Lord of My Heart (26 page)

He enjoyed discussions of theory or tactics but was cynical about heroics, and silent when it came to tallying corpses. Hugh delighted in battle; when he spoke of it his eyes brightened as if he spoke of a lover. The same talk sobered Aimery.

Madeleine thought it sad that the world offered no choice to a man of Aimery’s birth other than church or war. She doubted he was suited to a religious life, yet he was wounded by slaughter. Even more than before she prayed for peace to come to England so that they could settle, she and her husband, to caring for their land and protecting their people. Hopefully he’d never have to fight again.

But as news came to them of the king’s action against the rebels—of siege, ambush, and pillage—she knew this was as impossible a dream as that he come to her one night whispering words of love.

She found Aimery at the eastern earthwork plying a shovel alongside a dozen men. His hair hung lank with sweat and he wore only loose knee-length braies and shoes. He had left off his gold, and his hand was covered only by the soiled linen bandage.

The braies were tied low across his hips and his beautiful torso was once again presented to her eyes. It glistened with sweat, not river water, but she knew it all the same. To give proof there was the blue mark on his left arm.

Would she ever, she wondered bitterly, be able to run her tongue down the valley of his spine?

Someone alerted him to her presence, and he turned, thrust his shovel into the earth, and leaped down to her.

“Yes?” he asked.

Madeleine was staring at the ridging of scars on his left shoulder. It marred the beauty of his body, but more than that, it told chillingly of a close brush with death.

“What on earth happened?” she asked.

His hand moved to rub it. “I said you lacked experience with soldiers. An ax at Senlac. Did you interrupt me just to review my scars?”

Under this rebuke, Madeleine stiffened. “You shouldn’t be using that hand so roughly, and I need some men to repair the storage huts.”

“My hand is fine, and all the men are needed if the defenses are to be completed. Perhaps later.” He turned away.

“Later may be too late. What use,” she asked tartly, “to make this place defensible if we all starve to death?”

He swung back. “Watch your tongue.” But after a moment he added, “I’ll send two men.”

He returned to his work, and she watched for a moment, fretting about his shoulder and his hand. She forced herself to turn and walk away. His hand was healed; he only wore the bandage, she knew, for concealment—to avoid having to wear a bracelet in this heavy work.

He had lived with that shoulder for nearly two years and should know what he could and could not do with it.

Fretting about his health only reminded her of their estrangement, and could bring her nothing but grief.

And she had her workmen.

And she had her power. It was true Aimery insisted on a formal submissiveness between them, but he left her free to run the manor and supported her authority where necessary.

She made it a habit to pass through the kitchens frequently and unpredictably, alert for any dishonesty or waste. She personally supervised the collection of scraps and their distribution to the most needy. She ignored the scowls and muttered curses from the kitchen staff.

In fact she found them comforting in a way. This wasn’t the same biting hatred as before; these scowls contained an element of grudging respect.

She found the same attitude in the household women— Aldreda, the weaver; Emma, the needlewoman; Hilda, who was in charge of the laundry. They were all sullen under her demand for more and better work, but they obeyed.

When she worked with them, however, doing fine work to mend or finish garments for herself and Aimery, she longed for a lighter atmosphere. In the Abbaye, some of the sewing time had been free time when talking was allowed. At Matilda’s court the busy-fingered women had always been lighthearted gossips. Here, any chatter died as soon as she walked into the solar.

She was lonely.
There is no one still living to whom I dare open the doors of my heart.

One day she had one of the cooks whipped. Wryly she remembered vowing never to use a whip at Baddersley, but the man had been stealing chickens to sell, and they were working for survival here, survival for all. There was no place for sentiment. The kitchen staff members were particularly difficult to handle, as they had become accustomed to all kinds of privileges. It had always disgusted her to see how plump they and their families were while others starved.

Even so, it was not a severe whipping, just a demonstration of her will. She made herself stand and watch as Hugh delivered the ten lashes. Afterward she gave the man’s wife an ointment for his back and hoped the example would deter other wrongdoers.

Aimery joined her midway through the punishment. He did not interfere, but when it was over he asked, “What was his crime?” When she told him he nodded and walked away, but there was a frown on his face. Did he object to her meting out discipline?

That evening she asked him.

All he said was, “The household servants are yours to manage as long as you are not over-harsh.”

Wearily, she wondered why she tried to understand him since the pattern of their days, and nights, was clearly set.

But day by day matters improved. The palisade was finished and sturdy, the gate was in place, and the men were now working on the keep. Aimery had advised against doing too much to it, as it would be better to build in stone later. The storage rooms were tight and dry and beginning to fill.

As she went about the castle Madeleine occasionally heard singing in the workrooms and fields. In the village there were children working, but also running around in play and getting in the way. That was good, too. She hadn’t realized how unnatural it had been for the children of Baddersley to be so quiet.

But all this improvement would be as substantial as hoarfrost if she didn’t make provision for winter. At this time of year even the poorly tended fields and gardens of Baddersley produced nutritious food, but when winter took hold it was her providence that would keep them all alive. She knew she could take the weak way and expect her husband to continually support the estate, but his wealth was not unlimited, and she was determined to prove herself. He had given her this estate and was allowing her a free hand in its management. By the Virgin’s milk, she would manage it.

She gave orders for most of the beans to be dried and considered what other plants could be dried for winter. She was not well-versed in this technique but knew they must lay away all that they could. A limited variety of food through the darkest months would lead to sickness, to loss of teeth and sight. On the other hand she had to consider the need to feed the people well before winter so they entered that hard time of year as strong as possible.

She wished desperately for help and advice but, even if Aimery knew about such matters, she could not burden him with more responsibilities.

She was taking a moment’s rest on a bench by the chapel when a guard on the palisade called down to say travelers approached. They must be simple folk if they did not warrant the watchcorn’s notice. Madeleine pushed herself up and went to offer hospitality.

Two dusty figures marched briskly up the path. As they drew closer, it became clear that the two sturdy young women were nuns. It would seem they had traveled far, yet they walked lightly. As Madeleine went to greet them she saw how bright and merry their eyes were. She also saw that they were twins.

“Welcome, Sisters. Can we offer you anything?”

They both bowed. “Bed and board,” one said with a wide smile.

The other said, “We are come from Abbess Wilfreda to assist you.”

Madeleine blinked. The first nun took out a parchment and passed it over. “I am Sister Gertrude.”

“And I am Sister Winifred,” said the other.

Madeleine could not say other than that they were welcome and, in truth, such cheerful people must be. She arranged for them to share an alcove room and for food and washing water to be provided, then she went to read her letter.

The letter from Abbess Wilfreda proved to be an introduction of the two nuns, and a cover for another, longer missive.

I cannot express how delighted I am to hear that Aimery is wed, and how infuriated that I am here in Normandy at such a time. I am sure Count Guy’s delay in returning home has less to do with the king’s need of his services than with his disinclination to face me.

I am enclosing a note for my son which contains urgent instructions that he bring you to Gaillard to meet me.

However, reading between the lines of the letter from my husband, and having sought out poor Lady Celia de Pouissey, I have the impression you will have heavy work on your estates this year. It would also seem that those careless men have left you without companionship or aid.

I have written, therefore, to my sister Wilfreda, Abbess of Withington, and asked that she send two sisters to assist you in your labors. If you do not need them, or find them intrusive, you are to return them to her at any time.

Know that you are welcome to our family, Madeleine, which you will find a loving one. At a word we will support you in all your endeavors. I extend the same promise from my English family. There, too, you will find the mention of my name will bring anything you require, though I know in these troubled times you may not find seeking such aid convenient.

Take care of Aimery for me. He has had two wounds since we parted, and I worry as only a mother can. I take solace from the fact that you are trained in healing, but if you can persuade him home to me for even a little while, you will have done a great thing.

“We have visitors,” Madeleine said. “Two nuns from Withington Abbey, which is apparently ruled by an aunt of yours. And you have a letter from your mother.”

He took it and read it quickly. A smile flickered on his face, which told Madeleine a lot about his relationship with his mother. “She wants to meet you.”

“She said as much in her letter to me.”

He looked at her. “You may travel to Castle Gaillard if you wish.”

“Alone?”

“I’d provide an escort.”

“She wants to see you as well,” Madeleine pointed out.

“I can’t go just yet.”

“Then neither will I.” She was terrified that once she left, he would make contact with the rebels again, and end up in chains.

He tapped the parchment on his fingers. “Why the nuns?”

“They are to help me with the management of the estate.”

He nodded. “Well thought of. But with them here you can be spared. I’d have thought you’d be happy to escape.”

Madeleine’s patience finally cracked. “Baddersley is not a prison, my lord, but my home.” She swung around and marched away.

“Madeleine.”

She froze but did not turn, waiting half hopefully for his retaliation.

“If you change your mind about visiting Normandy,” he said, “let me know.” He didn’t stop her as she walked away.

It was very tempting to run away to Normandy and be pampered as a new daughter, but Madeleine couldn’t do that unless Aimery was safe at her side.