The Warrior and the Dove - A Short Novel (Medieval Chronicles) (15 page)

Auden’s jaw
dropped. “You…you could? My lord, I would be honored to serve you.”

“Can you write
as well as convey messages?”

“Aye,
certainly.”

“Then you will
make a useful assistant to my steward, since your work as a courier will not be
taxing. I would require your oath of allegiance, of course.”

Auden dumped his
flasks and jars on the table and fell to his knees, hands outstretched. “I am
willing to give it now, my lord,” he said with fervor.

Hugh glanced at
Annith. “As soon as my lady has done fussing with this insignificant scratch,
you shall.”

Annith finished
winding a bandage around his arm and fastened it. “Insignificant scratches can
fester,” she said, giving him a sweet smile. “Be grateful it didn’t need
stitching.”

Hugh’s eyes
narrowed. “Begone to your other tasks, lady. I expect you will want to clear
out everything that belonged to your deceased guardian.”

“Indeed,” she
said, shuddering. “I intend to have the castle scrubbed from the top of the
tower to the dungeon. And I am sure Herleve is already seeing to it that the
cook is preparing enough food for everyone. Also, we must find out what
happened to my people. Aye, there is much to be done. I daresay you have your
own tasks, my lord.”

“I do,” he
growled, his expression even more dangerous.

She smiled
winningly, patted his arm, and left the hall through the door leading to the
kitchens. Somehow she managed not to flee, despite feeling as if she had just
prodded an extremely annoyed bear with a very sharp stick.

When Annith
entered the kitchen, it was clear that de Beche’s servants were not inclined to
co-operate with anyone. Herleve had been obliged to call Martin in to reinforce
her commands. His terse tones clashed with resentful grumblings.

Annith took a
deep breath and held up a hand for silence. Despite Hugh’s anger, he apparently
considered her capable of managing the household. Indeed, ’twas what she had
been trained to do, and mayhap if she kept busy she could put the fight out of
her mind.

“Do I have to
ask my lord to restore order here?” she demanded. The threat worked. Just as
well, because she had no intention of asking Hugh for help. “All of you gather
up your belongings and go out to the bailey. You shall be returning to your
master’s manor.”

“And good
riddance,” Herleve muttered as de Beche’s servants shuffled out of the kitchen.
“But what are we to do now, my lady?”

Annith turned to
Martin. “Martin, about half a mile along the road beyond the gates there is a
village. Would you go there, please, and tell them de Beche has been killed and
that their lady needs their help at the castle.”

“My lord has
just sent men out to cry the news across your lands, lady. I warrant your
people will be flocking to the gates before we can blink.”

Annith smiled.
“No need for formality, Martin. You and Herleve saved my life. I will always be
Annith to you.” As I am to Hugh, she thought wistfully, and wondered if he’d
calmed down yet.

She shook off
the question. If she had to put off falling apart until later, worrying about
Hugh would also have to wait.

“Annith, then,
in private,” Herleve said, smiling happily. She wagged a finger. “But you will
have a mind to your position now, my lady.”

Annith laughed.
“In that case, I suppose we had better see what food there is in the larders.
If Martin is right, we’ll have a crowd to feed.”

Martin’s prediction
proved accurate. By late afternoon, word had spread across the estate that the
Lady Annetta had returned to her lands, bringing with her a powerful husband
who had killed the evil lord responsible for visiting misery and terror upon
them.

Her father’s old
steward was the first to turn up at the gates. He peered timidly into the
bailey and was promptly taken to Hugh, who was closeted in the lord’s solar
going through a pile of deeds and parchments.

The castle servants
followed, a few familiar faces among them. Annith greeted each in turn, to be
told again and again how de Beche had replaced them with servants whose loyalty
was only to him. He had also worked the serfs into the ground regardless of
age. Tenant farmers had had their rents raised far in excess of what was fair,
and been threatened with eviction if they refused to pay.

Annith listened,
promised restitution, and silently gave thanks that de Beche hadn’t had time to
do more damage.

The best thing
for everyone, herself included, was work. Thankfully, because they’d had to
ride that day, she was wearing her borrowed grey gown. She rolled up her
sleeves and started issuing orders. Buckets, mops, and brooms were fetched. Two
women started scrubbing away the bloodstains in the hall. Children were sent to
gather fresh rushes for the floor.

“And we will
need sweet-smelling herbs to scatter among them,” she called after the excited
youngsters. She turned back to the group awaiting direction. “I want de Beche’s
chair, the high table, his bed, his clothing and everything else in his chamber
to be put outside, ready for a bonfire. We are going to obliterate every sign
of that fiend from this keep.”

Several men
stepped forward to the task, a grizzled serf ahead of the others. “Amen to
that, lady. And we’ll fetch trestles, boards and benches out of storage, so you
will have seating here in the hall.”

“A happy notion,
Wat. Thank you. If the rest of you will follow me, I shall set teams to
cleaning the other chambers while I see what linens can be found and put out to
air. And, Joan,” she said, turning to an elderly woman who had once worked as a
maid. “Would you take a couple of women and gather all the clothing in the
lady’s solar. Take everything to the village church to be distributed among the
needy when the priest returns.”

“Gladly, my
lady.”

Annith started
the others on their tasks before making her way to the small chamber where the
linens had been stored. They were still there, some yellowed with age, but all were
clean and in good condition. She seized a large pile of sheets and began
distributing them around the various chambers, where they could be aired in
front of the fires that were being lit to banish the evening chill.

When she
returned to the hall it was well on its way to being transformed. Seeing Wat
struggling to drag a bench into place, she rushed to help him. She had just
lifted her end of the solid wood, when Hugh strode into the room. He
immediately had to dodge to avoid being mown down by servants carrying trestles
and boards across his path. He swept the hive of activity with an impatient
glare and advanced on her with ominous intent.

“What the devil
is going on here, madam? While your steward and I are trying to make sense of
your father’s deeds, endless lines of people are traipsing in and out, removing
furniture and wielding buckets and mops. The din is worse than a battlefield.”
He glanced down. “And what the hell are you doing lifting that heavy bench?”

Annith mentally
rolled her eyes and put the bench down. She nodded at Wat, who dropped his end
and prudently removed himself from danger.

“What does it
look like we’re doing?” she demanded, momentarily forgetting that she’d decided
to try patience and understanding. “We are purging my castle of any trace of
that monster. Go back to your deeds and parchments, my lord, and ask the
servants to return when you have finished.”

His black brows
snapped together. He bent, picked up the bench, thumped it down next to the
others, then turned and stalked out of the hall.

Annith sniffed.
Clearly Hugh was still walking a fine line between annoyance and real anger.
Well, he would have to learn that she would obey orders only if she considered
them reasonable. Had he really expected her to sit safely outside, wringing her
hands, while he fought for his life? On
her
behalf?

“The trouble,”
Herleve remarked cheerfully from the doorway. “Is that my lord has mostly known
you when you’ve needed protection.”

“Well, he knows
I escaped from de Beche without any help,” Annith retorted. “And now he thinks
I can’t lift a bench?”

Herleve
chuckled. “Men with a strong protective bent are not likely to be rational when
danger threatens the woman they—” She broke off quickly. “But never mind that.
Just keep in mind that you have a good man there, my dove. He’ll calm down.
Have patience.”

“Patience,”
Annith muttered darkly. “I’ll show him patience. Do you need any help in the
kitchen, Herleve?”

“Nay, everything
is bubbling and steaming as it should. We will eat in an hour.”

“I’ll let Sir
Ranulf and Martin know,” she said, and went outside to see how preparations for
the bonfire were progressing.

The bailey
seemed to be full of men, but she saw that several were on the point of
leaving. The sullen group of retainers de Beche had brought with him had
gathered behind his men-at-arms who had taken charge of the body. They filed
out through the gates under Ranulf’s watchful eye even as a fire was being lit
under their late master’s possessions.

Annith stood at
the base of the outer stairs and drew a breath of relief as the men disappeared
into the gathering dusk and the big double gates were closed after them. Not
one sign of de Beche remained within the castle. His horse and sword had also
gone, on their way to his young sons, who, if she was hearing the conversation
between Ranulf and Martin correctly, had been shipped off to relatives in
Normandy when their mother had died.

“Probably the
best thing for them with a father like that,” Martin remarked. He was in charge
of the fire and clearly relished the task.

Feeling as if a
huge weight had dropped from her shoulders, Annith told them food would be on
the table in an hour and returned to the keep. She decided to go up to the
tower room where she and Hugh were to sleep that night, to make sure the bed
had been made up, a fire lit, and some mulled wine prepared. It wouldn’t hurt
to have a few comforts standing by. She might need them.

And, she
thought, looking down at the cobwebs draped around her skirts. She definitely
needed a wash and a change of clothes.

*         
*          *

Annith breathed
a sigh of relief as the last course—figs steeped in honey, with a side dish of
custard—was placed on the table. She was glad the meal was nearly over.
Weariness was beginning to catch up with her. She was feeling unsettled again,
as if with her work done, her mind had sprung into action, constantly reliving
the most frightening event of the day.

No one else
seemed bothered by the recent upheaval. Herleve and Martin beamed from one end
of the high table. Her steward was chatting to Auden, who appeared to have
developed a new confidence and pride in himself. Hugh’s men-at-arms mingled
easily with servants and serfs. Talk and laughter bounced off the walls.

Annith tried to
think of something else, but that was nigh on impossible when Hugh and Ranulf
were discussing de Beche and the documents Hugh had found in the solar.

“I’m surprised
the bastard didn’t destroy the deeds belonging to your lady’s father,” Ranulf
remarked.

“He needed
them,” Hugh said. “Auden was right. De Beche had expensive friends, expensive
vices. Over the years he had restored his fortune a couple of times through
marriage to wealthy heiresses, but he hadn’t changed his ways. He had gambled
away everything except one small manor. I think ’twas then he thought of
marrying Annith, himself, instead of selling her in marriage to someone else.”

“And then
killing her so he could inherit in his own right.”

“Aye. But when
he saw her, he took his plans further. He thought he was going to have it all.
My lady, her lands, and the money his friends paid him to participate in his
vile game.”

“Do you know who
they are?” Ranulf asked.

Hugh nodded.
“Auden told me their names. He’ll leave for Kenilworth in the morning with a
report for Edward. They’ll be arrested on a charge of conspiracy to murder a
ward of the King. De Beche betrayed himself when he realized Annith had
overheard him. Edward can use that to get confessions out of them. I doubt
they’ll keep their heads.”

Annith shivered,
and again tried to turn her attention elsewhere. Unfortunately, the only
subject of interest to her was Hugh. She was beginning to long for the comfort
of his arms—although not at the cost of his respect, she reminded herself. A
pang of wistfulness struck her. If he loved her he might not be so angry that
she had witnessed the fight. Or mayhap…

She sat up
straighter as a startling notion occurred to her. Could that be
why
Hugh
was angry? Because he cared for her. Had that been what Herleve had hinted at
earlier? Did she dare hope for so much?

Annith glanced
at him just as he turned his head to rake her with a searching look.

“You’re tired,”
he said gruffly. “’Tis time we retired.”

She nodded and
rose to her feet, glad to be going.

The crowd
cheered as they made their way through the hall, pausing to speak to an old
serf here or a tenant there. Thanks and blessings rang out and had to be
acknowledged, but eventually they made it to the coolness of the screen
passage.

Hugh was silent
as they climbed the stairs to the tower room. When they reached the airy
chamber, he closed the door behind them with an ominous thud.

Annith walked
over to the fire and held out her hands to the flames. She hoped the
conversation about disobeying orders would be brief, but since she knew she
would do the same thing again, and intended to tell him so, she doubted she
would be sleeping any time soon.

“The feast went
well,” she said in an attempt to break the silence.

“Aye.” Hugh
prowled over to the window and looked down into the bailey. Apparently nothing
untoward was happening there. He strode across to the bed and sat down as if to
pull off his boots. A second later he was up again and pacing back to the
window. Then he stalked over to the door and turned the key in the lock.

Annith forgot
about her own unsettled nerves and started worrying about his. Mayhap anger was
not the problem. Mayhap he was suffering from an imbalance of the humors
brought on by the fight.

She looked at
him more closely. “Are you all right, my lord? You seem unusually restless.”

“I am perfectly
well, madam.”

“Hmm. Mayhap I
should mix you a soothing potion.”