Authors: Bertrice Small
“Where is the stone to come from?” she demanded.
“The wagons should begin arriving in a day or two,”
Andrew answered her.
“He wants his man to remain to oversee our security,” Adair told Albert and Dark Walter. “Could you not do it, Dark Walter? Is it necessary for Andrew Lynbridge to stay?” she demanded of them.
Dark Walter nodded. “It is, my lady. I have not the experience in defense that he does. I was naught but a common soldier. Captain Lynbridge is a skilled man, and in the good duke’s confidence. ’Tis an honor, Captain,” he said, bowing politely from the waist. “I know you spent many years with the duke. He will have the authority that I know you want someone in his position to have, my lady. Hesitation in a siege is no benefit to those under attack. I am glad for his aid, and bid him welcome.”
“Thank you,” Andrew Lynbridge said quietly. “But
’tis you who are the captain of arms here. And so you shall remain. I did not come at my lord’s request to re
place you, Dark Walter. I came only to help, to direct, to teach you and your men.”
The older man bowed, and the two men’s eyes met in perfect understanding.
“If Dark Walter remains my captain,” Adair said irritably, “then what are we to call you, sir?” They were making decisions without her, and she was the lady of Stanton.
“Andrew?” he suggested, and there was a twinkle in his eye. “It is my name.”
Albert and Dark Walter chuckled, and Adair was forced to laugh.
“Very well,” she agreed, “then Andrew it will be.”
Elsbeth decreed that Andrew Lynbridge would sleep in the hall. “It is not meet he go above the stairs,” she said tartly. “You are a girl alone, and must be wary to mind your reputation if you are to wed the proper man one day,” she reminded Adair.
“I know you will make me comfortable, Mistress Elsbeth,” Andrew replied, “and I agree that the lady’s good name must not be besmirched.”
“Well, then, you have more common sense than most men,” Elsbeth said sharply.
“I think you will find that I do,” he agreed soberly, and Elsbeth looked at him, not certain that he was not mocking her, but his handsome face remained
impassive.
Several days later the carts carrying the stones that would become a wall began arriving at Stanton, along with a stonemason who quickly trained several of the local men so they might help him with the construction.
Every few days, as the carts emptied, others carrying more stone would arrive. Adair was never certain how the workers knew when they had enough, but then one day there were no carts. And several days later the wall that stood six and a half feet in height was completed.
The old moat had been redug, and a channel from nearby Stanton Water was opened so that the moat would always be filled. The blacksmith made a portcullis for the main entry between the walls, and heavy oak double doors, reinforced with iron bands, were hung. A wooden bridge was built over the moat.
“Why not stone?” Adair wanted to know.
“It takes too much effort to destroy a stone bridge,”
Andrew told her. “If the walls are breached we can burn the bridge and hold off the invader longer, because they cannot easily reach us without the bridge. And the moat prevents the hostile from laying siege ladders against the house.”
“It’s more a castle now,” she remarked.
“Not really,” he explained to her. “You have no battlements. And you would have needed royal permission to raise a castle. But you did not need royal permission to reinforce the defenses of your house.”
It had taken all spring and half of the summer to complete the new defenses. Adair now saw to the raising of new barns within the stone enclosure. She would house her cattle safely from the winter snows. They had seen small parties of riders now and again, but their apparent readiness to defend what was Stanton’s seemed to deter any attacks. The cattle Adair had purchased early in the spring had grown fat upon the lush Stanton meadow grass. Several of the young heifers were showing signs that they were with calf. Adair was very pleased. She would not buy more cattle until next year. The Stanton folk had worked hard through the summer months to grow enough grain to feed the new herd. They harvested and threshed the grain, and stored it within the walls in a new stone granary, along with two fat tomcats to patrol its perimeter and keep the mice population to a minimum. The two felines were very fierce.
As August came to an end Adair received an invitation from the duchess Anne to come for a visit at Middleham Castle. She was loath to go, as she felt there was
too much to do before the winter, but Elsbeth and Albert insisted.
“It’s been a hard year for you, my chick,” Elsbeth said. “First you faced the difficulty of dealing with a husband you did not want; then he died, and now you have spent these last months overseeing everything here at Stanton. You have forgotten you are a lady. A visit with the duchess will remind you of your station. And you know the duke will be happy to see you, and you him.”
“And I will escort you,” Andrew Lynbridge said. “The duke will want a report on what we have done here at Stanton.”
“Perhaps you will not have to come back,” Adair said carelessly. Having been raised in a household made up mostly of women, and under the tutelage of Lady Margaret Beaufort, she resented Andrew Lynbridge’s interference in her life. She had been taught to be a capable manager of a large estate. But there was an air of authority about Andrew. Her servants deferred to him, even Albert. And Dark Walter adored him with a slav-ish devotion that grated upon Adair’s nerves.
“Perhaps,” he agreed pleasantly. He had been attempting for months to get close to the lady of Stanton, to win her favor, her friendship. But the truth was that he had been so busy with the walls and all that went with them, there had been little time for pleasantries.
And Adair had been just as busy overseeing the planting, the haying, her kitchen garden, making candles and soap, salting meat and fish, and preparing other foodstuffs that would be stored away for the winter. By day’s end they were both so tired there was little time left for banter, although sometimes they did play chess.
They traveled the few days south into Yorkshire, reaching Middleham on an early September day. The weather had been pleasant, as it usually was at this time of year.
The duchess welcomed Adair warmly. “I have been
wanting to see you for some weeks now,” she said, link-ing her arm through Adair’s as they walked into the hall. “How pretty you look. Orange tawny suits you. Did I see you were riding astride?”
“It’s more comfortable for me,” Adair admitted. “A bit hoydenish, Lady Margaret would have said, I fear.”
She smiled. “You are looking well, your grace.”
“I have had a good year,” the duchess admitted. “The air here in the north is good for me, except in the winter when I remain indoors. Still, the quiet life suits me better than any other, Adair. How do you enjoy it? You have been back well over a year now.”
The two women sat down on a broad settle by one of the great hall’s hearths.
“I have never been busier in my life,” Adair admitted.
“The fate of Stanton and its people rests upon my shoulders now. I never realized how heavy a burden it would be, and yet I am happier than I have ever been in my life.”
“It is unfortunate, then, that your husband was killed,” the duchess said.
“FitzTudor? He was no husband to me but in name,”
Adair replied. “And his pride was such that he was more trouble to me than help. I have never known so ignorant a boy. He could but scrawl his name, and could not read.
He truly believed that he had been brought into this world to be served. He had no useful skills and knew nothing of managing an estate of any size. I was planning to return him to the king when he was slain. I am shocked he was not better educated or trained. He got himself killed.”
“Yet it was a gallant gesture,” the duchess said softly.
“Gallant? Aye. But foolish. He had no skill with a sword, poor lad,” Adair replied. “Still, in death he received what he could not get in life. I buried him next to my parents, and the stone marking his grave states he was Earl of Stanton.”
“Still,” the duchess said, “you must have a husband,
Adair. How old are you now? Seventeen, if I recall correctly, and still a virgin.”
“But just last month,” Adair defended herself, blushing.
“I was fourteen when I married Prince Edward,” the duchess remarked. “And sixteen when I wed my
Dickon. Our Neddie was born when I was seventeen.
Like me you have lost a first husband tragically. You must remarry.”
“Why?” Adair said pettishly. This was not a subject with which she was comfortable. Could she not be allowed time for herself?
“Why, for Stanton, my dear,” the duchess said. “Stanton must have an heir.”
“But who would marry me?” Adair wanted to know.
“I am far from court, and I will not wed a man I do not know, or like, or, most important, respect. The king sent me poor FitzTudor, and I despised him on sight. Only good fortune saved me from a lifetime of misery. I cannot go through that again, my lady Anne.”
“You know Andrew Lynbridge,” the duchess said.
“He is most eligible. I do not know if you like him, but certainly you respect him.”
“Andrew? Is that why Uncle Dickon sent him to Stanton? So I would consider him worthy to be my husband?” She laughed. “How clever of him.”
“Yes, it was,” the duchess admitted. “Andrew Lynbridge is old Sir Humphrey’s grandson, as you know.
The family has held its lands as long as the Radcliffes.
Your blood is slightly better by virtue of your paternity, but in all other ways the Lynbridges are equal to the Radcliffes. As Andrew was in my husband’s service I have known him for many years. He is a good man, Adair. He would not mistreat you, and he would make you a good husband,” the duchess concluded.
“He seems to know and understand the land,” Adair replied. “And the Stanton folk do like him. So much so I am almost jealous,” she admitted.
“Your people want a master, Adair. Aye, you are the countess, the acknowledged daughter of Earl John, but they need a man to guide them, I fear. It is their way.
Country folk are simple and uncomplicated in their outlook.”
Adair sighed. “I suppose you are correct,” she replied. “I just don’t like turning over my responsibilities to someone else. Lady Margaret always taught me that a woman is perfectly capable of managing her own affairs.”
“Lady Margaret is a strong woman, as all her husbands and her son would attest, but her place in our world is greater than yours, Adair.”
“I am the Countess of Stanton in my own right,”
Adair said proudly.
“But Lady Margaret descends from King Edward the Third. She is mother to Lancaster’s heir. She stands high in favor at court. She may think and say things other women might not, and few will think badly of her. She is a most unique woman of eminent common sense.”
“I have always admired her,” Adair admitted.
“But you cannot be just like her,” the duchess responded. “You are indeed the Countess of Stanton in your own right. But the countess must have a husband now, Adair. Dickon has kept my Neville relations and the Percys from your doorstep all summer by virtue of the fact that you are supposed to have been mourning young FitzTudor. They cannot be kept at bay much longer. Stanton lands are very good lands. You cannot protect them alone. And your neighbors have sons and other male relations they need to match favorably. Is there someone upon whom you dote and would wed? If he is suitable I am certain Dickon would permit it.
When your unfortunate husband died my husband asked the king for your wardship. Edward was more than glad to grant it. The Earl of Pembroke was very saddened by his son’s death, but grateful for your respect of the boy.”
“He sent me no message of condolence,” Adair said.
“Perhaps FitzTudor’s servant, Anfri, poured his poison into Jasper Tudor’s ear.”
“If Anfri went south he never saw the earl,” the duchess said. “I know, for Dickon inquired about it.”
“How odd,” Adair responded. “He was gone from Stanton the day after FitzTudor’s death. No one has seen him since.”
“You have not answered me,” the duchess told Adair.
“Is there someone you would wed?”
Adair shook her head. “Nay,” she admitted.
“Then will you accept the duke’s wish that you marry Andrew Lynbridge?”
“I suppose better the devil you know than one you don’t,” Adair replied pithily. “But he must take the Radcliffe name, your grace. That was Earl John’s wish, and the king agreed it would be so. If Andrew would be the Earl of Stanton he will be a Radcliffe earl. I wonder if his family will like that. His grandsire has always wanted my lands for his estates, but the Radcliffe name must remain. And I must have a little time in which to grow used to this decision of Uncle Dickon’s. Has anyone bothered to speak to Andrew about it? He may not agree.”
“He will agree,” the duchess said. “He has never failed the duke in anything.”
Adair laughed softly. “You make it sound like some military campaign that Uncle Dickon would plan, and Andrew execute.”
Lady Anne laughed too, her soft blue eyes twinkling.
“It is, in a manner of speaking,” she agreed. “I know that Dickon will be very pleased with your agreement and sensible manner. Most of us do not get to marry for love.”
“You did,” Adair said.
“Aye, but not until the second time. You will remember that my father was not a man to be disobeyed or thwarted when he made up his mind, Adair. When he
fell out with King Edward and turned on him to support poor old Henry the Sixth and his son he was determined that I be queen of England. God forbid! I barely knew Edward Lancaster, but I was married to him nonetheless. And because my father trusted no one we were put to bed, and the prince forced to consummate the match so there might be no annulment later on the grounds of nonconsummation. That unfortunate prince did not want me for his wife, and he had a mistress he loved at the time. Still, we were wedded and bedded for the sake of political expediency. It was not a happy time. But you have the advantage at least of knowing Andrew Lynbridge. He is pleasant-looking, and seems kind.”