Candle in the Window (20 page)

“Does that mean,” William asked slowly,
“you will marry me?”

“Aye, your father has convinced me.
’Tis the right thing to do. I am blind, but he assures me
I’m beautiful.”

“And you believe him?”

His tone was a mystery to her, completely neutral
and delivering a fleeting blow to her newfound confidence.
“Am I not beautiful?”

“Very beautiful,” he confirmed.
“I’ve told you so many times.”

Her brow cleared of its pucker. “Aye, and
your father convinced me. Also, he says my personality is
pleasing.”

“Pleasing?”

“Is it not?”

“Aye.”

“And I’m competent to manage a
household.”

“My
father
convinced you of that, too?”

“Nay, I always knew that. Your father
forfeited most of my dowry. A good thing, since I doubt Theobald
can pay even a paltry sum. Lord Peter also reminded me of the good
I’ll be doing by attaining command of my lands.”

“Am I permitted to share in the stewardship
of these lands?” William asked sarcastically.

Waving her hand with airy grace, Saura conceded,
“You know more about administration than I could ever know,
but don’t you understand? At last the people I remember from
my youth will be protected, the country I roamed as a child will be
handled correctly. ’Tis perfect, William. You get a great
amount of land in compensation for marrying me, and I get my lands.
Not the least of the matter, the profit is taken from Theobald.
Isn’t it glorious?”

Piqued by her capitulation and the reasons for it,
William questioned, “Is this all we get with our
marriage?”

Her puzzled face turned up to his. “What do
you mean?”

Picking her up, William showed her with his mouth
and his body what he meant, and then he stood her with
spine-jarring suddenness on the floor.

His sword called him, his lance, and his broadax.
His weapons promised relief from the consternation and disbelief
that boiled in him.

She didn’t love him.

He had taken her to his bed, showed her in the
bluntest manner possible he worshiped her, and she would have
nothing of him until his father convinced her to wed.

By bribing her with her own lands.

It tasted bitter on his tongue. The gall of that
woman!

He knew where he could work off his rage, and he
strode down the stair to the bailey. There the hands led the horses
out to be groomed and exercised, maidservants plucked the weeds
from the herb garden, and Kimball and Clare practiced their mock
battles.

Glaring around him, he stopped by the stables. His
hands worked, his muscles begged for action, and a fiery promise
lit his eye. Activity melted away as all around him recognized the
signs. The stable boys working with the horses skipped out of the
way and Kimball and Clare skinned up a tree, hiding in the leaves.
William barely noticed, so concentrated was he on relieving his
temper. Leaning down, he hefted the long rod the boys used as a
lance and shouted for his chief man-at-arms. The soldier came
running down the steep stairs that led to the wall walk, and
William ordered, “Channing, I want a message sent to Sir
Guilliame, telling him to return his son to my care. I need a
squire. I need one at once.”

“An’ if the thane has entrusted his son
t’ another knight?”

“Then see if he has another son. But I doubt
that young Guilliame has gone to fostering yet. The family will
keep him home for an extended visit.” Channing nodded.
William twirled the stick in a slow design, and tucked it under his
arm to heft the weight. “I’ll need many messengers
prepared to go to all the neighbors and my vassals and castellans
with an invitation. I am,” grimness bracketed his mouth,
“to be married.”

The boy-laden tree whooped with approval.

“Ye have persuaded the lady,
m’lord?” The man-at-arms was eager, smiling with
pleasure, and William sourly wondered how Saura had extended her
influence to his fighting force.

“What does it matter who persuaded
her?” William
growled, jabbing the
makeshift lance into the ground. “It is done. At the end of
this moon, I’ll need a troop of men ready to ride with me to
Pertrade Castle to ‘persuade,’” his mouth tilted
with pleasure, “Lord Theobald to sign the marriage
contract.”

Channing’s face glowed with his own pleasure.
“Gladly, m’lord. Lord Theobald has an ill fame in these
parts that owes t’ his treatment of his peasants an’
his servants, an’ I’ll have no problem fillin’ a
troop.”

Nodding dismissal, William stepped into the open
stable doors. “Bring my destrier!” he shouted with a
volume that blew a great explosion of dust and hay into the air.
Stable boys raced to do his bidding, and he rapped the tree trunk
with the rod. “If you want to see some practice with the
quintain, come at once.”

He could hear the lads scrambling to get down as he
warmed his muscles with a measured run out to the outer bailey and
around its perimeter.

The quintain had never changed in all the days of
his life. It sat at the center of a jousting course, challenging
the untrained to combat. At one end of a timber, a weighted dummy
sat dressed in a discarded knight’s robe and sporting a
scarred shield. At the other end hung a bag of sand, and the post
in the middle acted as a pivot for the revolving crosspiece. Many
boys had tilted at Sir Quintain; many boys had eaten dust when they
failed to gallop past after striking the shield with their lance.
The sandbag would swing behind them and knock them off their horse,
and the next time they tilted at Sir Quintain the painful lesson
prompted their flawlessness. It was better, as Lord Peter explained
to the bruised boys, to be knocked breathless by a sandbag than to
be dead of a lance that pierces your chain hauberk in battle.

The destrier came prancing out, dragging three
grooms by the bridle, and William measured the distance with his
eyes. Taking a running start, he leaped into the saddle without
touching the stirrups. It was the test of maturity, that show-off
bit of bravado every newly dubbed knight performed for his
sponsors. Now he performed it for the children and for the men
whose loyalty had never wavered, and they expressed their approval
with a roar.

He steadied the horse as the grooms fled away from
the animal’s fury. The destrier reared, twirled, and William
fought it to a stop. The familiar feel of a saddle, the smell of
horseflesh between his thighs made the world return to its state of
rightness. It made him whole again, mended his torn pride and
returned him to the confident persona of Lord William.

He gave a bellow of pure joy as one of the
men-at-arms handed him an ashwood lance, and without pausing he
kicked the horse into a gallop. The lance settled into his hand
like an outgrowth of his own strength, his eyes estimated the
distance, and with a shock he smacked the center of the shield and
galloped past. The quintain swung in rapid rotations as his
audience cheered.

Turning and saluting the gallery, William directed
his mount back to the starting line and held him against the wooden
barrier while one of the stable boys straightened the quintain. He
still had the ability to control his destrier with his knees, still
had the timing and the balance to deal with the challenges of
jousting. If the skills of combat had never left him, surely the
guile to deal with one young woman lingered in his brain. He could
plan an attack, prolong a siege; those abilities could be trained
to deal with the female mind. She considered him her passionate
lover. She con
sented to marry him as the
protector of her lands. Yet there had to be a stratagem that
directed Saura’s thoughts away from the practicalities of
body and property and toward this melding of minds that William
labeled love.

Restlessly, the destrier pranced as he settled in
the saddle and took a firm grip on the lance once again. Leaning
forward, he kicked the horse again, braced himself, and struck the
shield again. But in that moment of impact, an appalling thought
distracted him. What if her wretched stepfather refused to yield
her lands? Would she then refuse to marry him?

Like the thought which knocked him from his
complacency, the quintain swung with solid force and knocked him
square in the back. Unprepared, he tumbled out of the saddle and
end over end until he came to rest in the grass at the side of the
wall. With a groan, he rolled onto his back and stared at the white
clouds drifting through the summer-blue sky, and wondered how long
this woman would destroy his equilibrium.

Perhaps, if he were lucky, forever.

William weighed the contract in his gloved hands
and stared with level intent at Theobald, seated before him, his
elbow resting on the same tiny table that held his cup. “Do
you insinuate I would cheat you?” he asked.

“Nay, nay,” Theobald insisted, wiping a
drop of sweat off his temple with his wrist. “Only,
won’t you sit and have a cup of wine? After the ride
you’ve had this July day, wine would refresh you and liven
your mind.”

“Do you insinuate I would cheat you?”
William repeated, his voice slow and deep and demanding. The lord
of the
Pertrade sat on a chair while William
stood. Dressed in comfortable furs, the lord sipped wine, but
William dripped from the rain on his hauberk. Yet William stood
with one foot on the floor, the other foot planted firmly on the
dais. His imposing presence reduced the lord before him to a
trembling jelly, the outstretched document creating a demand of its
own. “I bring you a marriage contract to take your blind,
useless stepdaughter off your hands.”

“I never said she was blind and
useless,” Theobald protested, his reddened eyes squinting
from the effort of thinking. “She’s…she’s
actually quite capable and we’ve missed her sweet presence
here at Pertrade.”

“A worthless stone hanging around your neck,
you told my father.”

William’s select men-at-arms stirred
restlessly, transmitting anger by their stance. Their menace
overwhelmed the larger group of sloppy fighters who posed in
various corners of the room.

“You told my father no one would have her.
I’m asking for a reasonable dowry. You should be grateful to
me for removing her from your hospitality.” William rattled
the contract again for the joy of seeing Theobald wince.

“I’m her guardian. She has no right to
wed without my permission,” Theobald mumbled.

“This marriage contract frees you from the
unwanted responsibility of Lady Saura and of the heavy duty of
protecting her lands.”

“And of the income from her lands.”
Theobald lurched to his feet in a drunken show of bravado.
“What makes you think you have the right to demand her lands
from me?”

William never moved, but his back grew straighter
and he became, in some indefinable way, dangerous. “I not
only demand her lands from you, I demand an accounting of ev
ery kernel of grain you’ve received and every
measure you’ve taken to ensure the safety of the
properties.”

“An accounting?” The flame that glowed
in William’s eye and the unexpected demand for an accounting
spun Theobald around. He looked helplessly at his men, and they
looked away. He looked at his girl-wife, and she stared back at him
with no expression. He looked at the hardened faces of
William’s warriors, and in them he read his defeat. He sank
back down into his chair, picked up his cup in his trembling hand
and drained it. “I’ll get my records. From my priest.
But he’s, uh, not here. And the records are not…well,
the priest is stupid. He drinks too much ale.”

William stood like a stone, immovable, hard.

“The records are incomplete. But if you want
to stay the night?”

“Nay.” With distaste, William gazed
around at the hall where children and dogs rolled in the filthy
rushes. “Nay. Sign this contract and I will await the
accounting.”

His words were stark, unconciliatory, offering only
one choice and expecting to be obeyed. Theobald’s gaze roamed
the disorderly room again, and his weak attempt at deception died
aborning. “Give it to me,” he muttered.
“I’ll make my mark.”

William reached up and dragged the little table
close to Theobald’s knee. A snapping of William’s
fingers brought one of his men rushing to his side, producing a
quill and a stoppered bottle of ink from a pouch at his belt. The
mark was made, shaky and blotted, and William’s man sprinkled
sand over it and handed it to his lord. A smile passed over
William’s face, the kind of smile that made Theobald shrink
into his chair, and then he rolled the parchment. With no word of
farewell, William strode across the room.

Clutching the signed contract close in his fist,
William
turned at the door of the great hall.
With a critical eye, he observed the smoky fire that sputtered in
the center of the room, the slatternly maids who stood about, the
insolent knights, the dirty, stained tablecloth. He raised a blond
eyebrow in demand. “Of course you’ll attend the
wedding, Lord Theobald. We will expect your blessing on our union.
We’ll expect all our guests to hear your pleasure in the
wedding. You’ll be there?”

“Of course,” Theobald muttered
sullenly.

His eyes shifted away from William’s
forthright gaze, and William declared, “I shall send my men
to ensure your safety on the road.”

“Not necessary,” the scurvy lord
protested.

“I would have it no other way.” William
smiled with all his teeth, and left with the clang of spurs on
stone.

The great hall smelled good, clean,
and scented with herbs mixed with fresh-cut rushes spread on the
floor. William scuffled his foot and brought the aroma of mint to
his nose. Embroidered cushions lay scattered on the hard wooden
chairs; serving women hustled between the solar and the first floor
of the castle with braziers and blankets. The fire leaped toward
the ceiling with a clean, bright flame and torches hung in the
sconces. The influence of a hard day in the saddle and a loathsome
confrontation faded as he recognized the managing hand of his
dearling. He could hear, from a distance, the voice of Saura, and
it came clearer and closer as he stared in appreciation at his
home.

“Thank you for the suggestion, Lord Nicholas.
The undercroft will serve perfectly for the servants of our guests
to sleep.”

William stiffened with surprise as his betrothed
climbed out of the stairwell that led to the storage area beneath
the
floor. A plain white veil hid her hair, and
a streak of dirt crossed her cheek. A brown, rough-weave dress of
no shape covered her from head to toe, and the wooden shoes she
wore clomped as she walked. She was dressed for work, and William
thought she looked charming. Charming, except for the appendage
that trailed her into the room.

Nicholas followed closely behind her, his eyes
fixed appreciatively on Saura’s derriere. “’Tis
my pleasure to assist you, Lady Saura,” he murmured, as he
took her hand and carried it to his lips. “Still, I know you
would have thought of it. A woman as intelligent and well organized
as yourself.”

An enigmatic smile graced her lips, and William
didn’t like the way the charmed guest fed on her beauty.

“Saura, I am home,” he said, and his
woman spun on her heel.

“William?” Her tilting smile blossomed
into open-faced pleasure, and she stepped toward him, her hand
outflung.

In a rush, he crossed the floor and lifted her in a
hug. Spinning in a circle, he kissed her face while she
laughed.

“Stop, William, we have company,” she
protested weakly. This made no impression on his celebration, and
so she cried, “Stop, William. Now that you’re home,
I’ll have to order the evening meal.”

His twirling slowed and he slid her down his body.
“’Tis late,” he said. “The sun has long
set. Has supper not yet been served?”

“Nay, I held it for you.” Her hands
lingered on his shoulders and then she tucked them in a demure
clasp before her waist. “Are you hungry?” Unconscious
of her womanly wiles—for how could she know those universal
lures without observing them in others?—she flirted with him.
Her dark lashes fluttered, revealing and concealing her shining
eyes.
Her smile slipped on and off her mouth as
if her joy at his return couldn’t be hidden.

His gaze lingered on her creamy skin, made
irresistible by the pink of her cheek, and he wanted to lick her
like cool custard. “Famished,” he assured her, his
voice choked with a meaning that had nothing to do with food.

“I’m hungry, too.”
Nicholas’s reproachful voice broke into their
tête-à-tête
, and Saura jumped with
surprise. In her absorption, she had forgotten their guest.

Blessed with better control than she, William
turned to his friend with a smile. “Welcome, Nicholas. Did
she make you wait, too?”

With a charming bow, Nicholas said, “The lady
has such a pleasant way of making one wait, one does not even
notice the pangs of hunger.”

Saura laughed at his eloquence. “A polite way
of saying I’ve starved you. Everyone will have an appetite,
then.” She clapped her hands and like a wild boar rush, the
serfs flew from their other duties and began supper preparations.
“’Twill be a simple meal tonight,” she assured
him. “Pottage and clabber.”

“My favorite.” He watched the
stampeding servants with astonishment. “Have you fed them
nothing since dinner?”

“They made a foolish mistake.” Saura
smiled with her mouth, but her body stiffened in grim concern.
Turning toward him, she projected her voice over and said,
“Your churls, Lord William, believed my authority over them
no longer existed. With insolence they reacted to my orders with
disbelief and ignorance. The battle fought over my rule many months
ago had to be fought over again this day. So I ask you, my lord, to
what extent does my power exist?”

William stared at her and then raised his head and
stared at his servants. They had slowed their rush to hear his
an
swer and stood staring at him. His own
displeasure was at fault, he realized. The sight of Saura hanging
over his shoulder had shaken their good will. They didn’t
know whether he would marry such a quick-tongued woman, and because
of that, Saura existed in a vacuum of position and authority.

Nothing he’d done this last moon had eased
their speculation. Those last days of May had slipped into June,
and the roses bloomed and faded. He had practiced his knightly
skills; he had ridden with his father to hunt; he had closeted
himself with Brother Cedric, drawing up the marriage contract.
He’d been restrained, he thought, and not shown his pique at
Saura. He’d not played the dedicated lover, true, but that
was his own misguided attempt to assure her his love was no hot
flame, quickly burned out. He’d tamped down the tenderness
that welled within him and treated her like an established
wife.

Occasionally, he’d ignored Saura, ignored her
meals, and in the evening ignored her seductions. His failure to
fornicate with her was nothing more than his insistent haste to
complete the marriage contract, but the retainers hadn’t
understood. A contract such as theirs, involving lands and moneys,
took weeks of hard work to draw up. Like a fool, he’d never
thought to check to see how his casual treatment acted on the
churls. He’d only been pleased as Saura slowly relaxed and
slipped back into her role as chatelaine.

He’d left her sleeping in the night, riding
to Pertrade with the haste of a maniac to secure her lands, and the
churls thought he’d abandoned her. She had paid the price for
his desire. Like a lazy, sly flock of vultures, his servants had
picked at his lady all day, and now they waited to hear what he
would say.

“My lady Saura.” He gathered both her
hands in his and carried them to his chest. “Forgive me for
presenting myself
to you with the dirt of the
roads clinging to my boots. My mission today was with your
stepfather, Lord Theobald. In this pouch on my belt I hold our
marriage contract. Your guardian freely made his mark on it today.
The arrangements for our wedding must proceed at once. All that I
own is yours, in jurisdiction and in fact. Let anyone who disputes
that speak to me.” His gaze lingered on her upturned face,
and then swept the room and its uncomfortable serfs. No one spoke,
and then with the quick and quiet demeanor of a flock of trained
mice, the serving folk returned to their duties. The trestle tables
appeared, the cloth laid, the trenchers set out.

“I detect Hawisa’s brazen hand in this
rebellion,” he said quietly.

“Aye,” Saura agreed. “Dismissed
to the kitchen to be a turnspit, she still creates misery with her
venom. We have a good lot of servants in this keep, yet their ready
response to such agitation troubles me. Could she not be married to
one outside the manor?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” he
answered. “I’ll have to find some poor man to take her,
and I don’t know whom I dislike enough.”

“Hawisa?” Nicholas inquired.
“Isn’t she that slut you’ve always had
here?”

“Aye.” William shrugged.
“She’s not worth our attention. I’ll do something
with her later. Saura can use every helping hand until the wedding
is over.”

“But only until the wedding is over,”
Saura agreed. Turning to Nicholas, she invited him to take his
place at the table. “Help yourself to cheese and ale.
I’ll help relieve Lord William of his armor and assist him
with his washing, and we’ll join you directly.”

“Where is my father?” William
questioned as they moved away.

“He took the lads out to get some fresh
meat.”

“In the rain?” he asked
incredulously.

“It wasn’t raining this morning,”
she reminded him. “I imagine they found shelter among your
folk, and have built a fire and are telling stories of bloody
battle. Your father said he took the boys to train them in the art
of the hunt, but I think,” she snapped her fingers at the
handmaidens as they entered the solar, “he does it because he
heard Clare say how much brighter the stars were under Burke
skies.”

He chuckled. “Aye, that would do it. Father
always spoiled the children if he could. Perhaps he considered them
well out of your hair?”

“No doubt.” She grinned in sudden
amusement. “Maud went bumping along behind on some old nag.
Your father has become attached to her.”

“Ah, aye. I’ve noticed.” He also
noticed how efficiently the handmaidens worked. One drew clean
clothing from a trunk and laid it across the bed. Two others lifted
his hauberk from over his shoulders.

“Give that to the armorer to be oiled,”
Saura ordered, and one of them slipped from the room with the chain
mail. “Linne, you strip him and wash the rust from his
skin.” As Linne removed his wet and muddy clothes, the other
wenches dragged the wooden tub out of the corner. Standing on a
stool, Linne gestured him in and sluiced warm water over his
shoulders and head while he soaped his hands and scrubbed himself
quickly.

Rinsed and cleansed, he ordered, “Give my
lady Saura the towel. She can dry me.”

A giggle broke the silence, but Saura snapped her
fingers again and the sound was swiftly muffled. The length of
linen
was thrust into her hands and the maids
fled the room. “Leave the door open,” William ordered
sharply, and the closing door swung back to reveal the lord and
lady to any walking past. Saura’s raised brow questioned him,
and he explained, “You’re to be my wife, and as such
I’ll not dishonor you before company. No matter how difficult
that may prove.” His teeth snapped together with irritation,
and she made soothing noises as she wrapped him in the towel.

“Are you laughing at me?” He raised her
face to his, and she grinned with companionable empathy.

“Aye, but I don’t think you’ll
suffer more than I.”

“Aye, I will, for I’ll have to give up
my bed and sleep in the great hall on a palliasse.”

“I will, for I can’t sleep without
you.”

“I will.” He grimaced with painful
amusement as she rubbed him with brisk motions. “For I no
longer fit in my drawers.”

Her brisk motions slowed and gentled, and he said,
“None of that!” Taking the towel from her, he turned
his back to the door and finished drying. She lifted his shirt and
started toward him, but he shook his head, saying, “No. I
will dress myself.”

“Then why did you send the women out?”
she asked, puzzled.

“I wanted to talk to you without the
constraint of listening ears.” He stared at the flower of her
face, and thought,
Because I’m mad with
love for you, and must woo you at every moment
. But he said
only, “Will my intervention heal your problems with the
churls?”

“For the most part, the servants are good
folk. They need a firm and steady influence, and your support was
more than I could hope. Thank you, William.” She bobbed a
quick curt
sey. “How could you force
Theobald to sign the marriage contract so quickly?”

He put on his shirt before he answered.
“’Twas my good looks and the charm of my
personality.”

Saura laughed out loud, and William quirked a brow
toward his lady. “You don’t believe it?”

“Of course I believe it. Your good looks,
your charming personality—and the presence of your
sword—would have an irresistible influence on
Theobald.”

“How well you know him,” he marveled,
tugging on the rest of his clothes with an efficiency that belied
his need for a squire.

“Aye, I do. Will he come and give me to you
freely?”

“He’ll come. And by God’s glove,
he’ll give you to me with a smile.”

“I suspect he will, if only for the chance to
visit a keep as great as yours. We must keep the wine away from him
until after the ceremony, however. He is a vicious
drunk.”

“Swilling wine will rot the strongest
man.”

“He was never that. I hoped you would keep a
watch on him, make sure he doesn’t fall in with the wrong
influences.” She smiled a lopsided smile, as if afraid to
call his attention to potential trouble.

“I’ll watch them all,” he agreed
easily, if not truthfully. “Our enemy won’t be a threat
at our wedding. With all the folk around, and the failure of two
attempts on my life, I’d say whoever it is will be cowering.
Don’t worry, my girl. I shall care for you.”

“I know that, William. I’ve always
known that. I thought that August would be an ideal time for the
joining. We can’t assemble the guests any sooner,”
Saura suggested.

“August,” he agreed. “We will
need help from the villagers to prepare for our company, and that
we cannot have until
August. Then the heaviest
work of summer will be over and the first rush of harvest barely
begun. Thirty days to assemble the guests, thirty days to plan and
provide, and by then your authority will be pounded into my serfs
with my heavy hand.”

“Not all of them betrayed, only a few
questioned my authority. Don’t use them hardly. ’Tis my
responsibility to bind them with loyalty, and this day was a shock
to my conceit.” As she begged pity for the pack of squawking
minions, Saura’s smile clung with a tremor on her lips.

Damning the open door he caught her in his arms.
“Don’t fret, dearling. The wedding will be an ordeal, I
know, but the vows before our villeins are necessary. We’ll
have Brother Cedric to bless us, and your father will be here, if
he must be dragged by his…neck.”