Avelynn (13 page)

“We're being accused of mismanaging the accounts, m'lady.” Walther stepped forward, looking at Sigberht tentatively over his shoulder. “We've worked for your father and your grandfather before him. Never have our accounts been questioned.”

“Then perhaps it's time,” Sigberht said. He was leaning his shoulder against the wall. “There are serious inconsistencies. I mean to make them clear to my lord Eanwulf upon his return.”

“In his absence,” I said, “I will address the matter.” He grumbled under his breath. “Do you not have some ditches to measure?” Our eyes locked. “Or do I need to get Leofric to remove you from my hall?” He left, slamming the door behind him.

“My lady, please.” Milo approached the dais. “When we did our final check on the winter's inventories, we noticed the amount left in the granaries did not match the account balances.”

“We were on our way to see you, m'lady, when our lord reeve demanded to know the final tallies,” Walther added.

“He accused us of misrepresenting the numbers, insisting we've been hoarding and selling seed to fatten our own purses.”

“We've done no such thing, m'lady. 'Tis a mistake in numbers is all.”

They stood side by side, sweat beading their wrinkled brows.

Walther dabbed his forehead with the wide sleeve of his tunic. “We asked him to turn over the accounts, to allow you to look 'em over—”

“Knowing how learn'd you are with the numbers,” Milo interjected.

“He went into a fair temper, he did, said he was not disposed to do such a thing.”

Listening to their exchange, my head jerked from side to side. It was like watching a leather ball being rallied between two bats.

“He accused us further of calling his authority into question and threatened to cut out our tongues for our disrespect.” Milo winced.

“That was when you came in, mistress.” Walther nodded solemnly. “He had hold of his sword and meant to silence us right then 'n' there.”

“I see.” I looked at the anxious faces before me, wishing I could give them reassurance. “Despite Sigberht's temper and his threats, no harm will come to you while I review the matter. But I won't be able to save you should I find something amiss.”

Milo blanched at my words. “We ask only a fair and unbiased pair of eyes examine the accounts, my lady. Our innocence will be apparent.” They both bowed and left.

I slumped against the high back of the lord's chair. Solid and heavy, made of thick oak, it was carved ornately with depictions of noblemen hunting bears, wolves, and deer. I didn't know how old the chair was. I had been told it was a gift to my grandfather's grandfather before him. I felt the weight of its presence, the responsibilities and decisions it had supported through the years. The edges were worn, the carvings almost imperceptible in places where hands had rubbed or legs or boots had brushed. I stroked the wood with reverence. This was mine, not Sigberht's—or Demas's.

I headed outside. Leofric stood near the stables.

He bowed and regaled me with one of his heartwarming smiles. “My lady.”

“Leofric.” It was impossible not to smile back. “I need you to summon Bertram. Tell him I seek his counsel. Then ask Father Plegmund to provide the grain accounts for the past year and bring them to my chambers.”

“Of course.”

I watched him depart and then made my way home.

Nelda had just returned to Wedmore, and upon seeing me chatted animatedly about the birth of her new nephew.

“You should have seen him, m'lady.” She poured some grain into the hole of the handstone, grinding it against the quern until it turned into a fine powder. “He came out screamin' and red-faced, in a full fury, his little fingers balled into tight fists. He'll be a brawny young man one day.”

“I'm glad to hear the child is well. And your sister, how does she fare?”

She collected the flour and placed it into a large bowl. She had been grinding all day. Her efforts would produce a dozen small loaves of bread. “She's doing very well. She was back up pesterin' her husband by nightfall. He said it was a good sign of her full recovery.”

I laughed.

Bertram knocked and entered, preceding Leofric, who carried several stacks of parchment.

Nelda looked from the paper to me. “Should I leave, m'lady?”

“No, no. Keep to your baking. Bertram and I will set up nearest the window to help us see better.”

I gestured to Leofric, who carried his burden to the table. “Thank you,” I said.

He bowed and returned to the door, a mischievous grin on his face. “I'll be at the tavern should you need me further.”

I smiled as he left. Leofric usually had a small flock of “hens” clucking at his heels, and the tavern was one of his favorite places to charm them.

Turning my attention back to Bertram and the task at hand, I opened the shutters on the small window. A refreshing breeze lifted and twirled the hazy smoke that filled the upper recesses of the small room. “The accounts have been questioned. I'd like your help.”

Bertram nodded and grabbed an oil lamp and a few candles, placing them near the parchment. “In case we are at this late.” He motioned to the copious, almost imperceptible small ticks and dashes of ink on each sheet of paper. I grimaced.

Sometime later, a page came in with Walther's tally sticks, adding to the dizzying array of numbers.

When we finally came up for air, Nelda had banked the fire and been to bed hours before. The candles had burned so low the oil lamp was almost empty. I rubbed my eyes and stifled a yawn. We had poured over every tally and matched them up to Walther's sticks. The numbers just didn't add up. We had only reviewed the records kept for oats. We still needed to sort through the accounts for wheat, barley, and rye.

Bertram stood and groaned, his body creaking and cracking. “The numbers are a cause for great concern.”

I walked with him to the door. “I think we need to look at last year's accounts as well.”

He nodded. “I shall inform Leofric to post a man outside each of the three granaries. Save ourselves, no one must be allowed access until we resolve the situation.”

“I agree. Thank you.”

“Good night, Avelynn.” He bowed his head and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

I bolted it shut.

I turned back to the pile of parchment and frowned. Milo's and Walther's records were meticulous. Most of the tallies were recorded in sesters—a quantity of fifteen pounds. A mark or symbol accounted for every sester of grain produced or used on the manor: a dash indicated each sester collected at harvest, an
X
recorded every sester remitted for the king's tax. There were marks for grain paid against the church's tithes, grain set aside in seed stock for the spring sowing, marks indicating sesters used as food, and as fodder, quantities lost to moisture, pests, or rot, and any surplus that could be sold at market. There were also marks made for individual pounds that didn't add up to a full sester's worth. For oats alone there were thousands of tiny symbols—on both the parchment and the tally sticks.

I rubbed the back of my neck, soothing tight muscles that had cramped from bending over the accounts all day. If the numbers were accurate, my father's manor was being robbed of a substantial amount of grain. Wedmore was bleeding prosperity and wealth. The crime, however, did not necessarily lie at Milo's or Walther's feet. Someone could be walking into our granaries and pilfering grain right from under us. It was essential I discover the truth behind the incongruities, but it was also imperative that I get some sleep.

I tried to clear my mind of dashes, numbers, and conspiracies. From the cauldron that hung over the raked embers of the hearth, I ladled enough warm water to fill my small washing bowl. Testing the temperature with a cautious forefinger, I dropped a linen cloth into the bowl and then used it to rub the day's strain off my face, neck, and arms. I braided my hair for ease of sleeping and changed into a linen underdress. After brushing my teeth, I snuffed the candle stubs and climbed into bed.

The wood rattled, and the thatch rustled as a gust of wind disturbed the night. The room was dark, save a single slit of white moonlight that cut through a gap in the shutters to fall vividly across the foot of my bed. The beam ended atop the locked chest that held Alrik's knife.

I will come back in a month's time, on the next full moon.

I watched as the narrow band of moonlight slowly, almost imperceptibly, inched its way across the floor. The moon was waning.

I closed my eyes, remembering his smile and his smoldering gaze, and felt my body stir.

Absently, my finger traced the outline of a nipple. I could feel the ridges swell and harden beneath my touch. I bit my lip and rubbed the tip gently, tugging it slightly between thumb and forefinger. I shivered as heat filled me. My other hand drifted lower, sweeping over the smooth slope of my belly, until it found the moist heat between my legs. I sucked in a deep breath as my fingers found the hardened nub, and my hand slid between swollen folds.

I saw Alrik's face, his eyes, his powerful naked body, slick with water from the river. He moved toward me.

Sweat broke across my forehead and pooled between my breasts.

His fingertips caressed. His mouth brushed my lips, my neck.

I want you
, he growled in my ear.

My hands moved with urgency. Yearning swelled within me.

I want you
.

My breath came fast and ragged, my body wracked with desire. I felt the intensity build, my body hovering on the precipice of eternity.

I want you
.

I crushed my face against the pillow, stifling my cries, my eyes tightly shut, my mouth frozen in exquisite pleasure. My breath hung suspended.

I want you
.

I exploded into infinite light, pinpoints of desire, each one vivid and brilliant before flickering and fading. My body lay shaking, my heart pounding in my ears.

“I want you too,” I answered dreamily, melting into the afterglow of warmth that enveloped me.
Gods help me, I want you too.

*   *   *

After a light breakfast of bread with butter and smoked pork, a messenger arrived.

“My lady.” He bowed. “Lady Ealhswith sends her greetings and intentions of visiting you this day. She will arrive shortly.”

“Thank you,” I said.

Relieved of his burden, he departed.

“Nelda, see to the kitchens and have them prepare a sumptuous meal for my friend and her retinue.”

She curtsied and bustled out, the hem of her kirtle kicking up rushes as she left.

I eyed the stack of parchment on the table. I wasn't going to get any closer to discovering the secrets within the accounts this morning, and Bertram was too busy haggling with a merchant from the continent selling silk to offer any assistance. It would have to wait.

Ealhswith arrived before noon. Laboring toward me, her belly bulging beneath her dress, she stretched her arms to me, smiling. Grinning back, I embraced her. “You look beautiful.” I pulled away and cradled her abdomen, placing my hands on the swell of her stomach, marveling at the solidness of the mound.

“I feel like an ox.”

The child heaved underneath my hands, and I gasped.

She laughed. “It's only a shock the first time. After months of sharing the same body with him, I'm more than acquainted with his every twist, turn, kick, and jab.” She took my arm in hers and directed me to the hall. “I do hope I've given you enough time to fix something to eat. I'm positively ravenous.”

“Of course.” I nodded to the young page who held the door and led Ealhswith into the hall, her retinue in tow. “I see you've decided my goddaughter is a boy now?”

“Alfred is heir to the throne.” She stroked her belly tenderly. “Every king prays for a boy.”

“What of Aethelred's two sons?”

“They are but babes with no claim to the throne. Alfred's father mandated the kingship pass from brother to brother. After Alfred, it will be up to our sons to hold the throne. A mother can never be too ambitious for her children's success and security.”

“Nor too humble, I see.”

“Pah!” She pouted. “You wound me. I'm the very epitome of humility.”

I looked at her face—an expression of angelic innocence—and snorted with mirth. The humble lady wore a fine woolen kirtle, the neck and wrists edged in silk and embroidered with gold thread, while her cloak, trimmed with fur, was clasped with a gold brooch inlaid with pearls and garnets.

“So tell me,” she said, dropping herself onto a bench, “what have you been up to these many days? How are the impending nuptials coming along?”

“My intended, along with my father, is away to Rome.” I looked at her curiously. Surely she would have known that.

A servant placed a large platter of steaming food in front of us. Morsels of seared, roasted pork, the fat crispy and golden, glistened in their juices. With her knife, Ealhswith scraped half the platter onto her trencher. “I knew your father was commissioned for the task, but I hadn't realized Demas had accompanied him. Pity.” She smirked, grabbing some wine from a waiting maid. “You two looked so enamored with each other at the Christmas feast,” she teased.

“You have two beautiful and shrewd eyes, Ealhswith; even you could see the ill match we presented. Though, on closer examination, in private of course, he revealed himself to be a horrible man.”

“How so?”

Between mouthfuls, I recounted the discussion I'd had with Demas, listening to his threats and insults.

“Did you tell your father?”

“Of course. He told me I was overreacting and the betrothal stands.”

“Oh, Avelynn, I am so sorry.”

I shrugged. What more was there to say?