Liana put her hand to her aching back. Two long weeks Rogan had been gone, and in those two weeks she’d wrought miracles in the castle and the village. At first the peasants had been afraid to obey her, afraid of Lord Rogan’s wrath, but when a few obeyed Liana and were not punished, the others began to believe in her.
Village houses were repaired, new clothes purchased, and animals slaughtered to feed the hungry people. By the end of the first two weeks, the peasants were looking at Liana as if she were an angel.
The cleaning of the village and castle gave Liana great satisfaction, except for one aspect: the number of red-haired children running about. At first she’d thought it was a coincidence that Rogan should have the same distinctive dark red hair as some of the villagers. It was when a little boy, about eight years old, looked up at her with the same hard eyes of her husband that Liana demanded to know who was the father of the boy.
The peasants around her stopped their tasks and stared at the ground in silence. Liana repeated her question, then waited. At last a young woman stepped forward. Liana recognized her as one of the Days, one of the women who used to sleep with Rogan.
“Lord Rogan is the father,” the woman said defiantly.
Liana felt the peasants around her cringe as if in anticipation of a blow. “How many of my husband’s children are there?”
“A dozen or so.” The girl’s chin came up a little higher. “And the one I’m carrying.”
Liana stood for a moment, unable to move or speak. She didn’t know if she was angrier at her husband for having so many bastards or for leaving his own children to exist in poverty. She knew the peasants were watching her, waiting to see what she would do. She took a deep breath. “Gather the children and send them to me at the castle. I will see to their needs.”
“With their mothers?” the Day said, her voice and attitude showing she felt herself to be triumphant.
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Liana glared at the girl. “You may choose to put your weaned child in my care or you may keep the responsibility of raising it. But no, I do not take on the mothers of the children.”
“Yes, my lady,” the girl said dutifully, bowing her head.
Near her, Liana heard a few women snicker in approval.
It was late when she left the village, and she wished she could crawl into bed beside Rogan. As usual, she began to daydream about what she would ask of him when he was her slave for a day. Perhaps she’d plan a meal served beside a stream, for just the two of them. Perhaps she’d make him talk to her. Just to have him spend a day with her, an hour with her, when they both had their clothes on would be an accomplishment. He seemed to put her in the same category as the Days—that she was to sleep with and nothing else.
The loudness of her horse’s hooves on the wooden bridge over the now-empty moat brought her back to reality. Behind her rode the ever-present, silent Peregrine knights.
The castle grounds were almost clean now and Liana was able to walk up the stairs to the Lord’s Chamber without tripping on refuse.
Once upstairs, she avoided Joice, who had a list of questions and complaints, and climbed upward to the bedchambers above. Several times in the last weeks Liana had sought out the Lady, the woman she’d met that first week, the woman who’d reminded her that men never fought battles over quiet, meek women, but each time the door to her room had been locked.
The upstairs rooms were clean now and a few of them were occupied by her maids, but for the most part they remained empty, waiting for the appearance of guests. At the end of the corridor was the locked door, only this time the door was standing open. Liana paused for a moment to watch the woman, the sunlight on her braided hair as she bent over on a tapestry frame.
“Good evening, my dear,” the woman said, turning and smiling pleasantly. “Please come in and shut the door. It makes a draft.”
Liana did as she was bid. “I have come to see you before, but you weren’t here. Rogan has gone to Bevan Castle.” Once again, there was the feeling of having known this woman forever.
The woman separated strands of scarlet silk. “Yes, and you have a wager with him. He’s to be your slave for a day?”
Liana smiled and walked toward the woman, looking over her shoulder at the fabric stretched on the frame. It was a tapestry-worked, almost-complete picture of a slim blonde lady with her hand on the head of a unicorn.
“She could be you,” the Lady replied, smiling. “What do you have planned for your day with Rogan?”
Liana smiled dreamily. “A long walk in the woods, perhaps. A day spent alone. No brothers, no castle duties, no knights, just the two of us. I want him to…to give me his full attention.” When the Lady didn’t reply, Liana looked at her and saw the smile was gone. “You don’t approve.”
“It’s not for me to say,” she said softly. “But then I believe he and Jeanne used to take walks together.”
“Jeanne?”
“Jeanne Howard.”
“Howard!” Liana said, gasping. “The same Howards who are the sworn enemies of the Peregrines? I have heard little else since I was married—about how the Howards stole the Peregrine lands, killed the Peregrines, starved the Peregrines. Are you saying that Rogan once courted a Howard?”
“Rogan was once married to Jeanne before she was a Howard.”
Liana sat down on a window seat, the sun warm on her back. “Tell me all,” she whispered.