Wings of the Storm (3 page)

Stephan rose, leaning casually against the wall as he watched her marching worriedly back and forth.

"You needn't agitate yourself," he said after a while.

She turned on him. As she opened her mouth to yell, she managed to remember that medieval ladies were supposed to be demure and gentle. A tantrum would not do, even though she might enjoy it. So she stood there gaping at the young

man instead.

Stephan strode forward. Tucking a forefinger under her chin, he closed her mouth for her. "You'll stay at Passfair for now," he informed her.

She eyed him suspiciously. His tone was that of a man used to having his way. She was alone and lost and too aware she really couldn't survive on her own. He had offered her nothing but kindness so far, and she was trespassing on his land. He also had a sword. She didn't relish the thought of a confrontation with an armed man. She didn't like being meek and mild, but there wasn't much choice at the moment.

"I—" she began.

"There are wolves in the forest," he added before she could fumble on. His dark eyes were sparkling with mischief as he informed her, "And brigands, of course. And I've an annoying neighbor who's been terrorizing travelers of late. It's best you come home with me." Stephan placed his right hand over his heart. "Your virtue's safe. Lady Jehane," he said as he ran his eyes appreciatively over her once more.

"For now, at least."

Jane dropped her gaze demurely—before she did something stupid like respond to his flirting. No one had flirted with her for a while. He was just a boy, and he probably had fleas or something worse, she reminded herself. The last thing she needed was to get involved with someone in the twelfth or thir-teenth or whatever century this was. "I'm grateful, Sir Stephan," she said after some hesitation.

"Good." He looked past her, out the doorway. The horse was snuffling and pawing the ground. "He thinks he runs my life, you know."

Sounds like my car,Jane thought.
Iwill never again buy one that talks at me. No, she
realized,
I won't.

She had a sudden sensation that was rather like having her brain hit with a brick wall. The tower and Sir Stephan spun briefly out of focus.

She heard him ask, "Are you all right? The fever?" She grasped his arm to remain upright as the dizzi-ness passed. She blinked owlishly. "Fever? Oh, yes, the fever."

"We best go."

"Right," she agreed. She went to the bags and hefted the two smaller ones with a grunt. Their contents made her a rich woman in this time, and she wasn't about to forget them. They weighed about twenty pounds each. When she turned around, Stephan was holding the larger canvas bag and looking at her in surprise.

"I could have sent a servant back for these," he said, half-chiding. He added, "You're strong for a woman."

For a lady, he meant. Jane blushed. "Without ser-vants, one learns," she pointed out rather primly. He nodded. She followed him outside.

Within a few minutes he had the bags lashed to the skittish animal's high saddle peak. He mounted, then helped her up, settling her behind him.

Jane wrapped her arms tightly around the young knight's very narrow waist, her wide skirts spread out around her and her short linen veil stirred by the breeze. It probably looked terribly romantic, she thought, even if it wasn't all that comfortable. Things could be much worse, she supposed. She had been invited to a castle, with a handsome knight as her champion. Maybe the Middle Ages wouldn't be so bad after all.

3

"What a dump," fane saidunder her breath as she viewed the great hall ofPassfairCastle.

Sir Stephan had led her into the hall through a door cut in a movable wooden screen placed several feet back from the outer door. She paused, squinting in the murky light. She made out a large room with a low, soot-covered ceiling. Very little light seeped in from the two narrow windows in the wall above the high table at the other end of the room. A smoky fire in a round central hearth was responsible for the soot, if for very little illumination or warmth. The floor was covered in a thick layer of withered and stinking rushes. The rushes were covered in a layer of rough-coated dogs. Well, dotted was perhaps a better word, Jane thought, but there were at least a dozen of them. She sniffed distastefully. Not exactly housebroken, either.

Stephan noticed her staring at the dogs. "Deer-hounds," he said. "The estate borders on the royalforestof Blean. I'm not allowed to hunt the king's deer, but I have the privilege of housing and provid-ing for a pack of our lord John's hounds. Not," he added with a sarcastic twitch of his lips, "that those curs would recognize a deer if it wandered into the hall and offered to slit its own throat."

Jane breathed a sigh of relief. "Then the King doesn't come here to hunt?"

"Not in living memory. He prefers other sport."

She followed Stephan to the central fire. She stepped carefully, the rushes not so much rustling as squashing underfoot. She heard the skittering and squeaking of mice in the foul matting.

As they reached the glowing hearth and held their hands out to warm, one of the hounds rose on long, slender legs. It stretched, then trotted up to Stephan, butting its head insistently against his hand. He reached down automatically to pet the long white head.

"This," he said, scratching the dog's short, floppy ears, "is Melisande, the true chatelaine of Passfair." As he spoke a pair of puppies caught up to Melisande and began happily weaving in and out between her legs. "She's something of a wanton," he added.

"You haven't been home much lately, have you?" Jane guessed as she and Stephan made their way through the dog pack to the long wooden table on the dais. Melisande followed at Stephan's heel, her pup-pies clamoring after. The little ones had some trouble with the dais step, so Stephan absentmindedly helped them up with the toe of his boot.

Jane hid a smile as she seated herself at a hard but beautifully carved chair behind the table. Stephan's

gallantry was unconscious and quite boy-ishly charming. In fact, he was looking more boyish to her with each passing moment, especially as his mobile mouth took on an almost petulant pout. She resisted an urge to pat him affectionately on the head.

"Well?" she questioned instead.

He pulled another unwieldy chair up beside hers. When he sat down, Melisande took the opportunity to rest her elegant head in his lap. He played with her ears while he answered.

"It's a long tale." His lips lifted in a mocking half smile. "A long winter, actually. I was away for most of it, in my liege's service. A fever struck Passfair and myvillageofHwitbetween here and the river. The priest died first, I'm told. No loss since he wouldn't shrive the dying anyway."

Stephan threw off his cape, letting it drape across the back of his chair. He wore a black tunic, embroi-dered at the neck in a gray-and-white geometric pat-tern. Jane followed his example, shedding her own cape.

"Over the course of the winter," he continued, "my steward died, and his wife, and the bailiff. By the time I got home only the Saxon reeve was left in the village. There's been no one but the cook and a crippled old guard sergeant to keep the place run-ning at all." He gestured around the hall with one elegantly long-fingered hand. "My late lady mother would kill me if she knew I'd let her hall come to this."

He smiled warmly at Jane. "The problem is," he went on earnestly, "Passfair needs a lady. Running a household's no job for a man. I've been trying, but I hardly know the buttery from the brew house. The reeve's keeping the demesne farm running all right. Peasants don't need a nobleman trying to teach them farming. But the hall . . ." He trailed off, mobile mouth downcast, but Jane thought she detected a gleam of speculation in his dark eyes.

She ignored it, recalling the ride across the estate from the tower. There'd been men and oxen working in two of the three fields she'd seen, a little girl minding a gaggle of geese, and a few other people going slowly about their business while studiously ignoring their passing lord, but she'd gotten the feeling the place was almost deserted. There seemed to be a lack of purpose or interest about the inhabitants. From the look of the castle interior. Sir Stephan's home was falling rapidly into decay.

It was a small keep, square in shape and only two stories high. The main building's walls were thick gray stone with a flat, crenellated roof, sur-rounded by a ditch and a double wall. The outer wall was of heavy wooden staves, wickedly pointed at the top. Inside the walls the bailey held the keep and quite a few thatched-roofed wattle-and-daub buildings. She'd identified a sturdily built stable and noticed servants lingering around a wooden kitchen structure connected to the castle by a cov-ered walkway.

Stephan grimaced at her lack of response to his silent plea and yelled for some ale. Almost instantly the old servant who had brought her bags in came shuffling over with a pair of wooden tankards, mak-ing his way to the dais through a traffic jam of sud-denly awake and restive dogs. Those mutts had to go, Jane thought as she watched his weaving progress.

As the servant stepped up to Stephan she just bare-

ly caught herself from crossing her legs to get more comfortable. The chair was hard and her muscles ached, but she knew she'd have to be careful to be as still as possible until she could pick up local body lan-guage. Better to be thought stiff than improper. She did drum her fingers on the chair arm and nudge

a pup chewing on her hem.

"No wife?" she questioned cautiously.

"Wife?" he said as he took the tankards from the old man. He passed one to Jane, who sniffed distaste-fully at the brown liquid. She knew the barley-based beverage was safer to drink than water and supposed she'd better get used to it. As she took a cautious swallow Stephan repeated, "Wife? Not yet."

Jane balanced the tankard on the wide arm of her chair. "No?" Stephan was looking melancholy, and she didn't think she liked it. "What's wrong with being married?" she asked.

"Nothing." He lifted his square chin proudly. "I am betrothed to Lady Sibelle LeGauche of Sturry," he announced, sounding more as though he were trying to impress himself than her. Then he added unhappi-ly, "There really isn't any better choice."

"Local heiress?" Jane guessed. He nodded and sat moodily staring at his boots while Melisande licked his hand. Jane watched him for a minute before ask-ing, "All right, what's wrong with her?"

He looked at her through his thick black lashes."I've never met the girl," he admitted. "But I have my suspicions. She'll not make a good chate-laine, I know that already," he declared forcefully. Giving Jane the full potency of his most beguiling smile, he cajoled, "You'll help me, won't you?"

Jane really wished she could scratch her head. It wasn't just that all the hours under a veil made her scalp itch. She always scratched her head when she was totally confused. She knew her expression must be reflecting her unease at his odd request. She didn't think this was an offer of marriage. Rich heiresses weren't exactly thick on the ground, and young knights had a certain yuppielike hankering after upward mobility. Jane had a treasure in her bags, but it would mean nothing to Sir Stephan. He was part of a class structure that valued land above all else. He wouldn't be marrying this Sibelle per-son if she weren't bringing him at least one estate as a dowry.

"Please, dear nut-brown Jehane."

"How can I help?" she asked. She knew it wasn't a wise question, but he'd offered her shelter—and he looked so appealing.

He ran his right hand around his long jaw and chin. "It's Sibelle. She's fifteen. Ripe for marriage, yes, but from what I've heard . . . she was raised in Davington Priory. To pray," he added sardonically. "No one seemed to think she had it in her to be prioress despite her family's wealth. The nuns were turned out of the priory about the same time Baron LeGauche's two sons died. He was left with the girl as an heiress.

He had need of a husband for the girl, someone to protect her lands. He chose me. He pre-ferred a near neighbor to other alliances he could make. He's ailing, and in difficult times it's best to stay close to home.

The choice was between me and Hugh of Lilydrake, Hugh's wife being recently dead. The lucky woman," Stephan added. "The baron's a feeling enough father not to want his girl wed to the likes of Hugh. And I'm better connected," Stephan added with a shameless grin.

Not to mention he was about the cutest thing in the country, Jane added silently, rubbing her own chin to hide a smile. Not that she supposed that counted in the marital transaction. "So you're betrothed to a nun.

What's that got to do with me. Sir Stephan? I wish to become a nun, remember?"

"I need a woman to run my household," he told her, waving his hand around the deserted and dirty hall.

"How can I bring a bride into this muck? Espe-cially a bride with no sense to manage it?" "But—"

"I'd like to appoint you my chatelaine," he told her before she could go on. "I knew you'd suit as soon as you told me of your life and travels. You're a strong woman. Lady Jehane."

She found herself scratching her head despite the veil. "But I know nothing about running an estate. I'm from a different land, a different ti—climate. I'm a stranger."

He didn't seem to care. "You'll manage," he said smugly.

"What do you mean, I'll
manage?"
Why was she suddenly running into men who insisted on throwing her into impossible situations?

"You've survived the Saracens and the journey toEngland," Stephan pointed out reasonably. "Running a manor's only a matter of giving the right orders and keeping accounts. I don't suppose you can read?"

Jane bristled, snapping out. "Four languages," before thinking about it.

Stephan's heavy black brows lifted at this state-ment. "Reading's a useful skill. I've no Latin myself, but I can manage French well enough for love poems. You have the skills I need, and I'm offering you a place until the interdict's over." He nodded his stub-bornly set square jaw. "It's settled, then."

Jane didn't see it that way, but her protest wasn't heard since the dogs suddenly started yapping again.