Spring's Fury (19 page)

Once at the room's far end he swung her around him, shoved her up against the wall, pinning her to it by her shoulders. His eyes were alive with rage, his mouth narrowed and hard. "I commanded everyone to stay in the hall," he said, the words barely managing to exit past his gritted teeth. "You disobeyed me. I told you to leave the man. You disobeyed me, again. You went behind Witasse, you idiot."

"I could not leave Alfred to be killed," she said, struggling against his hold on her. "I knew I was quick enough to escape your brute's kick. Now, let me get back to that poor man."

"Why you are not dead is beyond me!" If one could scream in a whisper, he had just done it. "I should kill you for this."

Nicola relaxed against the wall to stare up at him in scornful confusion. His reaction made no sense. "You would kill me for not dying?"

Gilliam drew a deep and shuddering breath then leaned his brow against hers. "By God and all his saints," he whispered. "I have never been so frightened in all my life as when I saw Witasse kick at you. I was sure you were dead. Do not ever, ever do that to me again." With that Gilliam released her and strode swiftly away.

Nicola stared after him in amazement. Now, what was eating him?

"Jos," Gilliam called to his squire, who hung a shy distance away from the injured man as if he wanted a better look, but dared to come no nearer.

"Aye, my lord?" The boy had his ball tucked beneath his arm.

"Come, let us find a dry spot and see how far you can toss that ball of yours." There was no sign of his previous emotion in his voice. Nicola shook her head in bemusement over her husband's odd behavior, then returned to tend poor Alfred.

It’s you who wants to sleep in this unheated chamber, so I say it must be you who breaks the ice on the water. I'll do it no more," Nicola said sleepily. It was the end of her second week home, and in only two weeks she'd come to be right sick of this awful room.

"Living at Graistan has made you soft," Gilliam said, by way of a "good morrow."

"If being locked in a storeroom for months on end can make one soft, then soft I am," she retorted.

The day's chores called to her, but it felt so good to lie here surrounded by warmth and comfort. She reached out to crack the curtains. Dawn's rosy glow had begun to fill the room.

"We'll see the sun this day," she said, letting the curtain fall closed and pulling her arm back beneath the blankets.

"Thank God. I am tired of riding in the rain. More to the point, I am tired of riding between here and Eilington." He turned his back to her and yanked the covers up over his shoulder.

Nicola stared at what she could see of him above the blankets. He lay with his back to her, his hair tousled from sleep. The fair strands were longer than most men wore and lay in fine curls along his strong neck.

"I heard you went yesterday." She hadn't seen him since yestermorn when they broke their fast together. From that time on her day had been occupied by processing apples. Some had been sliced for drying, others would become cider and vinegar, stored in casks. The task had been finished by torchlight, long after Gilliam and Jos had retired. Nicola looked at her hands. The fruit had left a dark stain on her skin, a sign of work well done. "What sent you there?"

"One of the farthest-flung houses had its wall broken. Everything of the slightest value was taken, the rest laid waste."

He told this to the wall, his voice holding a tone of frustration. This was the third incidents since the stranger's murder. A field had been trampled at the beginning of this week, and another ewe had gone missing.

"Oh," was all she said, understanding his distress. She knew all too well how hard it was to sit idly by while others suffered. It must be harder still when one possessed the size and strength Gilliam did. "Thieves, again."

The linens rustled as he turned to lie on his back beside her. "De Ocslade," he said.

She stared at the perfection of his profile. "You are wrong. As I said, we've had this sort of problem before. What happens now is no different." He had to be wrong else she could not bear it.

"Well, one way or the other, I am tired of riding between here and Eilington. I think I will set our men into a patrol."

Nicola stared up at the cloth ceiling above her. "My father tried that in times past. The thieves waited until they knew when the soldiers came and attacked in between."

"That's easy enough to cure. Our patrol must not be regular. We'll do it by coin toss. If we see our beloved monarch, we go to Eilington, if we see the cross, we stay home." He tried to stretch, but the bed was too short for him. His hands hit the wall behind him and his knees stayed bent. "I am getting up. Go you first, so I do not have to crawl over you."

"Crawl over me," she said. "I am not yet ready to rise."

"I will break the ice for you," he offered with a laugh.

"My thanks," Nicola grumbled as she arched her back to ease the kinks, then sat up, clutching the bed-clothes to her against the frigid air. She pushed back the curtains and reached blindly along the post for their clothing. Tossing them into her lap, she found her undergown and tugged it on before separating what was hers from his. She turned, putting her legs over the bed's edge, lifting and pulling until the warm gown reached her ankles.

He eased across the mattress to sit beside her. They both looked at the sleeping boy and dog. "What would he do without her to keep him warm, or she without him?" Gilliam mused.

Jos had taken Roia beneath his blankets with him, the two of them sharing the bolster. The dog acknowledged her master's rising by opening her eyes and twitching her ears then retreated into sleep.

"Far less scratching. She has fleas," Nicola said, thrusting Gilliam's chausses at him. "Dogs should stay in a kennel. They are dirty creatures."

"She is not a dirty creature. Roia is very well behaved; she never uses the hall as a latrine."

Neither of their voices contained any rancor. This discussion had become part of their morning routine. She tied his cross garters, and they argued over Roia. Gilliam eased off the bed to don his chausses. Dawn's light fell across him, revealing the scar on his abdomen.

"What caused that scar of yours? It looks like it must have been horrible." Nicola untangled her over-gown from his shirt.

"It was."

While waiting for him to expound, she tugged on her final gown, then tied her mantle around her shoulders. The cold air once again at bay, Nicola took up her stockings and shoes, and once more looked at Gilliam. He had tied the drawstring to his chausses and was reaching for his boots, leaving his shirt and tunic for last as he always did. The cold never seemed to affect him.

"Well?" she asked after another moment.

"Well, what?" he asked blankly.

"How did you get that scar? Do not pretend you misunderstand me, for I know very well you do not." If the last two weeks had taught her anything about the man to whom she was married, it was that he was not in the slightest dim-witted. It was only his placid manner that suggested that of him. Nicola eyed her feet as she pulled on her stockings. There was only a trace of a mark left on one, all else had healed. "Come now, tell," she insisted, donning her shoes.

He had one boot on, the other yet in hand. “It’s embarrassing." He actually flushed.

Nicola smiled at his discomfort. "What? You embarrassed? Now, that's a hard thing to picture. Put on your other boot, and I will come tie your cross garters. You can tell me the tale while I do it." He shoved his foot into the boot, and Nicola knelt before him, leather bindings in hand.

"Why are you so curious about it?"

"I am not curious," she scoffed. " I am amazed. The thing has the look of a death wound. I would know what caused it."

"If you must, then," he said reluctantly. "I was but ten and six and yet residing with my foster father. He had five of us squired to him, and we were a daring bunch, each always trying to outdo the other in acts of what we thought was bravery. One day, we were hunting boar and"—he paused to lift a shoulder just a little—"I said I could ride it before we killed it."

Nicola sat flat on the ground and stared up at him in shock and disbelief. "You didn't."

"Aye, I did. Ride it, that is. Not for long, mind you. He nigh on took my insides out in repayment." Gilliam smiled a sheepish smile. "I told you 'twas embarrassing, a boy's stupid trick. Enough of that." When he offered her his hand to aid her in rising, she let him draw her to her feet.

"I cannot believe you were such a fool," she whispered, still unable to comprehend his story. "Ride a boar? And, here I'd come to think you more clever than that."

"Do not make me sorry I told you," he warned, then added when she again shook her head in disbelief. "Taunt me over it, and I will get my revenge."

"Do you think me afeared of you, big man? Hah! I think I shall cherish this bit of knowledge forever, oh great boar hunter." She smiled in smug satisfaction.

"Now you've gone too far," he growled, and jerked her into his embrace. Before she could resist, he had tossed her onto the bed, then dropped atop her. "I will squash you like a bug."

"Nay!" she squealed, trapped beneath his weight. "Cease you, or you will damage me. Get off, you great oaf," she managed, "or I'll box your ears."

Laughing, she braced her hands against his chest, pushing and shoving to make him rise. His skin was warm and smooth, his heartbeat strong beneath her fingers. The heat of him flowed through her palms. Suddenly, her fingers were alive with the feel of him. As if by their own will, her hands crept up his chest to his shoulders, then his neck. His hair was soft against her fingers. An incredible and new warmth awoke inside her, so strong it made her sigh.

Her hips were pressed to his. Even through the layers of their clothing, she was aware of his desire. For her; he wanted her. Impossible. No man wanted her.

Deep within Nicola, something shuddered and shivered. She gasped against it, her gaze flying to his face. Gilliam's eyes were closed. He bowed his head to press his lips against the place where her neck met her shoulders then moved his mouth up the column of her neck to her ear. Where his lips touched, her skin tingled, sending impossible sensations careening down her spine.

"Nay," Nicola whispered even as she turned her head to offer him more to touch. He was weaving that spell again. Oh, but what he was doing to her felt wondrous. Her insides were alive in a way she'd never known before. His hand slipped up from her waist, his fingers splaying around the small curve of her breast

"What are you doing?" she breathed in hoarse protest when her breast responded to his touch. She should be fighting him, not lying here like a spider's victim, bound tight in a web of sensation.

"Driving myself mad with wanting you," he whispered in her ear, then rolled onto his back to stare at the cloth ceiling above them. His eyes closed after a moment, and he drew a long unsteady breath. "You said me nay. Hurry Nicola, else I'll reach for you again. I cannot promise I will listen to your
nays
if you stay."

With a sharp cry of dismay, Nicola threw herself off the bed. What was wrong with her? Roia leapt to her feet with a deep bark, and Jos cried out in startled awakening. She snatched all the bits of her attire, then threw open the door to race blindly down the stairs.

Nicola stopped at the cellar's tall wall, yet trembling in reaction. Jesus God, what had happened to her need to keep her body as her own? Closing her eyes, she realized that now even her body would betray her. Aye, a goodly portion of her was still eager to know more of him, begging her to let him touch her once again.

She leaned her forehead against the cold stones and fought to find her anger.  What sort of daughter panted after the man who had ended her father's life? The harsh chastisement had no effect. Her body still pulsed and throbbed in a most disturbing way.

Never before had any man looked at her the way men looked at Tilda. Those who came to sue for her hand had only wanted Ashby.  But Gilliam already had Ashby. Not only that, he was a man who could have any woman he desired. Yet he said he was driving himself mad for want of her. Her!

Pride scolded her for this foolish thought. This could only be another of his terrible games. No man wanted the ugly giantess of Ashby. The anger she sought returned.  As she used it to destroy this ridiculous weakness she was developing over him, she cinched her belt tight around her waist. Let this morn's event stand as a lesson to never again try to repay his taunts with one of her own. Nicola found her comb in her purse before tying on her head cloth. She would have to be constantly on her guard if she was to keep herself from becoming vulnerable to him.

Striding swiftly to the hall, she let the morn's deep chill drive away what remained of the heat he awoke in her. At the door, she called, " 'Wyna, bring me a bit of bread and cheese and come with me. We have sausages to make. Bring a cloth as well, for I need to do my washing in the kitchen shed." She did not wait, instead retreated to the kitchen and began rebuilding her defenses.

“Alice," Nicola said, "your time is too close. The babe already sits right atop the doorway. See

how low you carry him?" She touched the top of Alice's great bulge, which had lowered substantially in the last days. "If the babe has not come before tomorrow midday, you should stay at home."

Ashby's manor and its lord hosted an ale, a dinner for the villagers, three times a year. In spring it was to celebrate planting, and there was one to mark midsummer, but what with this year's tangle of events, the summer feast had been forgotten. The final ale was usually held on Martinmas in honor of the plowmen.  It, too, had been disregarded because Ashby could not provide the meal just then, but Nicola did not wish to miss the celebration altogether. Thus, she had reset the date for December's first day.

"My lady, every other soul in the village will be in your hall tomorrow," the commoner protested, brushing the remains of the bread and stew they'd shared onto the floor for the chickens. "What if this wee child of mine decides to come after the meal has started? I would have to trundle to the hall by myself, shouting for you to come." Alice laughed gently at that image and handed her lady the rinsed cups.

Nicola stepped around the fire and set them on the hearth wall's shelf. As tall as she was, she had to duck beneath the hams and slabs of bacon hanging from the cross beam. "The music and dancing may serve you ill.”

"I am hardly going to dance," Alice said with another laugh, then paused and caught her lady by the arm. "Now, why is it you worry so over me? It’s not birthing that has given me difficulty, only keeping the babes until that time. Why, when Edwin was born, it took me but a few hours to produce him. I remember Agnes remarking on how easy his coming was." In her first pregnancy, the one that secured her marriage, Alice had brought forth a boy-child. The lad had died of illness the year after his birth.

Nicola gave a small shrug. She yet clung to the delivery of Alice's child as the event that would release her from the burden of Ashby's destruction. " It’s but a little foolishness on my part.  When I left Ashby, my home was naught but a ruin. I returned to find it half rebuilt and you at long last successful in carrying a child past the first months."

"Aye, Margery said that you called it an omen," the woman said with a smile. "That's a heavy responsibility for one so simple as me to bear. Still, I will do my best to give you your sign." Alice settled onto the stool before her own hearth, knees spread wide to accommodate her heavy belly. She reached for a partially woven basket and set it upon her knee, her swollen fingers already finding the familiar rhythm of plaiting. "The babe and I will be fine. Until the morrow, my lady."

"Until the morrow, then," Nicola offered with a smile, but her worry refused to be eased. Birthing could be dangerous and she more than Alice needed this child's arrival to go well.

As Gilliam had again been called to Eilington—the carpenter's daughter had gone missing—it was Walter who guarded her this day. She signaled to the soldier that they were ready to leave. The man, his plain face caught in lines of boredom, preceded her out of the cottage for safety's sake. She followed, shutting the panel behind her.

This day found the world trapped beneath a deep and silent blanket of clouds. The air stung her nose, promising sleet or possibly an early snow. Nicola had traded her coarse wimple for a scarf of thick wool to protect her from the day's deep chill.

"So, you drew the short straw this day, eh, Walter?" Nicola hid her laugh at his startled look. It was a source of great amusement to her to know she was the bane of these soldiers. They complained to Gilliam that she worked them too hard and made them participate in menial chores.

"Pardon, my lady. You shouldn’t know about that," he said in embarrassment.

"You can ease the sting by talking to me of these thieves as we walk to the reeve's house," she offered. "Tell me why my husband is so convinced it’s our neighbor who does these deeds." She crossed her arms tightly beneath her mantle, starting down the lane toward the outskirts of the village and her last stop of the day.

"I think me it’s the care with which these events happen. Thieves count on their speed and their ability to elude their pursuers, not taking time to obliterate their tracks as these do."

Nicola made a face, accepting the logic of his words against her desire to do otherwise. "Still, it might be thieves, just a different sort."

"Aye, it might be," Walter agreed. "That’s just the issue. There’s never a sign left that says it is or is not Lord Ocslade who does these things "

They stopped before the wooden door in the long house. The low of oxen came from the ell at the building's far end, the warmth these animals provided almost as valuable as the beasts themselves.

 It had taken all her strength to work up the nerve to make this call. Nicola had not been able to face the reeve since that first attack, but Thomas's absence from the table this day coupled with the day’s cold weather told her that his hips must be aching so badly he could not walk. She reached into her pack to touch the wax-sealed jar of rub and found herself praying the stuff could do more than ease physical pain. If Thomas did blame her for the village's latest troubles, perhaps the balm could soothe his anger. She lifted her arm, hesitated, than rapped sharply on the panel.

Rather than their serving girl Thomas's daughter-by-marriage opened the door. "My lady, what a surprise." Johanna was a fresh-faced lass with bright eyes, and no more than a year Nicola's senior. She'd done well in her marriage to Young Thom, turning a middling farmer's daughter into a leading village wife. So too, had she benefited from Agnes's death, becoming the mistress of the house years before she might otherwise have held that position. Her son, delivered just before their wedding two years ago, clung to his mother's skirts.

"Is Old Thomas in?" Nicola asked shyly.

"Aye, he's been laid low by this cold. Come in, my lady, come in."

Nicola shook as much mud from her shoes as she could before stepping inside. Several chickens darted within doors as she entered. "My thanks, Johanna. Can my man here sit by your fire whilst I visit?"

"Of course, my lady." To Walter, Johanna said, "Take a seat by the fire. Would you care for a cup of ale and a bite of bread?"

"Aye, I would. Thank you, goodwife," Walter replied with a smile for the pretty girl. He shut the door softly behind him and the room retreated into deep shadows, save where the fire's light reached. The air inside was heavy with the smell of animals and smoke, flavored with the scent of curing meats and of beans stewing in the large iron pot hanging over the fire.

Johanna set her son on a stool then took a lamp bowl from a shelf at the back wall. With a burning twig from the fire, she lit the wick. Grabbing up a stool from a corner she started toward the back of the room. Nicola followed, looking around her with interest.

Thomas had rebuilt his house without much change from its original design. As with every other cottage, the hearth wall was filled with shelves. Some of these held cups and spoons, others bore small pots and knifes. Precious iron-bladed tools hung on pegs, wooden handles shining with a recent oiling. Bags of grains, nuts, and dried fruit were stacked alongside barrels of cider and ale. Johanna had left her spindle and distaff leaning against one such stack when she answered Nicola's knock. The housewife was turning hemp nettle into thread.

A new loft now reached out from the back wall, held up by thick posts, the only access a ladder. Since Old Thomas could never have climbed the rungs, Nicola assumed the upper floor was where Johanna slept with her Thomas.

"Father," the girl called out, "our lady has come to visit with you." Johanna set the stool down just beneath the loft's edge. Her lamp went onto the room's only chest. The meager light illuminated a thick pallet covered deep in blankets.

Thomas gave a startled grunt, as if awakening. The straw in his pallet rustled as he moved. "Has she now?" His tone was surprised.

With a groan and much shifting, the burly man brought himself into a sitting position. The lamp's light revealed little more than the curve of his cheeks and the redness in his beard before it threw flickering shadows onto his thick, bare chest. Johanna handed him his tunic from a hook on one post. As Thomas shrugged into his garment, Nicola sat upon the stool and Johanna retreated to the fire. The silence between the noblewoman and the reeve lengthened into discomfort.

"My lady, 'tis good of you to come visit an old man." It was a formal and polite statement, not at all his usual manner with her.

"My lady, is it now, Thomas?" Nicola chided softly. "What happened to Colette?"

A slow smile spread across the man's mouth, his remaining teeth gleaming in the low light. "Then you've forgiven me for trespassing into your life, have you? I had no right to scold you that day. I thought you were avoiding me for hatred's sake."

"Oh Thomas," her cry was low, but full of pain, "I've been avoiding you because of my shame, not your words. My lord thinks it’s de Ocslade behind these incidents of thievery we’ve suffered. If that’s true, I will have betrayed you and Ashby twice. It’s bad enough I caused Agnes's death, now this. How can you ever forgive me?"

"Ah lass, have you been tormenting yourself, then?” The man rubbed a weary hand over his face. "Let’s begin at the beginning, with my Aggie's death. If I had listened to my wise wife that June morn, we'd have stayed home and dined at our own fire. She warned me you meant to snap the gates shut to try your skill, but I would not heed her. Nay, I was stubbornly set on preserving my own status, and a reeve always eats in his lord's hall. Now tell me, who holds his wife's death in his hands?” He tried for a light tone, but there was sadness in his voice.

Nicola looked up in surprise. "You blame yourself?"

"Blame? Nay, but I hold myself accountable to God for my foolish pride. I do my penance and pray for forgiveness. Where's the point in blaming when Agnes remains just as dead no matter who did what? As for Lord Ocslade, how long has that nobleman been after Ashby, Colette?"

Nicola straightened on her stool. "Since my brother's death when I became heiress." Even at twelve, she had been taller than Ashby's neighbor.

"If he’s been set on owning Ashby for years, how then does it become your fault now? If it is he who does these things, then I think it more likely he seeks to discover what sort of man lurks beneath the youthful exterior of our new lord. Were Lord Ashby easily intimidated, Lord Ocslade would have gobbled us up already."

"Would that this was true," Nicola said, hearing but not certain if she believed.

"Who can say? I do not much care to waste my time on trying to fathom the thought processes of noblemen. Taken as a whole, I find they make no sense." His eyes gleamed from their deep sockets as he smiled, then dimmed. "I can only hope that little whore of mine is not helping Lord Ocsalde to hurt us."

He reached out to lay his rough palm against Nicola's cheek. "Where you can only hurt me, Colette, my Tilda's betrayal could kill me."

"Nay," Nicola said instantly. "She would never betray her home."

She paused. Why not? Tilda had meant to betray her to Hugh.

"This is where her heart is," Nicola said with more confidence than she felt. "When Tilda has had enough of de Ocslade, she’ll come home." Oddly, she found herself wishing Tilda would never return. How could they ever mend what they had destroyed between them?

"Would that she does not." If Thomas's words were hard, his tone was broken.

"You would turn your back on your own daughter? Thomas, you cannot." Her cry was as much a plea for herself as for Tilda.

"Colette, I cannot look at my daughter without spewing harsh and hateful words. She is my shame. Although she has dowry aplenty there's not a decent lad within the village who would have her. Those she's wounded want her naught, and those she's not yet touched will not go where others have been."

He freed a scornful laugh. "Save Muriel's son. The boy's a good enough farmer even at sixteen, but it would gall me to pay merchet to wed my daughter where there was no dower."

"Nor would Tilda like living with Mad Muriel in that hovel," Nicola murmured. The woman was the poorest in the village, her young son barely keeping life and limb together from their garden and few strips of land, coupled with what he earned when he hired out. "Mayhap, this would be Tilda’s penance for using so many men," she added softly.

"Mayhap." Thomas's wide mouth lifted into a bitter smile. "You do your penance, too, do you not?"

"Aye, prayer after tedious prayer," Nicola said with a small smile. "Just when I think I've come to the end, Father Reynard finds me another sin to bow over."

"Nay, I meant by this marriage of yours. It must gall you right smartly to be wed to the man who took down your walls and ravaged your hall."

"Do you know I've been so busy doing a whole season's worth of work in one month, I haven't had time to even think about that?" Nicola leaned back on the stool, her hands laced over her knees. "Aye, with days that stretch from dawn to well past the midnight hour, I am too exhausted to care who shares my bed at night." Save that Gilliam was wondrously warm and never failed to use his hands to ease her stiff and aching back.

"Is that so?" The low light found Thomas's deeply set eyes and made them glimmer oddly. His strange tone made Nicola nervous. She opened her pack to find the jar.

"Thomas, I came not only to speak with you, but to bring you a rub. When I did not see you in the hall this day, I guessed the cold had made your pain worse."

"Ah, you are a saint, Colette," the man said with a broad grin. "These hips are so bad that I could not join the folk gathering osiers and reeds for you this day."

"Augh!" Nicola exclaimed, heels of her hands pressed against her forehead. "More things to be sorted, and me with no place to put them nor time to shift things. I had to store bags of shelled nuts atop a shed roof, covered with a greased cloth to protect them from the damp, for lack of another spot? I need that barn!"