Everlasting (22 page)

 
“I shall be initiating new standards to which those with any authority here must abide. The new principles are to benefit those who have no voice, and as for the timing of these initiatives, I mean to set them into motion this very day.”

 
“What vexing matters are those, my lady?”

 
She sensed sarcasm in his tone and clenched her jaw. She should have gone directly to the steward, for she knew Thurstan was no friend. She remembered how he had advised his uncle to change the terms of the betrothal contract. He certainly must resent that the contract had given her so much. In fact she began to wonder, by his barely subdued animosity, if he would receive much at all in his uncle’s will. But that was not her concern.

 
She swept a hand about to casually indicate the direction in which she desired to go. “I will be touring the area where the serfs’ huts are
located. Since you seem to know your uncle’s concerns, I’m giving you the opportunity to join me. If not, I can always go to the steward.”

 
His pale brows came together in a fleeting frown. “That will not be necessary. I can assist you as I did the squire.”

 
Without further comment, Abrielle lifted the hem of her black gown as she led the way across the secondary bridge traversing the stream, on the far side of which stood the serfs’ hovels, which had been built fairly close together in a wide circle, in the center of which large stones surrounded a glowing bed of coals whence a few meager flames flickered upward. As Abrielle halted beside the dwindling fire, Thurstan peered at her questioningly.

 
“Would you please call out the serfs who are here,” she asked. “I wish to speak with them directly.”

 
“My lady, if you would only tell me what this is about, I will have your wishes carried out.”

 
Abrielle inclined her head graciously. “Thank you, Thurstan, but my wish is to speak with the serfs directly and explain what I will be expecting from them henceforth as their new mistress. If in the future they should have any complaints, then they’ll suffer no uncertainty that I am the one who issued the directives.”

 
Without another word, Thurstan crossed to a large metal disk which hung from a sturdy wood frame on the far side of the fire. Dangling beside it was a hide-covered metal disk attached to a heavy wooden handle, with which he applied three strokes to the gong. Returning to Abrielle’s side, he clasped his hands behind his back and stood tall and rigidly aloof. As they waited, she could not help but notice that Raven had followed them from the grave site, and now stood silently near the trees, as if he’d appointed himself her bodyguard. She frowned at him, but could do nothing more, because the serfs came scurrying out of their dwellings, causing Abrielle to groan inwardly at the sight of them. She had never seen so many frail-looking human beings with thin, gaunt faces and lusterless eyes peer
ing back at her from the half circle that they had hurriedly formed on the far side of the fire. A sudden breeze made her aware of the inadequacy of their paltry garments, for she saw many huddling together as if seeking to escape its sharp talons. She could only believe that many of them would die ere winter was full upon them, for they would not likely have the stamina to withstand the maladies and diseases the season seemed to spawn. In spite of the fact that Weldon had cared for them with as much compassion as a loving father, it was obvious that Desmond hadn’t cared how many lived or died as long as there were enough to see to his personal needs.

 
“I am Lady Abrielle, your new mistress,” she stated as she began to stroll in a wide circle around the fire. As she came closer to the serfs, she was surprised that Thurstan did not stay near her, but only waited, as if he didn’t care what happened to her desperate people.

 
As a whole, the serfs seemed utterly frightened of what lay in store for them. Nevertheless she progressed within the perimeter they had formed and, with a warm smile lighting her eyes, was wont to reach out a hand and, in a compassionate manner, lay it upon an elder’s arm, smooth a child’s tousled curls, or squeeze a young mother’s hand as she paused beside them. There were precious few who didn’t evidence an abject dread of Thurstan and were hesitant about peering upward even when she halted before them. Though she slipped a hand beneath the chins of several and compelled them to meet her gaze directly, it was always toward the steward they first glanced, in so doing displaying a kind of frenetic fear of the man.

 
Upon facing them again, Abrielle found many of them readily lending her their attention. “As you may be aware, I visited the keep fairly often while Lord de Marlé was alive. Yesterday, I exchanged wedding vows with his lordship’s brother, Desmond de Marlé. Early this morning, he was found dead. Henceforth, as the new mistress of this keep, I shall be setting forth some favorable changes, which you will likely welcome. You will be expected to learn skills to help support this keep
and provide for new structures that will soon be built to house you.” She knew Thurstan was openly scowling, but she ignored him. “New skills will also be taught to enlist your services in other tasks that may well prove lucrative, such as the carding of wool shorn from sheep on these lands as well as in the use of spinning wheels and the making of furniture. You’ll start off by making your own clothing and tanning leather for your shoes and other items. Until you become proficient at such crafts, sufficient clothing will be provided to keep you warm and in good health through the approaching winter.”

 
A thin, barefoot toddler garbed in loose sacking waddled toward her on wobbly limbs, evoking a smile from her as she threaded her slender fingers through his matted hair. His mother rushed forward, anxiously pleading for her forgiveness and then, with a quick curtsy, whisked the babe up into her arms.

 
And suddenly Abrielle imagined herself as the poor girl, with no way to feed her child. She turned to Thurstan, so incensed that she could barely keep her voice from shaking with anger. “From what I am seeing here in this place, ’tis apparent these serfs have not been given adequate provisions since Lord Weldon’s death. That may well have been Squire Desmond’s mode of doing things, but he is now dead and buried. Thus, commencing this very day, whatever it takes to feed, clothe, and warmly house these serfs, it will be done or I shall know the reason why. Do you understand what I’m telling you, Thurstan? You and I will speak to the steward together so that he understands my intentions. I or someone I trust shall be inspecting this area on a regular basis. I will be expecting to see evidence of much progress being made.”

 
She suspected he was much in collusion with his uncle in causing the condition of these poor people, and she was appalled. She could not look upon him for another moment, so after giving a warm smile to the people she now considered her responsibility, she strode toward the bridge—and found Raven Seabern blocking her path.

 
Her response to his closeness was as unwanted as it was lightning quick. She felt a hot pull of attraction deep inside that could not lead to any good, for now, knowing the truth of Desmond’s death, he was more dangerous to her than ever.

 
She sidestepped him with a nod and kept walking, not the least bit surprised when he turned gracefully and fell into step beside her.

 
“Lady de Marlé, might I have a moment of your time?”

 
His use of her wedded name made Abrielle flinch.

 
“Of course,” she replied, then lowered her tone to a whisper to add, “Speak quickly, for it would not look well should we be seen together as we approach the castle.”

 
“And why not?” he asked, his expression quizzical.

 
“You know why,” she retorted.

 
“I know your husband is gone. And that I am hardly the first man ta speak with ye this day. I’d have been blind not ta see the many tokens of affection ye’ve already received from men who want your consideration.”

 
“Is that your purpose in waylaying me, sir? Do you seek to present me with your own token of affection?”

 
“I believe I already have,” he countered. “But if m’lady desires, I am more than willing to…”

 
Even if he hadn’t moved dangerously closer, she would have understood the “token” he had in mind and her cheeks heated. She stopped walking and faced him. “The lady most definitely does not desire anything of the sort.”

 
“Really?” He tilted his head and regarded her intently. “Because I’ve some small experience in the matter and it did seem to me that—”

 
“Enough,” she interrupted, and glanced around cautiously. “What exactly is your goal, sir?” she demanded, unable to banish her fears of discovery. “You have no reason to be here now and I believe it would be best for all that you leave. You are no longer in danger, and no longer is Desmond trying to prove himself the winner over you.”

 
“Then ye knew why he invited us.”

 
Abrielle shrugged and resumed walking. “’Twas not something I was told, but what I surmised.”

 
“Then surely ye must also be clever enough ta deduce why it is that I canna leave. Why I willna.” His voice had gone low and deep, almost hoarse. “Since the first moment I saw ye, I’ve yearned to have ye as my very own.”

 
She gasped, feeling hot and cold all at the same time, and looked about her in fear. They were at the bridge now and she leaned over the rail as if fascinated by the stream below. She wished she could stare him in the eyes, but knew she would be unable to control her heated emotions. How could he just lie to her so blithely, when the truth was that he had not even tried to court her when she was penniless?

 
“How dare you, sir!” she cried softly, feeling the pain of knowing that he had deemed her unworthy until now, when she was wealthy beyond most others. Raven Seabern was no different from any man lured by money. Her disappointment should not shock her, but somehow it did, and deeply. Again, she felt the pangs of a woman who did not know if any man could love her just for herself. “You did not vie for my hand before I was betrothed.” The full force of the emotions roiling within her now burst out, and she was full of pain and anger. “You are no different, sir, from any other man who ever claimed to want me, including Desmond de Marlé. Just stay away from me.”

 
Raven watched her go in silence, his warrior instincts stirred by the depth of his passion for her, his desire to possess her now stronger than ever. The battle to win Abrielle might well turn out to be the fiercest of his life, but win her he would, no matter the cost.

CHAPTER 10

 
During the midday meal, the mood in the hall was far more subdued and cordial after the burial of their late host, especially since the squire’s rather questionable cohorts had promptly taken their leave after the funeral, swigging down ale as they went.

 
Although many of the hunters had left prior to the wedding, those who had stayed over for the banquet and the nuptials had brought along their wives or other family members. Now that the squire was no longer there to vent his outrage, in particular upon the pair of Scotsmen and, to a lesser degree, upon the Saxons whom he loathed, the guests as a whole proved to be in far better spirits and lingered with members of their families to converse with the new mistress and her relatives. The Scotsmen still found themselves regarded suspiciously by the various lords and landowners in attendance, but all seemed to be following a truce of peace for the new widow. Upon making their departure, many of the guests extended their sympathies to the erstwhile bride and were wont to assure her surreptitiously that she would likely find a finer gentleman to marry in the months or years to come, one with whom she’d have more in common.

 
Cordelia approached Abrielle as the latter left the trestle table where she had been sitting with her parents. “I’m afraid Papa’s not feeling very well,” she explained. “The food here has been difficult for him to tolerate. I suppose once we’re at home, it will be curds and whey for him or something just as tasteless until he’s feeling better. In any case, he is wanting to return home and retire to his own bedchamber, where he can lie abed during his misery.”

 
“Thank you for remaining as long as you have,” Abrielle replied, squeezing her friend’s fingers. “I couldn’t have borne these last few days if you hadn’t been here to listen to my complaints and allowed me to express my frustration so freely. You’ve always proven to be a dear, dear friend, especially when I’m in dire distress.”