Read Candle in the Window Online
Authors: Christina Dodd
Candle in the Window
CHRISTINA
DODD
To Scott
Who supported and encouraged me
through two word processors
and
ten years of writing
I Love You
“Do you want her?”
“What in God’s name
possessed you to say such things…
“William, you have to stop
kissing the maids.” Saura slapped…
“June is the month of love. The
month when the…
Saura had lied to Bronnie.
“Only hope will greet us
tomorrow.” Was it his own…
A twist of the key in the lock, and
a…
The sepulchral barking grew closer,
more menacing, and Saura crouched…
Lord Peter stood up beside them and
shouted, “A toast…
Saura floundered out of the deep well
of exhaustion, urged…
The great hall smelled good, clean,
and scented with herbs…
Rubbing her arms against the chill,
Saura pulled off her…
Looking up from his appraisal of the
young stallion, William…
Raymond seated himself, and answered
the shouted questions between mouthfuls…
“I have a poem, dedicated to my
lady of love.”
Without a word, Saura stepped forward
and put out her…
“’Tis Charles.”
William was a man who prided himself
on his logic.
“I used to worship him,”
Nicholas said plaintively. “Did you…
Saura hung there for days, through a
season, until she…
“What blocks us?” William
asked, squeezing next to Saura and…
William trotted down the path on the
knoll, looking back…
Raymond took his arm and led him to
the strange…
Medieval England
Springtime, 1153
“Do you want her?”
“What?” Lord Peter turned his gray head
to his host, surprised by the question, jolted by the
interruption.
“I said, do you want her? You keep staring at
her.” Theobald wiped his nose with the hand that held his
knife.
“That girl? The one at the foot of the
table?” Lord Peter tread warily, unsure of his host, unsure
of the hostility he saw mirrored in the man’s eyes.
“She’s very pretty.”
“Pretty?” Theobald snorted, holding his
knife clutched tight in one hand and lifting his cup with the
other. “Aye, look at her. Her mouth is so wide and red and
smooth, and her hair is black, long, clear down her back. It looks
magnificent against that skin of hers. Plague take her,
Saura’s body is the kind poets sing about. She’s got
legs up to her rump. A very nice rump, it is, too. A tiny waist and
these….” Theobald used both hands to gesture, sloshing
ale into his lap and cursing.
Repelled by the catalog of her charms and by the
thought of the lout laying hands on the girl, Lord Peter apologized
stiffly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know she was your
concubine.”
“Concubine!” Theobald sniggered with
contempt, hating the girl with his darting eyes. “I
wouldn’t have her in my bed, nor give her to you for yours.
She’s useless, can’t you see it? She’s blind,
blind as a treble-bandaged mole. She’s the daughter of my
first wife and Elwin of Roget, and I can’t even marry her
off. A stone hanging around my neck, worthless!”
Worthless? Lord Peter wondered. What had drawn his
attention was the way she seemed to manage the production of dinner
from her seat. The movement in the great hall swirled around her;
the serfs spoke to her respectfully, bowed, and did her bidding.
She murmured to her maid and the woman hurried off in the direction
of the kitchens. The servant returned and whispered in
Saura’s ear, and Saura climbed off her bench. Lord Peter
watched with close attention to see her stumble, but she moved
gracefully, lightly touching the arch that divided the great room
and disappearing into a stairwell.
“I’m interested in her woman,”
Lord Peter told Theobald, never taking his eyes from the spot where
Saura had vanished. “What’s her name?”
“Saura’s woman?” Theobald hooted.
“You brave soul. We can do better for you than old
Maud.”
Lord Peter turned his head to his host once more,
smiling thinly. “I prefer my meat well seasoned.”
“Aye, it covers the rank smell, doesn’t
it?” Theobald grinned at his young wife, shrinking beside
him, and Lord Peter felt sorry for the girl who would share her
lord’s bed tonight.
“Maud?” Lord Peter stepped out of the
alcove and examined the woman his squire had brought him. Her gray
braids hung down her back, her round face was wrinkled with middle
age, and she stood tall. Remembering how the retainer had towered
over the blind girl, he realized he had found whom he sought. He
waved his man away. “You’re Maud? You’re the
woman who serves Saura of Roget?”
Bright blue eyes combed his figure, seeking his
credentials in the cut of his clothes and the condition of his
body. “I am Maud. Saura’s my mistress. I served her
mother and I’ll serve her until the last breath is left in my
body, and if that ass Theobald has offered her to
ye—”
“No!” Lord Peter roared, infuriated by
her assumption. “No. She’s young enough to be my
granddaughter.”
Maud peered at him quizzically, amazed at his
vehemence, and Lord Peter explained with a sheepish shrug,
“My lady wife would slice my gizzard on a platter.”
“A good woman,” Maud said. “Come,
walk with me. We’re too conspicuous standing in this drafty
hall. Why do ye want m’lady?”
Lord Peter fell in step with the woman. “I
will speak to her.”
“Why?”
“That is between me and the lady.”
Under Maud’s dubious gaze he continued. “Methinks I
cannot harm her with you standing guard, or is she so timid she
requires a shield?”
“Timid? God, no, not Lady Saura. She has the
heart of a lion.”
“Good, she’d be of no use to me if she
weren’t brave. She seems to run the household.”
“Oh, aye. She seems to.” Maud walked
beside him, her face set straight ahead.
No further comment was forthcoming, and Lord Peter
insisted, “Well, does she?”
“As ye know, Lord Theobald has married young
Lady Blanche and she’s the lady of the castle.”
Lord Peter examined her, amazed at the cautious
answer. “I don’t give a damn about Lady Blanche!
I’m not a relative of Lady Blanche. I’m only interested
in Saura of Roget. Now, does she run this household?”
Maud stopped and searched his honest, exasperated
face. Pushing her hand against the door beside her, she suggested,
“Why don’t ye ask her?”
Lord Peter entered the chamber, gaining at a glance
the worth of Saura to her family. The tiny room contained only the
space for a straw palliasse and a bahut chest made of iron and
wood. Still, a small fire burned on the hearth and no smoke blew
in—the sign of a clean flue.
Seated in the only chair, Saura was wrapped clear
to her chin in a coarse wool blanket. Her feet were raised off the
cold floor with a footstool. Her ears were covered by a fine linen
cap, tied beneath the chin. But the headwrap was frayed and no
longer white, and almost too small for her tiny head, as if it had
been hers since her childhood and never replaced.
Her face! Good God, what had been an admirable
portrait of the Madonna seen from a distance was, in fact, the work
of some more profane artist. She was beautiful in an earthly way;
she was beautiful in the way that made men long to indulge
themselves with her. Her white skin shone clear and unmarked by the
pox, lifted by exotic cheekbones that bespoke her Norman ancestors.
Long and straight, her nose twitched with the scent of him. Her
lips were chapped from the cold, as were his, as were
everyone’s, but hers turned up in a wide, enticing mouth.
Black eyelashes which swept her
cheeks were a
foil for the great violet eyes that turned to him so
inquiringly.
No wonder Theobald snarled about her, no wonder he
stared at her with hunger and hate. This girl lived beneath his
hand, but away from his touch, and it would be beyond the will of
any man not to desire her. Until some man branded her as his
possession, Saura would be a bone of contention in any
household.
If only
William
—Lord Peter broke off his thoughts with a sharp
sigh.
“See enough?” the woman beside him
asked with astringent emphasis.
In surprise, Lord Peter realized the two women had
been quiet, waiting for his appraisal to end. “Are you always
so patient?” he queried, smiling at Maud as he moved to the
trunk to sit down.
With a gesture, Saura stopped him. “A
moment,” she ordered, as she reached into the roomy bag on
the floor beside her and pulled out a cushion. Handing Lord Peter
the carnation-scented pillow, she said, “The slant of the lid
makes the trunk less than comfortable.”
“Thank you, my lady.” Lord Peter
adjusted the cushion on the trunk and sat, amazed that she knew his
location with such accuracy.
“I have brought ye Lord Peter of Burke, Sire
of Burke, m’lady. He wishes to speak with ye.”
“Lord Peter!” Saura rose with a flurry,
aware of the man’s wealth and prestige. “Why
didn’t you tell me at once, Maud? He shall have my
chair.”
Putting his hand on Saura’s shoulder, Lord
Peter pushed her back. “I am quite comfortable, I assure you,
and better able to bear the cold than one so fair.”
“He’s a big, strong man,” Maud
added drily. “And has seen worse conditions, I’m
sure.”
“Maud, you’re incorrigible,”
Saura scolded, but Lord Peter agreed.
“I have seen worse conditions, just today,
with the snowstorm that drove me to take advantage of the
hospitality of Pertrade Castle. I assure you, Lady Saura, I’m
dry and well clad, and as your maid pointed out, I’m a big,
strong man.” Lord Peter smiled directly at Maud with such
charm that the older woman stepped back in surprise.
“Then how can I favor you, my lord?”
Saura cuddled back into her blanket.
“I need information. You can help
me.”
Discomfort and trepidation colored his voice, and
when he said no more, she prompted, “I would be glad to give
you any information I have, my lord.”
“You seem to be….” Lord Peter
paused, unsure of how to proceed. Glancing at Maud, he observed the
waiting amusement that lit the woman’s eyes. “It
appeared that you ran the serving of dinner from your place at the
foot of the table. Did you?”
A slight frown crossed Saura’s face.
“As you know, my stepfather has married Lady Blanche and
she—”
“No!” Lord Peter stopped her, blunt
with impatience. “You don’t understand. I don’t
care if Lady Blanche doesn’t lift a finger, it’s you
I’m concerned with. You! Are you blind?”
Saura lifted a finger and touched one ear, as if
she could not believe the question, and Lord Peter raked his
fingers through his thinning hair. “I didn’t mean it
like that. In sooth, I came to the vicinity hoping for an
encounter, for Raymond of Avraché remembered hearing tales of
you. I
know you are blind, but you manage so
well, it almost seems a hoax.”
“Ye wouldn’t say that if ye had seen
the times she has fallen over a bench or walked into a door,”
Maud said without inflection.
“Or the times Maud has beaten some poor idiot
for leaving his bench out,” Saura added with a clear
laugh.
“Have you been blind all your life?”
Lord Peter asked, intense with concern.
She blessed him with her slow smile and answered,
“Not yet.”
Lord Peter whipped his head around. Realizing the
irony of it, he sighed. “You handle your lack of sight so
well.” Almost in despair, he added, “You’re so
young. You move gracefully, you feed yourself, you dress neatly.
You run this household?” Maud nodded to him. “Does your
maid do it all for you?”
Maud scowled, but a flattered smile flitted across
Saura’s face. “No, Lord Peter. Maud is my strong right
hand and my eyes, but I’m self-sufficient. My mother taught
me to care for myself, for my servants, for my family, and for my
home.”
“How?”
“My lord?”
“
How
did she
teach you these things? Was she blind also? Did she talk to
someone, learn from someone? How did she know what to do?”
His voice quavered, thick with a private anguish.
Disturbed, Saura heard his trouble but
couldn’t diagnose the source. “My mother was a canny
lady, and if she ever worried about me, I didn’t know of it.
I did the things she told me because I never knew I couldn’t,
and if I had ever given in to despair, she would have disciplined
me out of it.”
“How do you discipline a blind person? Knock
them a
blow that they can’t see coming and
are unable to duck?” Lord Peter asked, his question bitter on
his tongue.
“You’re not talking about me, sir. Do
you have a loved one who has lost his sight?”
“A loved one. Yes. My son, my only child, as
strong and robust a man as has ever walked this earth, now cannot
walk this earth without stumbling and cursing, falling, walking
into something.” He buried his head in his fists. “He
needs help, my lady, help, and I have no help to give
him.”
Silence permeated the room, save for the crackle of
the fire, while the doughty warrior fought his emotions to a
standstill. Saura laid her hand on his elbow and when he raised his
head, she held out a filled cup of cider, warm from the fire. Maud
stood beside her, smiling encouragement, as Saura invited,
“Tell me.”
“Since Stephen of Blois claimed the throne
from Queen Matilda, there’s been nothing but trouble. Nothing
but trouble.” He rubbed his belly as he remembered.
“William and I are balanced on a sword’s edge, trying
to keep our vows and our properties and our honor. We are forever
putting down some bit of rebellion from a tenant or cracking heads
with one of the barons who thinks he owns an acre of land he does
not.”
“Did your son have to go and fight in any of
those endless royal battles?”
“No, no. Matilda has retired to Rouen. Why
should she fight Stephen, when his barons are doing such a good job
of destroying England with these endless, petty wars?” he
asked bitterly. “She sits across the Channel and watches and
waits. Her revenge is coming. She’s raised up her son to
fight.”
“He tried to take England before,”
Saura pointed out.
Lord Peter was surprised. “Do you follow the
great follies of our sovereigns, then?”
She lowered her head, as befitting a modest maid,
yet her voice rang firm. “I own lands that rest beneath the
march of armies. With my feeble woman’s mind, I seek to
understand what I can, but we’re at the end of the world
here. I hear very little, and that two years late.”
Lord Peter suspected her disclaimer hid a keen
interest, and so he explained, “Henry was only fourteen last
time, but they say he’s matured into a powerful leader.
He’s made plenty of trouble for Stephen from his lands in
Normandy, and some say he’s already landed in England with an
army.” Watching her closely, he added, “He was invested
with the duchy of Normandy after his knighting by the king of
Scotland.” He was rewarded by the way her face lit up.
“The king of Scotland is his uncle, is he
not?”
Recalling herself, she lowered her head again and
folded her hands, but Lord Peter could no longer be deceived. Here
was a bright and inquiring mind, languishing in ignorance. He was
never a man to let such a mind go to waste in a man, and his wife
had taught him the dangers of ignoring that asset in a woman.
“Aye, he’s Henry’s uncle. Henry’s related
to every great lord and king in Europe, I believe. From his mother,
he received the duchy of Normandy. From his father he received the
provinces of Maine and Anjou. ’Fore God, the boy has
inherited so many lands, so many responsibilities, and still he
seeks the position of king of all England.”