Dragonblade Trilogy - 03 - The Savage Curtain (12 page)

“Lady Pembury,” Stephen addressed
his wife as she turned to greet him. “You are looking well this morning.”

She smiled so radiantly at him
that Tate felt as if he was intruding on a very private moment.

“Good morn to you, Husband,” she
said sweetly, looking to Tate and nodding her head. “And to you, Lord de Lara.
It is a fine day today.”

They were both so happy and
cheerful that Tate fought off a grin; it was like watching two giddy children.
“Indeed, my lady,” he said, clearing his throat softly when a brief pause
followed. “Lady Pembury, I was wondering if I might have a word with you.”

“Of course,” she said pleasantly
and Stephen took her by the hand, directing her to sit on the bench near the
dais.  He continued to hold her hand as she sat and Tate deposited himself next
to her.

“How may I serve you, my lord?”
she asked Tate expectantly.

Tate looked her in the face as he
spoke, knowing why Stephen was so smitten with the pale-eyed, dark-haired lady.
She was truly exquisite.  He could also see why Stephen wanted justice for the
woman; what happened to her was truly an offense.  As Tate looked at her, he
realized that he wanted justice for her, too.

“Perhaps there is something I can
do for you,” he replied, eyeing Stephen as he carefully laid forth his words.
“Your husband has confided in me of the brutal crime committed against you
years ago by a man who presumably served the Earl of Carlisle.  Both your
husband and I are determined to seek justice for you and I would like to know
what you remember of this man so that I may find him if he is still within my
ranks.”

Her pleasant expression faded and
she looked up at Stephen when he gently squeezed her hand.  It was difficult
for her to speak unemotionally on the subject and she struggled not to tear up
as she thought on his question.  Stephen had told her he would speak with Lord
de Lara about finding the man; she simply had difficulty believing that, with
all of the other priorities going on at Berwick, they considered her issue
important. 

Her family had fought against
these men for months, years, and she had lost three brothers and countless
other relatives as a result.  But she was having difficulty believing the hated
English and these men before her were one in the same. She could not grasp the
concept easily, made more difficult by Stephen’s behavior over the past day.
The man had gone from a stone-cold knight to a warm, compassionate husband and
that, more than anything, had her believing that she was living a dream.
Certainly things like this could not be real.

But real it was. She cleared her
throat softly, struggling to answer de Lara’s question. “It was a long time
ago, my lord,” she said faintly, hardly able to meet the man’s eye for the
subject at hand. “I… I have tried hard not to think of it for many years.”

Tate nodded sympathetically. “I
realize that, my lady. But if you can remember anything, anything at all, it
might help us locate this man and bring him to justice.”

Her brow furrowed and she clutched
Stephen’s hand tightly, as if the man had been her rock all her life.  She
realized that she felt tremendous comfort in his massive presence.

“He was a big man,” she delved
deep into the dark shadows of her mind. “I had never seen him before he grabbed
me; not walking the streets nor in any of the stalls that my father and I were
in. I do remember seeing several soldiers bearing the colors of Carlisle, which
were crimson and yellow at that time.  Perhaps he was in the group that I saw;
I simply do not know.”

“Go on.”

She swallowed hard and felt
Stephen give her another encouraging squeeze.  She closed her eyes as if to see
deeper into her mind’s eye.

“He wore a tunic and mail and a
helm with rivets across the brow,” she said, her voice beginning to strain. “He
smelled of ale. He had a red face and his teeth were green; I remember that
because I had never seen anyone with such green teeth.  At some point, his helm
came off and I saw that he had auburn hair, wavy.”

She was shaking by the time she
finished.  Stephen sat down on the bench behind her and put his arms around
her, nearly swallowing her up with his muscular appendages.    Joselyn was
fortified by his presence, feeling safe and sheltered. It gave her strength.

“Did he say anything that might
help us identify him?” Stephen asked her gently. “A name, a reference? Anything
at all?”

She thought a moment. “Nay,” she
said slowly.  Then, her eyes suddenly widened and she looked at Tate. “But he
did have a scar on his forehead, an odd scar that was shaped like a half-moon. 
I remember seeing it when the helm came off, up at nearly the top of his
forehead.”

She was gesturing with her hand
at the top of her forehead near the hair line.  Tate’s expression never changed
as he thanked her for information that was undoubtedly difficult for her to
speak of and excused himself.  But at some point before he turned away, Stephen
caught an odd flicker in his expression and he kissed his wife on the forehead
and left her at the table to follow de Lara.  Once outside in the bailey, he
caught up to Tate.

“What is it?” he watched Tate
come to a halt and turn to him. “What is the matter?”

Tate’s expression was taut. “I
had no idea who she was talking about until she mentioned the scar,” he
muttered.  Then he put his hand on Stephen’s big arm. “Get hold of yourself,
man. I believe the soldier we are looking for came with me from Carlisle
Castle.”

Stephen’s expression widened. “He
is here?”

Tate’s grip on Stephen tightened.
“I am not positive, but I think so. I have a senior sergeant who has a scar
just as she described, only his hair is gray.  He was posted in the encampment
to the west but I do not know where he is now; I do not assign individual
soldiers their posts.   I will ride out and see what I can discover.”

Stephen was so tense that he was
shaking. “Is it possible that he is here in the castle?” 

Tate was reluctant to nod but he
had no choice. “It is,” he muttered. “My men are rotating their positions.  It
is entirely possible he has ended up in the castle in that rotation.”

Stephen’s heart was thumping
against his ribs at the thought of the man who had raped Joselyn possibly being
so near.  When they had discussed the possibility of finding the man, having
him right under their nose had not been a possibility.

“Find out where this man is and
make all haste,” he told Tate. “And if you discover that it is indeed the man
we seek, then….”

“Then you and I shall decide
what’s to be done with him,” Tate replied grimly. “Until then, however, I would
not say anything to your wife. If she knows the man is here, it could do more
harm than good.  It may completely unnerve her and she has had more than enough
upset over the past two days.”

Stephen nodded, taking a deep
breath to calm himself. “Of course,” he said. “Not a word.”

With a sharp nod, Tate headed to
the stables to collect his charger. Stephen watched the man go, taking another
breath for calm before heading back into the hall. He didn’t want Joselyn to
suspect anything out of the ordinary.

***

The morning meal was another heavenly
affair from the genius of Joselyn’s cooking talents.  Stephen had eaten far too
many of the little pastries she had made with the remaining apricots and nuts,
complaining that she was going to fatten him up in swift time if she kept
feeding him such marvelous food.  Joselyn pointed out that he did not have to
eat as much as he did, which prompted him to eat whatever remained on the plate
simply to spite her.  She had laughed and he had groaned.

The king’s party had pulled out
at mid-morning, heading to Bamburgh Castle where Edward’s Queen was in
residence, and Stephen had seen the man off.  Edward was anxious to return to
London, leaving five hundred royal troops at Berwick while taking the remaining
thousand with him.  Norfolk also pulled out, leaving three hundred men to
reinforce Berwick.  The remaining supporting forces were also mobilizing to
leave and for the first time since being appointed Guardian Protector of
Berwick, Stephen was fully in command. No more king or other nobles to
interfere with his authority; now, it was simply him and about twelve hundred
men at arms and knights.

After the troops pulled out, it
gave Stephen time to sit down and prioritize his tasks. He still had a prisoner
from the previous night and he had not yet attended the man.  It was to be his
first duty as Guardian Protector so just after the nooning hour, he left the
small solar on the ground floor of the keep and went in search of his wife.  He
found that he very much wanted to keep abreast of her location and activities,
if for no other reason than to make sure she was safe. Odd how this wife he
never wanted had very easy slipped into his way of thinking, as if she had
always been there. It was an exhilarating and fulfilling feeling, something he
had never before known.    

He hunted through the great hall
and out into the kitchen yard beyond. When he stuck his head into the kitchen
as just a passing thought, he saw her seated on the floor. There were two other
women in the kitchen, both busy with their tasks, but Joselyn was seated on the
floor doing something he could not see.  Curious, Stephen ducked through the
doorway and into the kitchen.

She was feeding the fawn with a
nipple made from a pig’s bladder.  As Stephen stood and watched, Joselyn
giggled softly, stroking the little animal as it suckled furiously.  More milk
was spilling out of the bladder than actually getting into the hungry little
mouth, but the fawn didn’t seem to mind.  He was so eager to eat that he was
stepping all over Joselyn’s lap as she tried to feed it.  Stephen couldn’t help
but smile.

“So,” he crossed his enormous
arms. “I see you are trying to fatten him up, too.”

The serving women started at the
sight of the enormously tall knight but Joselyn merely smiled up at her
husband.

“He keeps biting the bladder with
his sharp little teeth,” she told him. “There are little holes everywhere that
are leaking milk.”

Stephen laughed softly and made
has way over to her as she continued to sit on the floor.  He crouched his
enormous bulk beside her, reaching out to pet the little fawn.

“He seems healthy enough,” he
said. “You make a fine mother deer.”

She simply grinned and gazed up
at him with sort of a dreamy expression. Stephen gazed back at her with an
expression much like hers; it was sweet and adoring.

“I
simply came to see what you were doing,” he said. “I am preparing to make my
rounds of the city and wanted to see you before I went.”

Her
smile faded. “Is there more trouble?”

He shook his head. “None that I
am aware of, but I will have to make my presence constant during these days so
that the rebels still within the city will know I can and will quickly quell
whatever activities they may be considering.   It is also important that they
know I married Seton’s daughter; they would think twice before resisting if
they know I married a Scot.”

Her smile faded and she looked
back to the little fawn.  “Then I will not keep you from your duties.” 

He could hear her change in tone
and looked at her, wondering why she suddenly seemed so glum. He didn’t know her
well enough to be able to figure her moods out yet.

“What will you do while I am
gone?” he asked.

She
shrugged, tipping the bladder so the fawn could suckle the remaining milk.
“Plan the evening’s meal, I suppose. Do you know when you will return?”
      He shook his head. “I do not. I would plan to serve it late, however.”

She nodded, still not looking at
him and he was puzzled by her manner. He realized that he did not like it at
all; he wanted to see her smile, see the warmth in the pale blue eyes when she
looked at him.  He glanced up, noting that the serving women, although focused
on their tasks, were undoubtedly close enough to hear their conversation.  He
also realized they were the same women he had given his wife’s new surcoats to
yesterday so they could clean away the smoke smell.  He stood up and fixed on
the woman closest to him, the one with the tight wimple.

“Were you able to satisfactorily
clean my wife’s clothes yesterday?” he asked.

The woman looked terrified that
he was addressing her but managed to keep her wits. “I believe so, m’lord,” she
replied. “We soaked everything in vinegar.  Even now, the clothes are drying
near the kiln.  They should be ready to iron soon.”

“Very well,” he rubbed at his
eyes; he was tall enough that he was against the ceiling and the smoke from the
cooking fire hovered against the roof, irritating his eyes. “How many garments
are there?”

“Eight surcoats, three shifts and
three pairs of under garments, m’lord,” the woman told him. “Jo-Jo will have a
lovely wardrobe.”

He looked down at his wife’s dark
head. “Jo-Jo, is it?” he muttered with a smirk.

She lifted her head to look at
him; although she smiled weakly, the pale blue eyes were still guarded. “These
women served my parents,” she told him. “They have known me since I was very
small.”