A Love For All Seasons (8 page)

Catching her breath against it, Johanna moved her lips on his as she fed her starving heart. Her caress made his kiss deepen, but just a little. This time the spark returned, lasting long enough to wake years of banked hunger from its uneasy slumber. Long suppressed carnal need stretched itself to life, demanding that she feed it. Johanna laced her hands behind Rob's neck, pulling herself closer in a plea for more. He groaned in soft compliance, the sound rumbling in his chest. His kiss deepened, until his mouth slashed across hers.

She gasped, aware of every inch of him. There was the brush of his hair against her wrists, the movement of his beard against her cheek. A pulsing warmth shot through her as the smell of him filled her, the taste of him left her craving more. Trembling, she shifted against him, letting her body flow into his. Just as had always happened, their bodies melded as though they'd been created one for the other.

From his stool in the kitchen's darkest corner, Rob watched in misery as the midday meal was prepared. He hated Master Walter's house, or rather his kitchen, that being the only part of the house he'd seen since his awakening. There was nothing familiar or normal about this place.

Not the folk. He watched Tom lift a cauldron from the flames and begin ladling thick mutton stew into a tureen. Although the lackwit was a man full grown he acted almost as young as Gretta. Nor the smells or tastes. Beside his son, Philip put the finishing touches on a fruit and marrow pie for the midday meal: a stranger creating an equally strange dish. Moreover, it was never quiet here. No amount of counting or imagining was strong enough to escape the endless noise coming from every corner of this city. Hammers pounded on anvils from dawn to dusk, bells clanged, and, worst of all, folk shouted and called to one another, even deep in the night when all decent beings should be at their rest.

Of a sudden homesickness churned in Rob. He longed for the comforting routines, the gentle woodland quiet spiced by the call of the lark and the song of the wind through a field of barley. He no longer cared that Papa didn't want him. As soon as he'd earned the value of those coins, he'd leave this awful place and go home. As if to punctuate his misery, the kitchen door flew open with an annoying squeak.

It was Johanna who danced into the room, her bouncing plaits glinting in a shaft of golden midday light, a jumble of green and brown fabric in her arms. Excitement filled her face. On her heels came Helewise. Rob glanced at the housekeeper. As always, Helewise's pale brown eyes were as cool as the metal band that held her veil in place. And, as always, her gaze pierced his soul.

Rob turned his attention to his blanket-clad lap as guilt twisted in his stomach. He should never have agreed to help Johanna. Although Philip had accepted his contrived tale over the broken bowl Rob was certain Helewise knew he lied. He was equally certain the housekeeper now hated him for his sin.

"Rob, look!" Johanna cried, stopping before him to thrust her burden into his lap. "I begged and begged until Helewise said you may dress and eat in the hall this day."

From the bottom of the pile, she pulled out a green tunic and tossed it down on the ground before her. Crouching at its hem, she pointed to the large, ungainly stitches that puckered over a rent there. "I mended it for you myself." Her smile was broad in pride.

Rob stared in confusion at the wholly foreign garment, then looked at the brown chausses, green garters, and worn linen shirt yet lying in his lap. Only his shoes were his own. He shook his head in refusal. "You've given me someone else's clothing."

Johanna rolled her eyes as if he were as dense as the lackwit. "We have not, you goose. Everyone in this house wears green and brown, except for me. I don't have to, do I, Helewise?" she said in sweet arrogance as she glanced up at the housekeeper.

Rob closed his fist around the voluminous linen shirt that lay uppermost on the pile. It felt fine and smooth against his palm. At last year's fair he and Papa had traded a yearling ram to the old clothes seller for a gown for Mama. That was one sheep for one garment. There were three garments here. He'd be years repaying the debt. Panic roared to life in him. They meant to trap him, he knew it. He shoved the clothing off his lap. "I’d rather keep my own garments."

"I'm afraid they are gone, lad," Helewise said. "They were ruined from blood and manure. The best I could do was make rags out of them."

Rob jerked around on his stool to stare in shock, forgetting for the moment he was afraid of her. "You can't have made rags of my clothing!"

The merest hint of confusion woke in the housekeeper's cool gaze. "Lad, you now serve in the household of Walter l’Espicer. As a sign of our service, we all wear his colors." She held out the skirts of her green overgown and brown undergown in example.

Rob's pulse lifted to an anxious pace. So, if he had no choice but to take these garments, how much more did he now owe Master Walter? "Where are the tally sticks that show my debt, and how much does each day I labor count against what I owe?" he demanded of the housekeeper.

Astonishment briefly crossed Helewise's round face, only to be swallowed by the coolness she ever aimed at him. "Oh my heavens, lad, who has taught you to think like that?"

Her question confused him. In Blacklea every villager knew the value of his labor against what he owed his lord. Were things so different here? "No one taught me."

Her lips almost curved into a smile "Well now, yours is a reasonable request, but one only Master Walter can address. You must ask your question of him when he returns in September."

"September!" The word exploded from Rob, high-pitched and desperate. He wouldn't survive if he had to stay here so long. What if he began today and worked harder than he ever before had? They'd have to acknowledge his labor's value. Aye, he would surely be quit of his debt before August's end.

Dropping the blanket from his shoulders, he yanked on the overly large shirt. It was too long and bunched in his lap. He shoved his feet into the legs of his chausses, the one-piece garment that combined both stockings and an undergarment, and hauled it up over his hips. Coming to his feet to knot the waist string, he snatched up his garters from the floor then thrust his feet into his shoes.

As he sat to swiftly crisscross the green garters around his calves, he glanced up at Helewise. Philip had come to stand beside her. Both adults were watching him as if he'd gone mad.

Rob tied his shoe lacings, then grabbed up the green tunic and stood to don it. The garment was huge, the sleeves extending beyond his fingertips, the skirt reaching well below his knees. Without a belt, it slid on his shoulders. He straightened as best he could then turned to face the housekeeper.

"I will begin my work as Master Walter's scullery lad this very day."

Tom gave a sharp gasp then moaned, "Nay, Papa."

"Scullery lad?" Philip's voice overrode his son's complaint. The creases on the cook's brow shot backward onto his balding pate as he shook his head and looked at Helewise. "Master Walter cannot do this. You know as well as I that, with nigh on all the household's gone to the fairs with the master, there's naught for him to do here."

Panic bounded higher in Rob. Not only would they add additional weight to his debt, but now Philip was going to deny him the right to labor. His gaze shifted to Helewise in the vain hope she would aid him. Instead, she put a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"Sit, Rob." Her voice was cold and emotionless. "You are yet too ill for this."

"Nay!" he cried, tearing free of her hold. Desperation made his voice rise to a shout. "I will begin this day! Master Walter told all of Blacklea he needed a new scullery lad. I am that lad!"

Fear flashed through Tom's eyes as the lackwit looked to the housekeeper. "Nay, not for lads," he wailed, then turned and grabbed the wooden tray on which sat the marrow pie. "Tom's! Tom's!"

"Nay, Tom!" Philip cried, lunging toward his son.

He was too slow. The untouched dish splattered on the floor as the lackwit tucked the serving tray beneath his arm. "Tom's to do!" Tom shouted and reached for the tureen.

"Help me, Helewise," Philip begged, closing his hands over the dish's edge as he sought to save the day's stew. As Helewise leapt to add her weight to the tureen, Philip crooned, "Son, son, be at ease. Rob will not take your chores."

What Tom lacked in wit, he made up for in strength. The tureen tipped toward Helewise. Hot stew cascaded down her front. As the housekeeper yelped and released the dish, Philip lurched forward with a cry, stumbling into his son. Tom toppled backward, the tureen still clutched to his chest. His head hit the floor with a resounding smack. The child-man pressed his hands to his head and rolled from side to side, sobbing in piercing, high-pitched cries.

Rob looked at the mess Tom made. As he waited for the scolding to begin, he bit back a smile. It wasn't Christian to gloat.

Still dripping stew, Helewise squatted at the lackwit's side. "Be easy, Tom," the housekeeper offered sweetly. She cupped the child-man’s head in her palms. "Come now, let me see what you've done. Johanna," she called over her shoulder, "take Rob outside. It'd be best if he was no longer in the kitchen."

Shock slashed through Rob. How could she value the lackwit over a normal lad? "Nay," he shouted in righteous indignation. "I'll not go! Master Walter, himself, said I was to be a scullery lad." At his words, Tom's wailing rose to an impossible pitch.

Helewise shifted in her squat to fix him with a furious stare. "For Mary's sake, can you not see the damage you do? Now, hold your tongue and do as I say."

Tears sprang to Rob's eyes. The damage he'd done? Resentment followed hurt. So, this was how she meant to punish him for his lie. No doubt she'd add the cost of the spilled food to what he already owed. If that was the way of things here, then it was better to be a beggar than to stay.

Rob turned and sprinted out the kitchen door, only to be nearly blinded by the brightness of the midday sun. Through his tears, he caught a glimpse of movement in the gap between the two tall buildings at the yard's far end. He hied himself toward those constantly changing colors and shadows. If that was a lane, there'd be someone on it who'd know the way to Stanrudde's exit. If not, there'd surely be somewhere to hide until he could decide how to escape.

"Wait!" Johanna cried after him. Her call only goaded Rob into reckless haste. He exploded through the gap.

And tumbled over a handcart.

Wood cracked as both he and the cart fell onto their sides. Onions bounced onto the lane around him. "Why you stupid little fool," the handcart's owner shouted. "I'll teach you to watch where you run."

The onion seller caught Rob by the arm and hauled him to his feet, drawing back his open hand to deal a sharp, correcting blow. The passersby, who'd congealed into a knot of folk around this unexpected show, all shouted their approval.

Rob almost sighed with relief. If the man beat him, he'd not call for the sheriff. Once it was deemed Rob had been punished enough, they'd be releasing him.

"Nay!" Johanna's piping voice rose from within the ranks of the onlookers. There was a flash of blue as she pushed her way through the crowd. When she reached its forefront, she planted her feet in the dusty lane and set her hands on her hips. Throwing back her head, she glared up at Rob's captor. "You'll let him go, churl."

Rob groaned in disbelief as every adult within hearing gasped at her insult. Speaking rudely to an adult was but a guarantee they'd give you worse than you deserved.

"Why you little vixen, I'll tan your hide for such disrespect!" Angry color bloomed in Rob's captor's broad cheeks.

Rob squeaked in an entirely new fear as he writhed helplessly against the man's hold. If Helewise held him responsible for what Tom had done, would Master Walter not hold him accountable for what this man meant to do to his daughter? Were that so, there'd be no corner of the world distant enough to escape the rich man's wrath. He had to save her.

The onion seller snatched her arm. Johanna lashed out with her foot, landing a bruising kick on his shin. Her victim yelped and released her.

"Helewise!" she screamed, trying to back into the crowd.

Roaring in rage and humiliation, the onion seller shifted his grip from Rob's arm to the back of his oversized tunic so he could lunge for her. Rob lifted his arms. Without a belt to hold him in his tunic, he slithered out of the garment. His captor fell sideways in surprise.

Twisting, kicking, and punching, Rob barreled through the crowd, dragging a shrieking Johanna behind him. They burst free and tore off down the lane. She snatched up her skirts and kept pace.

"Neighbors, neighbors," the onion seller cried after them at the top of his lungs, "stop those two children! The vandals have broken my cart."

All those who'd viewed the destruction of his cart took up his call. The hue and cry echoed against the tall walls of the houses lining the lane, bringing folk out of workshops and houses. Rob's heart lifted into his throat. He was done for. If they caught him within the city walls, he'd be arrested then returned to Master Walter's house, burdened by even more debt in the shape of fines for vandalism.

He rounded a corner and nearly smiled. Not a furlong ahead stood the city's gate, the massive wooden doors open between two half-built stone towers. Ahead of them, merchants and their lads dashed out of their shops, blocking Rob's path out of Stanrudde. All hope of freedom died. He slowed in defeat.

"This way," Johanna yelled, racing up from behind him to take the lead. "We'll go to my special place. No one will find you there."

She bolted onto an intersecting lane, then to an even narrower street. Here, the buildings fell away into a stretch of grass. A tall mound stood at its end. Atop the mound was a stone tower, flanked by a small wooden hall much like Blacklea's manor house. The whole was encircled by a wooden wall.

"You must go faster," she demanded, releasing him to run ahead once again.

If he'd had any breath left, he'd have told her he was trying to do just that. As it was his lungs felt as if they were tearing, his heart beating as if to burst. With her skirts held high over her knees, Johanna raced ahead of him around the mound.

"Stop, you!"

He shot a swift look behind him. The onion seller and another man burst out into the open area. From the tower's roof came a piercing whistle. Rob glanced up. Two armed men stood there. "They are going for the river," one of the guards called down.

It was only as he rounded the mound that Rob saw the river flowing through a gate in the city wall. On the far side sat a mill, the waterwheel turning with a steady clank and groan; on the near side were a line of what seemed to be large barns, each with a broad doorway set at water level. Willows grew between these odd dwellings and the river, their whip-thin branches trailing in the gentle current.