Yearning Heart (7 page)

Rebecca thought Malvina rather cheeky to mention such things, but she shrugged.

“I suppose that is true. Do you think Cook would have some warm bread and milk?”

“Yes, m'lady. She has a meal for thee.”

Rebecca ate in the big room where everyone dined, guests as well as the inside help. Wide fireplaces glowed at the end of the open area where meals were prepared and kept it pleasantly warm. When she finished eating, Rebecca drank the warm goat's milk and rose to leave.

“Thank you,” she said politely to the servants nearby.

They watched the new mistress of the house, wondering what she would demand of them. Sir Stephen demanded loyalty and hard work, but some of their friends and relatives were not so lucky. They were beaten for no reason other than the wife or lord and master needed someone upon which to vent anger. And so they wondered.

Rebecca strolled from the great room down a hallway and toward a bolted door. A man appeared in front of her and she stopped to look him over. Short, his face twisted by a scar from temple to chin, his mouth open in a wide grin, he blocked her way.

“Good morning to you,” she said, and took a step backward to see him more clearly. She smiled in answer to his grin. “I would like to go outdoors.”

“Of course, m'lady.” In contrast to his rough appearance, the voice was gentle and friendly. “My name is Aubin, Lady Rebecca, and I am at your service.”

He bowed low, and she could see the thinness of gray hair over a pink scalp. From her vantage point above him, his ears appeared pointed with white hair growing along the rims.

When he righted himself, Rebecca curtsied and watched his mouth drop open in amazement. “You are kind, Aubin. Now, please open the door for me.”

Before he could carry out her order, Malvina appeared.

“My lady, you cannot go out there. It is not done by ladies of this house.”

“And why not?”

Malvina looked flustered.

“I mean—I mean it is raining and there is mud underfoot.”

“I want to see the animals in the stables,” Rebecca said, thinking of the outbuildings noted the day before. Sir Oliver's animals lived in a lean-to attached to their house with only a walkway between living quarters and the smelly pens. Now she knew the reason she hadn't heard any animal noises. Sir Stephen's house was well separated from any other buildings, and she was curious to see what it was like on the outside.

"But Sir Stephen ..."

“You did say he is working, did you not? And will be back late?” Rebecca started

through the door Aubin held open. “I will return ere he does.” And she walked away from the protesting maid.

“Dost m'lady wish me to walk her to the stables?”

Rebecca smiled at Aubin. “No, I am capable of finding my way.”

She did not turn to see what he did, but had she done so, she'd have seen a silly, infatuated grin on the face of Sir Stephen's manservant. He liked his master's childish new bride. Her clear blue eyes, the wisps of blonde hair visible beneath the plain gray wimple, small white teeth gleaming as she smiled at him.

Yes, he liked the Lady Rebecca Lambert.

By the time Rebecca reached the stables, the rain had stopped, but her feet were wet and muddy. It did not matter to her. She crossed the pathway to a fence, leaned over it to peer inside, and found herself face to face with a young man pitching hay into bins.

Startled green eyes fastened on her face. Odd, she thought, how many green-eyed people live around here, and then she smiled at the stable boy who appeared to be about twelve years old.

“Good morning,” she said.

The boy gulped. “G-good morning, my lady.” He reached up to grab the old soft hat sitting low over his ears and snatched it from his head.

“What is your name?”

“B-Bundy.”

“Put your hat on, Bundy, before you catch cold,” she said. “Are there horses?”

“Yes, my lady.” He pointed. “In there.” As she started away, he said, “But, but, you cannot go...”

Rebecca was already pushing up the bar from the next stable. She had seen a handsome stallion, his hide only a shade darker than her hair, and she wanted a better look.

“Th—that is Tor, m'lady.” Bundy tugged on her sleeve.

“Tor? Oh, I like his name.”

Rebecca laughed, looking across the low railing separating her from the horse that blew through his nose and slung his perfectly shaped head upward.

“He belongs to Sir Stephen,” Bundy said.

“I thought Sir Stephen was out riding this morning. Why is he not on Tor?”

“He rides many horses. Tor is his favorite.”

“I think mine, too.”

Rebecca stepped closer and put out her hand. Between her fingers was a slice of the apple saved from her earlier meal.

“No, m'lady, no, do not...”

Rebecca was not listening. She stepped up on the lower rail of the enclosure, leaning so that her extended hand reached almost to the big horse eyeing her with a hostile gleam in his eyes.

“He is not friendly,” Bundy said and pulled at Rebecca's sleeve. “He bites.”

“Has he ever bitten you?”

“Many times.”

She turned to look at the boy. His eyes were wide, causing the pupils to look like purple grapes. “Why did he bite you? Did you beat him?”

Bundy moved his head side to side. “No, m'lady. Sir Stephen does not allow animals to be beaten. But Tor does not like anyone but Sir Stephen. Sometimes when I clean the stable and Tor is there, he nips the seat of my pants.”

Rebecca's delighted laughter rang out.

“You give him a good target, Bundy. He cannot resist. I will not present him with such a gift.”

She murmured directly to the animal in front of her, and he rolled his eyes, snorting. Rebecca chortled words at him, holding out the bit of fruit. Tor pranced, pawing the ground, swinging his head.

“I mean you no harm. And you cannot nip the seat of my pants, so come get the apple.”

“My lady?”

She spoke without turning. “Get to work, Bundy, or Sir Stephen will scold us both for idleness.”

Bundy watched the young woman a moment longer, and then turned back to his work. Once in awhile, he lifted his head to watch the two of them: Rebecca was sitting atop the rail and Tor alternately pawing the ground and inching closer to the tempting fruit in her small hand.

Bundy heard her laugh, turned to look, and stared at the sight of Rebecca sitting astride the broad back of his master's favorite steed. No one save Sir Stephen could approach the big stallion without loud protests from the horse or without taking precautions against nipping teeth and flailing hooves.

One of Rebecca's hands clasped into the horse's thick mane while the other caressed the strong neck. Her skirt had pulled up over her shoe tops, revealing dark blue stockings.

Bundy gulped and closed his eyes. When his gaze found the unlikely pair a moment later, Rebecca was again on the fence with Tor standing close to her munching on the remains of her apple. She leaned over, spoke softly into Tor's alertly lifted ear. The horse blew gently through his nose, and Rebecca rubbed the sleek space between black eyes. Then she patted his neck and hopped down from the rail.

“When can I ride Tor?” she said.

Bundy could barely speak.

“But, my lady, Sir Stephen does not allow anyone to ride Tor. He would never...”

“Bundy,” she said in a patient voice. “Sir Stephen does not have to know everything that goes on here, does he?” She smiled and won Bundy over completely.

“He would be most angry.”

“I know,” she said, “but I will be careful and ride only when he is away on his travels.” She had enough experience evading papa's orders that going against Sir Stephen's rules was a simple exercise of ignoring those she chose not to obey.

“But if Tor hurt you?”

“He never would.”

She turned to look at the horse that had moved to put his head as far as he could reach across the rail toward Rebecca.

“Would you, Tor?”

Black eyes surveyed the young woman, and then he lifted his head to whinny. If he did it just right, mayhap there would be more apples for him.

“See? He likes me already.”

She went toward the house leaving a confused and smitten young stable boy behind her.

Rain was falling once more, but Rebecca did not hurry as she made her way back to the main house. She stopped to stare at the almost square building, gray stone walls posing a forbidding sight. To her right a stone fence enclosed what she supposed was a garden, and she started toward it, stopping when she heard waves beating along the bottom of the cliffs.

She was anxious to walk near the water, but not today. The rain was cold, beginning to penetrate her woolen cape, and the wet air crept beneath her heavy skirt. She went on to the open gate leading into the garden and stepped inside.

It was drab looking now, but it must have been a fair sight during the flowering season. Scraggly honeysuckle vines intertwined with thorny rose bushes along the stone wall. Piles of leaves and trash had been raked to the side of flowerbeds ready to be picked up as time permitted.

Papa would have a stick to me if I left such as this, Rebecca thought.

Bundy said Sir Stephen did not whip anyone. She shivered, remembering the cold expression on his face when he forbid her to use the perfume again. Bundy might be wrong in her case. Sir Stephen had appeared angry enough to strike before he stomped from her bedroom. So angry he did not even bother to test his bride to see if she were a virgin.

Rebecca knew what being unwanted was like, but from Sir Stephen, it hurt more than ever.

She avoided the servants and made her way back to her bedroom. Her bed had been redone, the room cleaned and dusted.

My manuscripts. She ran her hand beneath the rustling shuck mattress, and sighed thankfully. The precious sheets of paper were still there. What would the servants, especially Malvina, say if they found such treasures as written pages in Lady Rebecca's room? Malvina would reveal her secret, she was certain.

Would Steven forbid her to hold and read them? Even if she were learned in reading skills, it was not a popular thing for women to own valuable papers such as these.

Even though Malvina was now her personal maid, Rebecca was beginning to have doubts as to her loyalty. Her first loyalty was to Sir Stephen, and who could blame her? He was her master and source of all her worldly goods, why should she not nurture his pleasures?

Rebecca's heart twisted.

When would she find someone who cared enough to be loyal? Was her situation any better now than with papa? She had always been able to understand people, to guess at their intentions, but had she been wrong about Malvina? She had been married a whole day and night, had not slept with her husband, and he had left the household without instructions as to how she was to pass her time until he returned.

Her new life was proving to be confusing in a very short time.

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Chapter Four

Rebecca searched for something to occupy her until it was time for Stephen to come from the fields. The servants had taken care of cooking and cleaning. There was much work to be done outside, but with the stormy weather, no one ventured onto the grounds.

It had been a long time since she had read the manuscripts, so now she closed the bedroom door and pulled them from beneath the mattress. She decided it would be a mistake to allow Malvina to know she kept the coveted pages between the mattresses of her bed, and in the spring when beds were hung out the windows to sun, she would have to find a new hiding place.

Her mind wandered from the writing she had thought so precious. What matter was it that there was love and tender romance in the laboriously written words? What about her life? Sixteen, married to a handsome man of wealth. She should not have to turn to stiff parchment for entertainment. She dreaded giving her body to Stephen, but was it not better to make herself useful than to be idle? Papa would never allow idleness, the devil's housekeeper, he said. But she was no longer bound by papa's harsh rulings and would have to stop comparing her present life to the past at Grinwold.

Growing restless with her thoughts, Rebecca left her room to walk down the wide hallway toward the closed doors. One room, she knew, was Stephen's, but which one? Curious to see what sort of room her husband slept in, she stood outside a heavy door, hesitating before she put out her hand to turn the brass knob. The door swung inward, and she stared at a room twice the size of hers with an enormous square bed. The cover was deep blue and heavy drapes of the same linen material were pulled back from glazed glass windows. Underfoot was a thick navy and wine carpet the likes of which she had never seen.

She crossed the room to an open door. Inside was a long wooden tub with an upholstered stool beside it. Sir Stephen's private bath. Across from her was another door as though he could go into an adjoining room. Backing away, she let her gaze roam once more around the bedroom, quite plainly a man's room with its heavy, expensive furniture. Double doors on the opposite wall might shut away his clothing. She didn't investigate. Instead, she hurried back out into the hallway. The room was intimately Sir Stephen's, and she felt like the intruder she was.

She pulled the door closed behind her and, after a moment's hesitation, went to the next door. It was locked. Frowning, she stared down at the brass knob identical to the one on Stephen's door.

Why would a guest bedroom door be locked? Surely, Malvina was required to clean and dust occasionally to keep it fresh.

She looked back to Stephen's bedroom, then toward the stairway leading down into the great hall. Malvina was busy with downstairs duties and would not be up until she called Rebecca to eat hours from now. With a determined lift to her chin, she went back to the room she'd just left, opened the door and closed it behind her. Quickly, she crossed once more into the bathroom, past the large tub, to the closed door on the other side. The knob turned easily.

Rebecca stepped into the room and stopped still. It was as though someone had just left it. The bed was freshly made, the white muslin curtains crisscrossed over glazed glass. A white chest with a crest of gold wings across the top drawer stood opposite the bed. Double doors indicated another closet.