Susan Spencer Paul (18 page)

Her wide, shocked eyes took in the girl beneath him, so that Hugh, much more slowly, turned to look at the girl, as well. She was as barely awake as he, but enough to realize what was going on. Seeing Rosaleen, she grinned, revealing several missing teeth.

“Hope that’s not yer wife, m’lord,” the girl said, and Hugh suddenly realized, with slow-witted distaste, that he was still cupping one of her tiny breasts.

Moving so slowly that even he wondered why he couldn’t do better, Hugh peeled his hand off her rough body and looked back at Rosaleen. Her mouth was covered with a trembling hand, and her eyes were filled with tears. The sight of her misery cleared Hugh’s brain as nothing else could have done.

“Rosaleen,” he said again, his voice thick, “this is all right.” And he wondered, as he heard the words, what he meant by them. What he’d wanted to say hadn’t come out the way it was supposed to.

He opened his mouth to speak again, to tell her that what he’d meant was that this wasn’t what it looked like, but before he could utter one syllable, Rosaleen turned and fled the room.

She couldn’t seem to control the sobs; they were so harsh they hurt. She couldn’t stop the tears that burned her face, she couldn’t even make her feet move, so she stood against the chamber door she had slammed only moments before and wept.

Bastard! she thought furiously, hitting her thighs with angry fists. He was a rotten, wretched bastard and she hated him!
Hated
him!

How could he have done it to her? And with that…that creature…that filthy whore! He’d even called the mangy girl his beloved. His love. Never once, in all the times she had lain with him, had Hugh spoken such words…not even carelessly. What further proof did she need that she meant nothing to him, nothing save as his servant…as his convenient whore! Hadn’t he admitted as much just now? “This is all right,” he’d said. Going to bed with her was all right, and going to bed with another woman was all right, and playing a game of “jousting” with a whole roomful of women was all right! Everything was all right to a man like Hugh Caldwell, and she had been more than a fool to let herself fall in love with him.

Breathing furiously, wiping her hot, wet face with the palms of her shaking hands, Rosaleen sternly told herself a few truths.

First, she was the heiress and future countess of Siere, the daughter of the third Earl of Siere and the descendant of a noble family. In her blood ran the legacy of a hundred great, courageous and famed ancestors. No one, not Hugh Caldwell, not Simon of Denning, not her Uncle Anselm, would make her bow her head in defeat.

Secondly, she was the lady of this household until the end of this month, and she would be damned to hell and back again if she would let a man like Hugh Caldwell shame her so openly in front of the people of Briarstone, or make her cower in her chamber like some wounded rabbit, afraid to face him or them
or
that filthy little slut he’d dragged home. She was going to go downstairs and hold her head high and behave like the lady she was.

Last, the most important truth of all, she was going to put this valuable lesson Hugh Caldwell had given her to good use.

Never again would she trust a man with her heart.

Never.

“J
ehanne! Katherine! Ada!
Margaret!
Stop this at once!”

As Rosaleen descended the stairs into the great hall, her ladies turned to their mistress, their faces filled with fury.

“What is this commotion?” Rosaleen demanded, moving to where her ladies were holding four filthy, struggling females. “Alice, you will explain.”

“Hugh Caldwell and his friends brought these dirty sluts back wiv’ ‘em from Stenwick,” Alice said with clear disgust, pushing at one of the ill-smelling, raggedly dressed creatures and tossing a hateful glare in the direction of Peter Brenten and Stewart of Byrne, who were sitting together at a nearby trestle table, looking as though they wished they were dead. “They say Hugh Caldwell told ‘em they could live at Briarstone, but we’ll not have it, m’lady. We’ll not!”

Hearing these words, one of the whores from Stenwick began to screech at Alice, and all seven of the women of Briarstone fell upon the four intruders with renewed fury.

“I said cease!” Rosaleen shouted sharply, and her ladies, with difficulty, let their victims go. “Such behavior is not worthy of the women of Briarstone. Christian Rowsenly!” she demanded. “Come to me!”

He was beside her at once, a thoughtful frown twisting his lips.

“What do these women do here, Christian?”

“What Alice said is the truth, my lady,” he answered, perusing the sluttish females with a shake of his head. They were horrible things, these women. Why would any man want to put himself inside one? He preferred either Katherine or Jehanne, both of whom had been keeping themselves, of late, delightfully clean. “Hugh Caldwell and his guests brought these women home with them just after the dawn and promised them a living at Briarstone. That is what these men have explained.” He nodded in the direction of Peter Brenten and Stewart of Byrne, who were groaning sickly.

In disbelief, Rosaleen shook her head, then drew in a steadying breath and approached the women from Stenwick.

They stared at her with clear defiance, and one of them, the girl who’d been in Hugh Caldwell’s bed that morn, actually laughed at her.

“I understand that you have been offered a livelihood at Briarstone.” Rosaleen spoke to them with stiff address. “I am the lady of this household, Lady Rosaleen, and if you would stay here you will answer to me. No one who lives here does so without earning his or her keep, and if you remain you will abide by the rules observed by the rest of those in the household. You will be obedient to Briarstone’s master, Hugh Caldwell, and to me. You will observe a regular bathing schedule, you will be given proper clothing and will dress—” her eyes wandered with distaste over their bawdy attire “—as is fitting. You will assume a fair share of the work. If you are willing to meet these terms, you may stay at Briarstone and be certain of your meals and of a roof over your heads and of an even
tual share in the profit of the lands. If you are not willing, you may return to Stenwick at once. What say you?”

Three of the girls gazed at Rosaleen with awe and not a little confusion. The fourth, the one who had been in Hugh Caldwell’s bed, laughed again and placed her hands on her hips. Swaying, she moved to stand in front of Rosaleen and bared what few teeth she still possessed in a sneer.

“You’re one to be telling us what to do,” she stated insolently, eyeing Rosaleen up and down with contempt, “whatever it is you are, anyway. Long as I’m the one what’s keeping the master warm in his bed, you answer to me, not the other way ‘round.”

Rosaleen struck the girl so fast and so hard that even she hadn’t realized what she’d done until she saw the girl lying in a stunned heap at her feet.

Her voice, when she spoke, was sure and firm.

“I am the lady of Briarstone, and I will not tolerate such as that from anyone. Christian—” she spoke without taking her eyes from the shaking girl “—you will take these whores back to Stenwick and return them to the place from whence they came. You will do it now.”

“Yes, my…”

“You will do no such thing, Chris.”

Two warm hands closed over Rosaleen’s arms, squeezing lightly, and Rosaleen felt Hugh’s body press familiarly against her back.

“I am the master of Briarstone,” he said calmly, his voice close to Rosaleen’s ear, “and I have given these women my promise that they shall have a place here in trade for their labor. They shall stay. All of them. Erda,” he said addressing the girl on the floor, “rise and beg your mistress’s forgiveness and then we will all of us break our fast.”

As she quit her tears, the girl’s expression changed from abject fear to glad certainty and, rising, she offered Rosaleen a graceless smirk, then shifted her gaze to Hugh Caldwell, at whom she smiled intimately.

“Forgive me, m’lady,” she said, suppressing laughter and grinning now at Hugh.

His fingers tightened on Rosaleen’s arms, and she felt his body stiffen, but her feelings were so frozen that none of that mattered. Gasps from the assembled of Briarstone rang in her ears like crashing cymbals. Those gasps, those humbling, dishonoring gasps, struck her proud soul with shattering impact.

Jerking free of Hugh’s grip, she faced the preening girl with all her pride.

“There is no need for you to beg my pardon,” she said. “Come, I will show you the place the master of Briarstone has given you, Mistress Erda.”

Reaching forward, she grasped the girl’s bony arm with steeled fingers and drew her, amid the gaping of those present and in spite of Hugh Caldwell’s foul swearing, toward the front of the great hall. The girl stumbled along behind her and struggled to loose herself, but Rosaleen, with cold fury, dragged her all the way to the long table, to the place of honor set aside for the lady of the household. To the place where only Rosaleen had ever sat.

Shoving the frightened girl into the ornate chair that had always been hers, she declared, “There, Mistress Erda, is the place your master has given you this morn. You must sit beside him, where his lady should be, where he has chosen you to be. Look now to all who stand before you.” Rosaleen waved a hand toward those in the hall. “They are yours now to guide and care for, as you wish and as you will.” Reaching up, Rosaleen tore the linen covering from her head, exposing the wheat gold of her hair. She threw
the mantle of gentility onto the rushes and put her foot and heel upon it in a gesture of renunciation. “May you and your lord have the joy of your new duties.”

With that, she turned on her heel, heading for the portal at the back of the keep. She held her chin high and her eyes forward, ignoring the dismay of those she passed. To one side, where she had left them, she could hear some of her ladies crying, like children frightened by the unknown.

She had only passed the partitions shielding the kitchen area before Hugh caught up to her, his long fingers closing painfully over one of her arms and forcing her around to look at him.

“By the Fiend’s foot!” he swore vehemently. “What was that about? Have you lost your mind?”

She wrenched her arm free. “Don’t touch me! Don’t you
ever
touch me again!”

Hugh was momentarily stunned, but in spite of the pounding headache plaguing him, he regained his wits quickly and reached for her again. “Be quiet!” he demanded. “Everyone in the hall listens to us. Come here, Rosaleen. We’re going back in there and you are going to—”

“I’ll do nothing with you!” Pulling away once more, and with a glare of pure hate, she turned and made her way to the hole in the back wall.

Hugh watched, amazed, as Rosaleen hopped over the low repairs and stalked toward the nearest field, her strides long and purposeful. And he kept watching until the golden wheat of her hair became lost in the golden wheat of the field, the slight bobbing of her head the only mark of where she was.

“Women,” he muttered thickly, shaking his throbbing head and regretting the action when it made him feel sick.
“God save me from every one of them. If there’s a man on God’s earth who understands the foolish creatures, I wish he’d explain them to me.”

With a yawn and a scratch of his chest, Hugh returned to the main hall. If Rosaleen wished to make an idiot of herself, so be it: he was going to fill his belly and drink enough ale to make his head stop spinning. Later, when she had calmed, and when his brain had ceased to feel as if it were going to splinter into a thousand pieces, they would speak and settle the matter of her foolish behavior.

It wasn’t until he’d taken his seat at the long table that Hugh realized how quiet the hall was, and when he lifted his eyes he saw with surprise that all his people were staring at him. Peter and Stewart had already moved to their places of honor beside him, so that he asked them, “What troubles them? Why have they not taken their places?” With slow movement, his dry, reddened eyes passed over the unoccupied tables. The food and drink were set out, yet the benches remained empty.

“Hugh,” Peter murmured, sounding as sick as Hugh felt, “you…you humiliated Lady Rosaleen in front of all your people.”

Hugh was honestly taken aback. “I? Humiliate Rosaleen? I’d never do such a thing. You drank too much last night and don’t know what you say.”

“And we humiliated her, as well,” Stewart added miserably. “We brought those whores into Lady Rosaleen’s household without any thought for her feelings. God’s mercy, to have treated a lady thus. It’s…it’s the behavior of one ignoble.”

Ignoble. That word penetrated Hugh’s blurry haze like the crack of a whip. “Well, I’m not noble,” he stated harshly, “so you’ll place no guilt at my door. Neither of you had a care for Rosaleen’s gentle birth yester eve. Why
should you worry for her tender sensibilities this morn? By the rood, she’s not the Queen of England. A little humbling will do that haughty female some good, if you ask me.”

With that, he turned his attention to filling his cup with ale, since none of those who served the table had yet come to perform that task for him. When he lifted the pewter goblet to drink, however, he was stopped by the silent perusal of the hundred pairs of eyes upon him. Their stares were condemning, and some of the ladies, including the newest arrivals, were still crying.

Helen, who was not crying, was the first to leave. Pinning Hugh with a defiant glare, she lifted her chin, grasped her two oldest children by their hands and marched out of the hall. One by one the other ladies followed, and then the men, all silently, until only Hugh, his friends, Christian and the newly arrived whores were left. Silence, but for the crying and sniffling of the females reigned for several long moments.

“Well, by my troth,” Hugh muttered.

“We’re sorry, Hugh,” Peter moaned beneath the hands his head was buried in. “We’ll be on our way after we’ve eaten.”

Hugh shook his head. “It’s of no matter, Pete, lad…Stewart. Never blame yourselves. Rosaleen is my woman and these are my people. They’re my responsibilities.”

“Hugh,” Christian said, speaking so much more clearly than the other men at the table that all three of them looked at him with simple wonder, “perhaps I should take Mistress Erda to the kitchen with the rest of the females. The sooner they are bathed and have properly dressed themselves, the better.”

It took Hugh a moment to make sense of what the boy was saying, and then he realized, for the first time, that the girl Erda was still occupying Rosaleen’s chair. A deep frown formed on his lips, and he spoke roughly. “Erda, get up from there. What do you mean by sitting in your lady’s place? Get up and go with Chris and don’t dare to make so much of yourself again. You’ve made more trouble this day than most women do in a lifetime, and the sun’s not yet crossed its half mark. If you go on in such a manner you’ll be back in the whorehouse at Stenwick before you can count to ten.
If,”
he added caustically, “you can count to ten in the first place.”

At this, Erda’s tears of fright turned into wrenching sobs. With a disapproving look at his master, Christian touched the weeping girl’s hand and indicated that she should follow him. Ignoring them, Hugh set his forehead gingerly against the palm of one hand.

“God’s teeth, my head hurts,” he said wearily.

His head didn’t stop hurting until much later in the day, after Peter Brenten and Stewart of Byrne had taken their sickly leave of him, and after Hugh himself had returned to his chamber to sleep away the rest of the morning. Then, when he had woken and filled his belly with the food someone had kindly left there for him, he began to feel himself again.

He called for a bath, and while he belatedly bathed and shaved, he thought over the events of the previous eve and of that morn, though most of his memories proved dim, at best. As soon as he was dressed, he went in search of Rosaleen.

It was not long past the time for the midday meal. The people of Briarstone had already eaten and the men had returned to work in the fields, a fact that weighed heavily on Hugh’s mind, for he knew he should be out working
with them. Rosaleen, however, had not yet returned, he discovered when he questioned Jehanne, whom he found kneading bread in the kitchen. She answered his questions courteously, though stiffly, until Hugh finally gave up any attempt at being friendly and went to gaze out the open wall in search of Rosaleen. The masons and carpenters working there bid him a solemn greeting, and Hugh graced them with a halfhearted smile. It was clear that his people were as angry with him as Rosaleen was, yet Hugh couldn’t concern himself with them until he’d made everything right with her.

When he saw no sign of her after a few minutes’ searching, he began to worry, as well as to wonder about the soundness of his mind in letting her wander off alone without one of the men for protection. The very thought caused a clutch of that same unfamiliar fear he’d known when she’d run from Gyer to wrap around his heart, so that he felt he could hardly breathe.

“Jehanne, leave what you’re doing and go fetch Chris. He’s out in the northern fields. Tell him to come at once and ready Saint for me and a steed for himself. I’ll be above stairs readying myself…”

In the distance, through the fields, he saw a slight bobbing among the stalks. Frozen, breathless, he watched as the movement drew closer, and then he said, “Go on as you were, Jehanne.”