Rosehaven (Medieval Song 5)

“Thank you, Alice,” Hastings said, then saw that Alice was looking at Severin, a very soft smile on her face. A smile? Then she remembered. He’d said he would take Alice if Hastings continued to vex him with her monthly flux. She just stood there, watching Alice, a girl but three years older than she, sweet-natured, a good worker, a girl who loved to laugh and jest, a girl who’d explained to Hastings why she was bleeding that first time when Hastings was thirteen years old. Had Alice been with Severin, her husband?

“Alice, come here and help me with my boots. My squire is still on the archery field. I doubt your mistress could make a good job of it.”

Hastings didn’t say a word, merely watched as Alice walked quickly to Severin, bent over, and grabbed his boot, laughing, even as she backed closer toward Severin, who was looking at her bottom. He reached out his hand, then frowned down at that hand and pulled it back.

But Alice didn’t have any reticence. She wiggled, actually wiggled her bottom in his face. She saw Severin staring intently at Alice’s bottom. Would he take her right here in front of his wife? His wife whom he was going to bed this very evening? He had never looked at her so intently. He appeared utterly absorbed, the knave.

“You lecherous bastard,” she yelled at him. Hastings didn’t think, she grabbed up a bucket of hot water and threw it on him. He yelped. Alice jumped away, one of Severin’s boots in her hands.

“Hastings, I did not know you were still here. I thought you had gone behind the screen to dress. Why, I—”

“Get out, Alice. I thought you were my friend, yet here you are, wiggling your bottom in Severin’s face. He is my husband, Alice. I will not allow that.”

Alice looked perplexed. “Aye, Hastings, I know that he is your husband, but he is just a man. What does that have to

say to our friendship?”

Severin had his tunic over his head and was wiping himself off with it. His hair was plastered to his head, the bed cover was wet, and there was Trist, his beautiful coat sticking up in wet clumps.

There was murder in Severin’s eyes. He rose, tossing his tunic to the floor. He was quite naked.

“Leave us, Alice.”

Alice frowned from one to the other. “My lord,” she said very softly, her voice gentle as summer raindrops, “my lady does not understand the ways of men. She is possessive. She does not realize that play is nothing more than that—just play. I’ve seen you smiling at me, looking at me the way a man looks at a woman he wishes to bed. Your man Gwent told me you found me comely and wished to dally. As for my mistress, she—”

“None of that matters. Get out, Alice, else I’ll thrash her in front of you.”

Alice looked at Hastings, saw her pallor, saw that she had only a drying cloth wrapped around her. Alice had meant no harm, she’d not lied about that. Had Severin asked her, she would have willingly run her hands over his body, enjoying his strength and hardness, probably sat on his lap, easing his sex up into her. Why, they would have laughed and groaned and had a fine time. But now, Hastings had displeased him. By Saint Peter’s knees, she’d thrown hot water on him. She had shown jealousy. Alice nearly shuddered. She couldn’t imagine such a thing.

Hastings jealous?

Alice knew her duty to her friend. She drew herself up. “I think I had best remain, my lord. If there is punishment to be meted out, then I should receive it, not my lady.”

Severin looked at the sweet-faced Alice, whom he’d planned to take during the past four days but had never seemed to find just the right moment, what with Hastings and Eloise and Trist in his bed with him and so much to be done during the days, what with new men-at-arms whose skills he had to measure. She had backed up to stand next to Hastings, her hands on her hips. “Aye, my lord, I cannot allow you to hurt my mistress.”

Hastings was staring at her naked husband. She’d seen him naked, but just parts of him, and for brief moments. But here he was, furious at her, standing there, his legs parted, not moving, his hands fisted at his sides. His sex was flaccid in the nest of thick dark hair at his groin. She wished at that moment that time could reverse itself. Just twenty minutes. Of course time remained moving as it always did.

She found her mouth was very dry, still she said, “Alice, you will not try to protect me. This is ridiculous. I did not realize that men and women took each other whenever either wished it. You are right. He is just a man and we have been friends for years. Please leave us now. If he wishes to strike me because I threw water on him, then he will, whether you are here or not. Go, Alice.”

Trist shook himself hard, then leapt gracefully off the bed and ran to Hastings. He grabbed the drying cloth and climbed up until he sat upon her bare shoulder. He rubbed his whiskers against her cheek.

“The little lordling will not allow the master to strike you, Hastings,” Alice said very quietly. “All know that the master would do anything for the marten.”

Severin was just standing there, ready to shake Hastings, aye, at least he could shake her, and Alice was trying to protect her, and now his damned marten was trying to protect her. Again. His damned marten whom he’d raised from a scraggly little lump when he’d found him freezing and nearly dead next to the stump of a tree some two years before. It wasn’t to be borne.

He strode to Hastings, grabbed her arms, and lifted her to eye level with him. He found himself looking into Trist’s eyes as well as Hastings’s.

He shook her. Her drying cloth fell off. She squeaked, trying to grab it, but failed.

He shook her again. “Get out of here, Alice. I think I’ll take your sweet mistress right here, right now.”

Alice didn’t move.

“Get out!”

Alice knew when a man was serious. The master was very serious. She looked at Hastings, at that marten, whose face was between the master’s and Hastings’s, and fled.

“Now, let me look at what I have purchased with my honor.”