“I like Eloise. She has not had an easy life. I cannot believe she would be happy if she went with a stranger back to Sedgewick. Please, sir—”
“Hastings, you don’t understand. His Majesty is indebted to Sir Mark Outbraith. Some four years ago he rallied to the king’s side during an ambush near to Jerusalem. We heard that he was killed in a squabble with his neighbor some six months ago. Lady Marjorie is his widow. He left her with nothing. His Majesty thus decided that to repay his debt he would make her the child’s guardian.”
“But she is so young.”
Robert Burnell laughed in that raw way of his that made him sound out of practice. “You are but eighteen, Hastings. Lady Marjorie is twenty-three. Leave be. See to your own affairs. Eloise is no longer your responsibility.” He took a deep drink of wine and sighed deeply. “If I mistake it not, this is from Lord Graelam. From his father-in-law’s vineyard in Aquitaine?”
“Aye, it is. Would you like another goblet, sir?”
Burnell drank deeply, then said slowly, “I had hoped to see Severin, yet it is wise of him to see to his holdings immediately. I am surprised that you did not accompany him.”
“He did not wish me to.”
“Is he to your liking, Hastings?”
“He appears to be a br
ave warrior, sir. If you would know the truth, he does not like me. But then again, I suppose many husbands don’t like their wives. I know that I am not particularly fond of him.”
Robert Burnell waved an indifferent hand. “You are both young. You will change. Once you begin having children, you will see him in a different light. I understand that Richard de Luci poisoned his wife so he could take you and wed you? That he failed because the poor lady didn’t die speedily enough?”
“So I have been told. Lord Graelam said he slipped on a rabbit bone and hit his head. He is dead.”
“Excellent. You have grown up well, Hastings. You are comely and you fed me an excellent meal. The keep is sound and well managed. You and Severin should try to model yourselves upon our blessed king and queen. Aye, it is a pleasure to serve our king and queen. Their affection for each other is a constant in this chaos of men’s affairs. Fret not, Hastings. You are young. You will bend, as you should to your husband.”
Did everyone want her to become a sheep in women’s clothing?
“And Severin? What will he do, sir?”
“He is a lusty young man. He will teach you to enjoy lust and to laugh.”
She sipped at the wonderful Aquitaine wine. It warmed the belly. It also made her feel easy and smile a lot, despite the fact that Robert Burnell was again telling her it was she who had to change, not Severin. She smiled now at Robert Burnell. “How long will you remain at Oxborough, sir?”
“Ah, I must take Lady Marjorie and the child back to Sedgewick on the morrow, as I told you. As to this woman Beale, I will see the extent of her madness, for mad she must be to hold a knife to the child’s throat and try to escape with her. You are not to worry about the child. Look at the lady. Already the child is smiling and holding her hand.”
It was true, Hastings thought. Eloise had gone to Majorie with scarce a thought to Hastings. She felt betrayed and a bit jealous of the beautiful woman. She did not like that in herself but it did not seem to matter if she liked it or not. It was there, that jealousy. Why had Eloise gone so quickly over to her?
Severin returned to Oxborough three days later, a fortnight to the very day. Hastings was standing on the top steps of the keep watching him and his men ride into the inner bailey. Children and animals scattered out of the way. She watched him dismount and hand the reins to Mark, his squire, who was patting his warhorse’s sweating neck, speaking to him, Hastings thought, telling him about the delicious carrots from her garden. She liked Mark. It was just that he couldn’t bring himself to speak to her. All he did was open his mouth, stutter, then shut it again.
Severin was bareheaded. His gray tunic and chain mail shone brightly beneath the noonday sun. He looked in her direction then and she saw the weariness in him. Still, his dark blue eyes seemed to brighten. Dame Agnes’s advice sounded a litany in her head, advice soundly agreed to by Alice: “When your lord returns, you will smile at him and you will see to his needs. You will show your interest in him and you will applaud him in his recitals. You might consider kissing him, though knowing you, you would probably purse your mouth and make him prefer a sour apple.”
Kiss him. She’d thought a lot about that. She could do it, she knew she could. But what if he flung her away from him? What if he just looked at her and laughed, or told her she bored him or told her that her kiss was just ordinary?
“Severin!”
He looked around. She yelled his name again and he slewed about to look at her. His jaw dropped in utter surprise. She laughed aloud, picked up her skirts, and dashed down the deeply indented steps.
“I am glad you are home,” she shouted, but didn’t stop running. She ran right at him, jumping up to fling her arms around his neck and hug him until she wondered if she were not choking him. She was hanging there, her feet off the cobbled stones of the inner bailey. Then, slowly, finally, his arms came around her. He pressed her tightly against him.
“I am glad you are home,” she said again, kissing his neck, his right ear. “I have missed you. It has been too many days without you. A fortnight. Too long. Welcome home, my lord.” And she kissed his cheek, very close to his mouth.
Then his arms fell away. He clasped her upper arms and gently pulled her off him, setting her feet on the cobblestones. He stared down at her, stared at those damned eyes of hers that were sparkling with delight, that held no secrets to bring a man to his knees, at least that he could see. Aye, it was delight he saw, he wasn’t blind or particularly stupid. And she was lightly flushed, as if embarrassed by her show of affection for him.
“What have you done?” he said finally, not releasing her upper arms. “Have you killed one of my men? Have you poisoned one of our people by mistake? Did MacDear cook Gilbert the goat thinking him a chicken? Will the damned goat have a boot in his mouth when he is brought out on a platter?”
She laughed and threw her arms around his chest, hugging him tightly. “Nay, I have just missed you. Did you not miss me? Just a bit?”
“Aye, mayhap a bit. I left Oxborough with a sour feeling in my belly. It lasted many days.”