Spring's Fury (17 page)

Nicola carefully picked her way through the muck in the bailey, her mantle drawn over her head to protect her from the steady rain. Her steps were cautious for safety's sake, not because her feet hurt. It was her third morning home, but her first to be pain free. It was also her first morning to wear her new gowns.

What a joy it was to dress herself. The brown garments fit comfortably, needing nothing save a belt to hold them in place. The undergown had long sleeves loose enough to be rolled up to her elbows when necessary, while the overgown was sleeveless.

She entered the hall expecting to see Gilliam and Jos. They'd left the bedchamber over an hour ago, just before dawn. She stopped in surprise only a few feet into the hall. Not only was her husband and his squire gone, but so too was most of Ashby's soldiery. The dairymaids looked lonely sitting at a table by themselves. Thomas, whose right it was to take his meals at Lord Ashby's expense, was also missing.

Curiosity, tinged with the slightest bit of worry, woke in her. She should have roused herself to ask Gilliam why and where they went. Now, she cursed herself for not being more aware. As its mistress, she wished to know all of Ashby's comings and goings. Where was everyone?

Nicola held her mantle before her and snapped it in midair. Water droplets flew. Roia leapt out of nowhere, rising into the air, her jaws snapping shut with a sharp click. Nicola cried out in surprise and not a little fear. With Gilliam gone, who knew what the dog would do to her.

Instead of attacking, the big dog settled on her haunches and watched Ashby's lady. There was a pleading look in her eyes, and her tail thudded dully against the earthen floor. It was not hatred that drove the beast this morn. Nicola hesitated a moment, then snapped her mantle again. The dog leapt for the scattering bits of moisture.

"Why, you are playing a game," she breathed in surprise. The alaunt grinned at her, begging for another chance to chase the water.

She shrugged in apology. “It’s dry already. I was not outside long enough." Nicola moved carefully past the dog, stopping at the hearth to see what the cauldron suspended over it contained. Beans and barley simmered in a rich broth. Just as she seated herself at the table, she heard the party ride up to the hall door.

A piercing whistle called the stable lads. Leather groaned, harnesses rattled, and men shouted. Gilliam strode into the hall, his faithful shadow Jos at his heels.

Although Ashby's new lord had not donned his mail, he wore a steel sewn hauberk over his usual tunic and his sword was belted into place. He'd thrown back his cloak hood before entering the hall, moisture clung to his hair, making the fair strands gleam even more brightly.

Like Gilliam, Jos wore a leather vest over his tunic, but he was a sorry sight. His hands were tucked beneath his arms to warm them. The hair that had escaped his hood was plastered to his forehead, the tip of his nose red with cold. Roia came to walk beside them, her tail moving in greeting.

"Where did you go so early this morn?" she asked as they stopped at the fire to remove their sodden garments. Ashby's soldiery began to file into the hall, all of them as soggy as their master. The noise of their voices was reassuring after the previous, unnerving silence.

"We chased thieves." Jos stood shivering beside his lord, his fingers trembling so badly he could not loosen the tie on his hood.

"What thieves?" Nicola came to do it for him.

"The shepherd found a stranger who had his throat cut and everything of value missing from him," Gilliam said, as if this not-all-that-unusual event plagued him. "The man had been dead a few days. Also, two ewes were missing. Jos, lad, spread your wet cloak before the fire, then go to the table. It’s well past time to break our fast, as we'll need to be getting on with our day.”

When Nicola moved to stand beside Gilliam, he said, "You are moving right well this morn." There was a quick lift of his brows as he removed his cloak. He went to his big armor chest at the wall.

"God be praised for that much," she replied stiffly as she watched him lock his sword into the chest then lay his cloak atop it to dry. He was managing to keep all the weapons out of her reach. Not that she wanted them any longer. For Ashby's good she would tolerate him.

"We've had trouble with thieves in the past," she said. "Ashby's forest is thick, offering many a hiding spot. Did you ask the villagers if they knew the man?'

He returned to stand beside her. "Aye. Neither the reeve nor any of the hundred recognized him, and no one goes missing from the village."

Nicola watched him for another moment. "Why does this bother you so if no one knew the man?"

"What makes you think so?" he asked her, a faint air of surprise in his manner.

"Because you’re not smiling. You always smile."

He smiled. "God help me, you have learned my secret now. You’re right, the whole idea that this murder was done by thieves bothers me. The body had been dragged from the woods so it lay in the open. Most men of that ilk seek to concealment, not revelation. I shall have to ponder this a time." He fell silent, still looking at her. A moment later, he said, "I knew that color would not suit you." His voice was touched with disappointment.

Nicola shot him a sharp look as she turned to go to the table. "I do not care if the color suits me or not."

"I do."

The softness of his words made her nervous. She slid onto her bench. A moment later, Gilliam sat beside her. His thigh was pressed tightly to hers, and his nearness was overpowering. Mary, but she hated the way he made her feel small and helpless simply by being himself. No doubt he knew this about her, and used it as another form of intimidation. Since Nicola dared not push him off the bench, she moved, slipping onto the seat next to her.

"Coward," he whispered with a laugh.

Nicola lifted her chin. "You are too big to share a seat," she retorted in an equally hushed voice as she tried to keep their conversation private from Jos. "I'll not be able to move my arm to eat."

The cook's woman set before Nicola a thick slab of yesterday's bread, a goodly portion of its middle removed to create a bowl. Into this the woman ladled a helping of the pottage. Nicola picked up her spoon and set to filling her stomach.

"Might I have some of that as well?" Jocelyn asked, his tone almost shamed.

"Jos," Gilliam cried in astonishment. "You are asking for food. I'm proud of you, my boy."

"It’s not that I’m hungry, only that I am very cold and it looks warm," the boy said, crossing his arms before him, his jaw stiff.

Nicola looked at him in surprise. Again, she saw in the lad her own reflection, stubbornly refusing change because others asked it of her. Jos wasn't going to admit he was done with his fasting and his ideas of life in the Church. More importantly, the tilt of his head and his outthrust jaw said he did not wish to be teased about this decision.

Gilliam's mouth was already forming another comment, the lilt of his lips promising some barb. She lay her hand upon his and squeezed slightly. He shot her a startled glance, but managed to catch back whatever it was he meant to say.

"Eat it just this once, then. On the morrow, if you are not so cold, there's no need to do so again. 'Wyna, bring Jos a trencher and serve him some pottage to warm his stomach."

"Aye, my lady," the woman said.

Jos shot his lady a grateful look, then set eagerly to eating the stew.

"Well done," Gilliam breathed to her. "How did you know?"

"Some folk do not tolerate your humor well," she retorted in a whisper. "We are both tired of being your pincushions."

He only laughed and started on his own meal. Ashby's new lord took six boiled eggs, three small loaves of bread, and a quarter wheel of mild cheese. To wash it all down, he helped himself to a cup of sweetened barley water. He had begun again, with more eggs and bread, by the time Nicola had finished her own meal.

The cook's woman was passing behind her with an empty pot. "I swear, my lady, 'tis as if he carries a great hollow space within him and cannot fill it."

"That's God's own truth," Nicola said in English, then switched back to her native tongue. "Gilliam, I have decided the rest of us will starve this winter whilst we try to keep you fed."

Gilliam only smiled. "Have more faith in yourself, my lady wife. So what will you do now that you have your feet under you once more?"

Excitement made her smile, and she chewed on her thumbnail as she ordered her thoughts. More than any other time of the year, the harvest season showed the only difference between Nicola and the village women was the honorific "lady" placed before her name. Their chores were hers. Animals, culled from the herds and flocks to spare consumption of fodder over the winter months, would be slaughtered. The meat was salted, cured, or turned into sausages. Grapes would become wine, barley turned to ale, and apples to cider and vinegar, all in quantities enough to see Ashby's family of servants through the winter months.

"I think I will start in one corner of the home farm, and look at every byre and barn as I make my way across it. When I know what we have, I will better know what we need. If I have a few extra minutes, I will visit the village." Aye, she'd see to Alice.

"Come find me before you do," Gilliam said, brushing the crumbs from the table, collecting the bigger ones for Roia. "If I cannot come myself, I'll see to it you have an escort."

"An escort?" she said with a disbelieving laugh. "To walk Ashby's lanes?" Then, it struck her. He meant to keep her under guard. "My lord, may I speak with you in private?" It was an icy request.

"But, of course, my lady." There was a touch of confusion in his voice. "Where do you suggest?"

"The far corner, there"—she pointed to the room's back wall—"will suffice."

Nicola stalked into the dimness, her arms crossed before her. Gilliam followed more slowly.

"After all that prattle over parlaying and agreement, you still betray me." She kept her voice low, not willing to give him the opportunity to say she'd broken their pact. "You intend to keep me as a prisoner in my own home." The pain was so deep, she turned her back to him to hide how he had hurt her.

He put a hand on her shoulder, but she shook it off. "Do not touch me." It was no more than a whisper.

"If you do not wish me to touch you, turn around and face me."

She drew a ragged breath and considered refusing, then decided it was pointless. When she turned, she glared up at him. He watched her, his eyes filled with disappointment. "Think, Nicola. Why can I not allow you to leave the manor walls without an escort?"

"Because you believe I will try to run from Ashby," she snapped.

"Run? Where?" He lay a gentle hand on her arm. She did not bother trying to dislodge it. "I can see how your love for this place consumes you. I think you would never leave again, if that choice were given to you. Try again.  It wasn’t me who invited de Ocslade to take you."

Nicola gasped, then chided herself for her own stupidity. Hugh's greed for Ashby was what had drawn her to him in the first place. Then, she shook away her worry. "Nay, what hope has Hugh now? To all the world we are well and truly wed."

Gilliam drew his fine brows down in a touch of impatience, crossing his arms over his chest. "He cares naught for our vows, only that we have no heir—" He fell silent so quickly, his final word was nearly lost. Suddenly, his face lightened.

"I am understanding these thieves far better now. Here is how our neighbor intends to allay winter's boredom: he works to render you a young widow. Now, would I not be a fool to offer him the opportunity to steal you from me? If he took you, he would need only hold you close, certain I would come to fetch you back. Two birds, one stone."

"What have I done?" Nicola cried. Vicious and capable, Hugh would surely try to fetch what she had offered him; she knew him well enough to be certain of that. Her blind determination to hold Ashby as her own had opened the gate and let the wolf into the fold. By spurring Hugh's greed, she would be the cause of her home's hurt, once more.

"Do not mourn for me yet, wife," Gilliam chided with a laugh. "I have no intention of dying. I only seek to keep the damage you have done to a minimum."

"I have been such a fool," she muttered angrily to herself. So deep was her chagrin, she forgot he yet listened.

"Aye, but you are my fool, and I'll be damned before I let anyone take you from me." His laughter cut through her like a whip's slash.

"Stop laughing at me," she snarled, grabbing the front of his hauberk and giving it a yank. "Is it not enough that I hate myself for my shortsighted stupidity? Must you make it worse?'

She turned, meaning to flee both him and his horrible humor, but her intentions were more agile than her feet could follow. Her soft shoes slid on the rushes, and she stumbled. If he had not grabbed her, she would have fallen on her face.

Gilliam easily lifted her back onto her feet and brought her into his embrace, all before she'd caught her breath. She stiffened, trying to push away from him, but, as before, her attempt was useless. Once again, her head was forced into the curve of his throat.

"Hey now, I was not laughing at you." His voice was low and soothing "'Twas never my intent."

"Leave go," she groaned, trying to lever herself out of his grasp. "Leave me go. I cannot bear the way you maul me any time you wish." It was not Gilliam who angered her, it was herself. She was sick to death of this blind stubbornness of hers.

When Gilliam still did not free her, she relaxed against him in defeat and lay her head on his shoulder. "Please," she breathed, "please release me. I have just seen with crystal clarity what I have done, and I like it not at all. If I cannot find me something to occupy my hands just now, I fear I will sob until my eyes can no longer see. I promise, I will come find you before I leave the walls."

"You are too hard on yourself," he said softly, and brushed his lips across the top of her brow, then released her. Nicola hurried as fast as she dared out of the hall.

By day's end, Nicola had made herself too tired to worry over anything. As with the last nights, this one found her sewing. She dropped her square of linen in her lap and leaned back, stretching and rubbing at her stiff neck muscles.