Lord of the Blade (9 page)

He had his hands full trying to be lord,
chamberlain and castellan all at once. And to make matters worse,
he'd have to act as woodward on his hunting trip, as someone had
been poaching in his forests. What he needed was a good woman to
forget all his problems and give him a night of ecstasy. Just the
thought reminded him King Edward would be sending a messenger any
day now to see if he'd yet to choose a wife. And when his answer
reached the king, all his troubles would be over. He'd be a
landless knight and probably have to hire himself out as a
mercenary, as Malcomn would be sitting at the dais in his chair
instead.

Gilda was seated next to him, having changed
her clothing once again following the mass and now donned a scarlet
satin gown, overly lacy and too frilly for Corbett's liking. She
sat to his right - the spot that would have been for Corbett's lady
of the manor, had he been married. Her annoying chatter with her
son next to her was trying his nerves. But the worst of it, Corbett
decided, was her latest obnoxious but fashionable imported
headdress which sported a large plume off to the side.

Corbett sat tilted away from her as the
plume irritatingly kept brushing the side of his face every time
Gilda turned her head from side to side dramatically while she
talked. She gave words of warning to her red-haired son of the
perils of the hunt he was about to embark upon.

God's teeth, he was glad she was not going
with. It would be bad enough constantly having to supervise
Malcomn, but having to deal with her also would surely drive him
mad.

A buxom maidservant reached over to collect
an empty serving platter from in front of Corbett, and he found
himself staring at her deep cleavage, tightly drawn by the lacings
of her low-cut bodice.

How he'd like to play wet-nurse with her. He
hadn't had a wench in a while and was long overdue. The girl
giggled, having noticed that she gained his attention, and she
smoothed back a golden lock which covered her eye.

"Will there be anything else, milord?" she
asked with hope in her voice.

Aye. Take off your clothes.
That's
what he wanted to say. He'd had this wench more than once before
and knew she'd bend over backwards to please him. He eyed her
cleavage once again, only this time when his gaze returned to her
face he saw Devon's green eyes in his mind. He could almost taste
her sweet lips and smell the fresh essence of her soft, silken
skin.

"Milord?" The serving wench's words were
like a charging steed, ripping him from his own thoughts. She
smiled at him wantonly, licking her lips and slightly leaning
towards him, giving him a better view down her bodice of the goods
she was offering.

"Would there be anything more you would
require of me, milord?"

Damn, that wench called Devon. She'd invaded
his head not to mention the privacy of his dreams. How could he
take any other wench to bed when she was the one he really wanted?
He knew he wouldn't be able to enjoy the company of the usual
lightskirts again while she was occupying his thoughts. His raven
let out a fierce scream and the serving wench gave it a daggered
look.

"Nay," Corbett answered, dismissing her
quickly. "That will be all.”

She stacked the platters with a forlorn look
upon her face, storming off to the kitchen in such a hurry she
knocked into Father Chapman who had risen from the wooden bench
while reenacting a story that had held the table's attention. The
platters fell to the ground with a loud crash, followed by herself
as she landed on her bottom upon the rushes. Many eyes rested upon
her, and a muffled voice was heard calling her a 'clumsy shandy
wench'.

Father Chapman held out his hand to offer
his assistance in righting her, but she boldly refused. She
retrieved the platters and uneaten trenchers that laid strewn upon
the rushes of the floor and hurried off to the kitchen. Several
mangy dogs wandered in, eagerly devouring the spilled scraps.

Corbett found himself thinking that this was
the first time he had denied an invitation to couple when he was in
such dire need. What was happening to him?

"Lord Corbett?" asked his steward for the
third time, as he slowly waved his hand in front of Corbett's face.
"Are you feeling ill today?" He gazed at Corbett's barely touched
food.

Corbett's mind snapped back to attention,
realizing he had all but ignored this monk who sat quietly through
the meal at his left side, being ever so patient with him.

"Nay, Brother Ruford." Corbett answered. "I
was merely . . . meditating." He laid his hand upon the holy man's
simple black tunic. "Surely, you can understand that."

The black and gray hair of his tonsure that
encircled his head almost had Corbett laughing as it bobbed up and
down with Ruford's approval. Corbett had never told him, but for
some reason his streaked hair had reminded him of a badger that the
hounds had cornered on his last hunt.

Corbett was pleased with the way Ruford
handled the temporary position of steward. The monks were learned
men and good with numbers. What little knights Corbett had under
his command could not even read, so Corbett was thankful beyond
words. Brother Ruford still had his own responsibilities of
chamberlain at the monastery, but did both duties well.

"I need you to manage the affairs of my
estate while I am gone."

"My lord?" Ruford shoved a piece of fruit
into his mouth.

"I am to leave immediately following the
meal with my hunting party. I might be gone several days, and I
know you will see that things run smoothly in my absence."

"To that I will," assured the monk, licking
the juice from his fingers. "But may I ask where you will hunt that
will take such a long toll?"

"My forests have been severely depleted,
from not only the late plague, but also the poachers which my men
seem not able to catch. I go myself, not able to understand how a
mere poacher can escape the expertise of my archers and well
trained hounds."

"Surely, you don't mean to trespass upon
Lord Cedric's or Lord Boltoff's lands?"

"As a man of my word, I would not attempt
such a feat. I mean only to go to where our three lands meet and
hunt in the forests off of Dartmoor. Perhaps there, I can fell some
venison or wild boar to help bring back the baron's strength."

Corbett's attention was taken by his raven
which had hopped from the back of his chair and was now pecking at
his nearly untouched meal. The raven grabbed a large piece of duck
in its beak, and using his claw to hold it down, succeeded in
tearing it into small pieces before devouring it.

"Eat up, my friend," Corbett softly mumbled
to his bird, stroking the feathers of its black head. "We have a
long journey ahead of us and many an answer to find."

"You are not going to bring
that
thing along on the hunting trip," complained Gilda.

“
This,
" corrected Corbett, "is not a
thing, but a raven. And yes, I am taking him along on the
trip."

"Why don't you take a falcon, like most
lords? Surely their hunting abilities are far beyond the worth of
that dirty bird."

The raven flapped over to the baroness’s
trencher, and crouching down, opened its beak with a loud hiss.
When it retreated, a large white stain consumed the area.

She pushed the trencher far to the edge of
the table. Disgust flashed across her face, and she straightened up
in her chair trying to get far enough away from the bird as
possible.

"I do not think my friend cared for your
comment, m'lady." Corbett smiled from ear to ear. "And to set
matters right, this brilliant bird has always accompanied me on
hunting trips, spotting prey and warning of dangers. Though he is
not a bird of prey, I think him just as capable, if not more, than
any of my hunting birds."

With that, he pushed back his chair,
deciding not to wait for the hot pastries he spied the servants
placing before him, though Ruford eagerly accepted.

He whisked past Malcomn's chair, forcing
himself to acknowledge his foster brother.

"Meet me in the stables," he told Malcomn.
"As soon as the huntsmen prepare the hounds, we will depart."

"I will be ready.”

Malcomn smiled, and Corbett frowned.

Devon broke off a hunk of her bread and
hungrily shoved it into her mouth as she roamed through the kitchen
thinking how good it felt not having to share the chores of the
meal with the rest of the servants now that she served the baron.
Grabbing a cup of mead from the tray of a passing serving girl, she
chugged it down and gave it back. The maiden looked at her,
appalled at such behavior, but Devon loved every minute of it. Yes,
she decided, she almost felt as if she were happy for the first
time in her life.

Servers busily emptied tables, scurrying to
the scullery with stacks of dirty dishes. A scullion sent a serf to
draw more water from the well to start the clean-up before the
servants were allowed to eat.

"Devon!" called Heartha, using a long wooden
paddle to remove the last of the bread from a brick oven. The bread
would be used for the evening meal she would have to prepare
shortly. The clanking of silver platters, spoons and carving
knives, along with the noisy voices of the kitchen staff, prevented
either of them from hearing more.

"Heartha! You work too hard."

"Some of us aren't as lucky as the others,
missy."

Devon suddenly felt like a poacher, standing
lazily around gnawing on bread while the rest of the kitchen
bustled about in their many chores. She quickly jammed the
remaining crust into her pocket aside her good luck charm, and
lunged into Heartha's outstretched arms.

"What are ye doing here, child? Ye should be
at the bedside of th’ ailing baron."

"He is sleeping, and I was hungry. Besides,
I need to talk to you." The pungent odor of the baron’s medicine
bothered her. Perhaps Heartha would know more about it. Heartha's
attention was pulled from their conversation as Corbett's squire,
Delwynn, rushed in.

"Lord Corbett would like the supplies for
the hunting trip." The tall fair-haired boy smiled at Devon, and
she smiled back.

"Aye, Delwynn," replied Heartha eagerly
packing up the last of the sacks which contained the food the men
would need on their hunting trip.

"Good day, Devon!" he acknowledged her with
a slight nod of his head.

"Good day," she replied nonchalantly. She
didn't really know the lord's squire, but he seemed to know her.
The maidservants in the kitchen favored Delwynn, always giving him
extra food not to mention extra smiles as he passed through. They
said he was ruthless in the practice yard while maneuvering the
quintain, and the young man had a true skill with handling the
lance and spear.

"I've packed an extra flask of wine,"
explained Heartha, "so there would be enough." She winked, and it
occurred to Devon that Heartha favored Delwynn more than anyone.
Loading him down with the food, Heartha sent him on his way.

"Such a nice boy, that Delwynn."

"Aye," answered Devon trying to get back to
their conversation.

"And only a few years older than ye, too, I
believe."

"I suppose so."

"He'll make some lucky lassie a fine
husband, don't ye think?"

"Heartha, please. Stop playing matchmaker. I
am trying to ask you something.”

Heartha's eyes popped open, along with her
mouth. "Oh heavens! In my haste, I forgot to give Delwynn the fresh
bread." Quickly pushing half a dozen loaves into a coarse sack, she
pushed it into Devon's arms. "Hurry, Devon. Run ta the stables and
deliver this ta Lord Corbett before th’ hunting party departs. I
will never be forgiven if milord finds I have forgotten ta send
fresh bread."

Devon wasn't anxious to see Lord Corbett
after the way he denied knowing her. She tried

"I haven't th’ time ta find one, and my
serving maids are busy clearing the dishes ta th’ scullery."
Heartha pushed it back.

"I am sure I should be getting back to the
baron." The bread went in the other direction.

"Ye just said he was sleeping." The sack hit
Devon in the stomach. "Unless ye believe yerself to be beyond this
meager task?" Her stern words matched the look in her eye.

"Well…no…of course not. It's just that . . .
" she handed the parcel back to Heartha.

"If ye wait any longer the hunting party
will be gone. So unless ye have a valid reason for not moving, ye
best be on yer way!" She shoved the bread back to Devon, and turned
her around and escorted her to the door. With a small push from
Heartha, Devon found herself outside the kitchen and on her way to
the stables.

Approaching the stables, she saw Corbett
inside conveying instructions to his kennelgroom, and decided to
stay by the door and wait.

"Sefton, are the hounds ready?" he asked
impatiently.

"We've only two, my lord," answered the
short man.

"Two? God's eyes, do not tell me the rest of
the pack have been consumed by the plague?"

"Aye. All but one other. But the bitch is
heavy with a litter and won't be able to keep up in the hunt."

"Very well," he replied. "We are hunting
boar this trip so make certain to use the spiked collars on the
hounds."

"As you would, my lord," replied the man,
scurrying away.

Devon stood patiently outside the entrance
waiting to be noticed, when she heard a voice from beside her.

"My lord, you called for me?" A
strong-looking man with a burly build brushed past her and hurried
into the stable.

Devon knew this man was the bailiff, having
seen him coming from the lord's manor house on her recent trip to
the village.

"Stephen, you are doing fine overseeing my
manor, but I need you to act as reeve and collect my rents from the
villeins."