Warrior's Song (15 page)

    Avicia drew herself to her full height. "None of those disgusting beasts is to foul the keep. Get him out of here at once or I'll have him killed."

    It was a mistake, and she knew it the moment her husband took a step toward her. "I beg your pardon," Lord Hugh said, staring at his wife.

    Avicia splayed her hands in a helpless gesture that had, some thirty years ago, led Hugh to the erroneous conclusion that his bride was a soft-spoken girl who needed his strong man's protection. "You promised, Hugh. The dog is fouling Chandra and making a nuisance of himself."

    "Oh, no," Chandra said, "you needn't worry for me, and he is not fouling me, for Jerval and I bathed him but yesterday."

    "He nearly ripped my arm off," Jerval said. "The men were laying bets on how long it would take him to knock me on my back."

    "God and the angels," Hugh said, torn between laughter and his wife's outrage. "You actually gave this vicious hound a bath? A
bath
?"

    "I did not want to bathe him," Chandra said, "but Jerval thought it would make Hawk more acceptable to you, my lady. My father's hounds are always in the keep. You, my lord, were always throwing bones to Graynard during supper."

    "Aye, that's true," Hugh said, rubbing his chin, remembering Graynard's nose rubbing against his legs. He forgot that he had cursed the fleas.

    "Hugh?"

    "The hound is clean," Hugh said. "As long as Chandra is willing to keep him that way, he may stay here in the Great Hall."

    Chandra closed her arms about the hound's neck and let him throw his great weight against her, dragging her to her knees.

    "As you will, my lord," Avicia said, tight-lipped. She remembered all too well the pigsty Camberley had been when she first wed Hugh, for there had been no lady in residence for several years. She looked toward her daughter-in-law, recognizing that she was beautiful, that she had character and intelligence, but knowing to her innards that the girl saw things as a man would. That wasn't good. She would have a battle on her hands.

    "Hawk is almost human sometimes, my lady," Mary said. "Indeed, when Jerval yelled at him to hold still for his bath, he seemed to understand. Alma gave me some powdery leaves to rub into his coat. She said it would keep all the vermin away from him."

    The girl was diplomatic, Jerval thought, staring at Mary. Unfortunately, that quality seemed foreign to his wife.

CHAPTER 15

Dinner that evening was set only for the family, well prepared, and served without mishap, thanks to Lady Avicia's last-minute visit to the cooking sheds. Jerval forked a piece of roast pork into his mouth, closing his eyes a moment at the taste. His mother's voice brought his head up. "There are no idle hands at Camberley, Chandra, as I'm certain you've noticed. Everyone has duties to perform, and we do not cater to slothfulness." She directed her next words to her husband. "When we arrived, I heard that slut Glenna laughing in the solar."

    Lord Hugh said between bites, "The girl has her uses, Avicia." He choked on the meat. "Er, that is, she
had
her uses."

    "What do you mean, my lord?" Chandra asked.

    "He means nothing at all," Jerval said.

    "Tell me, Chandra," Avicia said, wondering how her daughter-in-law could be such a dolt about such matters, "what were your duties at Croyland?"

    Chandra smiled. "There were no idle hands at Croyland either. I helped Crecy with the ledger accounts. Lord Richard despises numbers, and during the past year, I saw to Croyland's purchases and sales."

    "You read?"

    "Aye, my lady, my father wished it. Crecy taught me."

    "We ladies do not involve ourselves in that sort of thing at Camberley," Avicia said, and wondered silently why not.

    "You have an honest steward then? One who can count beyond his ten fingers?"

    Avicia thought of the oily Damis, whom she had distrusted ever since the day she had seen him strutting in a new fur-lined tunic in the village over a year ago. "I don't know," she said slowly.

    "Actually," Jerval said, "I handle quite a bit of that now, Chandra. Damis needs a close eye on his ledgers. My mother is thinking of that new tunic of his. I took the cost of it from his wages. The fellow does well enough now."

    "But what did you do at Croyland that is appropriate for a lady?" Julianna asked.

    "Chandra sings and plays the lyre beautifully," Mary said, "but you already know that, Julianna."

    My little champion, Chandra thought, looking at Mary. She said to Lady Avicia, "My mother directed the servants in the weaving, cooking, and cleaning. She never wished my help. Indeed, she didn't want anything from me. I know nothing of it."

    "That makes no sense," Avicia said. "It is a mother's responsibility to train her daughter."

    "That was not Lady Dorothy's view of things."

    "Then I will teach you," Lady Avicia said, and she actually rubbed her hands together. "Since you are my son's wife and the future mistress of Camberley, there are many responsibilities that will be yours. There is the proper planning of the meals, seeing that the servants do their jobs well, clothes to be woven and mended, the gardens to be tended and, naturally, the care of guests. Ah, so many things to be done." Lady Avicia rubbed her hands together again as she said with too much relish, "Aye, no one will have to worry about this because I will instruct you."

    Chandra didn't like that very happy look on her mother-in-law's face. She wasn't at all certain that instruction from Lady Avicia would be such a good thing. Probably not even a tolerable thing. She nearly shuddered. She'd spoken aloud about Lady Dorothy because the words had simply popped out of her mouth without her permission. She wondered what Lady Avicia would do now. She thought with horror of using a spinning wheel. Wisely, she kept her mouth shut.

    Like his wife, Jerval wondered what would happen now. But what bothered him was what she had said about her mother.

    Chandra said at last, "However, I believe that Croyland is the most magnificent keep in all of England."

    Avicia said, "Magnificent mayhap, but the meals were ill prepared save for the marriage feast, the serving maids slovenly and shiftless and the keep filthy. There were bones and refuse in the reeds. I could not even walk about in the bailey without having my skirts soiled. Well, that is not quite true, but almost."

    Jerval saw that Chandra would probably draw her knife to defend all the perfection of Croyland. He said, rising quickly, "It is late. You are all very tired, as are we. Chandra and I bid you good night."

    "She insulted Croyland," Chandra said as she walked beside him up the stone stairs. "She dared to insult Croyland."

    "The meals were not all that tasty," he said mildly, and leaned over to kiss her. "I do like your nose."

    She shoved him back. "Leave me be, damn you. You will not make me laugh. You will not make me yowl again. You will not make my brain leap from my head."

    He grabbed her hand, kept walking, and began whistling. Just before they reached their bedchamber, he stopped her and held her hands together in his. "Before we wedded, I never considered our life once it would actually begin here at Camberley. All I could think about was being inside you, kissing every bit of you. I nearly expired with lust. I still do. However, life has intruded. Now, my mother is mistress here, and her standards are exacting."

    "Camberley should be like Croyland— a warrior's keep, not a sweet-smelling, useless hall where more attention is given to the cleanliness of the tables than to the fortifications."

    "You have eyes. You see that Camberley is very well fortified. The keep is clean. All like it that way." He paused a moment, then said, "I am sorry that your mother didn't wish to teach you. It isn't natural. It must have been difficult for you. But no longer. Now, I know what you should do: just think of the way you feel after I have given you your woman's pleasure, then speak to my mother."

    She was appalled. "I cannot. She would believe that I have lost all my wits."

    "Aye, and that might be a good thing."

    "She would see me as weak and soft and she would kick me."

    He said thoughtfully, "Now, that's quite possible. However, I will keep a sharp lookout and see that she doesn't do that."

    Chandra said, her eyes clouded with sudden memories that Jerval knew weren't good, "My mother hated me. For as far back as I can remember she couldn't bear to have me near her."

    "But why?"

    "I don't know. She beat me until I was big enough to fight back and then she stopped. She was afraid of me then."

    "Why didn't you tell your father?"

    Chandra gave him a long look, then shrugged. "I don't know why I told you that. It's not important, hasn't been for many years now."

    "Why didn't you tell your father?" he asked again.

    "She said she would poison him if I did. I believed her." Chandra shook herself then, as if waking from a dream. "I do not wish to be with you tonight, Jerval. I am angry because you see nothing good about me. I would very likely bite you."

    A mother who hated and beat her own daughter? It made his guts churn, his belly cramp. She was right, though. It was years too late, and now this. He smiled at her. "Come. I will take my chances. I believe I will try some new things on you."

    He did and she didn't bite him.

    Before he fell asleep, he said against her neck, "There is so much good about you that it nearly breaks my heart."

    She was soft and limp, her mind easy, vague. "What is good about me?"

    But he was asleep.

    Rolfe had to squint against the early-morning sun to make out the figure riding toward him. It was Sir Jerval's wife, astride her destrier. A sword was strapped at her side, and a shield was tucked under her arm. Her long woman's legs were encased in chausses, with cross garters binding them to her, and she wore a tunic of dark blue wool. Rolfe met Malton's astonished look, grinned, and spat into the dirt.

    Malton drew a deep breath and wheeled about. "I don't like this, Rolfe. I don't think she is here just to cheer the men on. I must see Sir Jerval." He had seen her on the archery range with Jerval and Mark during the previous week, and of course she was a familiar sight in her men's garb riding her great destrier. But that Jerval would allow her to take part in the Scots' competition, that he could not believe. She was skilled, no doubt about that, but she was still a lady, she was a female, and she could be hurt.

    He found Jerval naked to the waist, sluicing himself from a bucket of water at the well.

    "Aye, Malton?" Jerval shook himself, took a towel from a giggling serving girl at his side, and rubbed it over his chest and head.

    "By all the ancient gods," Malton said, "it's my lady. She's mounted on that beast of hers, in the tiltyard. She is carrying her sword. We are having the competition this morning. You know it is dangerous. She is a girl, a soft, beautiful girl who surely should not be anywhere near the practice field, and—"

    "Of course she will not compete. Don't fret, Malton. She is just looking over the course."

    "She looks like she is doing more than just looking."

    "Nay, it is nothing more than her interest. She is well trained, so of course she would want to know how everything will be done."

    Malton said nothing more. However, Jerval dressed more quickly than was his wont, mounted Pith, and followed Malton to the tiltyard. Chandra had been gone when he awakened that morning, but she always was. When, he wondered, would she not leave him? When would she stay and let him love her in the morning daylight?

    He had seen her briefly when they were breaking their fast down in the Great Hall; then she had disappeared. Likely she was avoiding his mother. At least she never left the keep now without an escort. He had hope for her sense.

    Jerval pressed his knees to Pith's sides and galloped to the far side of the tiltyard, where Chandra sat astride Wicket, looking everything over.

    "Good morning, wife," he said, reining in Pith beside Wicket. "What do you think of the course? Have you picked your favorite to win?"

    "Bayon explained it all to me," she said. "As to who will win, why, since I wish to compete, I must wager on myself."

    As always, she sounded so sure of herself. He said slowly, "You must know that you cannot compete in this competition, Chandra. It is not a game. Archery, wrestling, and hunting are one thing, but not this. This is deadly serious."

    "I am well used to riding at straw dummies. This course does not look all that difficult."

    "It is misleading. You may watch. You might consider cheering for me." He leaned over, gripped her chin and kissed her hard. He felt the immediate response in her. He grinned as he straightened, looking directly through her tunic to her wildly beating heart, she was sure of that, and then rode away.

    He rode to where all the men were mounted and waiting. "Prepare the Scots. Malton, you will keep the scores and count the seconds."

    Chandra looked hard at the course. She'd studied it since early that morning. It was set the length of the practice field, with straw figures bound upright to long poles, spaced haphazardly, their heads tilted at odd angles. Her fingers fairly itched to draw her sword. She leaned forward to pat Wicket's glossy neck, guessing that success depended greatly on the destrier's skill.

    As Ranulfe was readying himself for the first run, Lord Hugh rode onto the tiltyard and pulled his horse to a halt beside his son. "So, Jerval, I see your wife is here. Does she wish to show the men how to run the course?"

    "She is watching, that is all. Hopefully she will cheer for me as well."

    "You do not sound certain that she will."

    "Nay, I am not, but I am hopeful."

    "It seems that I have saddled you with a hellion," Hugh said, grinning at his son, "but by damn, she is a beauty."

    "Aye, I know it well." And the son smiled at the father. "She is exactly what I would want."

    "Does she accept you yet as her master?"

    "Probably not."

    "I envy you the taming of her. Your mother believes that you give the girl too much rein, but all in good time."

    "She bends— you just don't see it much as yet."

    "Actually," said Lord Hugh, "I have seen none of it."

    Maginn raised his arm, then, with a loud whoop, sliced it through the air back to his side.

    Ranulfe raised his sword over his head and galloped toward the nearest straw Scot, yelling,
"À Vernon! À Vernon!"
The straw head went hurtling into the air. There were thirty Scots in all, and by the time Ranulfe wheeled his horse about at the end of the run, fourteen had lost their heads.

    "Not bad for a Cornishman," Jerval shouted out as the men cheered.

    As the sewers raced through the course to fasten the heads back to the bodies, Chandra inched Wicket toward the field. She watched the next three men take their run, heard Malton call out their scores and their times, and wondered why they had all avoided the center of the course, where most of the straw Scots were bunched together. It was a narrow passage, to be sure, but to win, it had to be tried.