The Dark Knight (6 page)

“Where have you been?” Lady Margaret demanded. Her hand swept out to indicate the table and everything upon it. “The fish is salty, the beef is tough, and the bread is hard as a rock. You must speak with the cooks immediately.”

Did her aunt truly think she’d been shirking her duties all this time? Leave it to John to give them that impression when she was not here to defend herself. “I just came from the kitchens, my lady. Remember, I told you that many of the kitchen staff were abed with bad stomachs?”

“Aye, but you told me about these illnesses early this morn. Surely you could have found servants to replace them who would not try to poison us.” She nodded her head in the steward’s direction. “There are just as many ill servants on John’s staff, and yet the hall looks wonderful. Except for that awful Blackthorne troupe, but it is my understanding that you are also responsible for their offensive performances. Do have them stop before someone gets hurt or before I am driven mad by that horrible woman’s shrieking. What she is subjecting us to is not called ‘singing.’ ”

“I sent for the Chester troupe,” Avalene insisted. Her gaze narrowed on John, but he pointedly ignored her and continued his conversation with Lord Brunor. “There was no reason for me to think—”

“Do not try to blame others for your mistakes,” Margaret interrupted, her voice maddeningly calm and collected. “Learn to accept your shortcomings and work harder to improve them, and then perhaps you will not disappoint us so often. I shudder to think what shame you will bring upon your family if you marry into an illustrious family such as the Segraves. They are sure to think you were raised by wolves. Just look at your gown. A lady does not appear among her people wearing her dinner in her lap.” She held up one hand when Avalene started to object. “Nay, do not try to make more excuses about how you soiled your gown. Really, Avalene, I begin to lose faith that you will ever be ready to become chatelaine of a great estate. I have told your father time and again that you have too much wild Welsh blood in you and we would all be better served if you would marry one of Lord Brunor’s knights and remain at Coleway. At least we know what sort of trouble you would cause here.”

Avalene felt her blood run cold. Life at Coleway was far from unbearable, but it would fast become so if she had to spend a lifetime running her aunt’s household. She had always known her fostering at Coleway would come to an end when she married. She would be free of John’s constant mischief, Lady Margaret’s unending lectures, and Lord Brunor’s whims that always resulted in more work for her. This was not the first she had heard of some scheme to keep her trapped at Coleway, and she could not help but wonder if John had a hand in it. His pranks had taken a vicious edge of late.

“My marriage to Faulke Segrave will be of far greater benefit to my father than marriage to one of your knights,” she said. “Your concern is misplaced, my lady. You have taught me all I need to know to run an estate
of any size. I shall make Faulke Segrave a very fine wife and my family will benefit greatly from the connection.”

“Ah, well, we shall see what your father has to say on the subject.” Lady Margaret waved away Avalene’s concerns as if her entire future were some trivial matter. “I cannot tolerate any more of this sad excuse for entertainment or the shabbiness of your appearance. Perform your duties as I have asked before you return to the table to take your meal.”

For the second time that day, Avalene gritted her teeth to trap angry words behind them. She bowed her head and sank into a low curtsy, and then turned and walked away with as much dignity as she could muster.

“You there,” she called out to one of the tumblers. “Which one is your leader?”

He jerked his thumb toward one of the flamethrowers.

“Marvelous,” she breathed. She took great care to approach the man in an obvious way, and then she waved one hand until he realized she wished to speak with him. Finally, his torches were secured and no longer flying through the air. “My lady bids your troupe cease the performances and take your leave of Coleway immediately.”

His face, already red from the exertions of his performance, darkened a shade. “Our pay—”

She cut him off before he could start making demands. “There will be no coin. No matter what you have been told, you were not the troupe we sent for nor expected. The lord and lady are sorely disappointed and are not consoled by your performances. You have not earned your keep. However, I will have sacks of food sent to the gates that will be sufficient to feed your people at least this day and the next one as well. The guards will be told that you are not to receive the food until the last
man has passed through the gates, and then the gates will be barred against you. Regardless of any summons you might receive in the future, know that it was not sent from anyone in a position of authority at this castle. Do not return here again.”

Without waiting for a response or argument, she turned on her heel and headed toward the table occupied by a group of men wearing cream-colored tunics and brown hose. There was plenty of food to supply the troupe with the meals, as she had already accounted for the extra mouths to be fed until the troupe was originally due to take their leave. Holding their food until they reached the gate made it unlikely they would argue over payment and risk losing their meals as well. One problem solved.

“William, my apologies for interrupting your meal,” she said to the oldest of the four men. “This troupe’s minstrels have offended Lady Margaret’s sensibilities and she feels the far superior skills of our own minstrels are her only remedy.”

William had already pushed away from the table and the others were joining him. “Say no more, my lady. We shall be happy to oblige.”

Avalene gave him a smile of gratitude, and then turned toward the kitchens. Two problems solved.

The kitchens were only slightly less chaotic than when last she left them, but she was glad to see that Maude, the sick head cook’s wife, looked more comfortable in her temporary role as leader of this bedraggled band of servants. She watched Maude give firm direction to both the experienced kitchen workers as well as to those recruited to fill in for the day, and all hurried to carry out the orders.

“You see?” Avalene asked, as she gave Maude an approving nod. “I knew that anyone who produced twelve
well-mannered and hardworking children would have no trouble at all with a staff this size.”

“Well, it helps that six of the kitchen staff are my own,” the heavyset woman admitted with a blush, “but you are very kind to think so highly of my skills, Lady Avalene.”

Four of Maude’s sons and two daughters were apprenticing under her husband, and Maude herself had first met her husband when she worked in the kitchens. It had not been a stretch for Avalene to know Maude would prove valuable here. “I have one more task I must assign. Lady Margaret bid me to dismiss the Blackthorne troupe and send them from the castle. They will not receive any coin, but I have promised to provide two sacks with enough provisions to feed their score of performers for two days.” She then gave the woman her instructions for the gates.

Maude gave a brisk nod. “The provisions and your orders will be at the gates within the hour, my lady. Have no worries on that matter.”

She patted Maude’s shoulder. “I knew I could count on you. Have you received any word about your husband?”

“Aye, my Sally has been playing nursemaid and she says he and the others are all on the mend. Even if they are still too ill to work on the morrow we shall have fewer worries. We can serve much simpler fare after a feast day, thank the Lord.”

“Aye, thank the Lord,” Avalene echoed, with a heartfelt sigh. She plucked at her greasy skirts. “I must change my gown before I can return to the hall, but I will try to visit again when the feast ends to see if you need anything.”

“Do not worry on my account,” Maude insisted. “The hour grows late already and I doubt you have
managed to find a moment to even feed yourself this day. Take the time you would spend here and do something indulgent, my lady. We shall be fine on our own.”

“You shall spoil me,” Avalene teased, but she felt confident enough in Maude’s competence to appreciate those few extra moments she would now have to herself at the end of the day. “Send word if any problems should arise.”

“Aye, my lady.”

Three problems solved.

Avalene left the kitchens with a lighter spring to her step. She started up the stairs that led to the gallery, a covered wooden walkway that encircled the second story of the great hall. Here there were doorways cut into the stone walls of the hall that led to the towers. They were the only entrances to the towers, deliberately made this high so the wooden stairs could be quickly torn down to leave women and children safely above the fray. If attackers ever made it this far into the keep, they would have to work even harder to reach those who had retreated to the towers. The walkway had never been used for that purpose in Avalene’s memory. These days the gallery was primarily a passageway to the towers, and even then, most people walked their route as quickly as possible while saying a few prayers.

There was a constant dampness in the great hall that torches and a single fireplace could not chase away, and Avalene had noticed the wood of the gallery was starting to rot and weaken in places. Just last month she had urged Lady Margaret and Lord Brunor to have the gallery refurbished or replaced, but John had assured them that one of the carpenters had assured
him
that the wood was still sound and such repairs would be wasteful.

She studied the wear patterns on the steps and mentally
shook her head. Somewhere in Coleway an innocent carpenter would be punished when there was an inevitable accident on the gallery. If there was any justice, the accident would involve John.

She made her way safely across two sides of the gallery and was just steps away from the doorway that led to her tower chamber when a noise rose above the din of the crowd and stopped her in her tracks. It was not the noise of creaking wood that she always expected, but the equally familiar sound of the chamberlain’s iron-tipped staff as it struck the hall’s flagstones in three measured beats. Everyone immediately fell silent and Avalene edged her way closer to the railing.

“My lord and lady,” the chamberlain announced in his most important voice, “a messenger from Baron Weston has arrived and humbly begs your audience.”

A messenger from her father! Avalene’s gaze went to Lord Brunor, who made an impatient gesture indicating that he agreed to the audience. It occurred to her that she had almost failed to witness the messenger’s arrival. Whatever news this man had, the most important of it would be revealed in the next few moments.

She glanced down at her gown and was suddenly thankful Lady Margaret had sent her from the great hall. She could all too easily imagine the lectures from Lady Margaret if her father’s messenger had seen her wearing a soiled gown at a feast. Worse, he would likely report her slovenly condition to her father. Perhaps she could rush to her chamber, change her gown, and return before the man was admitted to the hall and began to deliver his message. The idea was quickly dismissed. There would be time after she heard the message to change her clothing.

Despite her unease on the rickety gallery, she reasoned the floor was likely stronger by the railing, where boards
that had started to bow in the middle of the gallery were more firmly attached to the frame of the structure. The boards definitely made fewer creaking noises there. She inched her way forward until she was directly above the head table. She was unable to see her aunt and uncle who were seated beneath this section of the gallery, but here she would have a good view of the man who spoke to them.

A trick of the vaulted ceilings also made the gallery an excellent place to eavesdrop on almost any conversation that took place at the head table and she intended to listen to every word. She had scarcely settled into a more comfortable position behind the tapestry when the chamberlain rapped his staff three more times. Every gaze turned toward the chamberlain and the massive doors that led to the great hall. His voice boomed out over the crowd one more time.

“Sir Percival of Weston!”

Avalene reached between the balusters to widen a gap between two of the tapestries that hung from the handrail, certain no one would notice her hiding place since every face was turned toward the entrance to the great hall. She saw only the dark outline of a knight, silhouetted against the last fiery rays of the sun.

At last the knight stepped forward and her gaze was drawn immediately to the silver griffin embroidered on his deep blue surcoat that proclaimed his allegiance to Baron Weston. His long, easy stride proved he was accustomed to the heavy chain-mail hauberk he wore beneath his surcoat, and one gauntleted hand rested on the hilt of his broadsword, the unconscious habit of all knights to keep the tip of the long weapon from striking against the ground as he walked. Curiously enough, he did not remove his helm, which meant she could see nothing of his face.