The Taming (14 page)

She was on her feet also. “And you have done a fine job of it until now, haven't you?” she said angrily. “Is starving them your idea of justice? Is letting the roofs of their houses fall on their heads what you think they need? If two men come to you with a dispute, what do you do, hang both of them? Justice! You have no idea what the word means. You only know how to punish.”

As Liana looked at the rage on his face, she was sure he was going to add her to the long list of people he'd killed. In the heat of that rage, she almost backed away from him, but some great force of willpower made her stay where she was.

Suddenly, his eyes changed. “And what would you do to a man who stole another man's cow? Have them bathe together? Perhaps have them clean their fingernails twice a day as their punishment?”

“Why, no, I'd—” Liana began, then realized he was
teasing
her. Her eyes twinkled. “I'd have them live with your foul temper for a day. That and the stench of you after weeks without washing should be enough.”

“Oh?” he said softly, and stepped toward her. “You do not seem to mind my stench.”

He pulled her to him with one arm, and Liana melted against him. No, she did not seem to mind his stench or his temper or his glares or his disappearances. He kissed her gently at first, then deeper and deeper, until he had to fully support her weight against his strong body.

He pulled his mouth from hers, still holding her. “And what do you want of me as your slave? Shall we spend all day in bed? Shall you stand over me wearing just my helmet and make demands of me?”

Liana opened her eyes. What an interesting idea, she thought, and almost said yes to his suggestion. But she controlled her lust. “I want you to wear peasants' clothes and attend a fair with me.”

Rogan blinked a few times, then released her so abruptly she fell back against the window seat. “Not in my lifetime,” he said, anger in his face again. “You ask me to go to my death. You
are
a spy. The Howards—”

“
Damn
the Howards!” Liana yelled. “I care nothing for them. I merely want you to spend a day with me. Alone. With no guard watching us, with no brother taunting you for daring to spend an hour with your wife. I want a whole day with you—
with
my clothes on. It cannot happen here, they would not leave you alone. So I ask you to stop, for one whole day, being Lord Rogan and share with me an ordinary day at a peasants' festival.” She slowed down, put her hands on his forearms. “Please,” she said. “They are such simple people, and their pleasures are so simple. It will be a day of dancing, of drinking, of eating. I believe they plan to put on a play. Can you not spare one day for me?”

Rogan's face did not betray how much her words appealed to him. A day spent in merriment…“I cannot go unarmed among the peasants,” he said. “They—”

“Wouldn't recognize you. Half the men of the village are the offspring of your father—or you.” She said the last with some disgust.

Rogan was shocked at the insolence of her words. He should have locked her away moments after he married her. “And you think they will not recognize you, either?”

“I will wear a patch over one eye. I do not know how I will disguise myself. The peasants will never believe their lord and mistress to be among them. One day, Rogan, please?” She leaned toward him and he could smell lavender from her clothes.

He heard himself say, “Yes,” and didn't believe his own voice.

Liana flung her arms about his neck and kissed all the skin she could reach. She couldn't see the look of shock on Rogan's face that slowly softened. For just a moment, a quick, brief moment, he hugged her in return, not a sexual caressing, but just a little squeeze of pleasure.

He released her immediately. “I must go,” he murmured, stepping away from her. “And you stay here and don't interfere in my court judgments.”

She tried to look hurt, but she was too happy to succeed. “Of course I wouldn't. I'm a good and dutiful wife and I obey my husband in all things. I am merely trying to make your life more pleasant.”

Rogan wasn't sure if she was making sport of him or not. He really did need to stop her insolence. “I must go,” he repeated, then when she held her hand out to him and he found himself hesitating, he almost ran from the room. He'd go with her to the fair, he thought as he ran down the stairs, and afterward he'd send her to Bevan to stay. And he'd have his Days returned. Yes, he'd do that. This wife was getting entirely out of hand and interfering in his life.

But even as he was thinking of sending her away, he was also thinking of taking his helmet to their bedchamber that night.

L
iana looked at her husband's sleeping profile in the early morning light and smiled. She shouldn't be smiling at him, but she was. Last night she'd waited in bed for him for hours, but he hadn't come to her. At last, with her jaw set, a torch in her hand, she went downstairs to look for him.

She didn't have to go far. He was in the Lord's Chamber just below, alone with Severn, the two of them drunk almost to the point of oblivion.

Severn lifted his head from the table and looked at Liana. “We used to get drunk,” he said, his words thick and slurred. “My brother and I used to be together all the time, but now he has a wife.”

“And you
still
get drunk together,” she said pointedly. “Here,” she said to her husband. “Put your arm about my shoulders and let's go upstairs.”

“Wives change things,” Severn mumbled from behind her.

Liana had all she could do to help Rogan up the stairs. “Your brother needs a wife,” she said to Rogan. “Perhaps he'll leave us alone if he has his own wife.”

“She has to have lots of money,” Rogan said as he leaned heavily on her and concentrated on the steep, narrow spiral stairs. “Lots of money and lots of hair.”

Liana smiled at his words as she pushed open the bedroom door. Rogan staggered to the bed and was asleep instantly. So much for a night of lovemaking, Liana thought, then snuggled against his dirty body. He was right. She didn't seem to mind his stench at all.

Now in the early morning, smiling down at him, she felt exhilarated and happy because today was the day he was to spend with her. For one whole day he was hers.

“My lady?” Joice's voice came through the door.

“Yes,” Liana called, and Joice entered, careful the door didn't squeak.

Joice took one look at the sleeping Rogan and frowned. “You aren't ready? The others will be up soon and they will see you.” Her voice was full of disapproval of her mistress's plan.

“Rogan,” Liana said, leaning over her husband, whispering softly in his ear. “Rogan, my love, you must wake up. Today is the fair.”

He put his hand up and touched her cheek. “Ah, Thursday,” he murmured. “You get on top today.”

“Thursday!” Liana gasped, then punched him in the ribs. “Wake up, you drunken dung heap! I'm your
wife,
not one of your women.”

Rogan put his hand over his ear, then turned, blinking, to look at her. “What are you yelling about? Is something wrong?”

“You just called me by another woman's name.” When he looked blank, having no idea why that should bother her, she sighed. “You have to get up. Today's the fair.”

“What fair?”

“Men!” Liana said through her teeth. “The fair you promised to take me to. The wager, remember? I have peasants' clothes for us and we're to leave the castle the moment the gates are open. My maid is going to lock herself in this room all day, and I have put it about that what I want from you is a day in bed. No one will know we're gone.”

Rogan sat up. “You have taken a lot on yourself,” he said, frowning. “My men should know where I am at all times.”

“If they do, they will hover about you and all the peasants will know who you are. Are you going back on your word?”

Rogan thought that women who talked of honor and keeping one's vows should be put in the same category with flying pigs. They shouldn't exist, and if they did, they were a damned nuisance since they wouldn't stay in their pens.

Liana leaned toward him, her beautiful hair spilling over his arms. “A day in pleasure,” she said softly, “nothing but eating, drinking, dancing. No men to worry over. Nothing at all to worry about.” She smiled as she had an inspiration. “And you might be able to hear whether the peasants know anything about the Howards' doings.”

Rogan considered that. “Where are the clothes?”

Once he'd made up his mind, Liana was able to get him to move quickly. When they were dressed, she was sure no one would recognize them—as long as Rogan remembered to drop his shoulders and keep his head slightly bowed. Peasants didn't walk the way the lord of the manor did.

They left the bedroom and got to the gate just as Rogan's men were lifting the portcullis. No one looked at them. Once across the drawbridge, over the empty moat, Rogan stopped. “Where are the horses?'

“Peasants don't ride horses. They walk.”

Rogan balked. Just stood there unmoving.

Her first thought was to remind him that he used to walk with Jeanne Howard, but she restrained herself. “Come on,” she coaxed. “We'll miss the play if we don't hurry. Or maybe I can purchase that old donkey over there. For a few coins I imagine he'll—”

“There's no need to spend money. I can walk as well as the next man.”

They walked the four miles to the village together, and around them swarmed many people, strangers arriving to sell goods, travelers, relatives from other villages. As they neared the village, Liana could feel Rogan begin to relax. His eyes were still wary, for he was a soldier and he watched the people suspiciously, but when they all seemed to be laughing and looking forward to the day, some of his suspicion left him.

“Look there,” Liana called, pointing at the pennants flying from the tops of the tents set up by the visiting merchants. “What shall we have for breakfast?”

“We should have eaten before we left,” Rogan said solemnly.

Liana grimaced and hoped he wasn't going to starve them all day in order to save a few pennies. The fair had been set up on a barren field outside the walls of the village.

“This field will never grow grain again,” Rogan grumbled. “Not after all these feet have trampled it.”

Liana gritted her teeth and wondered if taking Rogan to the fair had been such a good idea after all. If he spent all day looking at what the peasants did wrong, he'd have a lot to punish them for later.

“The play!” Liana said, pointing toward a big wooden stage that had been set up at one end of the field. “Some of the players have come from London, and the whole village has been working on it for the last week. Come on or we won't get a seat.” She took Rogan's hand and began pulling him forward, leading him to a place on one of the benches in the middle of the audience. Near her was a woman with a basket of rotten vegetables that she could sling at the performers if she didn't like what they did.

Liana nudged Rogan to look at the vegetables. “We should have brought some too.”

“A waste of food,” Rogan growled, and Liana wondered again if this had been such a good idea.

There was a patched and dirty curtain across the stage and now a man dressed in harlequin clothes, one leg red, one black, opposite arm red, the other black, with a black and red tunic, came out to announce that the name of the play was
The Taming of Lord Buzzard.

For some reason, this announcement made the people around them howl with laughter.

“I guess it's a comedy,” Liana said, then added, looking at Rogan's dour face, “I
hope
it's a comedy.”

The curtain was pulled aside to reveal a bleak scene: Bare trees in pots stood at the back, and in the foreground was an ugly old man squatting down over a heap of straw that was dyed red to look like a fire. He held a stick out that had three rats on it.

“Come on, daughter, dinner is almost ready,” the man called.

From behind the curtain to the right came a woman—or what looked to be a woman. She turned toward the audience and she was actually a very ugly man. The audience howled. In her arms was a fat straw doll, and when she bent to put the “baby” down then stood, the audience saw that she had an enormous bosom, so enormous its weight tipped her forward. She looked at the rats. “They look delicious, Father,” she said in a high voice as she squatted down across from him.

Liana smiled up at Rogan and saw that he was barely watching the play. He was looking at the people around them as if he were trying to find enemies.

From the left side of the stage came another actor, a tall man, his shoulders thrown back, his head held high. On his head was a red wool wig and on his nose was a paper beak like a hawk's.

“What is going on here?” the tall actor demanded. “I am Lord Buzzard and you are eating my livestock.”

“But, my lord,” the father whined, “they are only rats.”

“But they are
my
rats,” Lord Buzzard said arrogantly.

Liana began to feel a little nervous. This play couldn't possibly be a parody of Rogan, could it?

On the stage, Lord Buzzard grabbed the old man by the scruff of the neck and pushed him face down into the straw fire.

“No, my lord,” cried the ugly daughter as she stood up, her tattered cloak falling away from her vast bosom.

“Ah-ha!” Lord Buzzard said, leering. “Come here, my beauty.”

The reference to the woman-dressed man as a beauty made the audience laugh.

The daughter took a step backward as Lord Buzzard came toward her. He kicked the straw baby with his foot, sending it flying across the stage.

It was then that Lord Buzzard opened his long cloak. Affixed around his waist, strapped to his legs, was an enormous set of genitals. It was padded straw, eighteen inches long, eight inches around, and below it hung two big round gourds.

Liana's heart dropped to her feet. “Let's go,” she said to Rogan, said really loudly, because the audience was screaming with laughter.

Rogan's eyes were now fixed on the stage. He clamped a hand down on Liana's shoulder and held her in place. She had no choice but to watch.

Onstage, Lord Buzzard, with his coat held open, went across the stage after the ugly woman until they were out of sight. Instantly, one of Rogan's red-haired sons came onto the stage and took a bow. He was obviously the product of Lord Buzzard's union with the woman.

From stage left came an old woman carrying a dark bundle, which she put in the middle of the stage, not far from where the father still lay in the straw fire.

“Now, daughter, we will at last be warm,” she said, and from the right came another very ugly man dressed as a woman. Only this man stuck out behind instead of in front. He had padded buttocks that could have been used as a shelf and an absolutely flat chest.

While the audience was watching this, another of Rogan's red-haired sons ran across the stage, sending the audience into new gales.

Liana didn't dare look at Rogan. Tomorrow he'd probably order the whole village drawn and quartered.

Onstage, as the mother and her jut-butted daughter were warming their hands over the pile of black, Lord Buzzard strutted onstage, his paper hawk beak looking even larger.

“You are stealing my fuel,” Lord Buzzard shouted.

“But it is only cow dung,” the old woman wailed. “We were freezing to death.”

“You want fire, I will give you fire,” Lord Buzzard said. “Take her and burn her.”

From the left came two men, big, fierce-looking brutes with scars painted on their faces so that they looked like monsters more than men. They took the old woman's arms, as she wailed and screamed, and pulled her to the back of the stage, where they tied her to one of the barren trees and placed red-dyed straw bundles about her feet.

Meanwhile, Lord Buzzard looked at the daughter. “Ah, come to me, my beauty,” he said.

The ugly man playing the daughter turned to the audience and made a face so ugly—he pushed his lower lip up over the tip of his nose—that even Liana gave a bit of a laugh. Once again Lord Buzzard pulled his cloak back to reveal the grotesque genitals and chased the “girl” off the stage, while behind them the mother screamed. Two red-haired boys came running from opposite sides of the stage and crashed into each other.

“There's more where we came from,” one boy announced gleefully to the audience.

Liana was about to insist to Rogan that they leave when she got an even greater shock. From the left came a young girl, very pretty, wearing a long white gown and a blonde wool wig that reached all the way to her feet. Liana knew this actress was supposed to be her. And how would these cruel people portray her?

From the right came Lord Buzzard and a man dressed as a priest; the priest began to read a marriage ceremony. Lord Buzzard, obviously bored, didn't look at the pretty girl in white. Instead, he played to the audience, making kissing faces at the girls, winking, flipping his cloak open now and then to show what he had. The girl in white kept her head down, her hands clasped.

When the priest pronounced them married, Lord Buzzard grabbed the girl's shoulders then picked her up and began shaking her. Coins fell out of her clothes, and Lord Buzzard's men ran onto the stage and scurried to pick them up. When there was no more money falling from the lady in white, he set her down, turned his back on her, and strutted offstage, still flirting with the audience and flipping his cloak. The lady walked to the back of the stage, her head bowed.