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  Without thought, with all her strength, Hastings threw the three-legged stool at him. It struck his belly, hard. He winced. She saw it and it pleased her until he was striding toward her and then she ducked around him. But she wasn’t fast enough. He grabbed her arm and jerked her back to him. He grabbed her other arm and shook her hard. He lifted her off her feet and brought her nose to nose. “You dare?” His breath was of the sweet ale MacDear made for the men.

  She prayed that Trist would poke his head out of Severin’s tunic. That was why she’d thrown the stool low. She’d been afraid she would hit the marten.

  Trist wasn’t with his master.

  He shook her again.

  “You struck me. You struck your husband, your master. You threw that stool at me. I would kill a man for a lesser assault.”

  Even though she was afraid, she heard the outrage in his voice. He simply could not believe what she had done. He shook her again.

  “You will not shame me,” she said, knowing well that he could kill her with but a single blow from his fist. In the next instant it would matter, but in this instant it didn’t. “I am your wife, that is true, thus you will not take any of my servants to your bed. That is your responsibility to me. Just ask Father Carreg.”

  “You think I cannot do precisely as I wish? You believe I am somehow bound to you and only you? That is lunacy. If you do not become properly submissive, then after you bear me my son and heir, I will have you confined as a madwoman should be.” He released her and pushed her back. He streaked his large hand through his dark hair. He cursed. “I did not come here to argue with you, yet within a very few moments, you throw a stool at me and I am shaking you as I would the branch of an apple tree. Perhaps I will let the Beale woman remain at Oxborough. Perhaps I will let her guard you. What say you to that?”

  Hastings was rubbing her arms. They were bruised from the previous night. They ached. She looked at him, seeing the anger in him, but more than that, she saw confusion writ on his face. “What do I say to that,” she repeated slowly. “If you do what you threaten, then I will mix allium with felwort. I believe that the two together, slipped into your wine, will make your bowels so watery you will have to sleep in the bailey.”

  He turned on his heel and left her, slamming the door behind him.

  Actually, she had no idea what to mix with what to make a man’s bowels watery. She knew how to stop it though—ground borage mixed with rose petals, violets, and anchusa.

  She wondered as she returned to her herbs how Severin would look in a tunic that wasn’t gray. Perhaps a light blue. She would gather some purple stock. Aye, it made a wonderful pale blue dye.

  MacDear cooked an egg and pork stew for Trist that evening. Hastings saw many of her people looking at that stew, wanting it at least as much as they wanted the chunks of beef that floated in a rich brown gravy. There were peas fresh from the Oxborough garden, onions that were fat and sweet, and a brace of partridges for the lord.

  Eloise sat beside Hastings, looking at the food but making no move toward it. Hastings served small portions of everything on the brightly shined pewter plate. She smiled at the child. “I have prayed, Eloise, with Father Carreg. He told me that God wants to see His children well fed and thus you must eat to please God.”

  As a lie it would serve, but not for all that long. Hastings had already spoken to Father Carreg, a man who surely loved God and loved a well-baked pheasant as well. It would take time. She looked down to a trestle table where Beale sat, her head bent. Suddenly, the woman raised her head and stared at Hastings. Hastings drew back, her back pressed against her chair. The look of pure malice made her tighten all over.

  “What is wrong?”

  Hastings just shook her head. The woman would be gone early the next morning. She would forget Beale’s venom in time. She said, “MacDear bakes the pheasant in special herbs. He will not tell me the recipe. I always try to guess and he will tell me mayhap if I am right, but he will just shake his big head when I am wrong. He tells me I am ignorant and must keep studying before I learn what he knows. I have known him all my life. I remember how he would let me help him knead bread in the bread trough. I sunk nearly to the top of my arms in that dough.”

  This, Severin thought, as he cut off a chunk of the partridge with his knife and slipped it into his mouth, must be how a husband came to know about his wife. He didn’t mind her speaking of things of this nature to him. He found himself picturing her as a small child but only for a moment. He said, “It is very good. I taste basil, do I not?”

  “Aye, and fennel. There is also a goodly amount of salt, and that is what makes it so tasty. We have always been lucky at Oxborough. My father loved salt and thus was willing to buy it even when it was in short supply and the price very high. I once went without hair ribbons so he could buy salt.”

  Aye, he thought, as he ate the peas, he would have no difficulty with this husband business. He turned to watch Hastings as she coaxed another bite of peas into Eloise’s mouth. The child was fidgeting. She kept looking down the trestle tables. He followed her vision and saw the woman Beale. He tore away a chunk of bread and chewed on it as he watched her. She looked up then and he was smitten by the longing in the woman’s eyes. At that moment, Severin could not imagine Hastings striking her. Surely she had been overly harsh. The woman looked very alone and sad. Perhaps he should allow her to remain at Oxborough. Perhaps Hastings would come to deal well with her.

  He would speak to Hastings about it. No, he would tell her what would happen once he had made the decision. He said to Hastings, “We will continue to buy salt, no matter how high the price.”

  “Very good, my lord.”

  He wondered briefly if she laughed at him, but no, that wasn’t possible. He nodded and turned to Gwent, who sat on his right. He’d taken the steward’s place, and the man, Torric by name, looked as sour as the woman Beale. He wasn’t old enough to look so pinched, his mouth so seamless and tight. Even his shoulders were stooped forward. As for the rest of the Oxborough people, they were less wary of him now. They behaved as people did in most large keeps. There was laughter, arguing, shouting, children leaning against their parents’ sides, already asleep, dogs chasing bones tossed to them, fighting with each other, growling and leaping about.

  He felt good. He was the master here. He finally belonged. His line would follow, even though he had to share her name. Langthorne-Trent, Baron Louges, Earl of Oxborough. Ah, that was his and his alone. He leaned back in the former earl’s elegantly carved chair with the Oxborough crest beautifully etched into its back. A lion stood tall on its back legs, its claws sunk deep into a griffin. Behind was a bower of roses, blossoming wildly, and he could tell that the lion would return to that bower once he’d killed his prey. The motto carved beneath the crest was EN AVANT. Forward.

  He turned as Gwent said, “The steward was not pleased when I told him that you were learned, that you read and ciphered. His eyes shifted to and fro when I told him. I fancy he mayhap has lined his pockets with pilfered gains.”

  “I will see to it on the morrow. If the man has cheated, I will find it out and kill him. I will let you punish him first, Gwent. I know well your hatred of thieves. Keep him under your eyes tonight so that he has not the chance to change his records.”

  “Aye, I will keep close to the mangy little squirrel.”

  Severin didn’t long remain in the great hall after Hastings had taken Eloise’s hand and led her up the solar stairs, just long enough to drink another goblet of Graelam’s Aquitaine wine, just enough time so she could see to the child’s needs and put her to bed.

  He yawned hugely, aware that his men were looking at him, grins on their ugly faces, knowing that he would bed his new bride. They would be drunk on laughter were they to know that he wasn’t bedding her because of her monthly flux. Let them believe that he was plowing her belly. He’d been soft with her. He should not have allowed her to dictate what he did. She might be an heiress but she still belong
ed to him. Aye, he’d been as weak as a puking timid lad.

  She wasn’t in his bedchamber, not that he’d expected her to be there. No, she would be in her own chamber and he would have to order her to come to his.

  When he came into her bedchamber, holding a lighted candle high so he could see her, Hastings was pressed hard against the mattress of her narrow bed, the covers drawn to her chin, staring at him.

  “No, give me no arguments. You will accustom yourself to being with me, to lying next to me in bed, to hearing me breathe in sleep. When I take you, it will be as nothing. You will not even care that I look at you. Aye, Hastings, you will accustom yourself.” He strode to the bed, picked up her bedrobe, and said, “Stand up.”

  She didn’t want to but she knew she had no choice. She pushed back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her shift slid up her thighs. She grabbed the bedrobe from him and wrapped it tightly around her. She’d known he would come. Aye, she’d known.

  “Come,” he said, and held out his hand. It was a large hand, long blunt fingers, darkened from the sun, the backs covered with black hairs.

  She pictured Eloise finally slipping her small hand into her own and smiled. She thrust out her hand, felt his enclose hers, and walked beside him to the large bedchamber. He did not ask her to remove her shift, just the bedrobe. She had never before slept with another person, not even her mother when she’d been a little girl. It felt strange. At least the bed was large, the covers sweet-smelling since Dame Agnes had had the servants wash them in lavender water after her father’s death.

  He did not touch her. She lay stiffly on her back. Suddenly she felt soft fur against her check and she smiled.

  “Good night, Trist,” she said. The marten rubbed his whiskers against her chin. She laughed.

  Severin cursed. “I am surprised that Trist is here. He was missing for two hours today. I believe he prepares to return to the woods to mate.”

  “He did not eat much for dinner. Perhaps he hunted in the forest and fed himself.”

  “I have told him that he may stay within the keep walls. I have told him that I mind not feeding him, but he does not attend me. He is like you. I don’t like it.”

  Trist mewled louder.

  “When you spoke to him, Severin, did he answer you back?”

  “Don’t mock me, woman. Trist understands me well enough. Just listen to him. His sounds are louder than a soldier’s snoring. His—”

  Suddenly the door was thrown and Gwent burst into the chamber. “My lord! The woman Beale, she has the child. She is at the gates, swearing she will kill her if Alart doesn’t allow her to leave.”

  “Saint Peter’s teeth,” Severin said. “This is idiocy. I will be there in a moment. Distract her, Gwent. Don’t let her harm the child. Go!”

  He was naked, prowling the chamber, gathering his clothes, but Hastings didn’t notice. She grabbed her bedrobe, flinging it on even as she dashed past Gwent.

  “Hastings, damn you, come back here.”

  She paid him no heed, just sped down the solar stairs, the indented stone hard and cold beneath her bare feet. Servants and men-at-arms were milling about in the great hall. She ran through the great doors to the keep and into the inner bailey. Gilbert the goat looked up, an ancient discarded gauntlet in his mouth. A chicken, disturbed from its sleep, raised its head and squawked. A horse snorted. The moon was high.

  She stopped short, breathing hard, about twenty feet from the portcullis. She saw Alart gesticulating wildly at the woman Beale. She heard him saying, “I cannot, woman. I cannot let you leave without the lord’s permission. He would kill me if I did. Where is the master?”

  Hastings heard Severin close behind her. She didn’t know how she knew it was him, but she was certain. She turned. His feet were bare, as were hers.

  “Saint Egbert’s elbows, I don’t believe this. Look, she has a knife at the child’s throat. Don’t move, Hastings, you’ll just make things worse.”

  “How could I make things worse? What can you do that I cannot?” She turned as she spoke, but he had already eased past her and appeared as only a dark shadow against the bright moonlight. Then Gwent appeared beside her and he called out, “Beale, I have spoken to the master. He will be here soon. He will allow you to leave. Do nothing that would displease him else you will regret it.”

  “What am I to do?” Alart shouted.

  “Hold to your place,” Gwent said. “The master will be here soon. He is clothing himself. The rest of you men, stay back. Make no move toward the woman.”

  It was as if they had planned this, but Hastings knew they hadn’t had the time. No, they had done this before. Severin was now within twenty feet of Beale. He was as soundless as the night itself, blending into the shadows as would a specter made of spun darkness. Gwent turned to her and said low, “Speak to her, distract her.” Hastings called out, “Beale, listen to me. I was wrong. It is true that you belong with Eloise. Listen to me. Bring the child back into the keep and you and I will speak of this.”

  “Stay away, you lying bitch!”

  Hastings lurched back at the venom in the woman’s voice. “Don’t hurt Eloise, Beale. Hurt me instead. You want to, do you not? What if I come to you? What if I agree to do whatever you wish?”

  “You lie! I will kill you later. I will make you suffer just as Richard de Luci made his poor wife suffer. Aye, for two days she was in agony, and he watched, furious because we wouldn’t leave her alone and let him finish killing her. Aye, I will make you regret that you tried to take my place, that you corrupted the child—”

  Severin’s left arm went around Beale’s neck, his right hand squeezed the knife from her fingers. His grip tightened. She didn’t make a sound. She went limp. Eloise flew toward Hastings, great sobs tearing from her throat.

  Severin eased his hold. To his astonishment, the woman’s bony elbow shot back into his belly. He didn’t release her, but it hurt. Had she hit him lower, he would be rolling on the ground, holding his groin.

  He tightened his hold and heard her gurgle deep in her throat. If he kept the pressure for just a few more moments, she would be dead. He cursed, released her, and shoved her away from him hard. She went sprawling to her knees on the cobblestones. Her dark hair hung loose on either side of her head to the ground.

  “Gwent, come take the woman to the barracks. Lock her away until she returns in the morning to Sedgewick. Sir Alan can be responsible for her then.”

  Gwent picked up Beale beneath her arms. She shrieked at Hastings as Gwent hauled her toward the barracks, “You’ll go to hell just as Eloise will, my proud lady. Aye, both of you will die. Both of you will return to the Devil.”

  Gwent slapped his hand over the woman’s mouth. She kicked him, but his hold didn’t loosen. He just dragged her faster.

  Hastings was holding Eloise against her side watching Severin stride toward her. His legs were bare. He was wearing only his tunic.

  “Is the child all right?”

  “Aye, but she’s frightened. As am I.”

  To Hastings’s surprise, Severin went down onto his knees. He lightly touched Eloise’s shoulder. The child slowly turned to face him. “I am sorry, Eloise. Had I believed she was as mad as my own mother surely is, I would not have left you alone. I promised you that no one would ever hurt you again. Because I was careless, someone did. Forgive me.”

  The child just stared at him, frozen in fear. Then, slowly, she stretched out her arm and lightly touched her fingertips to Severin’s cheek.

  “You saved me,” she whispered, choking down tears as she spoke. “I forgive you.”

  Severin said nothing, just smiled at her. He didn’t move until finally she dropped her arm. “Will you let me carry you back to your bedchamber? Nay, I have a better idea. You will sleep with me and Hastings. I have found that it is not good to be alone after a nightmare, and this was surely a nightmare.”

  And thus it was that Hastings spent her third married night in her husband�
��s bed, Eloise, daughter of Richard de Luci, between them, Trist on Severin’s pillow, his tail fluffing against Eloise’s cheek.

  9

  “NOW, ELOISE, ALLIUM IS ALSO CALLED LILY LEEK. IT’S said that it kept Ulysses from being turned into a pig during his travels.”

  “Who is Ulysses?”

  “He was a man who took many years to return to his home. He lived many hundreds of years ago and had more adventures than many men ever have in three lifetimes.”

  “Was he a sinner?”

  Had this been the only point in the child’s life? “Well, actually, he lived long before people worshipped our God.”

  Eloise didn’t understand that at all. Hastings was smart enough to keep her mouth shut. She gently clipped off columbine, saying, “If you ever have a sore throat, I will grind this up and mix it with just a bit of hot water. You will be shouting about within a day.”

  “You know so much,” Eloise said. “I do not know anything. I’m glad Beale is gone. But I’m afraid too, Hastings.”

  “She will not be allowed into the bailey if she returns. Alart knows her and he will keep her out. Besides, how could she return here?”

  “God would fly her here on clouds.”

  “I don’t believe God thinks too highly of Beale, Eloise. Now, here’s Dame Agnes. She told me that today you would learn about making bread from MacDear. What do you think of that?”

  “MacDear is very big.”

  “Aye, but you are not to fear him. He likes children. You will see. Go now and I will see you later.”

  Hastings watched the child walk away with Dame Agnes. She’d been here four days now, and it seemed to Hastings that her step lagged a bit less, that she took a person’s hand more quickly than before. She still did not eat enough, but she was improving, so Hastings held her peace.

  Tonight, she thought. All thoughts of Eloise fell from her mind. Tonight Severin would come to her. She wasn’t afraid, but she did wonder what would happen, if it would hurt as badly as it had the first time. Severin had looked at her some hours before as she sat at the trestle table breaking her fast. He’d said, “I have not forgotten, Hastings, and neither have you. I can see it in your eyes.”