Ronan's Bride (10 page)

Ronan stared at his profile. “It takes not a fortress to keep what’s mine to protect, safe. I do not think he is stupid, nay. I imagine he knows he cannot breach this castle.”

“What is left?” Ualtar said.

Ronan murmured, “We go to him.”

“No.”

All heads lifted or turned to see Sefare who had spoken. She came the rest of the distance, looking at each face, before locking eyes with Ronan.

“Do not. You have just cleared your family name and began a new life. As dangerous as it will always be, ‘tis a chance you deserve. In that land, they are nobility and the army and nobles… they can draw to them, should you start a war—is beyond imagining.”

“Quiet your fear.” He grunted. “We have more stealth than that. Every man is, at some time, alone.”

“Nay.” She shook her head. “For now, he cannot reach me. And I’ve no fear he ever could, with these men around me.” She waved to his chief warriors. “Find out if he has somehow put a petition against the marriage, or contested it. Did your man return?”

“He’s likely dead,” Ualtar said blunt and cold. “I’ll send Fitz to see if there’s anything before the king.”

Ronan nodding, pinning her with his gaze. “You can no more stand to be held here, than I can. Forced, to hide.”

“You wake and exist every day knowing those you defeated likely plot and ponder how to murder you, and Pagan does,” she returned. “I’m not afraid. I will not cower here either. You have discovered what we waited here to discover. Where shall we call home?”

Despite his anger, his lips curved just the slightest. “Do not get too far ahead of me, My Lady. We had planned the spring here for many reasons. We’ll see that plan through, though we must foray beyond these walls, and watch those watching us.”

He straightened. “Continue your training. When ‘tis raining or else, make use of these chambers inside. Isola will be given an apprentice and helpers, so that she can train also, and meet the schedule unhindered.”

He looked at Ualtar. “Have we one desiring to apprentice?”

Ualtar laughed, as did the men. He said dryly, “Half your guards would trade sword or bow for hammer, given a chance to be next to that beauty. She’s not having them, as is her right, and I would instead pick from among the lads say…sixteen or so, who are of brawn and brains to assist her.”

“Very well.” Ronan thought a moment, then, “Galfrid, is he yet on the night watch?”

“Aye,” Markus intoned.

“Bring him in for the planning. He is a swift rider, his coloring dark and few know him as my man. Five others….and someone to get word to Pagan. I want him alerted but need not his army. I do not think di Matteo that brave. We will break the links of his chain, bring as many as captured here, and plant our own information. The problem will be knowing who he has hired, for I’ve enough enemies who would give aide to his minions.”

“Doing is better than waiting.” Markus stood and nodded to him, then to Sefare.

As he left she said, “What will you do with the man below?”

Ronan turned having prepared to leave. “Keep him. For now.” He turned again and strode out.

Only Ualtar remained long enough to finish a flagon he had been drinking from. Gazing at that hard face, and the markings, she commented, “I’m sorry to have brought danger to him.”

The Celt drained the flagon and set it down. His smile at her was wide and white. “He is not. Nor are we. Warriors and knights enjoy a challenge, and whether it be boar, fox or human, we are natural hunters.” Something deep and hard was in his eyes as he added, “killers if need be.”

Sefare sat heavy on the bench when they left. Servants moved about, men came and went, lads going through the halls, around screens, and an occasional hound was brought in to seek out vermin, which may take shelter in the storms.

A bell in the kitchens counted the hour. She arose to seek out the best place to hold their exercises, finding it in the right wing, an old sub stable that had slate floor and roof. Wiping cobwebs from niches she lit fat tallow and looked up at more webs swaged over iron rings and riveted contraptions. The area was a wide fifty feet by fifty, with slit, long windows high at ground level. Going along the niches, she removed dry torches to take for soaking, but had enough light to see the stalls, mere arched sections, were half fallen.

Keeping her mind and body busy, Sefare found the troughs and using an iron poker prodded the wedge from the spigot. It ran full and she plugged it, then gathering the items needed, she began clearing the area, cleaning and flattening any uneven places.

Sounds filtered down from the slit above, but she worked, diligent and hard, more from a need to not sit and wring her hands, and think too much. She was on her knees having rolled a beam against the thick wall when a servant brought her drink and food.

The young male said, “We found the store cellar at last.” His expression wry. “Packed clear to the roof twas with roots, cheese, all manner of turnips, and the oddest thing…”

“What?” She chewed the bread and meat.

His face sobered. “The former servants. Or what was left of them.”

She swallowed the bread thickly.

He turned, shaking his head and saying, “Likely they were without wood and warmth during that harsh winter. Elder they were…” He picked up the torches to take with him and see to. “Can’t imagine what’s down there with the trespasser we’re holding.”

When the door closed, she finished the wine and went back to work. Living was doing, life needed going about. Fate had a way of dealing its own surprises and it had nothing to do with one’s own pre-guessing. Being prepared however, helped to lessen the worst one found themselves in.

* * * *

For the next month, as Spring took hold, seeds sprouted and animals birthed, Ronan and his men grimly rode out and back, some staying in towns and villages, spreading along those tentacles shown on the map. He was aware that Sefare and Isola met daily and practiced, aware of the normalcy the workers kept, whilst he and Ualtar intercepted and questioned anyone his men captured.

There were six in the dungeon by June, and after he questioned them, he turned them over to Sir Osburn, not asking how more information was gleaned but knowing the seasoned knight was wise and shrewd enough to be trusted.

Once the worst of the spring rains ceased, though showers were a weekly expectation, he kept his word and rode with Sefare twice a week under a heavy guard. These excursions were not contained to the woodlands as they thickened, but they rode on to the winding river and near enough to see the hearth smoke from the nearest village, over the hills.

It was a common sight now for he and the men to see Sefare in breeches. She always was gowned and sat at the Lord’s Table in her finer things, but aside from that, she had a dozen doublets, tunics, blouses, dyed boots and various styles of tunics that she wore. Another item always on her was her sword, whether across her back, or a dagger in her belt, at the meal.

He and Ualtar had already witnessed Isola transforming a bit herself. The tall red head was invited to the Lord’s Table, and he guessed the velvet and dyed green and blue wools she wore, the richer hooded tunics or long split panel gowns and leggings, were payments in cloth that Sefare gave her.

The women grew close. Though still distant from the men, who tried to court her, Isola was not so with Ronan or Ualtar. Nevertheless, Ronan discerned ‘twas because they did not treat her less than any of the men or women about.

He had chosen her on the way, after observing her when they had stopped in a small township. He knew as well as Ualtar that she had her own past, her own reason that she stood out amid others. Men admired her beyond handsomeness, but susceptible as they were to their own human hungers, many could not see beyond her womanhood. Ronan knew that even Ualtar had more than a little attraction to her. The Celt wisely hid it.

As the forest populated, so did the run in with poachers, and these Ronan and his men could distinguish. He was not harsh as most, and rode to the village, posting that their hunter could see him and he would allow one day for hunting. The rabbits and fowl he limited. And no roes or boars. There was still an occasional maid or lad spied in the trees or digging roots and such. He let them be.

One evening, after breaking fast, he lingered with Sefare at the dais table. There was no real intimacy between them save the fact they touched gazes some days or hours when he observed her training, or when they went riding. The awareness however remained.

The men had eaten hungrily and servants beamed over the savory offerings of the gardens. Other than the guards, who were on duty, most of the men were at the lower trestle tables. Their scents, because of summer, filled the hall, not unpleasant, as his guards were known to dunk anyone who did not attend abolitions at least once per week.

Wools were replaced with linen and lighter fabrics, though jerkins, habbricks and leather was always the material for vests, boots and such. One of the girls, a mere thirteen winters, spun sheared wool and dyed it, knitting caps and shawls, earning a coin or two, which he never begrudged. They dined on fish from the river and tasted leeks, salted turnips and sweetened cakes.

After dining, those who lingered played chess or smoked long pipes, lulling at the windows, sometimes engaging one of the servants, the females being popular, in conversation. On pegs, newly formed candles dried for observance of an upcoming holy day, and one of the elder men unashamedly sewed on a long tapestry Ronan had seen him roll up and carry with him for years.

He turned his gaze toward Sefare, eyes sliding from the round cap she wore, gold velvet with stitching and tiny jewels. Her hair was growing and he noted she braided it in front, weaved it with blue and silver cords and sometimes pearls, the longer curls touching her shoulders. The gold gown was blocked with brown silk, sleeveless to show the sheer chemise that had its own to her elbow. The low bodice did not disguise her lack of an ample bosom, but he knew the beauty of those shallow mounds, the milky globe and pale pink, though large nipples.

Low of waist, the gown flowed to the floor, separated in front for the silk, and edged heavy with embroiders. Its small scale called attention to her petite height, particularly around knights and there was no female save the young ones, who were as slight as she.

He had donned gray himself this night, worn often these days like his green or brown for hunting. His mask, the supple leather of a like hue. Idly fingering the dagger, he had eaten with, his gaze finally found hers, as she was watching him too.

Under the laughter and talk of others, a flute somewhere outside, he murmured, “‘Tis a mild evening out. Will you walk?”

Sefare nodded and stood, awaiting him, and then hand on his arm, they exited the hall.

It was a mild summer night, and the inner courtyard had plenty of those who were likewise strolling. Ronan noted the walls, the position of the guards and movements when they walked the parameters first, and then he attended the castle folk, hearing a bleat of sheep or bark echo from the kennels as oft as he heard laughter.

As they neared the Smith, both could see a lantern-burning ocher, and Isola, absent the gown and back in her work garb, the forge glowing as she held an iron dipper, pouring silvery liquid into a mold.

On they went, until passing through the tunnel and emerging at the back lawn. The area sloped to the far wall, an orchard gone wild offering up fruits nonetheless. A moon shone down in a lighter night sky.

She had released his arm. They still brushed occasionally, walking close. Of an accord, they went to the rough-hewn pool that stocked fish. He sat on the base, his booted feet out and eyes watching her lean over to eye the fish, before she idly returned, plucking at some wild weed that sprang up in the stone cracks.

“Of the best castles I own, truthfully the only one left to be called such, is Fawston,” he informed quietly.

“What happened to the owner?”

“He is dead. His daughter had it subsequently. However, ‘twas mortgaged heavily. After a bad winter, few tenants remained. Nevertheless, ‘tis both well defense’d and pleasing to look at. The design is heavily borrowed from the moors. It looms above the sea on one side, with a rich valley between more rugged terrains on the front. Glass in the windows; gardens, courtyards and pools…But with it is cottages, and farms, graze land.”

She was watching his face. “Your family enjoyed a rich life?’

“Aye, but fairly won and toiled for.”

“Of course. I simply meant, that they were a real family, and embraced the holy days, feasts and enjoyments.”

“Aye.”

“Mine also. Although, father was much gone. T’was rare, too, that Mshai was able to join the feasts, but it was our best times.”

He glanced at her hands. “My mother and father oft said, that life was hard enough for a knight or Lord, constantly at war, and friends, particularly among the Barons, could turn swift against one. All too prophetic, in their instance.”

She dropped the weed and clasp her hands behind her back, tilting her head slightly and regarding him. “We all steal our moments of normalcy and peace, joy, when possible. ‘Tis good to embrace that, else we may as well roam the world alone, and die the same.”

Ronan shrugged slightly, having done his share of living inward; alone, save for Pagan, and existing in a dark place.