Margaret Moore - [Maiden & Her Knight 03] (12 page)

I
sabelle hurried after Osburn, as equally determined to get away from those two men as she was to get out of the rain.

Opposite the small postern gate through which they entered was a wider one, with two heavy oaken doors studded with iron. Inside the yard, the buildings seemed as hastily and haphazardly repaired as the walls, all save one. Obviously of newer construction, it was not stone, but half-timbered. Another smaller building, made of stone, was attached to it at the east end. Judging by the smoke coming out of the louvered hatch in the roof, she guessed it was the kitchen. The west end of the new building abutted a tower that seemed in relatively good repair.

In addition to the new building, which she thought must be a sort of hall, there was a long, low structure that had a stinking pile of straw and manure outside it. These must be the stables. Across from that was a storehouse or armory and what appeared to be the remains of a chapel, for there was a cross carved over the door. Of all the buildings, it was in the worst condition—not surprising, considering the sort of men who lived here.

Her gaze swept over the men on the wall walk, counting them. There were fifteen, including the two at the gate.

They all looked to be wearing the same sort of mismatched hodgepodge of garments of cloth and leather, and a few sported breastplates. It was as if they wore whatever they could find or steal, which was probably the case.

Trust Oswald to have hired Brabancons, and probably the worst of those he could find! And she should have guessed he would flee to the west, far from London and the king’s court.

As for those two at the gate, what a pair of horrible reprobates they were! The one named Heinrich especially looked like something from a nightmare. She had been glad when DeFrouchette had drawn closer to her, and she’d actually taken comfort from his presence. She was grateful for DeFrouchette’s tunic, too. She didn’t want to think about what Heinrich might have said—or done—had she been clad only in her shift.

As Osburn drew near the new building, the door opened and a young woman with a shawl thrown over her head came rushing out. Clad in a simple gown of gold-colored wool that hugged her slender form, a plain leather girdle about her waist, she was very young and very pretty, with thick dark hair and bright brown eyes. Most surprising of all, for it seemed so incongruous in this place, her smile of welcome was glorious.

Isabelle halted as Osburn did, and so did Denis and DeFrouchette behind her.

“Osburn!” the girl cried as she threw herself into his arms and kissed him.

Her actions explained her place here, for that was no sisterly kiss. She was either Osburn’s wife or his mistress.

Osburn put his hands on the young woman’s upper arms and pushed her back. “Can’t you see it’s raining, Kiera?” he demanded, moving forward. “I hope you’ve got a good fire going.”

“I ’ave, and I ’ad the serving women start preparing food as soon as I saw your ship,” she quickly replied, pathetically eager and apparently not disturbed by his less than enthusiastic reception. Her manner of speaking belied a humble origin, telling Isabelle that she was probably not his wife.

The object of the girl’s affection didn’t reply as he continued on the way. Kiera hesitated a moment as she looked at Isabelle and the others, then hurried after him.

Isabelle, too, glanced at DeFrouchette, curious as to what he made of Kiera and her presence there.

What she saw shocked her, for on his stern visage was an expression of distaste amounting almost to revulsion.

Why? She was pretty, so it couldn’t be because of her appearance. Because she was Osburn’s mistress? He was hardly a model of virtue, to look at Kiera thus. Because she obviously liked Osburn? In truth, Isabelle found that somewhat disgusting herself—but then, she had not been born a peasant.

If she had, Isabelle thought as they continued toward the half-timbered building, and a lord’s son who was not unattractive came along and offered her a finer life than she could ever know, might she not be tempted, too? Might she not even overlook his drunkenness and other faults?

Perhaps, and she would remember that if that were so, Kiera’s first loyalty would be to the man she believed had saved her from a life of poverty and want.

They entered what was indeed a rudimentary hall. There was a large open area, with a central hearth that contained a fire. The smoke made its way upward and out through the thatched roof. The only other ventilation was the door, so the smoke lingered.

Bundles and bags beside benches along the wall told Isabelle that the Brabancons bedded down here. She suspected the area behind a screen at the far end of the room was where Osburn and Kiera slept. A few chairs, large and ornately carved, were near the hearth. She also noted that in addition to the entrance, two other doors opened out of this building, one to the east, to the kitchen, and the other to the west, which must lead into the tower.

Several hounds, as ugly as the Brabancons and probably just as fierce, looked up from the bones they were gnawing. One or two rose on their haunches and growled, the saliva dripping from their massive jaws, until one of the serving women setting up the trestle tables in preparation for a meal gave a command that silenced them.

Isabelle had never seen more slatternly, unsavory-looking serving women. Their garments bespoke some quality when they were first new, but they had not been well taken care of and were laced in such a manner that they exposed far more than they should. The ages of the women were difficult to discern, except that none of them were as young as Kiera. Also unlike Kiera, their hair was untidy and their brazen stares more than impertinent. They looked like the sort of women who would be more at home in a brothel than serving in a castle.

When Isabelle saw Heinrich boldly caress one as he passed her by and heard the woman laugh and mutter something in response, she realized she was probably right, and their duties here no doubt extended to more than serving food and cleaning.

She wondered if DeFrouchette had ever availed himself of their services, then dismissed that thought as unimportant.

Osburn tossed off his sodden cloak. Kiera grabbed it before it hit the rush-covered flagstones and hung it on a hook near the entrance. He threw himself into one of the chairs.

“Kiera,” he barked as the young woman waited anxiously, “have one of these women bring wine. Then take my bedraggled lady to her chamber, where she may change into dry garments. She must not catch her death from a chill, and what she is wearing is hardly flattering.”

“I do not dress to please you,” Isabelle said, trying not to shiver or let her teeth chatter although the rain had soaked her to the skin.

“This way, if you please, my lady,” Kiera said, both eager and deferential as she indicated the western door that led into the tower.

Since she wanted to get dry and into something that was not DeFrouchette’s tunic, Isabelle followed Kiera as she led the way out of the hall.

Raising the blanket that formed her skirt so that she wouldn’t fall, Isabelle climbed the worn, curved steps lit by flickering torches. When they were nearly at the top, they reached a door of thick timber which, like the hall, looked relatively new.

It also looked very strong.

Kiera opened the door and waited with a servant’s deference for Isabelle to precede her inside the chamber. “Osburn forgot to introduce me,” she said as Isabelle passed her. “My name is Kiera.”

“And I am—” Isabelle caught herself before she said her real name. “I am Lady Allis.”

Then she silently surveyed the chamber, an unexpectedly well-furnished room, with a large bed of oak covered in fine linens dyed in an earthy green, a delicately carved chair, and a dark wooden chest embossed in brass. A metal candle stand was near the bed, containing ten white candles. The loopholes were shuttered with canvas to keep out the night air.

The narrow loopholes, apertures suitable for archers, were not, regrettably, nearly big enough for her to climb out of, and she wondered what was in the chest.

“I know this chamber is not as fine as what you’re used to,” Kiera said, seemingly as anxious for Isabelle’s approval as she was for Osburn’s. She hurried to the chest beside the bed and threw open the lid. “These are my gowns. We’re nearly the same size, and Osburn told me before he went to get you that you’re to take whatever you need. I’m also to serve as your maid, if you like, and this whole room is to be yours.”

Isabelle walked toward her. “Did he not tell you that he was
abducting
me?”

Kiera’s face reddened and, holding the lid up, she looked at the contents as if searching for something. “Yes, he did, and I am sorry about that.” She glanced at Isabelle, then away, but not before Isabelle saw the anxiety in her brown eyes. “But it is his father’s plan, not Osburn’s. He’s not a bad man.”

Isabelle did not share her opinion. And while it was clear Kiera realized that what her lover had done was wrong, it would probably not be wise to criticize Osburn to her.

Kiera reached into the chest, set aside a brown garment on the top, then lifted out a gown of deep green wool with some simple embroidery in the shape of blue flowers around the rounded neckline. “This is my best gown. I hope it’s not too rough and poor for you.”

“I’m sure it will do.”

“There is no need to be frightened,” Kiera continued as she laid the gown on the bed. “Osburn says you’re not to be harmed. Besides, you’ve got that man, that knight, to look out for you.”

“DeFrouchette?”

“Is that his name?”

“Have you never seen him before?”

“No, he has never come here, nor his friend, neither.”

“DeFrouchette is not a knight.”

“Oh.” Kiera smiled apologetically as she turned back to the chest. “He certainly looks like one.”

“Compared to the men in this place and the Norsemen in the ship that brought me here, I suppose he does.”

“He’s very handsome, too,” she said. “And those shoulders!”

Perhaps Kiera would not be completely loyal to Osburn after all, and if she preferred DeFrouchette to Osburn, she showed slightly better judgment. DeFrouchette did not imbibe overmuch, for one thing, or at least she hadn’t seen him.

Kiera turned and held out a white garment. “Here’s a shift, too. I suppose you’re used to silk?”

This situation was getting stranger and stranger. They were not two young ladies at court. She was here against her will, brought here by this woman’s paramour in a hateful scheme of revenge. “Whatever you have is good enough, as long as it is dry.”

Isabelle unwrapped the blanket around her waist. She pulled off DeFrouchette’s tunic and her mud-stained shift and put them on the bed, then quickly dressed in the dry clothing.

“I’ll tie the laces, my lady,” Kiera said. She came behind her and began to tie the laces of the woolen gown with brisk efficiency, which told Isabelle she must have been a ladies’ maidservant before she ran afoul of Osburn.

“There are some slippers, too, if you like,” she offered.

Isabelle sat on the bed and pulled off her soiled shoes. The sole was tearing away from the top of one, and the other had a hole in the toe. Considering all that she had been through, it was something of a miracle she still had them at all.

Kiera studied her. “I used to dress my mistress’s hair. Would you like me to do yours?”

Why not? “Please.”

Kiera produced a wide-toothed ivory comb from the chest and proceeded to work the knots out of Isabelle’s hair. It was a painful and arduous process, and Isabelle decided to use this time and opportunity to learn more about where she was. “What is the name of this castle?”

“Osburn just calls it ‘the Welsh ruin.’”

“Who owns the land?”

“I don’t know. Osburn doesn’t … he doesn’t talk very much with me.”

No doubt he had other things than talk on his mind when he was with Kiera, Isabelle thought. “Are you not curious, though?”

“No. As long as I am with Osburn, I’m happy.”

Isabelle subdued a sigh. Kiera sounded moonstruck—or lovestruck—and was clearly not a font of knowledge.

“Will you have braids, my lady?”

“That would be fine.”

“One or two? Or more? I could coil them about your head, if you like.”

Again, Isabelle felt that odd disconnection between the reality of her situation and Kiera’s cheerful chatter. “One braid will do.”

“I’m sorry I have no scarf to cover your head.”

“I never—” Once more, Isabelle caught herself. Maidens did not cover their hair, but married women did. “I never expected that you would.”

When she was finished, Kiera went to the door, holding it open for her. “Come, my lady. Osburn will be waiting for us.”

Isabelle wanted to remain where she was, away from the leering stares of the Brabancons and the disconcerting presence of DeFrouchette. She must always remember that he was not her protector, no matter what he said or did.

She must only think of him as a slightly tamer beast, and always be on her guard around him.

A few moments later, Isabelle entered the hall, Kiera behind her. Osburn, DeFrouchette and Heinrich sat at a table by the hearth. Other Brabancons were also seated at trestle tables. DeFrouchette’s friend was between two Brabancons, looking as uncomfortable as she felt.