A Lord for Haughmond (34 page)

     Mayhap, if he were mindful, his unwitting mistake could be turned in his favor.

     Speaking beneath his breath, he enjoined, “Your sister is hurt. See to her welfare.”

     Anne gasped and tried to pull away.

     This time he released her, but he shifted his weight to hide her telltale face from his father. “Be easy, Lady Anne,” he said in a low, guarded tone. “Sir Geoffrey watches. Your sister fainted from a lack of nourishment. Or from the babe. I know not. See that she is properly attended. She sports a bruise.” He leaned toward her. “’Twas an accident, Anne. Know you I did not strike her.”

     “She is with child? But— ” Anne backed away, her eyes growing round.

     Dafydd stepped after her. He wanted to take her hand, to comfort her with a gentle touch, but he caught her arm instead, hoping ’twould look more appropriate from Sir Geoffrey’s direction. “Say naught of this conversation, Anne,” he admonished. “When I am alone, come to me and tell me how my lady fares.”

     Anne nodded. When he released her, she turned and flew up the stairs.

     “’Tis proper you teach them their place,” Sir Geoffrey called from his seat by the fire. “Katherine is too stubborn by far. She always required a firm hand.”

     Taking a ragged breath, hoping he hid his roiling umbrage, Dafydd squared his shoulders and turned to meet his father’s gaze. “You did not manage the hall with a firm hand, Sir Geoffrey?” he queried as he made his way toward the hearth.

     “Indeed! But other matters drew my attention. Remember, she was but a child for most of my years here at Haughmond.”

      Dafydd lowered himself into the chair across from his father and nodded, trying to ease his brow, trying to display an understanding. “I suppose children can be tedious.”

     “As you will find,” Sir Geoffrey said pointedly. “If your wife is with child, it does not bode well for us. What do you with her whelp? If a boy, your lands will be inherited by another’s bastard.”

     Sir Geoffrey was uncannily insightful. Katherine’s condition had yet to be broadcast. Already his father assumed the worst. Yet the truth could not be hidden for long.

     Trying to keep his worry in check, he turned to gaze at the flames of the fire.

     “My herbalist knows a remedy for such matters,” Sir Geoffrey continued. “She can save you further embarrassment. Shall I fetch her to you?”

     Shifting in his seat, he pursed his lips and forced a pensive expression. “I think not. Though I am inclined toward that end, ’tis certain my wife would hate me evermore.” In his imagination he saw Katherine’s face. How easily her bright and lively spirit could languish and die.

     Sir Geoffrey surged up in his seat, his boots slamming loudly upon the bare floor. “So, I am right? She is with child?” 

     Fool! Dafydd wanted to cut out his tongue for the indiscretion. His father had not been certain, had only been groping in the dark.

     Sir Geoffrey possessed cunning far greater than he had imagined. Turning his gaze back to the fire, he chose his words with care. “You needs know, Father, that this place—this wondrous castle of Haughmond—will be my home. I do not spend my days watching my back. Nay, I will not begin with a death on my doorstep.”

     Sir Geoffrey slumped back into his chair in silence.

     Dafydd considered the course of the conversation, thought another comment prudent. “Many children do not survive infancy. As yet, we need not worry.”

     “’Tis true.” Sir Geoffrey nodded. “But if you have need of Adela, just speak. She has never failed me.”

     “Adela?” He shifted a wary look from the fire. “She is trustworthy?”

     “I would trust her with my life.”

     “Indeed, herbalists are valuable servants.”

     “’Tis Lady Adela, in truth, and she is far more than a lowly servant.” Sir Geoffrey chuckled. “What you needs, my son, is a woman like Adela, who will give you ease when your wife sprouts claws. Mayhap there is a servant you could use toward that purpose? As I remember, a serving wench with red hair bides at Haughmond. I should seek her out, if I were you.”

     Repulsed, Dafydd nodded. He drove his attention back into the flames, relishing their frantic dance.

     A servant came forward with a jug of ale and refilled their horns. Sir Geoffrey eyed the girl, plump and red-faced from her duties in the hot kitchen. A simple leather thong around her head held a mop of unruly auburn curls out of her eyes.

     “Ah-ha!” he exclaimed, sitting up on the edge of his seat. Turning to his son with a satisfied smirk, he pointed his finger. “See you a red-haired serving wench.”

     Dafydd turned at his father’s exclamation.

     The girl sidled away, clasping the jug tightly to her breast.

     “I did not recognize you, lass.” Sir Geoffrey’s eyes swept her length. “You have more meat on your bones. I remember you as a slender blade of grass.”

     The girl’s hazel eyes burned with bitterness.

     Startled by her raw expression, Dafydd took careful note of her physique and her swollen belly. No doubt she was one of his father’s conquests. He waved her away.

     “She was quite adequate, once she learned.” Sir Geoffrey’s gaze followed the servant until she disappeared from view. He shifted into a more comfortable position and glanced about the hall.

     “Ah,” he sighed. “Haughmond was always a comfortable keep. I was sorry to lose it. ’Tis good it does remain in the family.” He bestowed a charming smile to the chamber at large. “We shall begin a dynasty, you and I. The king depends on you, I notice. You have his trust. ’Tis good. He will gift us with many honors.”

     How diligently his father did curry favor with the king, Dafydd realized anew. But brooding thoughts of the unhappy servant and her swollen form distracted him. As did Katherine, so horribly affrighted and trying to protect her unborn child from him. That vivid happenstance would create thorny memories when time hung heavy.

     “Tell me of my mother.”

     Sir Geoffrey turned with a frown. “Did she not raise you?”

     “I was fostered at St. Quintin.”

     “I was never there.” Sir Geoffrey gripped his horn of ale as he balanced it on his knee. “Most likely she had red hair. I seem to have a preference in that direction.” He gave a rueful smile. “I am troubled to put a face to the wench. One high-strung demoiselle threatened to kill herself when I would not wed her. Mayhap she succeeded.” He shrugged. “Mayhap ’twas your dam?” 

     Dafydd adverted his face and fixed his anger on the gamboling flames. His hands itched to choke the man.

     “Do not trouble yourself, son,” Sir Geoffrey said. He drained the last of his ale. “No woman is worth such regard. ’Tis a man’s world. Look to the king for instruction. The queen is constantly breeding. She is what every wife should be. Subservient, obedient to a fault, willing to spread for her husband—like that!” He snapped his fingers.

     “Fortunate man, the king!” he continued after a long pause. “Young Katherine needs instruction in marriage. Most women do not know their own minds. Take a firm hand if you wish for happiness within the marriage bonds, Dafydd. She needs to learn to obey—and to submit to you.” His voice grew harsher. “Beat her into submission, if necessary. If she is like her mother, the pleasure after will be prodigious. A woman on her knees is eager to please.”

     Dafydd dared not move. ’Twould give away his fury. Instead, his father must think him agreeable.

     Sir Geoffrey looked into his empty horn and sighed. “I needs replenishment.” Lifting his gaze to the kitchen doorway, he licked his lips and rose from his seat.

     “Let a servant do your bidding, my father.” ’Twas wasted breath to make the suggestion, yet he felt he should try, for the servant’s sake.

     “Nay,” countered Sir Geoffrey with a smirk. “The wench cannot have gone far.” Adjusting the leather hauberk beneath his armor, he strode toward the kitchen.

     Dafydd stared hard at his father’s retreating back then found his imagination attacked by hostile, hazel eyes.

     With a snarl, he ejected himself from the chair and stomped out into the bailey.

Chapter Twenty-five

     The chamber was deserted, save for the servant, Joan, who busily swept soiled rushes into a pile in the middle of the floor. A young serf lad assisted her, industriously heaping the mess onto an old worn leather hide, before tugging the sodden mess toward the entryway.

     She glanced over her shoulder and smiled a greeting. “Lord Dafydd and his knights went ahuntin’ in the north forest, m’lady.”

     “And Sir Geoffrey?” Katherine anxiously inspected all the corners of the spacious room.

     “Fret not, m’lady. He rides with Lord Dafydd.”      

     With the coming of her stepfather, Haughmond had lost much of its allure. ’Twas no longer a sanctuary, but a fortress, with her its prisoner. A surge of anger gripped her. Then sadness. Rhys would never have bestowed such cruelty.

     Sighing at her unfortunate lot, she made her way toward the hearth in the great hall, pushing up the sagging bandage that encircled her head. Such a fuss over a scratch! Yet the wound had been sufficient to knock her senseless.

     Sliding into the high backed chair her husband made use of, she tried to relax. Soon the servants would come to set up the trestle tables. Soon the knights would return, laughing raucously as was their wont, calling for their ale. Soon there would be chaos in the great hall.

     But at the moment, the chamber offered a measure of quietude. Closing her eyes, she allowed the warmth of the fire to wash over her, gladly shutting out the loathsome knight who hovered behind her. Though she had been offered his identity, she refused to acknowledge Sir William as he kept close watch over her. He had imprisoned her within the bedchamber. Fierce-looking and silent, he had followed her husband’s orders and had done naught to appease her distress.

     She despised him. She despised all her husband’s men. Was Sir Dafydd’s distrust so profound she must yet be kept a prisoner? Did he think she would flee? The thought brought a sad chuckle. Taking to her heels had proven disastrous! She’d tasted the king’s caprice. For the rest of her days, she must needs endure a husband’s heavy hand.      

     Joan came with wine cooled in the waters of the castle pond. Grateful, Katherine took the goblet and sipped deeply. Leaning back, she closed her eyes again, hoping to forget her husband’s seemingly kind words. He had come to the bedchamber after Sibyl had stopped the bleeding, and while she was yet greedily eating leftover roast venison. Did he perpend to meeken her with belated kindness? His mean spirit and empty apology wove a tangle within her mind. Cruel, then kind? Gentle, yet harsh? His words and deeds displayed a contrary nature. 

     Was his ploy to keep her on edge?

     He claimed he cherished her. She suddenly gripped the wooden arm of the chair and grimaced at the disgusting notion.

     She would not allow the kindness, not by Sir Geoffrey’s son, not by the man who locked her away simply because she irritated his father. He deserved no such honor.        

     With a disheartened groan, she brooded in silence.

     Suddenly her eyelids flew open and she lunged to her feet, responding to the nagging voice disturbing her peace. Thrusting aside the wine, she hurried to the kitchen.

     The chef, a Frenchman new to these shores, prowled through the kitchen, barking orders in his native language and keeping a discerning eye on his army of servants. With much ado, he wielded a large horn spoon. She hoped ’twas only for stirring.

     The scent of herbs from a tightly packed cauldron mingled with that of baking bread, filling the air with tantalizing aroma that made her mouth water. She did not see Joan in this part of the kitchen and hurried on. But not before she caught the chef’s eye and threw him a hard look, a silent caution not to fetch the servants a harsh reminder of his power.

     Cakes were being prepared. Used pieces of paper no longer required by the steward lined the pans as the sweet batter flowed into them. Nearby, a servant stirred precious saffron into a custard, the bright yellow swirls growing darker with each turn of the spoon.

     Katherine’s mouth watered in proportion to her growing frustration. Where was Joan?

     She paused by two servants, an older woman instructing a young girl in the making of a parsley sauce for the awaiting salted codfish.

     “Have you seen Joan?”

     “Nay, m’lady,” murmured the woman, throwing a startled look at the knight standing close behind Katherine. “We’ve been too busy ta take notice.”

     Katherine’s brows drew together in frustration and fatigue, her concern overriding her discomfort. Bound by the strict rules of the church, Joan required earnest compassion.

     A beehive of activity surrounded the immense table in the center of the next room as onions and dried mushrooms were chopped and added to the rising mounds of prepared vegetables. In the midst of the melee, she was rewarded, finally spying Joan scrubbing turnips as though her life depended on it.

     Without pause, she grabbed the girl’s arm. “Come hither,” she demanded, pulling her toward the questionable privacy of a nearby storeroom.

     The pantler, checking the few remaining sacks of flour for mold, backed away with a bob of his head.

     “Allow us your pantry, Stephen. I shall not interrupt you overlong.” Katherine waved him away, shutting the door behind him and shutting the door in Sir William’s face.

     She whirled on the ball of her foot. “Whose child do you carry?”

     The servant’s lower lip trembled and her hazel eyes filled with tears. “I hadn’t a choice, mistress. ’Twas forced on me!”

     “Fear not, Joan.” She placed a gentle hand on the girl’s trembling shoulder. “The brigand will be made to marry you.”

     “Oh, nay, mistress, ’twas Sir Geoffrey.”