Medieval Ever After (13 page)

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 and 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 easily 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 lowered 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 will 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 said as he rubbed 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 undergarments, 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.”

He smiled faintly and held out a hand to her. “Leave the fawn,” he said softly. “Come walk with me.”

Obediently, she handed the bladder to the other serving woman, a very old woman with a fat rump. Placing her hand in Stephen’s open palm, she allowed him to pull her to her feet. Brushing off the cranberry wool, she held his hand as he took her out into the afternoon sunshine.

It was a bright day, sultry again, as they walked in silence through the kitchen yard. Dogs barked and scattered as Stephen took her into the main ward; around them, the day looked normal, just like any other day at any other peaceful castle. It was amazing how two days could change the feel of a place, from a blockaded, starving castle to one that was knowing prosperity at the hands of the English. Joselyn held Stephen’s arm as they walked through the dust and flies.

“Although this was a forced marriage for us both, I would hope that at some point we will both find it pleasant,” he finally spoke. “And for it to be pleasant, we must insist on total truth between us. Do you disagree?”

She paused and looked up at him. Her expression was one of disappointment. “Nay.”

She abruptly averted her gaze and resuming their walk. Stephen pulled her to a stop and forced her to face him.

“Then tell me why you seem sad,” he commanded quietly. “What is troubling you?”

She sighed heavily, shaking her head and keeping her eyes lowered. “It is nothing, my lord, truly….”

“My lord, is it?” he shook her gently. “I told you not to call me that. I am your husband. My name is Stephen. I would hear that from your lips always. Now, what is wrong?”