Love Everlasting (28 page)

“I know something is happening,” Quentin
continued, “for I have received a most mysterious letter from
Dunstan de Granville, which enclosed a message for you. In fact,
Dunstan’s instruction that I was to place the message directly into
your hands was the reason why I decided to come to court at this
particular time.” Quentin reached into the pouch fastened at his
belt and drew out a parchment that was folded over and over many
times.

Knowing he could trust Quentin’s discretion
as completely as he trusted Cadwallon’s, Royce did not hesitate to
unfold the parchment and break the seal. He began to decode and
read the letter.

“It seems you are correct, Quentin,” he said
after a moment. Looking up at his two friends, seeing their intense
interest, he explained. “Dunstan says that Kenric has done what we
expected him to do. He has fled to the north of England, where he
has joined the same group of conspirators to which Dunstan has
attached himself. At present, the leaders of the group, prodded by
Kenric, are fomenting a scheme against me. Apparently, they expect
to keep me too busy to protect King Henry, but Dunstan hasn’t yet
uncovered all the details of the scheme.”

“They can’t be hoping to undermine your
friendship with the king,” Cadwallon said at once. “King Henry has
known you too long and too well ever to believe you’d betray
him.”

“Perhaps the scheme is more personal,”
Quentin suggested. “Janet has been filling Fionna’s ears with wild
tales about the failed attempt to kill Queen Adelicia. Fionna
repeated the stories to me, and among the names she mentioned was
that of this Sir Kenric. I believe he is a kinsman of Lady
Julianna?”

“Not really. Kenric is the nephew of
Julianna’s late husband,” Royce said, his voice clipped in
irritation that Janet had been discussing his affairs.

“So, you’ve been tracking Kenric’s
movements,” Quentin went on in his calm, quiet way. “That’s the
purpose of Dunstan’s letter; to make a secret report to you about
Kenric’s most recent activities.

“Perhaps I can help,” Quentin said. “I’ve
heard a few rumors lately. While I don’t put much credence in the
stories that are whispered about with additions made by every mouth
that repeats them, usually there is some germ of fact beneath the
embroidery.”

“Go on,” Royce said. “Repeat those rumors to
me and let us pick away what you call the embroidery, until we
reach the solid facts beneath.”

“As I am sure you know,” Quentin began, “in
the wildest areas of northern England a few Saxon families remain,
led by men who still resent Norman rule.”

“After more than fifty years?” Cadwallon
exclaimed. “You are talking about the grandsons of men who fought
against King William and his conquering army. Being half Welsh, I
do know how feuds can last from generation to generation, but this
seems excessive to me, considering how long all of England has been
subdued. Perhaps that last remark is my Norman half speaking,” he
finished with a rueful smile.

“The conqueror’s army decimated northern
England,” Quentin reminded him. “I deal weekly with the old
hatreds. They haven’t died out yet. The nobles with whom Kenric has
involved himself are minor lords, men so unimportant that, unless
they stir up some specific trouble, King Henry can afford to ignore
them.”

“Who are they?” Royce demanded.

“Lords Othmar and Edmund,” Quentin
answered.

“I know them. My people have kept a watch on
them for years,” Royce said.

“I know one of them,” Cadwallon interrupted.
“In fact, I recently spoke to him. Lord Othmar was at Norwich from
just before Christmas until the day before Twelfth Night. A big
man, with an untidy red beard, and a surly manner.”

“Who probably provided cover for Kenric when
he fled from court,” Royce added.

“With a little help from someone still inside
Norwich Castle to smuggle Kenric out the gate,” Cadwallon finished.
“Shall we go after them?”

“It’s too late now,” Royce said. “Damnation!
Why were Othmar’s movements not reported to me?”

“I did tell you,” Cadwallon said. “You
brushed the matter aside.”

“So I did. I recall now.” He’d been too busy
trying to protect the queen while at the same time attempting to
prove Julianna’s loyalty. Silently cursing his Christmas-time
distraction, Royce turned to Quentin. “Tell us the rest of these
very interesting rumors you’ve heard.”

As Quentin spoke, with Cadwallon and Royce
asking occasional questions, Royce began to see a pattern emerging.
He’d have recognized it sooner, if only he hadn’t been so
preoccupied with Julianna. Though he kept his face impassive,
inwardly he sighed with a combination of annoyance and
enlightenment.

The pattern he perceived did not include
Julianna, except in a simple and almost unimportant capacity. Royce
began to consider the possibility that Julianna was not so much
working for King Louis as obeying Kenric’s orders. He hadn’t yet
uncovered the reason why Julianna was so afraid of Kenric that
she’d risk her life to help him. For she was afraid of Kenric.
Royce did know that much, and he vowed he’d soon find out why.

With the pattern woven by Kenric beginning to
unravel itself for his scrutiny, Royce was saddened, but not
terribly surprised to receive a message from Lord Cortland a day or
two later, telling him that the body of one of his men had been
discovered in a snowdrift a few miles north of Norwich Castle. He’d
been stabbed and left to die. Royce harbored no doubts at all as to
the identity of the murderer.

Even before Cadwallon left Wortham, Julianna
had begun the necessary work of restoring the castle to the neat
and orderly condition she was sure Royce would want.

While Royce was at home during the previous
summer he had made certain that the storerooms were filled with
enough food to last through the winter. However, Alice’s maternal
distractions and her insistence that her children came above all
else had kept her constantly busy in the nursery. Thus, she had
handed over the storeroom keys to the cook. Julianna was sure those
keys had been filched by the other servants on at least one
occasion, for some of the castle storerooms, which she discovered
were left unlocked, looked as if they had been plundered. She
wasted no time in retrieving the keys.

“I’m glad to be rid of them,” the cook told
her, taking the keys from a wall hook. “If you are holding them, I
can’t be blamed for the missing provisions.”

With the heavy ring of keys fastened securely
to her belt, Julianna made her way to the nursery to deal with
Alice. She was determined to be stern and to establish her rank
beyond any question.

“With luck and careful rationing,” she said
to Alice, “we will have enough to feed everyone until the next
year’s crops are harvested. But really, you should have been more
responsible,” she added. “Royce trusted you to keep the food stores
safe; that’s why he made you chatelaine. You should never have
given the keys to anyone else. I will take the rest of the
household keys now.” She extended her hand in an imperious gesture
and did not relent until the second set of keys was added to her
belt.

“I am so very sorry,” Alice murmured, patting
the back of the wimpering baby who drooped against her shoulder.
“I’ve had so much to do lately, with the twins teething and the two
older boys running about. They seldom listen to me,” she ended on a
sigh that most likely was uttered out of weariness and simple
exasperation with her children.

“No wonder,” Julianna snapped, unappeased by
Alice’s excuses. “You are altogether too meek and mild.”

“I suppose I am,” Alice said with another
sigh. “I was meant to be a nun, you know. My father consigned me to
a convent when I was only a child. I learned meekness there. I was
removed from the convent to be companion to Lady Lillianne de
Sainte Inge. Do you know her?”

“No,” Julianna said shortly, not wanting to
waste time listening to more of Alice’s reminiscences. Alice did
not take the hint.

“Then I met and married William,” she said,
“and came here to Wortham to live. I have been happier than I ever
dreamed I could be, though sometimes I do feel overwhelmed.” The
child on her shoulder had fallen asleep. Alice bent to lay him in
his cradle.

Julianna watched as Alice tenderly kissed the
baby’s forehead and tucked the quilt around him, and she felt a
pang of envy toward the pale, plain-faced young woman who possessed
everything that Julianna had ever wanted.

“Overwhelmed or not, you are richly blessed,”
Julianna said. “You have four healthy sons, a loving husband and a
secure home. Few women are so fortunate.”

“I know it,” Alice responded. Her son’s
flailing arms had dislodged the neat arrangement of her hair. She
tucked the light brown strands back under her wrinkled and none too
clean linen wimple. “All I lack is a female friend, for Lady
Lillianne now lives in Kent, and since Lady Catherine’s marriage
last summer, she lives at Sutton Castle. I seldom see either of
them. If you can forgive my lapses as chatelaine, I would like to
make amends by helping you as best I can. And I’d like to be your
friend.”

“The closest person to a friend that I’ve
ever known is Janet, Lord Cadwallon’s wife,” Julianna said,
relaxing her resolute stance against Alice’s inadequacies in the
face of the other woman’s gentleness. It really was difficult to
stay angry with Alice for very long. Hearing the clatter of
youthful feet outside the nursery door and the sound of young
voices raised in argument, she added, “The first thing you need is
a nursemaid to help with the children.”

“Oh, I couldn’t let anyone else care for
them,” Alice protested. “I’ve always taken care of my babies all by
myself.”

“Yes, and that’s why you are thin as a
fencepost, with dark circles under your eyes,” Julianna declared,
just as if she knew what she was talking about, as if she’d had
vast experience with children. “I will ask Etta if she knows of two
girls here in the castle or in the village who are good with
children.”

“Oh,” Alice said, her light brown eyes going
wide with surprise, “I don’t need two girls to help me.”

“You most certainly do. Lady Janet has only
two children, and she has three nursemaids.” Julianna planted her
fists on her hips and gave Alice a hard stare. “You need some
relief from constant motherhood, and I need your help to manage
this castle. Shall we call it an equal bargain?”

The nursery door burst open and a pair of
little boys, ages four and two, rushed into the room, nearly
upsetting Julianna in their headlong dash toward their mother.
Their high, piercing voices woke the baby whom Alice had just
settled to sleep. He bega

n to shriek. A moment later his twin in a
neighboring cradle also began to cry.

“Alice!” Julianna shouted over the din, “it
is no longer a request, or a bargain. As lady of Wortham, I am
issuing an order. You will accept two nursemaids.”

She shut the nursery door behind her, cutting
off the sounds of squalling babies and small children clamoring for
their mother’s attention. When she spoke to Etta a short time
later, she insisted that the women assigned to help Alice should be
capable of administering gentle, yet firm and consistent
discipline.

“Aye,” Etta said, nodding her agreement.
“Lady Alice is a dear, sweet woman, but she can’t seem to order
anyone to perform the simplest task. She asks, instead, and the
servants all say yes and then do as they please, knowing they won’t
be punished. Her children do the same. Young William is already a
terror; he’ll soon become dangerous if he isn’t reined in, and
little Jocelyn has a habit of imitating his older brother.”

“Do you know anyone who could handle them?”
Julianna asked.

“There’s Blenda, in the village. She’s fifty
if she’s a day, but she loves children. Her husband died a few
months ago, so she has no man to help her with the farming, only a
daughter. Poor Linnet is so homely that no man ever wanted to marry
her. I think she’d come, too. They’d both be glad of a room and
food, and Sir William can arrange for their plot of land to be
ploughed and planted. I can promise that neither Blenda nor Linnet
will ever cause trouble with any of the men here at the castle, and
that’s an added benefit.”

“Bring them to me first,” Julianna said. “If
they are willing and if I think they’ll do, then I’ll call in Alice
and let her make the decision.” She didn’t add that she had already
made the decision for Alice. Whether Blenda and Linnet or two other
women were chosen, the children would be kept under a firm hand so
that for part of every day Alice would be free to pursue other
duties.

Blenda proved to be a hard and willing
worker, kind but firm with the children. Her daughter, Linnet, was
even more homely than Etta had claimed. In fact, Linnet was ugly.
The children didn’t seem to notice her lack of beauty, for Linnet
was warm-hearted and intelligent. She could even read a little, and
she quickly set about teaching the children what she knew of
letters.

Julianna’s care for Alice won her William’s
hearty approval, which he expressed one afternoon a week later,
when they met in the great hall.

“You’ve done what I couldn’t do,” William
said to her. “I’ve been seriously worried about Alice for months
now. She refused to listen to me; she said I know nothing about
raising children, which is true enough. Child care isn’t part of a
knight’s training.”

“All Alice really needed,” Julianna said,
“was another woman to tell her what was obvious to everyone except
herself. She was too busy and too worn out to see it. She does seem
more cheerful now.”

“So she is,” William said, smiling. “I’m
grateful to you, Lady Julianna. I’ve been missing my wife.”