Candle in the Window (6 page)

“Why, he’s Lady Saura’s
brother,” Kimball said in astonishment. “He’s
sitting at the end of the head table. He usually shares my
trencher.”

“Her brother?”

“Grandfather had to take him for fostering or
we couldn’t have her. He’s been here all spring with
Lady Saura. She’s nice. She’s been taking care of us,
talking to us and kissing us good night and slopping comfrey salve
on our bruises. Except she forced us to take a spring bath. Did she
have the servants strip you and throw you in, too?”

A tomblike officiousness hushed the table: every
ear strained to hear his answer.

“Nay, son,” William rumbled.
“There are incentives for adults who agree to bathe without
struggling.”

A low chuckle rippled around the trestle tables and
William’s retainers and admirers nodded and murmured to one
another.

He was back. Their lord was back.

“Did you enjoy your incentive?” Lord
Peter asked at William’s left hand.

William smiled pleasantly. “She was a very
accomplished young lass, willing and eager to accommodate her lord.
She had a lovely shape and pleasant breath. She matched almost
perfectly the girl I kissed in the tub.”

The page who was dishing out dropped his wooden
serving spoon and he danced away from the hot soup as it splattered
on the floor. The clank of the wood on the flagstones, the
sound of his feet shuffling, the murmur of his apology
reverberated through the great hall as the knowing heads swiveled
from Saura to William and back again.

William, of course, didn’t know who else they
stared at, but he knew he had everyone’s attention as he
continued, “Aye, Father, I am blind. But I’m not
simpleminded. The girl in the bath had an innocent fire no other
woman could duplicate. Her sweet mouth branded me. I don’t
know who she was, or what she was, or why I can’t have her,
but my bathing companion was unforgettable. And until I can put my
hands on her, I’ll not bed a substitute.”

“William, you have to stop
kissing the maids.” Saura slapped her leather gloves against
her palm.

The girl in William’s lap slid off, giggling,
as he patted her bottom. “Thank you, dearling, but
you’re not the one.” His voice resounded in the
screened cubicle where he worked with Brother Cedric.

William’s only fault, in Saura’s mind,
was his predilection for kissing the maids. The brush of a skirt
against his hand brought prompt response. He grabbed and kissed
indiscriminately, old and young, single and married, sweet and
sour. The women giggled and grabbed back, or giggled and slipped
away, but he always pronounced, “You’re not the
one,” as he released them.

It warmed Saura’s heart to hear him
repudiating them, as much as it burned her gut to listen to the
kiss.

The cupbearer slipped past as Saura stood in the
doorway, and William complained, “You need to bring in some
new
girls. How can I find my mystery woman if
I’m kissing the same ones day after day?”

“Don’t kiss them!” she repeated
in exasperation.

“But I like to.”

Saura flung her hands into the air.
“You’re hopeless.”

“Just curious.”

“Dressed for an outing, Lady Saura?”
With conscious design, Brother Cedric supplied the clue William
desired.

“Going riding this fine afternoon?”
William asked.

Instinctively straightening her new linen bliaud,
she agreed. “If I can find the boys to join me. There’s
trouble at the miller’s and Linne’s prepared a basket.
Would you like to—”

“Aye.” William stood up. “I
would.”

She laughed and blushed and stepped away.
“I’d be flattered at your eagerness, my lord, but I
suspect the real attraction is the horse.” She halted in her
tracks. She had detected a note in her voice she had never heard
before. A coy note, a shy curl of laughter: the sound of
flirtatiousness.

William smacked into her back, almost knocking her
down. He grabbed and caught her elbows from behind.
“Saura?”

“Excuse me, my lord.” She tried to jerk
away and his hands tightened briefly, then released. “I
stopped in front of you, all unthinking.”

“Aye.” His voice sounded strained also,
she noticed. “You’re thinner than I’d
believed.”

“Did you imagine me stuffed like a
palliasse?” She inched across the bare floor, uncertain of
her location.

“Nay,” he answered flatly as he
followed. “I imagined you…I’ve
wondered.”

“’Tis natural,” she assured him,
seeking the role of
teacher. “The blind
often wonder how the people around them look.”

“Every other face I do remember well. You are
a stranger in Burke Castle. Would you let me touch your
face?”

Saura drew in a shuddering sigh. She’d love
to have him touch her face: and, she suspected, anywhere else he
desired. But it was too soon. He’d developed into a
recognizable master in the past two weeks. When he discovered the
trick they had played on him, he’d be furious, and
justifiably so. She cursed Lord Peter and this imaginative
deception.

“I don’t think that would be a good
idea,” she told him, a kind and patronizing lilt to her
voice. She hated it, but it seemed necessary to discourage his
interest.

“Really?”

“The relationship we share is based on mutual
respect, and curiosity on your part shouldn’t be
indulged,” she babbled.

“An interesting theory.”

His voice advanced toward her and she took a sudden
step back. “Lord William?”

“Hmm?”

He was smiling, she could tell, stalking her across
the floor of the great hall, and serfs working by the fire chuckled
with amusement. “What are you thinking of?” He lunged
and she scrambled back. “I wish you
wouldn’t!”

He lunged again and caught her wrist, and slowly
pulled her toward him. She resisted with the halfhearted struggles
of a reluctant maiden, freezing when a raucous whistle echoed
through the room.

“Still lusty as ever, eh, William?”

The stranger’s voice sounded amused and
William released her in surprise. “Charles?”

“Of course.” The stranger moved into
the room. “The way
you chased that wench,
I thought you had regained your sight.”

“I have eyes in my fingers,” he
replied, wiggling them. “Raymond, is that you?” he
asked when another set of footsteps advanced into the room.

“Well met, William,” Raymond said.
“We hunted the day away, and rode in to sup with you. We left
Arthur in the bailey with his hand up a wench’s
skirt.”

“As always.” He laughed. “I bid
you welcome. And where is Nicholas?”

He jumped when a quiet voice close to him said,
“Here I am.”

“God’s teeth, I should have known you
could still creep up on me.” He held out an arm, and Nicholas
grasped it at the elbow. “Well met, Nicholas. Lady
Saura?”

“At once, my lord.” She blundered away
and was rescued by Maud’s hand on her arm. In silence, the
older woman showed her her location. “Put up the trestle
tables,” Saura ordered as she found her bearings. “Draw
ale and wine and bring cheese and bread. Hurry the meal
arrangements. Tell the cook to prepare cabbage soup and aforce the
stew with barley. And Maud,” she lowered her voice,
“escort me to a more private spot.”

The serving woman led her behind a darkened support
arch. “Will these three cause us trouble,
m’lady?”

“I don’t know,” Saura murmured.
“Perhaps.”

Sandaled feet thumped on the floor as servants
scurried to do her bidding and the three guests hauled their own
benches to the newly erected tables. She heard the scraping noise
as old Bartley dragged William’s chair to the center of the
table and murmured, “Here ye are, m’lord.”

William carefully seated himself in the place of
honor, and she tensed; a pewter pitcher clinked and liquid splashed
into
a goblet. The stream grew thinner as the
cup filled. The sound ceased.

“Well done, William,” exclaimed Raymond
and Saura sighed with silent relief.

Pushing the cup across the wooden table slab, he
said, “Take it, and avail yourself of cheese and bread. My
father is out in the woods, teaching the lads to ride without
hands. We’ll send for him. He’ll want to display his
accomplished knights to the boys.”

Nicholas took the ale. “To prove he’s
dragged many a boy up to manhood?”

“By their hair,” Raymond joked, and the
three men laughed in unison.

William poured another goblet for Charles.
“He swore he’d never again take four lads to foster,
all at the same time. You wore him out.”

“We wore
him
out?” Charles hooted. “I used to sleep in my trencher
after he finished with a day’s training. Arthur used to
pretend illness when it rained, and Lord Peter would drag him out
of his blanket by his toes. Raymond never complained, just followed
orders and ate so much the dogs under the table were starving. And
remember when Nicholas broke his arm and had to learn to wield a
sword with his left hand?”

“Lord Peter never slacked off.”
Nicholas groaned. “He said every knight should use his sword
with either hand.”

“Aye, and he made us all practice with both
arms.” Raymond remembered. “You’re lucky,
Nicholas, we didn’t break your other arm.”

“Now he’s got some other pages to
torment?” Charles asked.

“One is my son,” William admitted.

“That’s interesting.” Nicholas
tapped the table with his
fingers. “Will
Lord Peter work his own grandson harder, or will he be soft on
him?”

William grinned, baring all his teeth. “What
do you think?”

“The poor boy.” Raymond accepted a
brimming cup. “The poor, poor boy.”

The men guffawed, their sympathy mixed with humor,
and William asked, “What do you hunt, Charles?”

“Boar. But we’ve had the devil’s
own luck. We brought you venison instead. Since you can’t
hunt anymore, we thought your table could use the meat.”

Raymond’s deep, precise voice corrected,
“William’s huntsmen won’t appreciate such a
compliment.”

“We’re not starving,” William
agreed, his tone deliberate and bland, and he felt the touch of
Raymond’s hand on his in brief communication. Of all the men
his father had fostered, only Raymond was his close friend, and
why, he could not discern. Raymond was younger, and richer, more
noble, and so clever it made William’s teeth hurt. Prey to
dark moods, Raymond had depths William couldn’t understand,
yet the two of them meshed in some inexplicable rapport. Grateful
for his support, both spoken and unspoken, William filled another
cup. “What news of our King Stephen and our Queen
Matilda?”

“Stephen’s on the march again, and
Matilda’s still licking her wounds across the Channel.
Stephen should have killed her while he had her in his
hands,” Charles said with disgust.

“He’s too much of a chevalier,”
Raymond conceded. “Too much of a fool. And what good would
Matilda’s death do? ’Tis her son who’s making the
heads turn now.”

“Are the rumors true? Is the boy back in
England again?” William asked.

“The
boy
,”
Raymond emphasized the word drolly, “is at least twenty and
ready to pluck the throne from Stephen’s unsteady
grasp.”

“Have you seen Duke Henry?” William
asked, interested and intense.

“Nay, not yet,” Raymond said,
“but he landed in January, and I hear he fights like a man
and thinks with the uncanny statesmanship of Matilda, but without
her uncertain temper. Nor should we discount the advantage of his
marriage to Eleanor last year. She’s the duchess of Poitou
and Aquitaine and—”

“The queen of France.” William
grinned.

“The queen no longer.” Charles chuckled
with the glee of a born gossip. “They say she drove saintly
Louis of France to distraction. She accompanied him on crusade, you
know, and created a scandal. Last spring they divorced on grounds
of consanguinity.”

“Are they cousins?” William
interrupted.

“Something like that,” Charles agreed.
“Half the royal marriages are tainted with consanguinity.
It’s only important when a divorce is needed.”

Raymond picked up the knife and with vigorous
motions cut slabs of cheese for the men. “All of
Eleanor’s crying of consanguinity with the king of France,
and she and Henry share a blood line, also.”

“Of course, her lands in Poitou and Aquitaine
make her a vassal of the French king.” Charles tore chunks of
bread from the loaf and passed them around.

“Just so.” Raymond gave a peal of
laughter. “She’s required to receive his sanction to
marry anyone, and she flouted Louis. Henry, too, should have
received permission. He’d just paid his vassal’s vow of
fealty to his overlord for his lands in France. Henry had given him
the kiss of peace, and
still the wedding was
accomplished before Louis heard a breath of it. Eleanor’s
beautiful lands have gone to fund Louis’s greatest
rival.”

Nicholas crumbled bread between his fingers as he
listened, but he could keep silent no longer. “That my
vassals would flout my authority to wed and combine themselves
against me would stick in my gullet, also.”

“Personally, I believe ’twas their
marriage not even two months after the divorce that distressed
Louis,” Charles said. “No matter how holy Louis is, he
could hardly wish to believe that the she-devil he couldn’t
tame leapt gladly into another man’s bed. A younger
man’s bed.”

“It sounds as if the wedding were political,
but the marriage bed was preference,” William observed.
“When Eleanor was queen of France, she complained that
she’d thought to marry a king and found she’d married a
monk.”

“The contrary woman bore Louis only
daughters,” Charles reminded them.

“Poor Louis couldn’t even win when he
marched into Normandy to crush his former wife and her new husband.
Henry charged in from the west and left Louis’s army in
ruins.” Raymond spoke, but all the men were laughing now. It
was a bright day for the English when the king of France was
discomfited, and the men reveled in it.

“What says Louis about this today?”
William asked.

Raymond answered with smug pleasure, “What
can he say? Eleanor is going to have a babe this summer, and the
stars predict a son.”

“Then the young stallion will produce what
the old saint could not.” William settled back with a grin.
“So Henry has the funds to continue his battles until the
tide turns his way?”

“He has the funds to buy England, should he
desire it,”
Raymond said.
“Eleanor’s eleven years older than Henry, of course,
but she’s an attractive woman.”

“Age has no bearing on a royal wedding so
long as the woman is fecund,” William said. “Queen
Matilda was fifteen years older than Henry’s father, and
he’s preceded her in death.”

“’Twas a wise marriage for
Henry,” Nicholas concurred. “It gives him a great deal
of power.”

“Does Stephen hold him off?” William
asked.

Raymond said bitterly, “Stephen wavers in the
breeze, as uncertain as ever.”

“Stephen’s your cousin,” Charles
pointed out.

“So is Matilda,” Raymond agreed.
“I’d support either one of our sovereigns, or their
sons, if they’d just settle the country.”

“There’s profit to be made with the
chaos,” Charles said thoughtfully.

“Profit! What kind of man destroys his honor
to cull profit from his country’s disaster?” William
asked, his scorn palpable as he filled another cup and pushed it
toward Nicholas. “A man without honor crawls on his belly
like the worms of the earth.”

“’Tis a way to gain lands.”

“By theft!”

“Or chicanery,” Nicholas interjected
smoothly.

“Stephen has plunged the country into
disaster with his vacillating.” William poured one last cup.
“Were he backed against a wall, think you he would declare
Henry his rightful heir?”