"Have I not already laced her bloody for fooling with the servant boys?"
"That is a child's trick; it does not point the way of a whole life."
"Did you ever do so?"
Elizabeth thought. "No … but—"
"You see!"
"But Roger, it was because I did not like the way they smelled, not because I thought of right and wrong."
"Ay, but there was
something
that held you back. With her there is nothing. The teachings of the chaplain she laughs at; my mother's admonition she is deaf to; my whipping she scorns. Only with love can she be led at all, and of late she obeys me because she loves me. What would become of her then if she loved her husband not? Bless us, there is the belling of the hounds and I am still stark naked. Think on it, Elizabeth, and lend an ear to Catherine. My mother is a good woman, but sometimes …"
He did not need to finish that, and Elizabeth was already off his knees gathering clothing. Boar hunting was rough work and called for no use of the bow, nonetheless it was not safe to wear homespun in the woods—thus had his father died, shot by a friend who thought the grayish-brown woolen surcoat was the coat of a deer. Roger wore homespun under his mail, woolen shirt, tunic, and chausses for warmth, but his surcoat was of the most brilliant green dye available.
Buckling on his sword as he went, Hereford started for the door, Elizabeth following. He had it half open when she laid a hand on his arm.
"Roger—"
"Yes?"
"Do not do anything mad."
That stopped him and he turned to look at her. Boars were dangerous animals, it was true, but for Elizabeth to caution him was a strange thing. He kissed her long and gently, then drew back with his eyes already laughing rather than tender.
"I never do anything mad. Did you not know my new role in life is that of the staid and sober counselor? Besides, I am married now and that, I am told, takes the heart out of a man. Elizabeth, do not be so alarmingly wifely or I will tell you to mind your needle instead of— Good Lord, I forgot all about my mother's talking too much. I have cautioned her, but … I must go. Liza, keep your ears open."
He was off, running lightly across the hall in spite of the weight of his armor; Elizabeth closed the door and sighed. Perhaps it would not be too bad. There were compensations. She stood still, leaning back on the door seeing Roger laughing like a boy with head thrown back, Roger's golden hair haloed by candlelight, Roger with blue eyes fixed in the distance, intent, saying that certain things were matters of persons. The noise in the courtyard came up through shuttered windows, and Elizabeth shook herself, stuck her head out of the bedroom door to call her maids, and picked up the thread of daily living.
Hereford, greeting and greeted, made his way through the press of talking, gesticulating men to where his chief huntsman was conferring with his underlings, giving orders to the dog boys, and endeavoring to calm some of the hounds that leapt about him. Some of the beasts remembered Hereford well and turned their passionate attention to him as soon as he appeared. For a few moments he was busy patting familiar heads, calling familiar names, lifting lips to look at gums and teeth, and feeling paws to remark on swollen pads and split nails. Even the vicious alaunts and lymers strained at their leashes at his well-remembered scent, associating him with many a half-gnawed bone kindly thrown, and Hereford slapped at the slavering muzzles affectionately.
He wiped a wet leather glove on his surcoat and clapped his huntsman familiarly on the shoulder. "Well, Herbert, what have you for us?"
"Good sport, my lord, if we do not founder in the mud and soft snow. We have tracked three full-grown boars for a week and driven them slowly closer together. This morning I had word they were gone to earth only a half mile or so from each other. God send they have not come to fight among themselves, but it is not the rutting season yet and my men report no sows nearby."
"Are we ready then?"
"You have but to sound your horn, my lord."
It was not as simple as that, actually, for the organization of such a large hunting party was a complicated affair and many of the participants were presently more interested in talking over past experiences than in starting a new one. At last they were on their way, however, and Hereford found himself riding beside his brother-in-law.
"I trust, Rannulf, that you found everything quite satisfactory," he said gravely, concealing behind his open curiosity a real interest in his sister's welfare and a mild amusement at the self-conscious glance Rannulf cast at him when he first pulled up beside him.
The young man cleared his throat in embarrassment. He was actually Hereford's senior by a few years, but totally lacking in the poise and assurance which his brother-in-law had gained through the necessity of being master of his own fate and head of his family. The Earl of Lincoln was not a man who encouraged independent action in his sons, especially not in a younger son. He was suspicious and believed that safety lay in suppression. Too many lenient fathers found their sons their executioners, and Lincoln did not allow his genuine fondness for his male children to blind him to their potential dangerousness; therefore Rannulf, though properly educated, had never been to court and had traveled off his own estates very little. Even when he had visited with his father, the elder man had kept him largely under his own eye, allowing him little opportunity to converse with strangers on his own for fear that he would get ideas. It had taken all Hereford's ingenuity and the yielding of a good part of a fair bride price to induce Lincoln to give the young man a castle of his own to hold.
"You are providing magnificent entertainment, my lord."
Hereford roared and slapped his thighs, startling his mount and Rannulf's and causing the greyhounds running alongside to burst into short, excited barks. "Now that is a perfect reply. What tact! But you must thank my mother for your entertainment. After all, I had little enough to do with Anne's creation."
Rannulf flushed. That was not what he meant and he suspected that Hereford knew it.
"You should call me Hereford, or even Roger if you prefer, Rannulf, you are my brother now. I hope we will come to be truly brothers," he added more soberly.
"I, too."
"When do you plan to take up residence in Corby?"
"I hardly know. My father has not mentioned the matter and I—I scarcely like to press him."
Hereford maintained his indifferent expression with an effort. If Lincoln thought he was going to void that part of the contract so easily, he was mistaken. "It will be a great disappointment to my sister if you do not take her to her own home directly. She has been greatly looking forward to being a lady in her own keep."
"I—I know. She has spoken much to me of it, but my father says as she is so young it might be better to stay a while at Lincoln until she is more able to manage her own household."
"Anne is well trained and perfectly capable of running a home," Hereford replied stiffly. "Her youth is nothing to do with the matter. There is no better housewife in the kingdom than Lady Radnor, and she was a year younger than Anne when she took Gaunt Castle under her hand."
Rannulf turned away looking really distressed. "She … I might have pressed the point if she continued to urge it, but … she … When I spoke of it in the night she was most cold to the proposal, and—and this morning she would not speak to me at all."
Clumsy ox, thought Hereford, irritated. "You should have handled her more gently. Are you as much of a virgin as she that you knew not what to do?"
"Plainly I know not as much about the matter as you do, my lord." Rannulf’s voice was cold, his eyes angry, and Hereford cursed himself for a worse clumsy fool than the young man beside him. What a stupid thing to say.
"Wait, brother," Hereford said as Rannulf raised his legs to put spurs to his horse. "That was an uncivil and unkind remark. You must pardon a brother's blind fondness for a gentle sister."
It was true, too, that it was blind fondness. Anne should have known better herself than to behave in such a fashion to her husband. He would have to talk to her, and firmly too. If she followed this path she would lose her chance of a hold on her man and her chance of happiness also.
"Moreover," he continued, putting a hand on his brother-in-law's wrist, "it is not even true. All maids are so." He was stretching the truth a little, of course, but in a good cause. "And the more gently nurtured the worse they are. Mayhap it is my mother's fault and my own for watching her so close. She is very ignorant of such things."
"I do not suppose my cousin Elizabeth acted the same. But then, Lord Hereford, no doubt, knew just how to make all easy."
Hereford laughed. "You should know better than to ask if Elizabeth would not speak to me. That could never be my trouble. Indeed, she had much to say, but none of the words were so sweet as you might expect from a new bride. If your ears were offended with silence, at least you may consider yourself fortunate that they were not scorched as mine were."
Resentment dissolved in laughter as Rannulf looked at Hereford's rueful expression. "Each man must carry his own pack. I suppose if we measure burdens, I prefer that of silence." The frown returned almost at once, however. "Yet it is no pleasure when a wife will do nothing but weep and cringe away when a man seeks her lips. What difference then between that and taking a woman in the fields?"
That rather pleased Hereford as indicating that Rannulf was interested in a good relationship with his wife rather than seeing her only as a brood mare. "Custom will make her more yielding, and if you have a little patience and use her gently in the beginning, pardoning her youth and inexperience, she will become willing—even eager-in the fullness of time. You know, Rannulf, she will be more docile if you have her to yourself. When she comes to realize that you alone are to make her life, she will seek by all means to please you—thus has she been bred. But if there are other women to hide behind and perhaps to give her comfort, like your mother who will be sorry for her, she may be slower to come to terms with your ways."
Hereford had not lost sight of the main point, which was to get Rannulf into Corby Castle. Plainly the young man was not given to brutality for brutality's sake or he would have enjoyed Anne's resistance. It was best for them both, under those circumstances, to be alone together, and best also for Hereford's interests.
"I did not think of that. Certainly there is sense in what you say, but—"
"If you like, I will talk to your father. In a sense it is really my business because the contract was made with me, and it is a matter of my sister's consequence. Our arrangement was that she was to be a lady in her own manor."
Relief was clear in Rannulf's expression. The fear and respect engendered by many years of domination were difficult to shake off quickly, even though the desire to be a man on his own stirred his very bowels. "If you really take it to be your affair, of course, it would ease matters for me. I am no coward, I hope, but it seems disrespectful to me to quarrel with my father."
"Good. Leave the matter in my hands then."
"One more thing," Rannulf said, blushing hotly and looking with great interest at his horse's ears. "Anne says she will not stay with me, that she will run away and you will protect her."
"Me?" Hereford exclaimed, really angry with his sister. "I am more like to school her with the buckle end of my belt for such a trick. When my mother hears of this she will flay Anne alive. She is no believer in women with minds of their own. If she ever speaks to you so again, let her feel your hand. That will amend her manners shortly."
"There is no need to be harsh with her." Rannulf was moved to rise to his wife's defense by his brother-in-law's ferocious look. "She is, as you say, young. Belike she was frightened and sought protection where she was wont to find it. My father uses my mother in that way too often for me to find pleasure in it. Mayhap if your mother were to speak to her—"
A light dawned in Hereford's mind. Here was a way to rid himself of two problems at once. "Do you like my mother, Rannulf? You do not find her company a burden?"
"Nay, she is a most gentle lady, I like her well."
"You could do me a service then, help Anne, and still your father's objections all in one breath. Do not feel that I wish to push this upon you, however. If you have the smallest doubt, speak your mind and be assured I will be in nowise offended. Let my mother go with you and Anne to Corby." Hereford smiled mischievously. "I said she was no friend to headstrong women, and she and Elizabeth—well, it has been a little warm in Hereford Castle this last week, as you may have noticed."
"I would have said it was a little chilly, but have it your own way, Hereford." Rannulf was flattered by being asked for help and spoken to as an equal by the important earl of Hereford. "I will take her gladly."
"Warm, chilly, whatever you will, but it was not comfortable. It will only be a few weeks at most. Elizabeth and I will move on to her dower lands very soon so that her people may come to know me. Then my mother must return to guard Hereford in my absence. By then Anne should be well settled."
"I hope—hark!"
The alaunts somewhat to the fore had begun to bay on a new note. They had picked up a scent. Hereford and Rannulf both spurred forward, leaving the track to follow the direction of the sound. The lymers leapt forward, too, leaving the horses in the rear with their burst of speed. They may not have scented the quarry but responded to the baying of their hunting companions. Hereford drove his golden spurs deep into his mount's side in an effort to keep up with those silent coursers. He grunted as a low hanging branch slashed his face and bent over his saddlebow to avoid a repetition of the experience and to ease his horse's stride. Behind him Rannulf pounded hard, and the corner of his eye caught a flash of a surcoat banded in black and gold that could only be Lord Radnor as could the husky "Ha" with which the big man urged his black stallion.
The baying changed, the deep notes of the lymers and alaunts now mixed with the sweeter belling of the braches. The boar was on the run. Hereford's blood pounded with excitement and the cold air stung his nostrils. The hunt turned; Hereford's left knee pressed hard against his horse to change its course. They crashed through a section of bracken, the thorns catching and tearing backs and chausses and further maddening the horses with the pain of scratches.