Candle in the Window Read online

  Perhaps, if he were lucky, forever.

  William weighed the contract in his gloved hands and stared with level intent at Theobald, seated before him, his elbow resting on the same tiny table that held his cup. “Do you insinuate I would cheat you?” he asked.

  “Nay, nay,” Theobald insisted, wiping a drop of sweat off his temple with his wrist. “Only, won’t you sit and have a cup of wine? After the ride you’ve had this July day, wine would refresh you and liven your mind.”

  “Do you insinuate I would cheat you?” William repeated, his voice slow and deep and demanding. The lord of the Pertrade sat on a chair while William stood. Dressed in comfortable furs, the lord sipped wine, but William dripped from the rain on his hauberk. Yet William stood with one foot on the floor, the other foot planted firmly on the dais. His imposing presence reduced the lord before him to a trembling jelly, the outstretched document creating a demand of its own. “I bring you a marriage contract to take your blind, useless stepdaughter off your hands.”

  “I never said she was blind and useless,” Theobald protested, his reddened eyes squinting from the effort of thinking. “She’s…she’s actually quite capable and we’ve missed her sweet presence here at Pertrade.”

  “A worthless stone hanging around your neck, you told my father.”

  William’s select men-at-arms stirred restlessly, transmitting anger by their stance. Their menace overwhelmed the larger group of sloppy fighters who posed in various corners of the room.

  “You told my father no one would have her. I’m asking for a reasonable dowry. You should be grateful to me for removing her from your hospitality.” William rattled the contract again for the joy of seeing Theobald wince.

  “I’m her guardian. She has no right to wed without my permission,” Theobald mumbled.

  “This marriage contract frees you from the unwanted responsibility of Lady Saura and of the heavy duty of protecting her lands.”

  “And of the income from her lands.” Theobald lurched to his feet in a drunken show of bravado. “What makes you think you have the right to demand her lands from me?”

  William never moved, but his back grew straighter and he became, in some indefinable way, dangerous. “I not only demand her lands from you, I demand an accounting of every kernel of grain you’ve received and every measure you’ve taken to ensure the safety of the properties.”

  “An accounting?” The flame that glowed in William’s eye and the unexpected demand for an accounting spun Theobald around. He looked helplessly at his men, and they looked away. He looked at his girl-wife, and she stared back at him with no expression. He looked at the hardened faces of William’s warriors, and in them he read his defeat. He sank back down into his chair, picked up his cup in his trembling hand and drained it. “I’ll get my records. From my priest. But he’s, uh, not here. And the records are not…well, the priest is stupid. He drinks too much ale.”

  William stood like a stone, immovable, hard.

  “The records are incomplete. But if you want to stay the night?”

  “Nay.” With distaste, William gazed around at the hall where children and dogs rolled in the filthy rushes. “Nay. Sign this contract and I will await the accounting.”

  His words were stark, unconciliatory, offering only one choice and expecting to be obeyed. Theobald’s gaze roamed the disorderly room again, and his weak attempt at deception died aborning. “Give it to me,” he muttered. “I’ll make my mark.”

  William reached up and dragged the little table close to Theobald’s knee. A snapping of William’s fingers brought one of his men rushing to his side, producing a quill and a stoppered bottle of ink from a pouch at his belt. The mark was made, shaky and blotted, and William’s man sprinkled sand over it and handed it to his lord. A smile passed over William’s face, the kind of smile that made Theobald shrink into his chair, and then he rolled the parchment. With no word of farewell, William strode across the room.

  Clutching the signed contract close in his fist, William turned at the door of the great hall. With a critical eye, he observed the smoky fire that sputtered in the center of the room, the slatternly maids who stood about, the insolent knights, the dirty, stained tablecloth. He raised a blond eyebrow in demand. “Of course you’ll attend the wedding, Lord Theobald. We will expect your blessing on our union. We’ll expect all our guests to hear your pleasure in the wedding. You’ll be there?”

  “Of course,” Theobald muttered sullenly.

  His eyes shifted away from William’s forthright gaze, and William declared, “I shall send my men to ensure your safety on the road.”

  “Not necessary,” the scurvy lord protested.

  “I would have it no other way.” William smiled with all his teeth, and left with the clang of spurs on stone.

  eleven

  The great hall smelled good, clean, and scented with herbs mixed with fresh-cut rushes spread on the floor. William scuffled his foot and brought the aroma of mint to his nose. Embroidered cushions lay scattered on the hard wooden chairs; serving women hustled between the solar and the first floor of the castle with braziers and blankets. The fire leaped toward the ceiling with a clean, bright flame and torches hung in the sconces. The influence of a hard day in the saddle and a loathsome confrontation faded as he recognized the managing hand of his dearling. He could hear, from a distance, the voice of Saura, and it came clearer and closer as he stared in appreciation at his home.

  “Thank you for the suggestion, Lord Nicholas. The undercroft will serve perfectly for the servants of our guests to sleep.”

  William stiffened with surprise as his betrothed climbed out of the stairwell that led to the storage area beneath the floor. A plain white veil hid her hair, and a streak of dirt crossed her cheek. A brown, rough-weave dress of no shape covered her from head to toe, and the wooden shoes she wore clomped as she walked. She was dressed for work, and William thought she looked charming. Charming, except for the appendage that trailed her into the room.

  Nicholas followed closely behind her, his eyes fixed appreciatively on Saura’s derriere. “’Tis my pleasure to assist you, Lady Saura,” he murmured, as he took her hand and carried it to his lips. “Still, I know you would have thought of it. A woman as intelligent and well organized as yourself.”

  An enigmatic smile graced her lips, and William didn’t like the way the charmed guest fed on her beauty.

  “Saura, I am home,” he said, and his woman spun on her heel.

  “William?” Her tilting smile blossomed into open-faced pleasure, and she stepped toward him, her hand outflung.

  In a rush, he crossed the floor and lifted her in a hug. Spinning in a circle, he kissed her face while she laughed.

  “Stop, William, we have company,” she protested weakly. This made no impression on his celebration, and so she cried, “Stop, William. Now that you’re home, I’ll have to order the evening meal.”

  His twirling slowed and he slid her down his body. “’Tis late,” he said. “The sun has long set. Has supper not yet been served?”

  “Nay, I held it for you.” Her hands lingered on his shoulders and then she tucked them in a demure clasp before her waist. “Are you hungry?” Unconscious of her womanly wiles—for how could she know those universal lures without observing them in others?—she flirted with him. Her dark lashes fluttered, revealing and concealing her shining eyes. Her smile slipped on and off her mouth as if her joy at his return couldn’t be hidden.

  His gaze lingered on her creamy skin, made irresistible by the pink of her cheek, and he wanted to lick her like cool custard. “Famished,” he assured her, his voice choked with a meaning that had nothing to do with food.

  “I’m hungry, too.” Nicholas’s reproachful voice broke into their tête-à-tête, and Saura jumped with surprise. In her absorption, she had forgotten their guest.

  Blessed with better control than she, William turned to his friend with a smile. “Welcome, Nicholas. Did she make you wait, too?”
>
  With a charming bow, Nicholas said, “The lady has such a pleasant way of making one wait, one does not even notice the pangs of hunger.”

  Saura laughed at his eloquence. “A polite way of saying I’ve starved you. Everyone will have an appetite, then.” She clapped her hands and like a wild boar rush, the serfs flew from their other duties and began supper preparations. “’Twill be a simple meal tonight,” she assured him. “Pottage and clabber.”

  “My favorite.” He watched the stampeding servants with astonishment. “Have you fed them nothing since dinner?”

  “They made a foolish mistake.” Saura smiled with her mouth, but her body stiffened in grim concern. Turning toward him, she projected her voice over and said, “Your churls, Lord William, believed my authority over them no longer existed. With insolence they reacted to my orders with disbelief and ignorance. The battle fought over my rule many months ago had to be fought over again this day. So I ask you, my lord, to what extent does my power exist?”

  William stared at her and then raised his head and stared at his servants. They had slowed their rush to hear his answer and stood staring at him. His own displeasure was at fault, he realized. The sight of Saura hanging over his shoulder had shaken their good will. They didn’t know whether he would marry such a quick-tongued woman, and because of that, Saura existed in a vacuum of position and authority.

  Nothing he’d done this last moon had eased their speculation. Those last days of May had slipped into June, and the roses bloomed and faded. He had practiced his knightly skills; he had ridden with his father to hunt; he had closeted himself with Brother Cedric, drawing up the marriage contract. He’d been restrained, he thought, and not shown his pique at Saura. He’d not played the dedicated lover, true, but that was his own misguided attempt to assure her his love was no hot flame, quickly burned out. He’d tamped down the tenderness that welled within him and treated her like an established wife.

  Occasionally, he’d ignored Saura, ignored her meals, and in the evening ignored her seductions. His failure to fornicate with her was nothing more than his insistent haste to complete the marriage contract, but the retainers hadn’t understood. A contract such as theirs, involving lands and moneys, took weeks of hard work to draw up. Like a fool, he’d never thought to check to see how his casual treatment acted on the churls. He’d only been pleased as Saura slowly relaxed and slipped back into her role as chatelaine.

  He’d left her sleeping in the night, riding to Pertrade with the haste of a maniac to secure her lands, and the churls thought he’d abandoned her. She had paid the price for his desire. Like a lazy, sly flock of vultures, his servants had picked at his lady all day, and now they waited to hear what he would say.

  “My lady Saura.” He gathered both her hands in his and carried them to his chest. “Forgive me for presenting myself to you with the dirt of the roads clinging to my boots. My mission today was with your stepfather, Lord Theobald. In this pouch on my belt I hold our marriage contract. Your guardian freely made his mark on it today. The arrangements for our wedding must proceed at once. All that I own is yours, in jurisdiction and in fact. Let anyone who disputes that speak to me.” His gaze lingered on her upturned face, and then swept the room and its uncomfortable serfs. No one spoke, and then with the quick and quiet demeanor of a flock of trained mice, the serving folk returned to their duties. The trestle tables appeared, the cloth laid, the trenchers set out.

  “I detect Hawisa’s brazen hand in this rebellion,” he said quietly.

  “Aye,” Saura agreed. “Dismissed to the kitchen to be a turnspit, she still creates misery with her venom. We have a good lot of servants in this keep, yet their ready response to such agitation troubles me. Could she not be married to one outside the manor?”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” he answered. “I’ll have to find some poor man to take her, and I don’t know whom I dislike enough.”

  “Hawisa?” Nicholas inquired. “Isn’t she that slut you’ve always had here?”

  “Aye.” William shrugged. “She’s not worth our attention. I’ll do something with her later. Saura can use every helping hand until the wedding is over.”

  “But only until the wedding is over,” Saura agreed. Turning to Nicholas, she invited him to take his place at the table. “Help yourself to cheese and ale. I’ll help relieve Lord William of his armor and assist him with his washing, and we’ll join you directly.”

  “Where is my father?” William questioned as they moved away.

  “He took the lads out to get some fresh meat.”

  “In the rain?” he asked incredulously.

  “It wasn’t raining this morning,” she reminded him. “I imagine they found shelter among your folk, and have built a fire and are telling stories of bloody battle. Your father said he took the boys to train them in the art of the hunt, but I think,” she snapped her fingers at the handmaidens as they entered the solar, “he does it because he heard Clare say how much brighter the stars were under Burke skies.”

  He chuckled. “Aye, that would do it. Father always spoiled the children if he could. Perhaps he considered them well out of your hair?”

  “No doubt.” She grinned in sudden amusement. “Maud went bumping along behind on some old nag. Your father has become attached to her.”

  “Ah, aye. I’ve noticed.” He also noticed how efficiently the handmaidens worked. One drew clean clothing from a trunk and laid it across the bed. Two others lifted his hauberk from over his shoulders.

  “Give that to the armorer to be oiled,” Saura ordered, and one of them slipped from the room with the chain mail. “Linne, you strip him and wash the rust from his skin.” As Linne removed his wet and muddy clothes, the other wenches dragged the wooden tub out of the corner. Standing on a stool, Linne gestured him in and sluiced warm water over his shoulders and head while he soaped his hands and scrubbed himself quickly.

  Rinsed and cleansed, he ordered, “Give my lady Saura the towel. She can dry me.”

  A giggle broke the silence, but Saura snapped her fingers again and the sound was swiftly muffled. The length of linen was thrust into her hands and the maids fled the room. “Leave the door open,” William ordered sharply, and the closing door swung back to reveal the lord and lady to any walking past. Saura’s raised brow questioned him, and he explained, “You’re to be my wife, and as such I’ll not dishonor you before company. No matter how difficult that may prove.” His teeth snapped together with irritation, and she made soothing noises as she wrapped him in the towel.

  “Are you laughing at me?” He raised her face to his, and she grinned with companionable empathy.

  “Aye, but I don’t think you’ll suffer more than I.”

  “Aye, I will, for I’ll have to give up my bed and sleep in the great hall on a palliasse.”

  “I will, for I can’t sleep without you.”

  “I will.” He grimaced with painful amusement as she rubbed him with brisk motions. “For I no longer fit in my drawers.”

  Her brisk motions slowed and gentled, and he said, “None of that!” Taking the towel from her, he turned his back to the door and finished drying. She lifted his shirt and started toward him, but he shook his head, saying, “No. I will dress myself.”

  “Then why did you send the women out?” she asked, puzzled.

  “I wanted to talk to you without the constraint of listening ears.” He stared at the flower of her face, and thought, Because I’m mad with love for you, and must woo you at every moment. But he said only, “Will my intervention heal your problems with the churls?”

  “For the most part, the servants are good folk. They need a firm and steady influence, and your support was more than I could hope. Thank you, William.” She bobbed a quick curtsey. “How could you force Theobald to sign the marriage contract so quickly?”

  He put on his shirt before he answered. “’Twas my good looks and the charm of my personality.”

  Saura laughed out loud, and William quirked
a brow toward his lady. “You don’t believe it?”

  “Of course I believe it. Your good looks, your charming personality—and the presence of your sword—would have an irresistible influence on Theobald.”

  “How well you know him,” he marveled, tugging on the rest of his clothes with an efficiency that belied his need for a squire.

  “Aye, I do. Will he come and give me to you freely?”

  “He’ll come. And by God’s glove, he’ll give you to me with a smile.”

  “I suspect he will, if only for the chance to visit a keep as great as yours. We must keep the wine away from him until after the ceremony, however. He is a vicious drunk.”

  “Swilling wine will rot the strongest man.”

  “He was never that. I hoped you would keep a watch on him, make sure he doesn’t fall in with the wrong influences.” She smiled a lopsided smile, as if afraid to call his attention to potential trouble.

  “I’ll watch them all,” he agreed easily, if not truthfully. “Our enemy won’t be a threat at our wedding. With all the folk around, and the failure of two attempts on my life, I’d say whoever it is will be cowering. Don’t worry, my girl. I shall care for you.”

  “I know that, William. I’ve always known that. I thought that August would be an ideal time for the joining. We can’t assemble the guests any sooner,” Saura suggested.

  “August,” he agreed. “We will need help from the villagers to prepare for our company, and that we cannot have until August. Then the heaviest work of summer will be over and the first rush of harvest barely begun. Thirty days to assemble the guests, thirty days to plan and provide, and by then your authority will be pounded into my serfs with my heavy hand.”

  “Not all of them betrayed, only a few questioned my authority. Don’t use them hardly. ’Tis my responsibility to bind them with loyalty, and this day was a shock to my conceit.” As she begged pity for the pack of squawking minions, Saura’s smile clung with a tremor on her lips.