A smile drifted across Jenny's face as she stood at the window of the solar, looking out into the bailey, her heart filled with the memory of last night. It was mid-morning, judging from the angle of the sun, and she'd only arisen less than an hour ago-later than she'd ever slept in her life.
Royce had made love to her long and lingeringly this morning, this time with an exquisite, restrained gentleness that even now made Jenny's pulses race. He had not told her that he loved her, but he did love her-as inexperienced as she was with love, she was certain of that. Why else would he have made such a pledge to her? Or taken such care with her when she was in his bed?
So lost was she in her reflections that Jenny didn't notice when Agnes entered the room. The smile still in her eyes, Jenny turned to the maid who was holding out another hastily remade gown to her, this one of soft cream cashmere. Despite the servant's stern, foreboding expression, Jenny was absolutely determined to break through the barriers and befriend her serfs as well. Surely if she could gentle a wolf, it could not be nearly as difficult to befriend his servants.
Searching for something to say to the maid, she accepted the gown and then noticed the tub in the alcove. Seizing on that as a safe topic, she said, "That tub is large enough to hold four or five people. At home, we either bathe in the lake, or else make do with a little wooden tub that holds only enough water to cover you to the waist."
"This is England, my lady," Agnes replied as she picked up the gown Jenny had worn last night. Jenny shot a startled glance at her, uncertain whether her tone had been laced with superiority or not.
"Do all the big homes in England have such enormous tubs and real fireplaces and-" she lifted her arm and made a sweeping gesture that included the luxurious chamber with its velvet draperies and thick mats scattered across the floor, "and things like all this-?"
"No, my lady. But you're at Claymore, and Sir Albert-the master's steward and steward to the old lord, too-is under orders to keep Claymore like a castle fit for a king. The silver is polished every week, and no dust is allowed to get into the tapestries, nor on the floors, neither. And if something gets ruint', 'tis given away and replaced."
"It must require a great deal of work to keep it so perfect," Jenny observed.
"Aye, but then the new master has told Sir Albert what he's to do, and Sir Albert, hard, proud man though he is, will do what he's told-no matter how he feels inside about he what's tellin' him to do it."
That last startling remark was so laced with bitterness and resentment that Jenny couldn't believe she'd heard correctly. Her brows drew together as she twisted around fully to look at the maid. "Agnes, what do you mean?"
Agnes obviously realized she'd said too much, because the woman turned white and stiffened, staring at Jennifer in wild-eyed fear. "I meant nothin', my lady. Nothin'! 'Tis proud we all are to have our new master home, and if all 'is enemies come here, as they surely will, 'tis proud we'll be to give up our crops and our menfolk and children for his battles. Proud!" she uttered in a low, desperate voice that was still filled with a trace of angry resentment. "We are good, loyal folk, and hold no ill will toward the master for what he did. An we hope he holds none against us."
"Agnes," Jenny said gently, "you needn't be afraid of me. I won't betray your confidences. What do you mean by 'what he did'?"
The poor woman was shaking so hard that when Royce opened the door and poked his head inside to remind Jennifer to join him downstairs for the midday meal, Agnes dropped the velvet gown. Snatching it up, she fled from the room. But as she pulled open the heavy oaken door, she glanced back at Royce, and this time Jennifer distinctly saw her cross herself again.
The cashmere gown forgotten in her hand, Jenny stared at the closing door, her forehead furrowed in a thoughtful frown.
The great hall showed few signs of last night's merrymaking; the trestle tables that had filled the room had been taken down and removed. In fact, the only remnants of the night's revelry were the dozen or so knights who were still asleep on benches along the walls, their snores rising and falling sonorously. Despite the air of bustling efficiency, Jenny noticed with sympathy that the serfs' movements were sluggish, and that more than one was unable to dodge a halfhearted kick from an irate knight on the bench who did not want his slumber disturbed.
Royce looked up as Jennifer came to the table and rose to his feet with that easy, catlike grace that she'd always admired. "Good morning," he said in a low, intimate voice, "I trust you slept well?"
"Very well," Jenny said in a voice that was an embarrassed little whisper, but her eyes were bright and sparkling as she sat down beside him.
"Good morning, my dear!" Aunt Elinor chirped happily, as she looked up from daintily slicing a piece of venison from the tray of cold meats in front of her. "You're looking in fine spirits this morning."
"Good morning, Aunt Elinor," Jenny said, sending her a reassuring smile; then she cast a puzzled look up and down the table at the silent men who were also present: Sir Stefan, Sir Godfrey, Sir Lionel, Sir Eustace, Arik, and Friar Gregory. Aware of the strange silence and downcast eyes of the men, she said with a hesitant smile, "Good morning, everyone."
Five male faces slowly lifted to hers-pale, strained faces whose expressions ranged from glazed pain to befuddled confusion. "Good morning, my lady," they echoed politely, but three of them winced and the other two shaded their eyes with their hands. Only Arik seemed normal this morning, which meant he had no expression at all, and he said absolutely nothing to anyone. Ignoring him completely, Jenny looked at Friar Gregory, who seemed to be in no better condition than the others, and then she looked at Royce. "What's wrong with everyone?" she asked.
Royce helped himself to the white wheaten bread and cold meats laid out on the table, and the men reluctantly followed suit. "They're paying the price of last night's orgy of drunkenness and wenc-er, drunkenness," Royce amended, grinning.
Surprised, Jenny glanced at Friar Gregory, who'd just lifted a cup of ale to his lips. "You, too, Friar Gregory?" she said, and the poor man choked.
"I'm guilty of the former, my lady," he sputtered with chagrin, "but I plead complete innocence of the latter."
Jenny, who'd failed to note the word Royce had swiftly altered, gave the priest a puzzled look, but Aunt Elinor piped up, "I anticipated just such a malady as this, my dear, and early this morning, I went down to the kitchens to prepare a nice restorative, only to find there was not so much as a snip of saffron to be had!"
The mention of the kitchen drew Royce's instant attention, and for the first time he seemed to study Lady Elinor with great interest. "Do you find my kitchens lacking in other items-items which might make all this-" he gestured to the rather tasteless leftover sops from last night, "more pleasing to the palate?"
"Why assuredly, your grace," she replied at once. " 'Twas quite a shock to me to find such a woefully understocked kitchen. There was rosemary and thyme, but no raisins, or ginger paris, nor canel, oregano, or cloves to speak of. And I didn't see a nut in the place, except one poor, wizened chestnut! Nuts are such wonderful compliments to delicate sauces and delicious desserts-"
At the mention of "delicate sauces and delicious desserts," Aunt Elinor suddenly became the focus of undivided masculine attention. Only Arik remained disinterested, ostensibly preferring the joint of cold goose he was eating to rich sauces and desserts.
"Go on," Royce invited her, his speculative gaze riveted on her with rapt fascination. "What sorts of things would you have prepared-assuming you had the necessary ingredients, of course?"
"Well, let me think," she said, her forehead furrowed in a little frown. "It's been decades since I presided over the kitchens in my own lovely castle, but-oh yes-there were baked meat pies with crusts so light and lovely they melted in the mouth; and-take for example that hen you are eating," she said to Sir Godfrey, warming to her new position of culinary expert. "Instead of being cooked on a spit and served dried out and tough as canvas, which it is, it could have been simmered in half broth, half wine, with cloves, mace, fennel, and pepper, then laid upon a trencher so the juices made the bread ever so tasty.
"And there's so much one can do with fruits like apples, pears, and quince, but I'd need honey and almond and dates for the glazes and, canel, too, but as I said, there's little to be found of any of that in the kitchens."
Royce eyed her intently, his cold goose forgotten. "Would you be able to find the things you need here at Claymore or perhaps at the village market?"
"Much of it, one would suppose," Aunt Elinor promptly replied.
"In that case," Royce said in the tone of one issuing a royal edict, "the kitchens are now in your hands, and we will all look forward to excellent meals in future." Glancing toward Sir Albert Prisham, who was nearing the table, Royce arose and informed him, "I've just put the kitchens in the charge of Lady Elinor."
The thin steward's face was carefully blank, and he bowed politely, but the hand on the white cane clenched into a fist as he replied, "As I said, food is of little importance to me."
"Well, it ought to be exceedingly important to you, Sir Albert," Lady Elinor informed him authoritatively, "for you've been eating all the wrong things. Turnips, fatty foods, and hard cheeses ought never to be eaten by those with gout."
His face hardened. "I do not have gout, madam."
"You will!" Aunt Elinor predicted gaily as she, too, arose, all eagerness to begin foraging about in the gardens and woods for her ingredients.
Ignoring her, Sir Albert said to his lord, "If you are ready to begin our tour of the estate, we can leave at once." And when Royce nodded, he added coolly, "I trust you will not find my stewardship lacking anywhere other than the kitchens."
Royce gave him an odd, sharp look, then he smiled at Jennifer and pressed a polite kiss to her cheek, but in her ear he whispered, "I suggest you have a long nap, for I intend to keep you awake all night again."
Jenny felt the warm flush stealing up her cheeks as Arik arose, obviously intending to remain at Royce's side during the inspection of the estate. Royce stopped him. "Accompany Lady Elinor on her expeditions," he said, and then in an odd, meaningful voice he added, "and see that nothing untoward happens."
Arik's face froze at this flat command to play escort to an elderly lady. He stalked off, positively radiating resentment and offended dignity, while Lady Elinor trotted excitedly at his heels. "We shall have a lovely time, dear boy," she said enthusiastically, "although this project will take several days, not merely one, for we're sorely in need of ingredients for my medicinals and ointments, as well as spices for food. I shall require clove to comfort the sinews, and mace, of course! Mace prevents colic, you know, as well as body fluxes and laxes-and then there's nutmegs, which are very beneficial for the cold and a bad spleen. And I shall take special care of your diet in particular, for you aren't well, you know. You've a melancholy disposition-I noticed that at once…"
Sir Eustace glanced around at the other knights, grinning wickedly. "Lionel," he called loudly enough to be heard by the departing giant, "would you say our Arik looks 'melancholy' just now? Or would 'piqued' be a better word?"
Sir Lionel paused in his chewing and studied Arik's rigid broad back, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he replied after a moment's thoughtful consideration, "Arik is vexed."
Sir Godfrey leaned back to have a look for himself. "Aggrieved," he concluded.
"Colicky," Stefan Westmoreland added with a grin. In shared camaraderie, the men looked to Jennifer, inviting her to join in their fun, but she was spared the need to refuse because at that moment, Arik turned and blasted a dark look at his cohorts which could have pulverized rock and would easily have terrified most men. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect on the knights, who returned his look and then burst into shouts of laughter, their mirth bouncing off the walls and echoing to the timbers, following Arik out the door.
Only young Gawin, who'd arrived just in time to see Arik and Lady Elinor depart, spoke up in Arik's behalf. Glowering at the others as he seated himself at the table, he said, " 'Tis no fit job for a knight-squiring an old woman about while she picks herbs and gathers nuts. 'Tis a job for a lady's maid, not a knight."
Lionel gave the boy a good-natured cuff. " 'Tis thinking like that which leaves you forever in Lady Anne's bad graces, my boy. Were you to squire her about while she picks flowers, you'd get further with the lady than you do by bristling up and trying to impress her with your manly glower-as you did last night." Turning to Jennifer, Sir Lionel said, "This halfling prefers glowering to gallantry. He thinks it's more manly, you see. And while he glowers, Roderick dances pretty attendance upon Lady Anne and wins the fair maiden's heart. Would you care to enlighten him with a lady's point of view?"
Sensitive to Gawin's youthful embarrassment, Jenny said, "I cannot speak for Lady Anne, but I, for one, did not see anything to turn a lady's head in the person of Sir Roderick."
Gratitude flashed in Gawin's eyes before he turned a smug glance upon his fellows and then dug into his somewhat tasteless fare.
Jenny spent the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon closeted with the seamstresses whom Sir Albert had recruited from the village to assist her in the preparation of garments. The steward was certainly efficient, Jenny thought as she delved down into the trunks that had been brought to her. Efficient and cold. She didn't like him at all, though she wasn't certain exactly why. Based on Agnes's words this morning, all the serfs at Claymore certainly held the thin man in high esteem. Esteem and a twinge of fear. Frustrated with her odd, emotional reactions to everyone here, and with the endless, uneasy silence of the women in the room, she studied the array of rich, colorful fabrics flowing over the bed and draped over the chairs. They lay like bright splashes of liquid jewels-ruby silks shot with gold, silver and gold brocades, amethyst velvets, sapphire taffeta shimmering as if sprinkled with diamonds, and rich, glowing satins in every shade of the spectrum from pearl to emerald to onyx. Beside them lay soft English wools in every imaginable weight and color, from brightest yellow and scarlets to shades of cream, gray, tan, and black. There were cottons from Italy, striped horizontally and vertically; richly embroidered linen for gowns and shirts, sheer, almost transparent linen for chemises and undergarments; shimmering tissues for veils; and buttery leather for gloves and slippers.
Even allowing for complete wardrobes for Royce and herself and Aunt Elinor, Jenny could scarcely conceive of ways to use so much. Overwhelmed by the magnitude of the task that lay ahead, and by her lack of imagination and knowledge of fashion, Jenny turned a little dazedly to the two enormous trunks overflowing with furs. "I think," she said aloud to Agnes as she gathered up an armful of luxurious dark sable, "that this could be used to line a cape made of that dark blue velvet for the duke."
"The cream satin," Agnes burst out almost desperately, then she closed her mouth and her face resumed its habitual frown.
Jenny turned to her in relieved surprise that the woman-whom she'd just learned had been seamstress to the former mistress of Claymore-had finally offered a voluntary word. Trying to hide her lack of enthusiasm for the idea, Jenny said, 'The cream satin? Truly? Do you think the duke would wear that?"
"For you," Agnes said in a choked voice, as if forced to speak by some inner fashion consciousness that cried out against the misuse of the sable, "not him."
"Oh," Jenny said, startled and pleased by the combination suggested. She gestured to the white fur. "And that?"
"The ermine to trim the sapphire brocade."
"And for the duke?" Jenny persisted, more pleased by the moment.
"The dark blue velvet, the black, and that dark brown."
"I've little knowledge of fashion," Jenny admitted, smiling with pleasure at the suggestions. "When I was young, 'twas of no interest to me at all, and later-these past years-I've lived in an abbey, and the only fashions I saw were the garments we all wore. But I comprehend already that you've a wonderful eye for how things will look, and I'll gladly take all your suggestions."
Turning, she surprised a startled look on Agnes's face, and something that might almost have been a smile, though Jenny rather suspected it was due more to her admission to having been in an abbey than her compliment to Agnes's taste. The other two seamstresses, both plain-faced young women, seemed to have thawed slightly as well. Perhaps they found her less "the enemy" if she'd been living in peace as a pious Catholic these past years.
Agnes stepped forward and began gathering up the fabrics, including the linen and cottons, which had already been singled out for specific uses. "Can you do the design for the cape and gown?" Jenny asked, bending to scoop up the cream brocade. "I haven't much idea how it should be cut, though I'll help with the cutting, of course. I'm more clever with shears than I am with a needle, I fear."
A muffled sound like a swallowed giggle escaped one of the younger women, and Jenny turned in surprise to find the seamstress called Gertrude suffused in an alarmed flush. "Did you laugh?" Jenny asked, hoping she had, regardless of the reason, for she longed desperately for some sort of female camaraderie.
Gertrude's flush deepened.
"You did laugh, didn't you? Was it because of what I said about being handy with shears?"
The woman's lips trembled and her eyes almost popped out as she strained to keep her nervous mirth contained. Without realizing that she was staring the poor woman down, Jenny tried to imagine what the maids could be finding funny about her skill with shears. A thought struck her, and her mouth dropped open. "You heard about that, did you? About what I did-to your master's things?"
If anything, the poor woman's eyes widened yet more, and she looked at her friend, swallowed a giggle, then looked back at Jennifer. " 'Tis true then, my lady?" she whispered.
Suddenly the desperate deed seemed rather funny to Jenny, too. She nodded gaily. " 'Twas a dreadful thing to do-worse than sewing the armholes closed on his shirts and-"
"You did that, too?" And before Jenny could answer, the two seamstresses let loose great, gusty shouts of laughter and began to nudge each other in the ribs, nodding with approval. Even Agnes's lips were trembling with mirth.
When the two younger women had left, Jenny went into Royce's room with Agnes to give her samples of his clothes so that she might use them to gauge his measurements for the new ones. There was something strangely intimate and oddly poignant about handling his doublets and cloaks and shirts.
He had amazingly broad shoulders, Jenny thought with a tingle of pride as she held a woolen tunic out to Agnes-and surprisingly few clothes, she noted, for a man of such wealth. What he had was of the finest quality, but it had seen much wear-a silent testimony to a man whose concerns had been with matters far weightier than clothing.
Many of his shirts were slightly frayed at the wrists, and buttons were missing from two of them. He was badly in need of a wife, Jenny thought with a whimsical little smile, to look after such details. No wonder he'd reacted with such pleasure, months ago in camp, when she'd volunteered to do mending. A sharp stab of guilt pierced her for the deliberate damage she'd done to what few articles of clothing he apparently had. Unlike the maids, she no longer found that funny, and the fact that they did puzzled and concerned her. It seemed rather odd, but then there was much about Claymore that struck her as being odd.
Now that the dam of reticence had been broken, Agnes seemed willing to talk at length about how to proceed with all the garments, and when she left, she actually smiled shyly at Jenny, but that, too, bothered Jenny as much as it pleased her.
When the maid left, Jenny stood where she was in Royce's bedchamber, her forehead knitted into a puzzled frown. Unable to come up with any answers, she flung a light mantle over her shoulders and went out to seek answers from the one person with whom she felt free to talk.
Sir Eustace, Sir Godfrey, and Sir Lionel were in the bailey, seated upon a low stone bench, their faces covered in a fine sheen of sweat, their swords dangling limply from their hands-obviously trying to recover their strength after a night of carousing and an afternoon devoted to practice with swords. "Have you seen Friar Gregory?" Jenny asked.
Sir Eustace thought he'd seen the friar talking to the wagoner, and Jenny started off in the direction he indicated, not certain exactly which of the stone buildings clustered around the vast inner perimeter of the castle wall was the one which housed the wagons. The kitchen, easily identified by its high, elaborate chimney structure, was next to the castle itself. Beside the kitchen was the store, the brewhouse, and a lovely chapel. Across the bailey from her was the smithy, where a horse was being shod and where Gawin was busily polishing Royce's shield, ignoring the stacks of armor and weapons waiting to be mended by less exalted hands than his. The wagon shed was beside it, and beyond the wagon shed were the stables, a piggery, and a large dovecote, which appeared to be empty of birds.
"Are you looking for someone, your grace?" Jenny whirled around in surprise at the sound of the friar's voice. "Yes, for you," she replied, laughing at her own jumpiness. "I wanted to ask you about… about things," she said, casting a cautious glance at the hundred people about the bailey who were busy at various tasks. "But not here."
"A stroll outside the gates perhaps?" Friar Gregory suggested, immediately comprehending her desire to speak where they'd not be observed or overheard.
When they approached the guards at the gate, however, Jenny received a shock. "I'm sorry, my lady," the guard said with polite implacability, "but my orders are that you cannot leave the castle except in the company of my lord."
Jenny blinked at him in disbelief. "What?"
"You cannot leave-"
"I heard you," Jenny said, controlling a sharp spurt of anger, "Do you mean I'm-I'm a prisoner here?"
The guard, a seasoned soldier with vast experience in battle and none at all in dealing with noble ladies, shot an alarmed glance at the sergeant-of-the-guard, who stepped forward, bowed formally, and said," 'Tis a question of… er… your safety, my lady."
Thinking he meant that she might not be safe in the village after what happened yesterday, Jenny made an airy motion with her hand. "Oh, but I don't intend to go further than yon trees and-"
"I'm sorry. My lord's orders were specific."
"I see," Jenny said, but she didn't see at all, and she didn't like the feeling of being a prisoner one bit. She started to turn away, then she rounded on the hapless sergeant. "Tell me something," she said in a low, ominous voice. "Is this… restriction… against anyone leaving the castle, or only me."
His gaze shifted to the horizon. "Only you, my lady. And your lady aunt."
Angry and humiliated, Jenny turned away, and then it occurred to her that Royce had undoubtedly sent Arik with Aunt Elinor-not as her escort but her guard.
"I know another place," Friar Gregory suggested mildly, taking her arm and guiding her back across the wide bailey.
"I can't believe this!" Jenny whispered angrily. "I'm a prisoner here."
Friar Gregory made a sweeping gesture with his hand that encompassed everything in the enormous bailey. "Ah, but what a glorious prison it is," he commented with an appreciative smile. "Beautiful beyond any castle I've seen."
"A prison," Jenny informed him darkly, "is a prison!"
"It's possible," the priest said without arguing her valid point, "that your husband has reasons, other than those which you think, for wanting to keep you within the bounds of his complete protection." Without realizing where he was taking her, she'd followed him to the chapel. He opened the door and stood back for her to enter.
"What sort of reasons?" she asked as soon as they were within the dim, cool confines of the chapel.
Friar Gregory gestured to a polished oak chair and Jenny sat down. "I don't know, of course," he said. "But his grace does not strike me as a man who ever acts without good reason."
Startled, Jenny stared hard at him. "You like him, don't you, Friar?"
"Yes, but more importantly, do you like him?"
Jenny threw up her hands. "Until a few minutes ago, when I discovered I cannot leave the bailey, I'd have answered yes."
Friar Gregory crossed his arms, his hands and wrists concealed by the full white sleeves of his robe. "And now?" he asked, cocking one blond eyebrow, "after you've discovered it-do you still like him?"
Jennifer shot him a rueful smile and nodded helplessly.
"I'd say that answers that," he said drolly, sliding into the chair beside her. "Now then, what did you wish to speak to me about in such secret?"
Jenny bit her lip, trying to think how to explain it. "Have you noticed anything-well-odd about everyone's attitude? Not to me, but to my husband?"
"Odd in what respect?"
Jenny told him of seeing the maids cross themselves whenever Royce was near, and also mentioned she'd thought it strange when no one cheered their returning master in the village yesterday. She finished with the story of the maids' amusement when she inadvertently confirmed the rumor about damaging his clothes and blankets.
Instead of being scandalized by Jenny's destructiveness, Friar Gregory eyed her with something akin to amused admiration. "Did you really-cut up their blankets?"
She nodded uneasily.
"You're a female of amazing courage, Jennifer, and I sense you're going to need it in future dealings with your husband."
" 'Twasn't courageous at all," she admitted with a wry laugh. "I'd no idea I'd be there to see his reaction, since Brenna and I were planning to escape the very next morning."
"You shouldn't have destroyed the blankets they needed for warmth in any case, but I'm certain you realize that," he added. "Now, shall I attempt to answer your question about the villagers 'odd' reaction to their new lord?"
"Yes, please. Am I imagining all this?"
Friar Gregory abruptly stood up, wandering over to a bank of candles before an elaborate cross, and idly righted a candle that had fallen over. "You're not imagining anything. I've been here only a day, but the people here have been without a priest for more than a year, so they've been only too eager to talk to me." Frowning, he turned to her. "Are you aware that your husband laid siege to this very place eight years past?"
When Jennifer nodded, he looked relieved.
"Yes, well, have you ever seen a siege? Seen what happens?"
"No."
" 'Tis not a pretty sight to be sure. There's a saying that 'when two nobles quarrel, the poor man's thatch goes up in flames,' and 'tis true. It's not only the castle and its owners who suffer, 'tis also the villeins and serfs. Their crops are filched by defenders and attackers alike, their children are killed in the fray, and their homes are destroyed. It's not unusual for an attacker to deliberately set fire to the countryside about the castle, to destroy the fields and orchards, and even to murder the laborers, to prevent them from being enlisted by the defenders."
Although none of this was completely new to Jenny, she'd never before been at the site of a siege during it or immediately afterward. Now, however, as she sat in the peaceful little chapel that stood on land that Royce had once laid siege to, the picture took on an unpleasant clarity.
"There's no doubt that some of these things were done by your husband when he laid siege to Claymore, and, while I'm certain his motives were impersonal and that he acted in the best interest of the Crown, the peasantry cares little for noble motives when they've been impoverished by a battle in which they have nothing to gain and everything to lose."
Jenny thought of the clans in the highlands who fought and fought, without complaint about the deprivations, and shook her head in bewilderment. "It's different here."
"Unlike the members of your clans, especially the highlanders, the English peasantry does not share in the spoils of victory," Friar Gregory said, understanding her dilemma and trying to explain. "Under English law, all the land actually belongs to the king. The king then bestows parcels of this land upon his favored nobles as rewards for loyalty or special service. The nobles choose the sites they wish for their own demesne and then they grant the peasant a measure of land for himself, in return for which the vassal is expected to work two or three days a week on the lord's fields or to give manorial service at the castle. Naturally, they are also expected to contribute a measure of grain or produce from time to time.
"In times of war or famine, the lord is morally-but not legally-obliged to protect the interests of his serfs and villeins. Sometimes they do protect them, but usually only if it's of benefit to themselves."
When Friar Gregory fell silent, Jenny said slowly, "Do you mean they fear my husband won't protect them? Or do you mean they hate him for laying siege to Claymore and burning the fields?"
"Neither." Ruefully, Friar Gregory said, "The peasantry is a philosophical lot, and they expect to have their fields burned every generation or so when their lord is embroiled in a battle with one of his peers. But in the case of your husband, it's different."
"Different?" Jenny repeated. "In what way?"
"He has made a life of battles, and they fear that all his enemies will begin descending on Claymore one after another to exact revenge. Or that he will invite them here to feed his love of war."
'That's ridiculous," Jenny said.
"True, but it will take time before they realize it."
"And I thought they'd be proud because he's-he's a hero to the English."
"They are proud. And they're relieved and confident that he, unlike his predecessor, will be willing and able to defend them if the need arises. His strength, his might, is greatly to his advantage in this instance. Actually, they're completely in awe of him."
"Terrified of him, it would seem," Jenny said unhappily, recalling the way the maids reacted to his presence.
"That, too, and for good reason."
"They have no good reason to be terrified of him that I can see," Jenny replied with great conviction.
"Ah, but they do. Put yourself in their minds: their new lord is a man who's called the Wolf-named for a vicious, rapacious animal who attacks and devours its victims. Moreover, legend-not fact, but legend-has it that he's ruthless to anyone who crosses him. As their new lord, he also has the right to decide what taxes to levy upon them, and he will naturally sit in judgment on disputes and mete out punishment to wrongdoers, as is his right. Now then," Friar Gregory said with a pointed look, "given his reputation for mercilessness and viciousness, is he the sort of man you'd want deciding all this for you?"
Jenny was irate. "Oh, but he isn't merciless or vicious. If he were half so bad as that, my sister and I would have suffered a fate far worse than we did at his hands."
"True," the priest agreed, smiling proudly at her. "Now all that's left is for your husband to spend time with his people so that they can draw their own conclusions."
"You make it sound very simple," Jenny said, standing up and shaking out her skirts. "And I suppose it is. Hopefully, it won't take the people long to realize he-"
The door being flung open made them both turn around in time to see an expression of relief cross Royce's angry features. "No one knew where you were," he said, stalking toward Jennifer, his booted footsteps ringing ominously on the polished wooden floor of the chapel. "In future, do not disappear without letting someone know where you've gone."
Father Gregory took one look at Jennifer's indignant face and politely excused himself. As soon as the door closed behind him, Jenny snapped back, "I wasn't aware I'm to be a prisoner here."
"Why did you attempt to leave the castle?" Royce demanded, not bothering to pretend he didn't understand what she meant.
"Because I wanted to talk privately with Friar Gregory without having every serf in the bailey watching us and overhearing," Jenny informed him darkly. "Now, it's your turn to answer my question. Why am I forbidden to leave this place? Is this my home or my prison? I will not-"
"Your home," he interrupted, and to her complete confusion, he grinned suddenly. "You have the bluest eyes on earth," he added with a low, appreciative chuckle. "When you're angry, they're the color of wet blue velvet."
Jenny rolled her eyes in disgust, momentarily pacified by his answer that this was her home. "Wet velvet?" she repeated wryly, wrinkling her nose. "Wet velvet."
His white teeth flashed in a devastating grin. "No? What should I have said?"
His smile was irresistible, and Jenny fell in with his teasing mood, "Well, you might have said they're the color of-" she glanced at the large sapphire in the center of the crucifix "-of sapphires," she provided. "That has a nice ring to it."
"Ah, but sapphires are cold, and your eyes are warm and expressive. Am I doing better?" he chuckled when she voiced no further argument to wet velvet.
"Much," she agreed readily. "Would you care to go on?"
"Fetching for compliments?"
"Certainly."
His lips twitched with laughter. "Very well. Your eyelashes remind me of a sooty broom."
Jenny's mirth exploded in a peal of musical laughter. "A broom!" she chuckled merrily, shaking her head at him.
"Exactly. And your skin is white and soft and smooth. It reminds me of…"
"Yes?" she prompted, chuckling.
"An egg. Shall I go on?"
"Oh, please no," she muttered, laughing.
"I didn't do very well, I take it?" he asked, grinning.
"I would have thought," she admonished breathlessly, "that even the English court required a certain level of courtly behavior. Did you never spend any time at court?"
"As little as possible," he said softly, but his attention had shifted to her generous smiling lips, and without warning he gathered her into his arms, his mouth hungry and urgent on hers.
Jenny felt herself sinking into the sweet, sensual whirlpool of his desire, and with an effort she pulled her mouth from his. His eyes, already darkened with passion, gazed deeply into hers.
"You didn't tell me why," she whispered shakily, "I'm forbidden to leave the castle."
Royce's hands shifted slowly up and down her arms as he bent his head to hers again. "It's only for a few days…" he answered, kissing her between each sentence, "until I'm certain there'll be no trouble…" he pulled her tightly to him "… from the outside."
Satisfied, Jenny gave herself up to the incredible pleasure of kissing him and feeling his big body harden with desire.
The sun was already starting its descent as they crossed the bailey toward the great hall. "I wonder what Aunt Elinor has in mind for supper," she said, smiling up at him.
"At the moment," Royce replied with a meaningful look, "I find my appetite whetted for something other than food. However, while we're on the subject, is your aunt as skilled in kitchen matters as she sounded?"
Jenny sent him a hesitant, sidewise look. "To tell you truly, I can't recall any of my family ever singing her praises in that regard. She was always praised for her curatives-wise women from all over Scotland used to go to her for ointments and preparations of all sorts. Aunt Elinor believes that proper food, properly prepared, wards off all sorts of sicknesses, and that certain foods have special curative powers."
Royce wrinkled his nose. "Medicine with meals? 'Twas not at all what I had in mind." He cast her an appraising glance, as if something had suddenly occurred to him: "Are you skilled in kitchen matters?"
"Not a bit," she replied cheerfully. "Scissors are my specialty."
Royce let out a sharp bark of laughter, but the sight of Sir Albert marching toward them across the bailey, his face even sterner than usual, put an end to Jenny's gaiety. The steward's cold eyes, gaunt body, and thin lips gave him a look of arrogant cruelty that made Jenny instantly uneasy. "Your grace," he said to Royce, "the perpetrator of the mud-throwing incident yesterday has been brought here." He gestured to the smithy at the far end of the bailey where two guards were holding a white-faced lad between them, and a crowd of serfs had gathered. "Shall I handle this?"
"No!" Jenny burst out, unable to conquer her dislike of the man.
With a thinly veiled look of dislike the steward turned from Jennifer to Royce. "Your grace?" he asked, ignoring her.
"I've no experience with civil disciplinary measures or procedures," Royce told Jennifer, visibly hedging. They had reached the edge of the rapidly growing crowd, and Jenny turned eyes full of appeal on her husband, her mind still full of all that Friar Gregory had told her. "If you do not wish to handle it, I could do it in your stead," she volunteered anxiously. "I've seen my father sit on Judgment day times out of mind, and I know how it's done."
Royce turned to the steward. "Handle the formalities in the customary way, and my wife will decide on the punishment."
Sir Albert clenched his teeth so hard his cheek bones protruded further beneath his flesh, but he bowed in acceptance. "As you wish, your grace."
The crowd parted to let them through, and Jenny noticed that everyone on Royce's side moved back much farther than necessary to let him pass-well out of his reach.
When they reached the center of the wide circle, Sir Albert lost no time in preparing to mete out justice. With his icy gaze riveted on the stricken lad, whose outstretched arms were being held by two burly guards, Sir Albert said, "You are guilty of maliciously attacking the mistress of Claymore, a crime of the most serious nature under the laws of England-and one for which you should have received your just punishment yesterday. 'Twould have been easier on you than waiting until today to face it again," the steward finished harshly, leaving Jenny with the fleeting thought that he'd just made Royce's reprieve seem like a deliberate torment.
Tears streamed down the boy's face, and at the edge of the circle a woman, who Jenny instantly guessed must be the boy's mother, covered her face with her hands and began to weep. Her husband stood beside her, his face frozen, his eyes glazed with pain for his son.
"Do you deny it, boy?" Sir Albert snapped.
His thin shoulders shaking with silent weeping, the lad dropped his head and shook it.
"Speak up!"
"N-" he lifted his shoulder to rub away the humiliating wetness from his face on his dirty tunic. "No."
" 'Tis best you don't," the steward said almost kindly, "for to die with a lie on your soul would damn you for all time."
At the word die, the boy's sobbing mother tore loose from her husband's restraining arm and hurtled herself at her son, wrapping her arms around him, cradling his head against her bosom. "Do it then and be done with it!" she cried brokenly, glaring at the sword-wielding guards. "Don't make him be scared," she sobbed, rocking the boy in her arms. "Can't you see he's scared-" she wept brokenly, her voice dropping to a shattered whisper. "Please… I don't want him to be… scared."
"Get the priest," Sir Albert snapped.
"I fail to see," Royce interrupted in an icy voice that made the boy's mother clutch her son tighter and sob harder, "why we need to have a mass said at this unlikely hour."
"Not a mass, but a confession," the steward put in, not realizing that Royce had deliberately misunderstood his reasons for sending for Friar Gregory. Turning to the boy's mother, Sir Albert said, "I assumed that your miscreant son would naturally want to avail himself of the Church's final sacraments?" unable to speak through her tears, the woman nodded helplessly.
"No!" Royce snapped, but the hysterical mother screamed, "Yes! 'Tis his right!-His right to have the last sacraments before he dies!"
"If he dies," Royce drawled coldly, " 'twill be from suffocation at your hands, madam. Step back and let the boy breathe!"
A look of tormented hope crossed her face, then wavered as she looked around at the grim faces of the crowd, and she realized no one shared her fleeting hope for a reprieve. "What are you going to do to him, milord?"
"It's not my decision," Royce replied tightly, his anger renewed as he considered the names they'd hurtled at his wife yesterday. "Inasmuch as it was my wife who suffered at his hands, 'twill be up to her."
Instead of being relieved, the mother clapped her hand over her mouth, her terrified eyes riveted on Jenny, and Jenny, who could no longer stand seeing the poor woman tortured with uncertainty, turned to the boy and said quickly, and not unkindly, "What is your name?"
He stared at her through tear-swollen eyes, his entire body shaking. "J-Jake. M-my l-lady."
"I see," Jenny said, thinking madly of how her father would handle such a thing. Crime could not go unpunished, she knew, for it would breed more crime and make her husband seem weak. On the other hand, harshness wasn't in order either, especially given the boy's tender years. Trying to offer the child an excuse she gently said, "Sometimes, when we're very excited about something, we do things we don't mean to do. Is that what happened when you threw the dirt? Perhaps you didn't mean to hit me with it?"
Jake swallowed twice, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his long, skinny neck. "I-I-" he looked at the rigid face of the duke and chose against lying-"I always hit what I aims at," he admitted miserably.
"Really?" Jenny said, stalling for time and thinking madly for some solution.
"Yes, mum," he admitted in a glum whisper. "I can hit a rabbit 'atween the eyes with a rock and kill him dead if'n he's close enough to see. I don't never miss."
"Really?" Jenny repeated, impressed. "I once tried to hit a rat from forty paces and I killed it."
"You did?" Jake asked, mutually impressed.
"Yes-well, never mind," she amended hastily at Royce's look of dry rebuke. "You didn't mean to kill me, did you?" she asked, and lest the foolish child admit that, she added hastily, "I mean, you did not want the sin of murder to stain your soul for all time?"
He shook his head emphatically at that.
"So it was more a matter of the excitement of the moment, wasn't it?" she urged, and to her immense relief, he finally nodded.
"And of course you were proud of your skill with throwing and perhaps even showing off a bit for everyone?"
He hesitated and then nodded jerkily.
"There, you see!" Jenny said looking around at the taut, waiting crowd and raising her voice with relieved conviction, "He meant no serious harm, and the intent is as important as the crime itself." Turning back to Jake, she said severely, " 'Tis obvious some form of atonement is called for, however, and since you are so very good with your throwing arm, I think it should be put to better use. Therefore, Jake, you'll spend each morning helping the men hunt for game for the next two months. And if there's no need for fresh meat, you'll come to the castle and help me here. Excepting Sundays, of course. And if your-"
Jenny stopped in shock as the boy's weeping mother threw herself at her feet, wrapped her arms around Jenny's legs and wept, "Thank you, milady, thank you. 'Tis a saint yer are. Bless you, thank you-"
"No, don't do that," Jenny pleaded desperately when the overwrought woman picked up the hem of Jenny's skirt and kissed it. The husband, cap in hand, came to retrieve her, his eyes shining with tears as he looked at Jenny.
"If your son is needed to help in your own planting," she said to him, "he can perform his… er… penance in the afternoons instead."
"I-" he said in a choked voice, then he cleared his throat, straightened his shoulders, and said with touching dignity, "will keep yer in my prayers ever' day of my life, milady."
Smiling, Jenny said, "And my husband, too, I hope."
The man paled, but he managed to look the fierce, dark man standing beside her in the eye and to say with meek sincerity, "Aye, an' you, too, milord."
The crowd disbanded in eerie, wordless silence, casting surreptitious glances over their shoulders at Jenny, who was wondering if perhaps two months had been too long a time. On the way back into the hall, Royce was so silent that she cast him an anxious glance. "You looked surprised," she said apprehensively, "when I mentioned two months."
"I was," he admitted with ironic amusement. "For a while, I thought you were going to congratulate him on his excellent aim and invite him to join us for supper."
"You think I was too lenient?" she said with relief as he opened the heavy oaken door of the hall, standing to one side for her to precede him.
"I don't know. I've no experience in dealing with peasants and maintaining order. However, Prisham should have known better than to talk of a penalty like death. 'Twas out of the question."
"I don't like him."
"Nor do I. He was steward here before, and I kept him on. I think 'tis time to look for another to replace him."
"Soon, I hope?" Jenny urged.
"At the moment," he said, and Jenny missed the wicked gleam in his eyes, "I have more important matters on my mind."
"Really, what are they?"
"Taking you to bed and then eating supper-in that order."
"Wake up, sleepyhead-" Royce's lazy chuckle brought Jenny awake. " 'Tis a glorious evening," he told her as she rolled onto her back and smiled languorously at him. "A night made for loving and now-" he nipped her ear playfully "-eating."
By the time Royce and Jenny came downstairs, many of the knights had already finished eating and the trestle tables had already been dismantled and propped neatly in their appropriate place against the wall. Only those knights who were privileged to dine at the main table on the dais seemed to want to linger over each course.
"Where is my aunt?" Jenny asked them as Royce seated her beside him at the center of the table.
Sir Eustace tipped his head to the archway on his left. "She's gone to the kitchens to instruct the cooks to prepare a greater quantity of food for tomorrow. I don't think," he added with a grin, "that she realized what monstrous appetites we'd have if offered tasty food."
Jenny looked around at the platters on the table, most of which were already empty, and breathed a silent sigh of relief. "It is-tasty then?"
"Fit for the gods," the knight exaggerated with a grin. "Ask anyone."
"Except Arik," Sir Godfrey said with a disgusted look at the giant, who had systematically stripped an entire goose down to the carcass and was finishing the last few bites.
At that moment, Aunt Elinor bustled into the hall, her face wreathed in a smile. "Good evening, your grace," she said to Royce. "Good evening, Jennifer, dear." Then she stood at the foot of the table, beaming her complete approbation at the occupants of the table, the empty platters, and even the serfs who were clearing away the debris. "Everyone seems to have had a veritable feast on my dishes."
"If we'd known you meant to come down and enliven our meal with your presence," Stefan said to his brother, "we'd have saved you more."
Royce gave his brother an ironic glance. "Really?"
"No," Stefan said cheerfully. "Here, have a tart, 'twill improve your disposition."
"I'm sure we have something tasty left in the kitchen," Aunt Elinor said, clasping her small hands in sublime pleasure at this reception of her efforts. "I'll have a look while I get my poultice. Tarts will improve anyone's disposition, except Arik's."
Casting an amused look at his fellows, Stefan added, "There's naught that can improve his disposition-not even pine boughs."
The mention of pine boughs made all the others grin as if they were sharing some particularly delicious joke, but when Jenny glanced at Royce, he seemed as perplexed as she. Aunt Elinor provided the answer as she bustled in with a serf carrying platters of hot food as well as a small bowl and cloth. "Oh my, yes, Arik and I brought back all sorts of them today. Why, by the time we returned, his arms were positively laden with lovely branches, weren't they?" she said brightly.
She paused to cast a puzzled look at the knights, who were suddenly seized with fits of strangled laughter, then she picked up the bowl and cloth from the serf's tray, and to Jenny's alarm, the elderly lady began advancing on Arik with her poultice. "You didn't have a pleasant time today, did you?" she crooned, putting the bowl beside Arik and dipping the cloth in it. "And who can blame you?"
Emanating compassion and guilt, she glanced at Jenny and said sadly, "Arik and I encountered the most evil-natured spider I've ever had the misfortune to meet!"
Arik's expression turned thunderous as he watched her dip the cloth in the bowl from the corners of his narrowed eyes, but Aunt Elinor continued blithely, "The vile little creature bit poor Arik when he did nothing at all to provoke it except to stand beneath the tree where it had its web. Although," she added, turning to the glowering giant and shaking her finger at him as if he were six years old, "I think 'twas very naughty of you to retaliate the way you did."
Pausing to dip the cloth into the bowl, she told him sternly, "I could understand why you smashed the web with your fist, but I do not think 'twas sensible to blame the tree as well and cut it down with your axe!" She tossed a bewildered look at Sir Godfrey, whose shoulders were shaking with mirth, and then at Sir Eustace, whose shoulders were also rocking and whose blond hair was nearly in his trencher as he tried to hide his laughing face. Only Gawin looked truly alarmed as Aunt Elinor said, "Here, dear boy, let me just dab this on your fac-"
"NO!" Arik's meaty fist slammed on the heavy oaken table, making the platters dance. Shoving away from the table, he stalked out of the hall, his body rigid with wrath.
Stricken, Aunt Elinor watched him march out, then she turned to the occupants of the table and sorrowfully said, "He'd not be so very testy, I'm sure, if only he'd eat according to my suggestions. 'Twould solve his bow-his digestive," she amended hastily for the sake of the diners, "problems. Which I thought I explained to him very clearly today."
After supper Royce fell into a discussion of manly topics with his knights-topics that ranged from how many additional men should be assigned to help the castle armorer with his added burden of repairing the helmets and chain mail of the men-at-arms who'd returned with Royce, to whether or not the big catapult on the battlement had an adequate supply of stones laid by.
Jenny listened attentively, loving the quiet authority with which Royce spoke and generally enjoying the unexpected pleasure of being part of a family of her own. She was thinking how warm it felt and how strange, when Royce called a halt to the discussion of catapults and turned to her with an apologetic smile. "Shall we walk outside? 'Tis a pleasant night for October-much too pleasant to spend it discussing things that must seem very boring to you."
"I haven't been bored," Jenny said softly, unconsciously smiling into his eyes.
"Who would have guessed," he teased huskily, "that the selfsame woman who once tried to carve my initials on my face with my own knife would be so agreeable a wife?" Without waiting for an answer, Royce turned to the knights as he politely helped Jennifer arise. After reminding them to assemble in the bailey after breakfast for a practice session at the quintain, Royce escorted Jennifer from the hall.
After they left, Sir Eustace turned to the others and said with a grin, "Have you ever known Royce to indulge in moonlight strolls before?"
"Not unless he was anticipating a nocturnal visit from the enemy," laughed Sir Lionel.
Sir Godfrey, the eldest of the group, didn't smile. "He's been expecting one since we arrived here."