Читать книгу Knight's Move - Jennifer Landsbert - Страница 8

H ester woke early the next morning. She always woke early, but this morning she felt weary and heavy after her troubled night.

Guy had loomed in her confused dreams, chasing her down dark tunnels and across wintry landscapes, hissing that he had come to take what was his by rights. She had seemed to be running all night, always only one step ahead of him, so that whenever she looked over her shoulder, his face was there, close behind, dark and nightmarish, with that scar tugging eerily at his eye.

Hester shuddered at the thought of it as she flung back the bedclothes. She needed to get out into the open, where the fresh sea breeze could blow away these morbid thoughts.

She hastily pulled on the green woollen dress she had discarded the night before and hurriedly fastened the laces of the bodice. Over this she tied her workaday brown girdle, fresh from the wash, and hitched her long skirts up into it, allowing her to move as freely as the women from the village who wore their dresses in exactly the same way.

Of course, it wasn’t the done thing for the lady of the manor to emulate their example, but Hester didn’t care about that. Practicality was all important. She wasn’t some doll to sit at home and look pretty, nor would she be turned into one, no matter what her husband might wish.

Her husband… Hester knew she would be expected to stay in the house and see to breakfast for him and his friends. But after last night she knew she couldn’t bear to look at him again so soon. She needed to gather her strength before facing him.

Gently, she slid back the bolt on her door and crept out of her room. No one seemed to be about. Hester hesitated for a moment, listening, then tiptoed down the stairs in her stockinged feet, clutching her clogs in her hands.

At the door, she slipped her feet into the heavy wooden shoes; then she was out, clomping across the courtyard, secure in the belief that none of her unwelcome ‘guests’ were yet awake. Well, she couldn’t hang around waiting for them all day, she reasoned to herself. If they couldn’t be bothered to get up at a sensible hour, they would have to manage without her. After all, she had a farm to run. She couldn’t lie around in bed all day in the luxurious manner of a knight.

Hester knew William was planning to start work on the vines now that the corn was sown. She began to make her way to the vineyard, then stopped in her tracks and turned back. No. First, she must tell the bees.

It was the custom, an important one, always to tell the bees when something happened. If the keeper omitted to tell them of a birth or a death, so the folklore went, they would all fly away, leaving their hives empty and taking their precious honeymaking skills with them. Hester had been looking after the bees almost since her arrival at Abbascombe. The old lord had considered it a good task to give his new daughter-in-law, hoping to reawaken her interest in life after the traumatic turmoil which had brought her to his demesne. He had been right. She had learnt the bee-keeping skills quickly and easily, and had grown to love the work. And the bees had thrived in her care, producing more honey than ever before, and multiplying their numbers so that now she had eight hives, where before there had been only five.

Every now and then over the past years, the possibility had flitted through her mind that one day she would have to inform them of Guy’s death. If word had ever arrived of him, she would have whispered it into their hives. But no word had ever come. And now, instead, he was back at Abbascombe, his presence larger and darker than before.

As she reached the orchard, she saw the dew still glistening on the leaves of the trees, a mist rising off the hills beyond. The early mornings were still chilly and the bees were too sluggish to be about their business out of doors. As she bent over the first hive, she could hear the familiar, reassuring buzzing inside.

‘He’s back,’ she tried to say, but her voice came out a dry, tight whisper. She cleared her throat, determined to announce the news properly. ‘He’s back. Not dead after all. Guy Beauvoisin is returned to Abbascombe as lord…and I…I hardly know what this means for me. Four years of playing at being lord, of believing that Abbascombe was mine, and now what?’ The question seemed to hang in the air like the mist. ‘Last night I fled from him,’ she confessed. ‘Part of me longed to stay, but the rest of me knew ’twould be madness to trust such a one as he. Don’t you agree, bees?’ She paused, as if they might reply. The bees buzzed on soporifically. Then Hester turned on her heels and headed back towards the vineyard. An occupation was what she needed. An occupation and William’s cheery chat.

She found her bailiff alone in the vineyard, pruning the wiry stems.

‘Morning, my lady,’ he called, beaming at her in surprise. ‘I didn’t expect to see you this morning.’

‘I wanted to have a look at the vines. Where’s everyone else?’ she asked, looking round the lonely plot.

‘It’s early yet,’ William replied good-naturedly. ‘And I think most of them will have headaches after last night. A lot of toasts were made to his lordship’s return.’ He chuckled.

‘Oh.’ Hester felt too annoyed to say more. The last thing they needed was to fall behind on the land because of Guy’s return. He’d created quite enough mayhem without debilitating her workforce too. ‘Well, let’s get on. Why don’t you show me what needs doing?’

‘The best thing would be if you hold the vines steady whilst I cut them. If you just hold the stem here while I…’ His words petered out with the effort of cutting the tough old growth as William sawed away at it with a knife so sharp it made Hester wince.

The vines produced plentifully in good years, standing in a sheltered lee of the land where the sun baked down in the summer. Hester and William worked their way around from vine to vine, with William cutting and pruning judiciously. Engrossed in the work, the morning passed quickly, and Hester was almost able to rid her mind of unpleasant thoughts of her long-lost husband.

‘What do you make of this?’ William asked, calling her attention to a woody lump on the bark of one of the vines.

‘I’m not sure,’ Hester said, peering at it closely.

‘Should I cut it out? What do you think?’ They were standing beside each other, their faces close in consultation as they considered this problem, when they heard the sound of horses’ hooves nearby. Looking up, Hester saw the person she least wanted to meet. There he was, her husband, sitting majestically on his horse and leading another horse behind him…her horse. At his side ambled the hell-hound. It barked threateningly at the sight of her, still eager to protect its devilish master from the supposed threat of her presence. Guy quieted the dog with a single word, ‘Amir!’

‘Morning, my lord,’ William greeted him cheerily, oblivious to the weight that had descended on Hester’s heart. ‘We were so busy examining this vine, we didn’t see you coming.’

‘Evidently,’ Guy replied, his face expressionless. ‘Good morning.’

Hester tried to return the greeting but the words dried in her mouth. She steeled herself to look up at him, managing to train her eyes on his face, hoping she had masked the difficulty which the effort cost her.

As her eyes focused on him, a bolt of surprise shot through her for he looked quite different. The thick bristles were gone, replaced by a strong, broad cleft chin. His hair was no longer a matted mess on his shoulders, but short and luxuriant, a deep, rich brown instead of dirty black. He no longer looked like a filthy ne’er-do-well, but actually like a lord, a person to be respected. But appearances can be deceptive, Hester thought to herself, as she weighed him with her eyes.

He seemed to sense that she was examining his new looks and said, ‘My bags have arrived this morning by pack horse, so I am able to attire myself rather more fittingly.’ Then he added with a mischievous glint in his eye, ‘I find I have woken with a slight ache of the head. Perhaps it is due to the quality of your wine, my lady.’

Was this to be his manner to her after last night? Teasing and flippant? In his mind had nothing of significance occurred when she had pulled away from his embrace in the hall? Was he so indifferent to her after all?

‘My wine is of the finest quality,’ she snapped back, though she knew it wasn’t true. Her wine was adequate and quaffable, but no one would have called it the finest.

He grinned back at her, barely containing a laugh, amusement all over his face, and she realised she had risen foolishly easily to his bait, just as he had expected. She felt like kicking herself in punishment for being so predictable.

‘Well, however the ache settled in my head,’ he continued, ‘I thought a ride in the fresh air would clear it.’

He paused, glancing at her horse, obviously expecting her to offer to accompany him. Hester did not reply, determined not to make life any easier for him than she had to. There was an awkward silence. William coughed and tried to look very concerned about the vines.

‘I hoped you would ride with me,’ Guy added at last. ‘I had an idea of riding over the Abbascombe land with you as my guide.’

‘Surely you haven’t forgotten your way, even after ten years,’ Hester said curtly, determined to remind him of his scandalous absence at every opportunity.

‘I dare say not, but I would like to hear what’s been happening in my absence.’

‘I am needed here to help with pruning the vines,’ she returned, confident of having found a good excuse.

But William immediately spoke up. ‘Oh, no, my lady, don’t worry about that. I can manage without you. I’m sure you’d enjoy riding over the demesne.’

Hester glared back at him, wishing for once that he wouldn’t always be so obliging. If only he could have read her thoughts, or at least been quicker on the up-take, he would have realised that the last thing she wanted to do was to spend the morning alone with her husband. But William just beamed back at her, reiterating, ‘Don’t you worry about me. The others will be along soon. You’re always working, my lady, why don’t you have a day off for a change?’ Then, before she could protest further, William was standing by her horse, offering to lift her up into the saddle while Guy held its bridle.

It seemed as if she had no choice, but Hester wanted to make it clear to Guy that she would have much preferred to stay with the bailiff working on the vines, so she flashed an extra-warm smile at William in thanks, then lingered for several minutes discussing the work for the day.

Leaning down from her saddle, she chatted and laughed with William, while surreptitiously keeping one eye on Guy. He was glowering, a thunderous look on his face now that he thought no one was watching him. So, he was not quite so cool as he liked to pretend. A feeling of satisfaction crept over her. No wonder he felt out of place, she thought, as she and William chatted about the vineyard. He knows next to nothing about the vines, and William and I know everything. What good is he to Abbascombe? He may be the owner by law, but what does he really know about this land or any of its crops? With any luck he’ll realise how useless he is here, useless and unwanted. Better he should give up and go off back to some war—the further away the better. Just leave us in peace, she thought as she turned to face him.

‘So,’ she said out loud, with as little grace as possible. ‘Where do you require that I should go with you?’

‘Why, lady, I require that you should accompany me on a tour of the Beauvoisin land,’ he replied stiffly, as he motioned to his horse to move off. Hester nodded her assent and followed as he led the way.

‘I should have thought that you would have preferred to spend the day with your comrades in arms,’ she commented after a few moments.

‘Yes, no doubt, but they have already left to continue their journeys homewards, otherwise I am sure they would have been glad to spend this time with me.’

So he admitted he would rather be with his loutish friends than with her. Hester felt a sudden irrational twinge of pain at the admission. She stamped it down. After all, she didn’t want him here. If he preferred their company, why didn’t he go with them instead of staying here to plague her?

‘How unfortunate for you to be without them,’ she commented wryly.

‘Yes—and for you, of course. Had I been occupied with them, you could have spent the whole day with your bailiff as you wished,’ he said sharply, looking away from her towards the grey horizon.

Great banks of cloud were looming there, threatening to bring the rain which the wise woman had predicted. If only they would speed their way across the sky, their rain might call a halt to this detestable task of accompanying him around Abbascombe.

They traversed the fields in silence, deliberately looking at anything except each other, while Amir bounded off, running great circles around them, covering ten times the distance of their more sedate journey.

Hester knew Guy wanted her to make conversation, to tell him what had happened in this field over the past few years, which crops they’d planted here, which had been most successful, the problems they’d had. As they rode on, the information buzzed in her head. This is where we found blighted leaves on the turnips, but William pulled out the affected plants and burned them and the disease spread no further. We counted ourselves very lucky for that. And this is where the plough broke three years ago. And here is where William tried planting leaf beet for the first time and it grew beautifully. Why should she share it all with him, these precious, happy memories? Especially if he wanted to know?

As these thoughts were buzzing through her mind, Guy slowed his horse to walk alongside hers. Hester glanced sidelong at him, trying to measure his mood. Then he spoke.

‘My lady, I wish to learn about the land, and I believe there is much you can tell me,’ he declared, as if he had read her thoughts. Hester looked back at him and again felt the weight of his dark eyes upon her.

‘You do not wish to share your knowledge with me?’ he asked with alarming directness. ‘Why would that be?’

Hester glared back at him. How could he ask such a question? After ten years’ absence…after last night…how could he dare to ask?

‘I am not a fool, my lady. I can understand how little you may have wished for your husband’s return, and how unwelcome that return may be to you. But I am here now and I mean to stay.’

‘How long for?’ Hester tossed back at him, feeling the meanness of her words even as she uttered them, yet saying them nonetheless. After all, he deserved to hear them.

‘For good,’ Guy replied evenly, still watching her face. ‘I am here to stay and I mean to be a good keeper of the land.’ He paused and looked into the distance, then continued, ‘’Twould be best if we could work together as a team. I can see how much you know of Abbascombe and what it means to you. But if you cannot bear to work with me, then I will rule the demesne without your help and I will seek advice elsewhere.’

A gasp caught in Hester’s throat as she felt the force of his words. Of course, that was what he would do. She had not really expected anything else. But, as well as a threat, he had issued an invitation. He had offered to work with her.

‘When you say “work together as a team”, what exactly do you mean?’ she asked, trying to sound her most businesslike, allowing no hint of emotion to escape in her words. It was the same voice she used when negotiating prices with the corn factors, a voice which hid her true feelings like a verbal mask.

‘I know nothing of farming or of the land, but I want to learn. You can tell me what I need to know. And instead of continuing to manage Abbascombe alone, as you have in the past, we can carry the load together.’

Hester hesitated and looked at him. His gaze seemed to be open and honest, yet she felt troubled by his suggestion.

‘It is a disgrace that you know so little of your own land.’ She could not help it, the words slipped out before she could prevent them. She expected anger in return, but Guy’s face remained impassive.

He nodded, paused, then spoke. ‘My education fitted me for fighting. It taught me nothing of farming.’

‘But you could have learned if you’d wished.’

‘Perhaps I could. No doubt I should have done. But I did not know how much I desired it until I was far away from Abbascombe, living in the hot sand of the desert. And my childhood was taken up with learning how to be a knight, far away from here.’

‘In Devonshire at the house of Lord Perigord.’

‘You know of it?’ Guy replied in surprise. ‘Then you know too that I was absent from Abbascombe from the age of seven to seventeen.’

‘Seven?’ Hester repeated. ‘I had not known you were only seven when you left.’ She thought of how she had been wrenched away from her own home at the age of twelve, how painful that had been. But, at seven, how much worse?

‘Yes, seven,’ Guy continued, oblivious to the sympathy that was suddenly welling up inside her. ‘My mother died the following year. By the time I returned I was too full of knightly endeavours to settle to farming.’ He laughed, a hollow, sad laugh. Hester met his eyes. Something in their depths stirred a chord within her. Why not accept his offer? Why not try working with him? At least then she would still have some control over Abbascombe. The alternative was to be completely ousted.

‘Very well,’ she told him carefully. ‘Let us try working as a team.’ And then she began to talk of the land as they rode across it, the crops, the soil, the people. The words flowed easily once she had started and Guy listened attentively, seeming to absorb what she said, remaining silent mostly, but asking sensible questions every now and then, questions which suggested he was serious in his desire to learn. Inevitably, William’s name cropped up again and again in their talk.

‘You and William get on very well together,’ Guy commented one time.

‘Of course. William is my great friend. We work together every day. My burden would have been heavy indeed without him. He is an excellent farmer, knowledgeable and sensible, and also on good terms with all the tenantry. Everyone likes William,’ Hester enthused, ready with praise for her bailiff.

‘Especially you,’ Guy interrupted.

‘Yes. I have leaned on him these four years, and he has never let me down. I could not value anyone more highly than I prize William.’

‘And you appointed him? He was your choice?’

Hester nodded. ‘The old bailiff, Benoc, was dishonest,’ she explained.

‘Dishonest? Benoc? My father never detected him in any dishonesty, I think.’

‘Maybe not, my lord, but in the last few years of his life, your father was weakened by—by—’ A blow hovered on her lips. She bit back the words ‘by your desertion, by the appalling, callous way you treated him’. She did not quite have the nerve to utter them. Instead she continued, ‘By circumstances. His health became worn and he could not keep so careful a watch on his affairs as he might otherwise have done.’

‘I see. And you blame me for that, do you?’ In spite of her careful choice of words, he had heard the accusation in her voice.

Hester hesitated. What was the point of pretending? After all, he hadn’t tried to make things any easier for her all those years ago. He had made no attempt to soften the blow, so why should she spare his feelings now?

‘Yes, I have been used to blame you,’ she said boldly. Guy’s face clouded over and Hester feared what his response might be, but instead of lashing back at her, he said nothing and they rode on in silence.

All at once she felt a pang of sympathy for him and felt a little guilty for having been so blunt. Had it really been that simple? His father had been old, after all—and even old lords had to die some time. But, then again, the old man had been devastated by Guy’s disappearance. And why should she make excuses for this man who had also deserted her? If he wanted the benefit of her knowledge, he must take it as it came.

‘I did not learn of his death until I reached England. I had expected to find him still here,’ Guy said quietly, his voice breaking in upon her thoughts.

‘Oh.’ Hester bit her lip, realising how fresh the news was to him and feeling a sudden pang of sympathy. ‘I did not know.’

‘’Tis no matter. Maud told me he fell from his horse.’

‘Yes, we believe he suffered a seizure while out riding alone. His health had been slipping for some time. He hardly complained, but I know he had been suffering from pains in his chest. Guthrum found him with his horse grazing nearby. He looked peaceful,’ Hester said, remembering the old lord’s face when Guthrum and the others had carried his lifeless body up to the house.

Guy nodded. ‘He died on Abbascombe soil as he would have wished. He loved this land above all else,’ he commented. ‘And you, my lady, you love it too. But was there no one who could have relieved you of the burden of its daily care?’