Читать книгу Lord Of Lyonsbridge - Ana Seymour - Страница 11

The village that had grown up around Lyonsbridge Castle was still crude, especially by Norman standards. For someone who had spent much of the previous two years at the court of King Louis in Paris, the primitive conditions of England were barely tolerable. In dismay she looked up and down the dirt path that ran past the rough homes.

“The Coopers live at the far end of town, near the abbey,” Connor said, slowing his horse. He appeared to notice her reaction. “In spite of your faith in the benefits of the Norman occupation, up to now the war has brought little but hardship to these people.”

Ellen remained silent and let Jocelyn lag behind as the horse master’s mount picked its way along the street. Strangely, though it was midday, there was no one about. Just ahead, a shutter banged, and she thought she saw a head duck inside.

“Where is everyone?” she asked finally.

Connor smiled. “At their windows, I suspect. Watching us through whatever crack they may find.”

“But why don’t they meet us openly? I’d greet them if they’d show themselves.”

“I’m afraid the people of Lyonsbridge have learned that it’s safer to stay out of the way of their Norman masters.”

Ellen remembered the girl Sarah’s words of yesterday about the threat to whip her mother. It was time to get to the bottom of this. “Why are they afraid of us?” she asked directly.

Connor pulled his mount to a halt and looked at her, surprised. “You yourself said you could not blame them for keeping the memories of husbands and sons killed.”

“But the conflict is now well past.” There was a rustling behind the straw door of the house where they’d stopped. Ellen looked toward it expectantly, but no one emerged.

“’Tis but a different kind of conflict, milady. Is the ant not afraid of the boot even though it is left to scurry about at will?”

Once again it occurred to Ellen that the man talked more like a courtier than a peasant. Her curiosity about him grew with each encounter.

“I’d not like to think that my people live in fear of being crushed like ants. ‘Tis a situation we must mend.”

Connor seemed about to offer a comment, but after a long moment, he shook his head and silently signaled to his horse to resume walking. “We’re almost there, milady. I daresay the Coopers will be fair astonished to have you on their doorstep.”

Ellen allowed her horse to follow. “I told Sarah yesterday that I’d be visiting.”

Though Ellen’s mother had been dead these past ten years, she vividly remembered having to accompany her on visits to the tenants on her father’s estates in Normandy. It was one of the distasteful obligations of nobility, she’d decided early on as she’d stared uncomfortably at the dirty peasant children and tried to keep her fine embroidered skirts from being soiled in their huts.

Connor stopped in front of a small cottage. Attached to one end was a pen that held a fat sow and what seemed like dozens of squealing piglets. Ellen watched the squirming creatures with a smile.

“John was too young to take over his father’s trade,” Connor said, nodding his head toward the animals. “The family has bartered piglets for their needs.”

“’Twas fortunate they were left with such a fine breeder.”

He smiled slightly. “The Normans did not leave old John Cooper’s family with a roof over their heads, much less livestock. The house and the pig were gifts from the village so the family could survive.”

Ellen turned her head to look back at the street they’d just traveled. “It doesn’t seem that these people would have anything extra to spare.”

“We take care of our own,” Connor said briefly. “We’re not totally helpless in defeat” He dismounted and tied his horse’s reins to the top rail of the pigpen.

Without waiting for his assistance, Ellen jumped to the ground, then followed his example in tying up her mount. He turned toward her, surprised. “I’m not totally helpless either, horse master,” she said smugly. She wasn’t sure exactly why, but she wanted to impress him. Unlike any other servant she’d ever known, he made her feel as if he was not only her equal, but her superior. Older, wiser and more worthy.

Well, older he may be, and wise with horses, mayhap. After all, it was his position in life. But it was an absurd notion that a Saxon servant, even a freeholding one, could think of himself as equal to a Wakelin.

He glanced briefly at the knot she’d tied, then nodded, his face impassive, and gestured toward the house. “We’d best knock, milady. I daresay they’ll be bashful enough about opening to us.”

Ellen thought back to her mother’s obligatory tenant visits. If memory served, when Ellen and her mother had arrived, the families were always awaiting them outside their doors, bowing and scraping. “Then please announce me, Master Brand,” she said.

Connor took two long steps to the thatched door and knocked, rattling the flimsy structure. After a moment, it opened and John Cooper peered shyly out, his eyes wide.

“Lady Ellen has come to see to the welfare of your mother,” Connor told the boy.

“Sarah said she was to come, but I misbelieved her.”

“Well, she’s here, so let us in, lad,” Connor said with a smile. “Your mother is abed?”

John nodded. “Sarah’s with her.” He pulled the door wide to allow them to enter.

Ellen resisted the impulse to sweep up her skirts so they’d not be soiled as she moved into the house, but to her amazement, the interior of the home appeared to be immaculate. The dirt floor was raked and free of debris. The wooden table in the center of the room was spotless. Against the far wall a cupboard held neatly stacked dishes. The odor of rich pork stew wafted from a pot that bubbled over the fireplace. The girl Sarah sat in a small chair next to a cot in the corner of the room. She stood up quickly and made a little curtsy.

Ellen smiled at her, then shifted her gaze to the bed, where a thin, gray-haired woman was struggling to sit up. “Please be at rest, Mistress Cooper,” Ellen said quickly. “I’ve not come to put you to exertion.”

The woman continued her efforts for another moment, then evidently realized that her frail body would not respond. She collapsed back against the straw mattress. “I’m sorry, milady,” she said faintly.

For the first time in many months, Ellen had a wave of longing for her mother. She’d had it often in the years after her death, but the past couple of years at court had been so full and exciting that the pain of her absence had subsided. Her mother would have. known what to do for the cooper’s widow. She would have had herbs for her body, and words for her spirit with exactly the right combination of encouragement and incitement.

Ellen sighed and walked across the room toward the woman. “I’ve come to see how you’re faring, Mistress Cooper, not to disturb your rest.”

“May God bless you for such kindness, milady. My daughter said you treated her gently yesternoon,” the woman said, her watery smile echoing the one Sarah herself had given Ellen yesterday as she’d clutched her hand in gratitude.

“You have two fine children,” Ellen said.

“Thank you, milady. But my blessings are great. I have four.”

At the direction of the woman’s fond gaze, Ellen turned and for the first time noticed two smaller children, scarcely five years of age, standing stiffly in the dark corner opposite, still as statues, their hands tightly joined. They had identical dresses and cropped blond hair, and Ellen couldn’t tell if they were lads or girls.

She moved toward them. Neither one moved. “What are your names?” Ellen asked.

“They’re Abel and Karyn,” John supplied, still standing near the door. “They were the names my father had picked before he—” he broke off, then started in again. “Abel if it be male and Karyn for a lass. As it turned out, there was one of each.”

“Good morrow, Abel and Karyn,” Ellen greeted them with a smile. The two smaller children remained frozen.

“Born a month after their father’s death,” Connor added, which dimmed Ellen’s smile.

“As I say, milady, I’ve been greatly blessed,” the woman behind her said, but as she ended the sentence, she broke into a paroxysm of coughing.

‘Ellen turned back to her in alarm. The coughs seemed to rattle every part of the woman’s fragile -body. Sarah stopped staring at Ellen and dropped to her mother’s side, reaching for a rag that lay behind her and bringing it up to her mother’s mouth so she could cough into it.

“What has been done for her?” Ellen asked.

“’Tis the cold weather, milady,” Sarah said, looking up apologetically. “If the day is fine, we’ll take her into the sun later and she’ll be some better.”

“She should have a tonic for that cough.”

“Aye; milady,” Sarah agreed, but offered nothing further. Her mother’s body continued to be wracked with silent spasms.

“I suspect the family has not wanted to ask about medicine because they have not the coin to purchase any,” Connor explained.

“’Tis worse these three days past,” John said. “I would’ve told you if it kept up another day or two, Master Brand.”

Connor nodded, evidently finding nothing rare in the fact that a stable master would be the one the boy would come to in distress. The man had an air of selfconfidence and authority that went beyond his post, Ellen thought once again.

“She must have medicine. I’ll ask Sir William to see to it.” She walked to the bed and, after a moment’s hesitation, reached over to put her hand on the widow’s shoulder. The woman’s lips had turned white and tears leaked from each closed eye, but the spell appeared to be passing.

Sarah looked up from her kneeling position, the same grateful smile on her face. “Thank you, milady.”

John looked doubtful. “Sir William will like not being bothered with such a matter, milady.”

“Sir William will like what I tell him to like,” Ellen said. There were several long moments of silence as the widow’s coughs continued to subside, turning into relaxed, deep breaths.

“You’ve calmed her, milady,” Sarah said, awe in her voice.

Rather self-consciously, Ellen withdrew her hand from the woman’s shoulder. She looked around the cottage, suddenly feeling out of place. “I believe she wore herself to sleep with her coughing, child.”

Sarah shook her head. “Nay, often when she starts in like that it lasts nigh on forever. ‘Twas you who calmed her.”

“The girl’s right.” Connor had walked over to crouch beside the twins and put his arms around them. “I’ve seen the spells last an hour or more with nothing to stop them.”

“Look, she’s sleeping,” John added, his tone as awed as his sister. It was true. The widow’s breast rose and fell in the even breathing of slumber.

Ellen gave a small, uncomfortable laugh. “Then mayhap we should leave her to rest.”

Connor stood, lifting a twin in each arm. The two children had not made a sound since she and Connor had entered the cottage, but secure in the horse master’s long arms, they each ventured a smile. There was an unfamiliar melting sensation inside Ellen’s chest. She walked over to the trio and asked softly, “Which one is Karyn and which is Abel? Will you tell me your names now?”

The child in Connor’s right arm ducked his head and said in an almost inaudible voice, “Abel.” Then he unfurled a tiny arm from where it was clasped against Connor’s side and pointed around the horse master’s broad chest to his sister. “Karyn,” he said.

The little girl would not look at Ellen. “Mayhap Karyn will tell me her name herself,” she suggested.

“Karyn will hear you, milady, but she doesn’t speak,” Connor told her.

“She was struck dumb,” John explained. “But my brother talks for both of them.”

The girl lay her head on Connor’s shoulder and at last looked up at Ellen. Her eyes were light crystal blue, her features tiny and perfect. Ellen was smitten. Without thinking, she reached for her, but Karyn clung to Connor’s shoulder. “What do you mean, struck dumb?” Ellen asked, dropping her arms and stepping back.

She’d addressed the question to John, but the boy merely exchanged an uncomfortable glance with Sarah and remained silent.

“Me mum says ‘twas a sign from God, to make her special like,” Sarah said. She made the sign of the cross and her brother did likewise.

Ellen looked back at the child. With her blond curls wreathing her face, she looked like one of the cherubs painted on the ceilings of the grand churches back home. “Mayhap your mother is right,” she said.

Connor gave each of the children a final squeeze and set them down. “Are you ready to go, milady?” he asked.

Ellen nodded. She was feeling shaky inside, as if she’d not had food in overlong, though she’d eaten well that morning. She turned to Sarah. “I promise that you’ll have a tonic for your mother by this afternoon. I’ll come again in two days to see that it’s having some effect.”

All the children, even the twins, bobbed their thanks, and Ellen turned to leave, with Connor following behind. When she emerged into the fresh air, it felt as if she’d been inside for a long time, though the total stay in the cottage had surely been only minutes.

This time she let Connor help her mount. Neither spoke as they made their way back through the village and out onto the road. Finally Ellen said, “They are a special family, are they not?”

“Aye. You saw her in a weakened state, but Agnes Cooper has single-handedly raised extraordinary children.”

They rode abreast. His big horse swayed easily next to hers. “A remarkable woman, I trow,” Ellen agreed. “But she’s had some help, it appears. The boy seems to look to you for guidance.”

“John’s a good lad,” was all he said in answer.

After several more moments of silence she asked, “Do you take such an interest in all the villagers, horse master?”

He looked at her with that amused smile she was beginning to recognize. “Surely ‘tis not against Norman law for neighbors to help one another?”

“Of course not.” It was infuriating how he managed to skirt her question, how he refused to satisfy her curiosity about him, which seemed to burn brighter the more time she spent with him. She would have to be more direct than her gentility would normally allow. “I find myself pondering the nature of your relationship to these village folk. Does your family live here?”

“I have no family left, milady, other than my brother Martin, with whom you’re already acquainted.”

“But you grew up here?” she persisted.

“Hereabouts.”

She gave it up. If this strange manner of servant didn’t want to reveal more of his background, of what concern was it to her? But the frustration still stung. She spurred her horse into a gallop, expecting to leave him in her dust, but somehow his horse managed to move at the exact same instant as hers, keeping them abreast.

“Do you favor a race, Master Brand?” she called to him.

He grinned back at her. “I’m escorting you, milady. I go where you go. I’ll not leave your side.”

“We’ll see about that,” she shouted with a laugh, flicking the reins against Jocelyn’s neck. She knew it was all the urging her mount needed to stretch out into a pace that was difficult for most others to maintain.

His horse didn’t miss a stride. Side by side the two animals raced up the road, scattering dirt and pebbles in their wake like a minor dust storm. It seemed they’d scarcely begun when suddenly Lyonsbridge Castle loomed into view over a small hill. Ellen reined in and Connor’s horse slowed in tandem.

“We’re here already.” Her tone was disappointed.

“Aye, milady. ‘Tis a short journey at such speed.”

Ellen wrinkled her nose. “I wasn’t trying to win,” she said.

There was that mocking smile again. It quirked the corners of his mouth in a most annoying fashion. “I wasn’t,” she repeated. “And, anyway, ‘tis easier with a regular saddle.”

Connor raised his eyebrows. “Surely milady doesn’t ride astride?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I did in Normandy when my father and my chaperons weren’t around to see.”

“I imagine your mother cautioned you against such unladylike behavior.”

“My mother died when I was but ten years of age,” she said, then immediately regretted the confidence. The man had told her nothing of himself, but now had her trusting him with this most sensitive detail of her life’s history.

A shadow crossed his face. “I’m sorry. I venture to say that she’d be proud to see the lovely lady her daughter has become.”

It was another of his totally inappropriate comments, but in spite of herself, Ellen felt a flush of pleasure.

They were almost to the stables. Connor moved his horse ahead and pulled it up neatly next to the fence. By the time Ellen reached his side, he’d dismounted and was ready to help her down, in spite of the fact that she’d dismounted without assistance back in the village.

“I’d not have you break your neck within sight of your father’s castle, milady,” he explained, holding up his arms, but his smile was no longer mocking. His blue eyes looking up at her seemed younger. The guarded look was gone, as was the insolence. For a moment she wished that she and this horse master were simply a man and a maid like any other, free to ride the countryside and laugh and tease.

Shaking the notion from her head, she slid into his arms. He smelled not of horse, but of fresh straw and something more tangy, perhaps mint. His hands clasped her waist firmly and he set her on the ground, rather than letting her drop. They lingered there for just an instant, then he stepped back and, for the first time in their acquaintance, made a slight bow. It was almost as if he, too, felt the need to remind them both of their respective positions.

“Thank you for the escort, Master Brand,” she said after a moment. “Next time mayhap I’ll ask to use one of your saddles and we’ll have a true race.”

But as soon as he stepped away from her, his face had changed back to its old expression, and it appeared his thoughts were once again on his villager friends. “If you do send the tonic to the widow Cooper, it will be a gesture looked on kindly by the rest of the populace,” he said.

Ellen felt a touch of pique at the abrupt distance in his tone. She realized that she’d wanted him to banter with her. She suspected that Connor Brand, in spite of his servant garb, could offer gallantries that would rival any of the courtiers in Europe.

“The tonic,” he prodded gently when she didn’t reply.

“I don’t need to be reminded of my duties by my horse master,” she said finally. “’Twas I who chose to go into the village today. I promised the widow her tonic, and she shall have it forthwith.”

The intensity of his eyes dimmed as he gave another light bow. “By your ladyship’s leave,” he said, reaching around her to grasp Jocelyn’s reins. “I’ll see that your mount is well combed down this morning after her run.”

Leaving her standing where he himself had placed her in the dirt of the yard, he led her horse away without looking back. She stood watching until the man and animal disappeared into the cavernous stable.

All the way back up the hill to the castle, she worked to soothe her rising temper. He’d done nothing untoward. He’d even bowed this time, as befitted his station. But she knew as certainly as she knew her own age, that there was nothing subservient about Master Brand and never would be.

And perhaps the most annoying thing of all was the knowledge that, contrary to Master Brand’s assertion, her mother would not have been proud of her at all this day. For after the exhilaration of their ride together, until Master Brand reminded her, all thought of the widow Cooper’s tonic had gone totally out of Ellen’s head.

Connor knocked with his fist on the huge slab of wood that guarded the Abbey of St. John. The gesture made scarcely a sound. He pulled his knife from his belt, intending to use the hilt to announce his arrival with more authority, but before he could do so, the big door creaked open. A tall monk, thin even in his robes, smiled at him and said, “Welcome, Connor.”

Brother Augustine was older than Connor by a score of years and had always seemed to him to be among the wiser of the brothers who spent their tedious days and nights in holy contemplation. If Connor were ever in need of a spiritual counselor, he might choose Brother Augustine.

But it was not a spiritual matter that had brought him to the abbey this day. “Good day, Brother. You are well, I trust?”

“By God’s grace,” the monk answered, making the cross.

“Have you seen my bro-ah, Father Martin?”

The monk nodded briskly, causing the sunshine to gleam across his totally bald head. “Your brother is at the church. In the sacristy, I believe. The new masters have decided to refurbish the chapel up at the castle, and he’s trying to decide what needs to be taken there.”

Connor thanked the monk and made his way across the abbey courtyard to the stone church at the opposite end from the gate. He found his brother as the monk had predicted, seated on the stone floor of the sacristy, sorting through a box of silver vessels used to administer the sacraments.

“So now the Normans want to take over God’s possessions, as well as ours,” Connor observed as he walked over to him.

“Everything is God’s possession,” his brother argued quietly, “be it housed in His holy place or in a humble hut.”

“Or in a Norman castle,” Connor added dryly.

“Aye.”

“Are you going there today?”

“As soon as I finish here. You may help me transport some of this, if you will.”

Connor wrinkled his face in a scowl. “’Twould sit ill. These things belong in the church.”

“They’ll be in a holy chapel.”

“But no longer accessible to the people, only to those the Normans choose to invite.”

Father Martin sighed and struggled a bit to boost himself to his feet. “Leave it be, Connor. ‘Tis not something you’ll miss, after all. You won’t be taking sacraments at either place.”

Connor bent to help his brother lift the heavy box back into a chest. “Nevertheless, I’d as soon not be a party to the looting of God’s church, if you can find other assistance. But I’ve come to ask a favor of you.”

Father Martin lifted his eyebrows, aware, as was his brother, that Connor Brand asked favors of no man.

Connor hesitated. Next time, she’d said. She’d promised that the next time they rode together, it would be a contest. Indeed. He was afraid the true contest would not be between their two mounts, but between his own reason and his unruly impulses. When she’d dropped into his arms at the end of their ride, it had been all he could do to keep from clasping her closer. The urge had been that strong, against all good sense. The lass had bewitched him, and he simply couldn’t afford to succumb to the spell.

“What would you have of me?” Father Martin asked as the silence stretched out.

“’Tis not for me, really,” Connor said, looking away from his brother. “’Tis for the safety of the lady herself.”

Father Martin’s eyes gleamed. “I assume you’re speaking of the lady Ellen?”

“Aye. You must tell her and her cousin that she needs an escort if she’s to travel around the countryside.”

“Are you hoping for the post?”

“Lord, no. I’m hoping to avoid having to leave my own duties to nursemaid her, as I was forced to today.”

“Ah.” Father Martin slowly unrolled the sleeves of his robe, watching his brother out of the corner of his eye. “Did you find the duty onerous, then?”

Connor’s face reddened. “You may well guess that I did not, brother. But you yourself warned me about the dangers of such proximity.”

The amusement faded from the priest’s eyes. “Aye, brother, I did. I do. And I shall speak to the lady myself today.”

Connor nodded, his face stiff. “You’ll not tell her that ‘twas I who sent you?”

His brother’s voice became gentle. “Nay, brother. I’ll not tell her.”

“I’m in your debt, Martin,” Connor said. He cleared his throat awkwardly, then turned toward the door saying, “I’d best get back.”

Father Martin’s eyes were troubled as he stood watching his brother until his tall form had disappeared through the door back to the courtyard.