Susan Spencer Paul (16 page)

T
he late summer sun beat down upon the fields, powerfully, unmercifully, causing even the most tolerant workers to frequent the water barrels set out at the ends of the rows of wheat and oats and barley and rye. Hugh Caldwell, stretching full height for the first time in more than an hour, wiped the drenching sweat from his forehead, then took his bucket and headed for the nearest barrel. The daily irrigation of the fields was nearly finished, so he felt no guilt whatsoever about filling his bucket and dumping the water over his head.

Refreshed, he rested his hands against the sides of the barrel and surveyed his lands with pride. The fields were ripening beautifully, and with only one month left before the harvest the success of them seemed sure. The feeling this gave Hugh was so strong and pleasurable that he almost wondered at it.

If matters could stay as they were, Hugh imagined that he would be the most content man on God’s earth. Or at least close to it. And it wasn’t simply the prospect of being wealthy and independent that made him think this; it was the satisfaction of success, the feeling of belonging and of being wanted, the pleasure of small daily activities that
had never before held any import to him. And more, it was Rosaleen.

He thought of the day two months past, so long ago, it seemed, when Rosaleen had written her letter. The anger he’d felt then had taken days to dissipate, and just when it had, an incredible train of goods had arrived from his brother, inflaming his fury anew. Thinking of the things he’d said to Rosaleen on that day and of how, in his anger, he had left Briarstone and gone on a drunken revel for half a week even now made him shake his head with regret.

What a fool he’d been! Even his people’s delight with the costly items Alex had sent hadn’t softened him. Only gradually, after he had seen what a difference the goods made at Briarstone, had he finally begun to accept what Rosaleen had known all along. The provisions, the tables and chairs and other such goods, the cloth with which she and her ladies labored long hours to create new clothes for all the people, the candles and sets of chess, the bathing tubs and privacy screens, the improvements that the workers Alex had sent were making to Castle Briarstone, everything, all of it, had brought dignity and comfort and happiness to the people there. Gone were the wretched, ragged, half-starved vassals who had greeted them on the day of their arrival. In their place were warmly dressed, well-fed and contented men, women and children, all of whom took newfound pride in themselves and in their appearances, and all of whom displayed a health and happiness that made Hugh feel near to bursting with pride whenever he thought of it.

So many gladdening memories filled his head that each crowded the next. There was the night when he’d returned from his angered flight to find Rosaleen demonstrating the proper manner of bathing to his people, all of whom had
been standing around her. Rosaleen herself had been on her knees, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her dress more wet than not, instructing in that firm, commanding way of hers while at the same time struggling to maintain control of a most unhappy child. She had seen him standing in the shadows, watching her, and had ignored him, lifting her nose and continuing her lecture as though he weren’t there at all.

But later that night, as he’d paced his chamber, repeating all the words he’d spent two full days readying to speak to her, she had walked through the door and gone directly into his arms and had loved him, not letting either of them speak until afterward. She had lain silent through his whispered apology, then had moved on top of him and begun kissing him, sending his mind to flight all over again.

And there was the memory of her teaching her ladies how to sew, a few days after the bathing incident, on the same night when she had insisted that he, Hugh, instruct the menfolk how to play the game of chess. He had countered that he would teach them dicing instead, but the expression on her face had quickly killed that idea. It had been so soon after their reconciliation that he had given in, though only God knew how he’d wondered at what good it would do men like these to acquire skills at such a game. Now, of course, he understood the value of it very well, as each and every night since had found his people, even the ladies, amusing themselves after the evening meal with the gentilesse of highborn nobles. To a one his people loved chess and had even begun holding tournaments to establish the best player among them.

And, of course, he would never forget the afternoon when Helen had gone into labor. Some of the older children had come running through the fields to fetch every
one back to the keep, but by the time Hugh and the men had arrived, Rosaleen had finished delivering Helen of a healthy boy. The sight of her standing there, covered with blood and birthing fluids, her face flushed and damp, triumphantly holding a live babe in her arms, would remain forever impressed on Hugh’s memory. She had met Hugh’s eyes and smiled, so that Hugh hadn’t been able to keep from taking her in his arms, babe and all, and kissing her. In that moment he had wished that the child was theirs and that she was his wife and that they had the rest of their lives to look forward to moments such as these.

There were many other memories, too. There was the night when Alex’s workers had finished digging two new wells, one in the bailey and one inside the keep itself, and Rosaleen had had a special meal prepared in honor of the event. It had been a feast compared to the stark food they had been used to eating, but it hadn’t compared to the celebration she’d arranged when the oxen and other animals were finally moved out of the keep and into the new stables. On that occasion she had dipped lavishly into Briarstone’s larder, and the people of Briarstone had eaten and celebrated as they had never dreamed possible.

Rosaleen had been so happy on those two occasions that he could only imagine how she would feel when the hole in the back of the keep had finally been repaired, as it soon would be, or when the new dam gate was completed so that the fields could be easily watered with the labor of only a few men, or when all of the chimneys in the castle had finally been cleaned, repaired and readied for use, or when the new buttery, larder, pantry and kitchen had been completed, or, most of all, when all of the windows and open spaces she had requested had finally been built, letting in the fresh air and light she so craved, and which
Hugh craved for her, knowing how much those things meant to her.

Of course, these things would take years to complete, and she would only be able to enjoy them if she stayed with him for longer than the three months she had originally agreed to. Hugh had every intention of making certain that she did. In truth, there wasn’t any reason for her to leave, or at least not any that he could see, regardless of all her worries about her uncle. As long as she stayed with Hugh she needn’t fear that bastard; he would keep her safe. She was happy at Briarstone, and happy with him, and that was the way things were going to stay.

“There now, that is much, much better.” Standing back, placing her hands on her hips, Rosaleen surveyed the outcome of the afternoon’s work with approval. Around her stood her ladies, save Helen, their expressions set with worry.

“I don’t think the men’ll like it, m’lady,” said Jehanne, tucking a stray wisp of blond hair beneath her head covering.

“Certainly they will,” Rosaleen replied confidently, brushing her hands together to dust them. “All people enjoy having a place to be private and to keep their treasures. It is a quality shared by both man and beast.”

Gazing doubtfully at the multitude of screens that now partitioned the farthest half of the great hall into several small rooms, the women all nodded slowly.

“It’ll be strange not to see ever’ one else, though, m’lady. It was real nice to talk wiv’ each other at night.”

“I’m goin’ to feel like a rabbit in a cage,” said Katherine. “All closed up.”

“Don’t be foolish,” Rosaleen admonished. “You will feel no such thing. And as to the other, you will still be able
to hear one another. Those partitions are made of linen and wood, not stone.”

“But the men won’t like it!” Jehanne insisted again, unwittingly causing her mistress to grow angry.

Rosaleen knew very well that the women of Briarstone still entertained the men of Briarstone with their peculiar talents, and quite willingly so. This fact had been bluntly proved on the night when Helen’s son Neddy had been born. The child had come out of the womb with a bright shock of red hair. Helen had smiled at Henry Bascombe, the only redheaded man at Briarstone.

“Why, ‘enry, it looks like he’s yours,” she’d announced happily, and cheers of congratulations had gone up for Henry as though he’d won some game of chance.

Rosaleen had helplessly rolled her eyes, and Hugh had come up and laughed at her and given her a lavish kiss, right there in front of all his people, so that, embarrassed, she’d been obliged to push him away.

But right after that he had carefully taken the baby and, as the master of Briarstone, had proudly presented the child first to his people and then to Henry, who with shaking hands had accepted his son and promptly burst into tears even noisier than the infant’s.

“I really do not care what the men think,” Rosaleen replied tautly. “Now,” she went on, firmly changing the subject when her ladies looked as though they would argue, “we will next set up partitions for the workmen, over on this side of the hall. But I think that can wait until the morrow.”

Her ladies, as one, sighed with relief, which Rosaleen understood very well. Raising up partitions was tiring, but with the men being occupied with the all-important fields, such heavy tasks as these fell to the women. Unfortunately, the need for Alexander of Gyer’s workmen to have
a separate sleeping place was a necessary one, and so Rosaleen and her ladies would have to labor hard again when the next day came.

Alexander of Gyer had sent a little more than fifty workmen—carpenters, masons, husbandmen—and from the moment of their arrival they had contended with the men of Briarstone for the attention of the women. Occasionally they had been successful, and that had caused strife, strife that Hugh Caldwell had been hard-pressed to bring under control. No one had been killed yet, but if matters continued on as they were, that event wouldn’t be too far off. The residents of Briarstone had to eat together, they had to share their bathing and evening hours, but they
didn’t
have to sleep together. Her ladies had been strictly told to have nothing to do with any of the men, either of Briarstone or
Gyer,
unless the man in question made known to Hugh Caldwell his intentions for a formal union. Otherwise they were to stay in their own beds at night.

She knew it was hypocritical to give such commands when she herself could not keep from going each night to the man she loved, and especially when her ladies were fully aware that she did so. She wondered, at times, whether any of them still believed Hugh and her to be related by blood, and, if so, what they made of it.

“We must prepare for the evening meal,” she stated, turning toward the area of the great hall still used for cooking and casting a quick glance as she did at the many workmen rebuilding the missing back wall of the keep. This was always a bothersome time of the day, the cooking time, for the carpenters and masons never lost an opportunity to dally with the women.

“Alice, go and see if Helen has finished nursing Neddy, and if she has, bring the older children down from the nursery to help.”

The nursery was the first chamber Rosaleen had had created out of the dark, gloomy rooms above stairs. With enlarged windows and a working fire, it was a comfortable place for the children to spend their afternoons, and soon, when the tutor she had written to Alexander of Gyer about finally arrived, it would also serve as their place of schooling.

Alice dutifully did as she was told, and Rosaleen next turned to Ada, who, being a gifted cook, supervised all meals. “I thought roast lamb tonight, with several farsed hens and perhaps some of those fresh cod the Lord of Gyer sent us boiled in wine and herbs.”

Ada nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, m’lady, ‘n’ p’raps potatoes wiv’ peas ‘n’ onions, ‘n’ leeks in broth and some arbolettys.”

“Are there enough eggs and cheese for the arbolettys? Very well, then some fried squash and sallat and some manner of fritter should finish the meal. And parsley bread, also, I think.”

“And black pears for last!” Margaret begged.

Rosaleen laughed. “No, we’ve not enough pears, Margaret. A tri-cream for the last course, Ada, with currant tarts.”

“Yes, m’lady.”

Two hours later, as Rosaleen gratefully soaked in the warmth of one of the large wooden tubs Alexander of Gyer had sent to Briarstone, she allowed herself to think of Hugh Caldwell. And thinking of him, as much as she did, wasn’t a pleasant activity. She had long since passed the half mark of her time with him, and now that she was on the shortening end of it, the hopeless end of it, there
was naught to look forward to but saying goodbye. That was a painful contemplation.

She would never be sorry for the past two months, or for the month to come, for they had been the happiest days of her life. But love was such a painful thing…and she loved Hugh Caldwell with every part of her. The wonder and beauty of the emotion amazed and enthralled her so that sometimes Rosaleen wondered how she would live without all the feelings Hugh Caldwell gave her, the pain of love gave her such misery that sometimes she wondered how she would make it through another day.

The worst of it had struck her on the day when the goods from Alexander of Gyer had arrived. Hugh had been angry before that, though his anger hadn’t followed them into his bed at night, and Rosaleen had understood and even sympathized with his feelings. But when the goods actually arrived, some deep, uncontainable fury had released itself within him, so powerfully that Rosaleen, watching him, had almost been able to see it unfold. He had wordlessly packed his things, taken Amazon, mounted Saint and ridden out of Briarstone even while Rosaleen had been greeting the first of the workmen at the front gates.