A Lord For Haughmond Part 23

In the distance, heaps of timber lay at the edge of the forest, awaiting the return of the carter. In the meantime, two serfs were diligent in stripping off bark for the tanyards.

Closer at hand, the beekeeper was removing honey from the skeps. His a.s.sistant, a young lad of two and ten, gave a sudden yelp and darted back on splindly legs, his thin arms flailing the air. Katherine grimaced, sympathizing with his pain.

His distress did naught to drown out the sounds of bleating that had persisted all the day. From this vantage point, she was relieved she could not see the river's edge, where the sheep awaited their yearly shearing. Washed in the swift waters of the Severn River, the fleece provided healthy revenues from the Flanders market, but she did hate to see the gentle creatures prodded and panicked.

Springtide was the busiest time of the year and everyone labored from dawn to dusk, hurrying to supplant the nigh-empty larder. Yawning, she pulled her mantle closer. Though the breeze this day was warmer, it yet held a chill. The solid stones beneath her palms were as cold. She gripped them tightly and turned her face toward the sunshine, breathing in the fresh scent of the soil, basking in Haughmond's embrace.

Voices from the east field drifted on the breeze. Katherine turned to see a little cavalcade make its way over the plowed turf. Led by the sower scattering seeds from his leather pouch, a serf followed behind, guiding the horse-drawn harrow. It covered the seed, but never too soon. Young serf lads dashed about with their slingshots, emitting a chorus of complaints, chasing raucous crows bent on thievery.

Another year's planting of barley appeared well in hand. Soon the endless task of weeding would commence.

A stifled giggle and a gasp drifted up from the village below. She stood on tiptoe and looked over the parapet. On the slope below the castle wall, cottage gardens were bursting with the season's first crop of pease, thick and promising. Dried and kept for winter fare, they would provide against starvation, if G.o.dwin, the miller's son, didn't trample them while he stole kisses with the alewife's youngest girl.

Averting her gaze, Katherine almost smiled. But the desperate furtiveness of the young couple reminded her of her own lost love. As usual, the thought of Rhys launched sadness so deep, it stabbed every bone in her body. Their time together had been but a moment, yet he had made a lasting impression on her. She missed him. Nightly, Saint Winifred received her diligent prayers. Verily, she sought to suppress her feelings. To yearn for Rhys meant she yearned for the frustration and fear and anger that accompanied him.

'Twas insanity to desire such strife.

Yet she did. Daily she fought the battle and the tears it did inspire.

A shout drew her attention. The broken plough mended, the ploughman and his oxen moved steadily down their long furrow. The second yeoman, Walter, was once again working his own stretch. He came to the end of the field and paused, giving his hard-working beasts their due rest. Leaning over one ox, he adjusted the wooden yoke and scratched the animal's broad, st.u.r.dy neck darkened with sweat.

The bawling of a newborn calf reminded her that she must find Alice. The yearly quibbling betwixt the dairymaids, who claimed the dwindling fodder for their breeding cows, and the ploughmen, who demanded it for their oxen, was once again in full sway.

She made her way down to the dairy and found the girl vigorously sc.r.a.ping a wooden bucket with marestail. Beside her stood a row of slop stones, with new cream rising.

Alice paused in her labors. "Ah, mistress, 'tis glad I am ta see ye. Thank the blessed saints for yer safe return."

Katherine nodded and smiled. 'Twas the same litany she heard each day, though she'd been home a month. Everyone welcomed her as lady of the castle. The atmosphere at Haughmond had grown festive in Sir Geoffrey's absence. Easy laughter, jokes-even horseplay-had swiftly replaced the stilted tenor of his lordship.

'Twas good, knowing she made a difference.

Alice came to her feet and bobbed a curtsy. "I'm in want of more ewe's milk, but the shepherd schemes against me. The steward says he's too busy for my complaints. Can you help me, mistress?"

Katherine kept her smile to herself. "I'll speak to Chad and see if he can be persuaded to part with milk for your cheeses. Mayhap a promise of an extra wheel for him would ease the difficulty? I heard his father mention that 'tis time the lad took a wife. I thought you held him in kind regard."

Alice ducked her head but she caught the maid's blush, natheless. Let the la.s.s consider the plan.

"You supervise the piglets with care?" she asked lightly, changing the subject.

"Yea, mistress, but we have a runklin.' I can do naught ta encourage it."

"You placed it on the front teat?"

"Yea, but it don't fight for its place."

"Then 'twould be best to hand it over to the butcher," Katherine commented, hiding her distaste.

"Yea, mistress, I will see ta it."

She continued on through the bailey. Her steward happened along and fell into step beside her.

A sudden wariness beset her and she spoke quickly to hide her nervousness. "How is the fodder holding up? We have hay aplenty?"

"'Tis mighty scarce, m'lady, but the gra.s.s is comin' on, an' the cows do forage on the tree buds. The beasties are near-starved, but they will last, what with the bushets near the forest." Gilbert dipped his head. "We have the good Lord ta thank for his mercy, m'lady. And yer kind regard, of course."

Katherine chose to ignore the man's pandering. "What is your opinion of Walter Ploughman?"

"He do inspire confidence, m'lady," the steward replied. "Even though he be a mite young."

"'Tis as I thought. Reward him for his efforts, for I have observed the same."

"Yea, m'lady."

"Tell me how John and young Alwin do fare."

"They be fine."

Katherine frowned at the steward's abruptness. "John does not mind the change in his fortunes?"

"Nay," the steward responded reluctantly. "He don't sound bothered. Seems keen on Alwin's company. Indulges the lad, he do."

"See they do not go wanting, Gilbert. We are in need of a worthy cooper with all due speed."

"I do my best, mistress," he replied sharply.

Katherine rounded on the steward, forcing him to stumble to a clumsy halt in mid-stride or trod on the toe of her boot.

"Do you hear me complaining?" she demanded with a frown. "Your p.r.i.c.kliness does not dispose me to patience. I but charge you to see that Alwin learns posthaste."

The steward sighed and his arrogance collapsed. "Yea, m'lady."

She continued on her way and Gilbert scurried to keep abreast.

"They are in need of proper nourishment," she commented almost to herself. "Alwin will never learn the trade if John does waste away."

"What do ye propose, mistress?"

"If your wife wishes extra coins, have her send 'round a hot meal to John each day. I will bear the cost. Your lads may fetch for her."

"Yea, m'lady."

A sudden weariness descended upon her. "Leave me, Gilbert. We will talk again on the morrow." She proceeded into the great hall with her befuddled steward gaping after her.

Let him wonder and fret, as she wondered and fretted about him, for Rhys's warning of the man would not be banished from her mind.

Chapter Twenty-two.

When the wardcorne's horn again blew two days later, Katherine gratefully dropped onto the nearest bench in the great hall to await word from the watchtower. Covering a yawn with the back of her hand, she wrinkled her nose. She had been sorting onions, tossing out the rotting ones and saving the rest for the cook's a.s.sistant. The sharp scent on her skin turned her stomach.

Sleep eluded her like a frantic hind pursued by a pack of hounds. Rhys and his evocative kisses plagued her nightly, jolting her with desire and longings and gloom. Thereto, minstrels traveling through the Marches related the details of the king's imminent advance into Wales.

This business of war exhausted her. Though which war, that with Wales or the one within herself, was nigh impossible to determine.

Soon the wardcorne's young groom came running from the watchtower and bowed to her.

"'Tis Sir Geoffrey come with a party of his knights, who do abide at the gate, m'lady," announced the lad breathlessly. "He asks if ye've had a message from the king."

"That man need not bother himself with our affairs." She rose with an indignant snort but was forced to stood a long moment until her world stopped spinning. Taking a determined breath, she donned her woolen mantle and began the long climb to the eastern parapet. She heard them before she peered over the wall, restive horses jangling harnesses and blowing from their exertions up the hill.

Sir Geoffrey and a handful of men-at-arms waited in the roadway beyond the raised drawbridge.

Eyeing him with disgust, she called out, "What brings you to our gate?"

"I mean you no harm, Katherine," Sir Geoffrey responded in a clear voice, with his visor raised. "You are not under siege." His horse pawed the ground impatiently. "I came here apurpose to counsel you. Open your gates. We needs discuss your obligation to the king."

She had a sharp retort prepared, but her stomach heaved. She held her tongue. A measure of grace would not hurt her, not with her men positioned along the castle ramparts and Sir Geoffrey baldly exposed to their notched arrows. Surely, he posed no threat with his small escort.

"Thank you, Sir Geoffrey for your concern." Katherine almost choked on the polite words. Her stomach lurched again. She grimaced as she swallowed down acrid liquid that swelled in the back of her mouth. "I am well aware of my duty to the crown. My men will be ready by the time King Edward arrives at Chester."

A runner from the king had arrived from Devizes the previous day. While the lad had claimed a horn of ale and a trencher of food, she had read the royal writ. By mid-May she, along with over a hundred va.s.sals, must provide a contribution under the feudal summons.

"So you delay until Chester?" Sir Geoffrey craned his neck to look up at her.

"As do you," she replied in a frosty tone.

"My patience stretches thin. Raise your gates, Katherine. Show us some comfort. You would not want it rumored that you are inhospitable." Sir Geoffrey's mount, a young stallion, pranced about. "My son hardly needs to be saddled with so poor a representation this early in his marriage." Sir Geoffrey scowled as he was forced to wheel his destrier in a tight circle to keep it under control.

She smiled to herself. Let him feel the strain.

"You hardly need concern yourself- "

"But I do. I am most heartily concerned with my son's interests." Sir Geoffrey twisted in the saddle as he tried to maintain eye contact with her. "Rumors abound! My son took you to wife in good faith. Since that day your deeds have been less than n.o.ble."

Katherine glared down at her stepfather. "I do not fancy your meddling."

"Clearly! Rhys of St. Quintin makes himself familiar with you while my son's back is turned. 'Tis outrageous knavery! I will have his head in the name of justice!" Geoffrey called up to her. "When you are brought to bed, will you produce the true heir or that knight's b.a.s.t.a.r.d?"

Katherine blanched. He could not know, of course. She had only just begun to suspect there was a babe agrowing in her belly. But 'twas a devastating blow, his voiced suspicion. Her confidence near undone by it, her blood pulsed in her ears and her stomach quivered once more.

"By G.o.d's teeth, a b.a.s.t.a.r.d, is it?" shouted Sir Geoffrey, taking advantage of her pause. "You dishonor my son! I will see you forced to make amends."

"I will not stand silent and suffer your accusations," she responded with a bravado that barely held her pluck together.

"But I'd know the right of it," he cried, shaking his fist in the air. "My son will not be duped- "

A trumpet blast pierced the air with a new warning from the watchtower. Katherine flung her hands over her ears. Horses whinnied in alarm and had to be steadied. Swords were brandished as Sir Geoffrey and his men wheeled their mounts to face the village road.

Below the castle, drumming hooves echoed up from the flats by the river.

New arrivals came streaming through the village, amid a h.e.l.lish racket from the peasant dogs. 'Twas then Katherine saw the banner at the head of the approaching horses. Rippling bright and new, argent rapiers glowed on a sable backdrop.

Sir Dafydd!

Aghast, Katherine lowered her hands and trembled. Her long mantle was suddenly no protection from the cold. But the coldness was from within, icy fingers tracing around her thumping heart.

Sir Dafydd had come.

And Sir Geoffrey stood at the gate.

Sweet Jesu! How was she to protect herself from their combined vengeance? How was she to protect her child, so recently created that 'twas as though it did not exist at all?

The newcomers pulled rein a short distance from Sir Geoffrey's troop. Father and son stared at each other.

"I hastened here to welcome you to Shropshire." 'Twas Sir Geoffrey who broke the silence. He made a small flourish with his hand in greeting. "Your lady wife will not open to me. I pray you fare better."

Katherine watched in silence as Sir Dafydd lifted the visor of his helm. He a.s.sessed Sir Geoffrey for a long moment, then raised his eyes to where she stood.

Jostled by an archer taking position beside her, she started in surprise, only then realizing her men were ama.s.sing along the ramparts, realizing her captain-at-arms was calling out a second command. The wallwalk had grown crowded with a goodly number of Haughmond's soldiers.

"Lady Katherine, do you open to your husband?"

The crisp call came so clear she nigh jumped out of her soft leather shoes.

With parched mouth, she stared down at her husband. His thick, dark moustache drooped down his face. Bushy brows nigh hid his eyes. In her desperate imagination, she saw Rhys's face, not this man who looked more sinister than the devil.

Silence waxed across the distance. Overhead, Haughmond's banner snapped in the breeze. A hawk's shadow drifted across the landscape. A metal shield sc.r.a.ped against stone.

The poignant vision of her beloved disappeared.

"If I must!"

She nodded to her captain-at-arms, who called out a command. The ropes of the portcullis strained into motion.

Her steady command belied the sudden weakness in her knees that threatened to send her toppling over the edge of the stonework. Her stomach churned into a knot. "I fear I have need of your arm, Richard," she murmured.

Her captain made haste to extend his arm. "Upon my word, I will do what I can, m'lady."

Intercepting his brief but troubled frown, she knew his concern was futile. Not one of her people could do aught to save her from a husband bent on avenging his honor.

Katherine seized the st.u.r.dy arm and willed her guilty conscience away. With deliberate steps she followed her captain along the wallwalk and down the stairs into the outer bailey. A sea of new arrivals marked her progress, their silent inspection charging the air with tension.

Father and son had dismounted and stood awaiting her amid the crowd. She trembled anew. Many husbands who found themselves cuckolded beat their wives senseless.