a tender age.

Hugh gave himself a good hard shake and forced himself to look upon his childhood home. The only decent improvement he could see was that the dungeons had been filled in. Hugh had never cared for them. He had suspected that all kinds of creatures dwelt therein, creatures he’d had no desire to come to know better. He’d heard their wails.

Hugh could imagine how the keep would look when it was finished and how fine the outbuildings would be. Richard had been long on the continent and had gold enough to see to luxuries Hugh could only dream of. ’Twould be a fine place indeed.

Hugh could only gape.

Aye, Richard could aid him and never feel the pain of it.

He was tempted to ask it right then, but two things stopped him: the faery was building Richard’s hall, and Richard’s guard was clustered nearby.

Hugh gave the latter his attentions. Never mind that they were bowing and weaving like drunken hens. Hugh had seen the lads a time or two and was well acquainted with their skills. If nothing else, the last one he wanted to encounter was that bastard from Scalebro. Sir Godwin likely still carried about his person an implement or two from his former employment as castle torturer. And the man’s reputation for patience and skill was legendary.

Hugh folded his arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall, trying to still his racing heart with a few calming thoughts. He would seek shelter outside the walls, then decide the best way to approach his brother. Aye, that was the most sensible plan.

Hugh turned and left the inner bailey. He had time. After all, Richard would likely live a very long life, what with the way he never partook of strong drink and seemingly didn’t ease himself with whatever woman passed by him. Hugh shook his head. Sober and free of disease. He couldn’t imagine the like.

Hugh stumbled over an animal at the entrance to the outer-bailey barbican. His first instinct was to boot the beast as far as he could, then he realized it was a feline. For all he knew, it was a witch’s familiar—and the saints only knew where abusing the beast might lead him.

He froze until the cat wandered off, apparently in search of other, more foolish victims. He quickly made a few of his favorite signs to ward off evil, then hurried from the keep. He had seen enough for that day.

Seeing the cat, however, had led him to another conclusion. There wasn’t a faery in the inner bailey, there was a witch. The cat was
her
familiar. The more Hugh thought on it, the more sense it made to him.

And if there was a witch in the keep, it was very possible that Richard might find himself enspelled. And if he were under some foul spell, he might be less than eager to help Hugh.