Читать книгу Bride for a Knight - Margaret Moore - Страница 11
ОглавлениеAfter Roland had gone, Mavis went to the bed and sat heavily. A lump formed in her throat and her eyes welled with tears, only this time it wasn’t because she was leaving the only home she’d ever known and the cousin she loved like a sister.
What had happened to Roland? Where had the kind, gentle lover gone?
She could think of nothing she’d done to anger or upset him...unless he felt she’d talked too much last night. Or perhaps her father’s behavior had disturbed him.
It could be that, despite her belief otherwise, he had seen this marriage only as a bargain with her father. He had done what was necessary to consummate the marriage and cared for her no more than that.
As for the tender, gentle way he’d loved her, perhaps that was only because she’d been a virgin.
Maybe he’d found her lacking in their bed.
She knew nothing of a man’s pleasure. While her wedding night had been extraordinary for her, perhaps it hadn’t been nearly so wonderful for a man of experience. Given her husband’s handsome features and powerful body, she was surely not his first.
Then another, more terrible explanation came to mind. She had heard there were men who, having taken their pleasure of a virgin, lost all interest.
No, that could not be so with Roland. She would have seen some hint that it was only her body he wanted. She had encountered that sort of lust often enough before, including from his older brother, and would certainly have recognized it.
She glanced at the bed and noticed the small spot of blood on the sheet. Yet another explanation leaped into her mind, one much more in keeping with her perception of the man in the solar. If he thought he’d hurt her, he might be angry with himself, not at her, and that would explain his parting words to her, too.
Although she was a little sore, the experience had been no more painful than pulling a hangnail, and she must find a way to tell him, once they were alone.
And she would know, by how he acted then, if he had married her because he wanted her, as she fervently hoped, or if he saw the marriage only as a means to make an alliance with her father.
* * *
A short time later, Roland stood in the courtyard with his arms crossed and his weight on one leg. The wagons were loaded with Mavis’s dower goods, the ox to pull it was in the shafts, his horse and her mare were saddled and ready and the morning meal concluded. The clouds parted to reveal the sun, which began to burn off the remaining frost on the cobblestones. A light breeze blew, enough to ruffle his hair and the pennants on the castle walls, and redden the noses of their escort as they, too, waited to be on their way.
“You’re a lucky man.”
Roland half turned and found Rheged of Cwm Bron at his elbow. “I agree,” he said, meeting the man’s gaze steadily, keeping his voice even.
“Mavis is a kind and sweet young woman,” Rheged continued. “My wife loves her like a sister and we both want Mavis to be happy.”
The man’s deep voice was genial, but there was a look in his eyes that told Roland this was something more than placid observation. Nevertheless, he replied in the same manner as before. “As do I.”
“I’m glad to hear it. We’d be upset otherwise.”
Again there was more to the Welshman’s comment than just the words. But wordplay and hints and insinuation were the language of cheats and deceivers, and Roland would have none of that. “If you have something of import to say to me, my lord, speak plainly.”
“Very well,” Rheged replied. “Tamsin tells me you gave Mavis the choice of accepting the betrothal or not, and she accepted. That’s all to the good. But Mavis is young in the ways of the world, and she’s had enough trouble already with her father, so I hope you’ll treat her with the kindness and respect she deserves.”
The Welshman spoke as if he were a brute, no better than his father or older brother. He had hoped for better from Rheged, and he wondered what the Welshman might have said about him. If Mavis had been forced to accept the marriage and her cousin’s husband had said derogatory things about him, no wonder she’d been crying.
“Considering that you abducted the woman you have taken to wife,” he said with a hint of the ire he felt, “it strikes me that you are hardly in a position to offer any man advice on how to treat a woman.”
Rheged’s eyes flared with annoyance, but his tone was still genial when he replied. “Then don’t consider it advice. Consider it a warning. If you or your brother hurt her in any way, you’ll have me to answer to.”
“I do not take kindly to threats, my lord, even from relatives,” Roland returned.
The door to the hall opened and Lord DeLac came reeling out of the hall, barely able to stand. He wore the same clothing he had the day before, but the finely woven tunic was now stained with bits of food and wine and his beard was dotted with crumbs. His hair was unkempt, his full face florid, and he was clearly the worse for wine. Again.
Nevertheless, for the first time in their acquaintance, Roland was glad to see him, for his presence silenced Rheged. He didn’t take kindly to being threatened and he didn’t want to come to blows, not in his father-in-law’s courtyard.
“Ah, Sir Roland!” Lord DeLac cried. “There y’are! Time to go, eh? Now you’ve got the dowry and my daughter, off you trot!”
As if all he’d wanted to do was conclude a bargain. No doubt that was how Lord DeLac thought of the marriage.
Roland had to suppress the temptation to dunk the greedy, drunken lout in the nearest horse trough.
“Mavis!” DeLac bellowed, turning around in a circle and looking up as if he expected to see her on the wall walk. “Where are you, girl? Your husband is waiting!”
“Here, Father!” Mavis answered, appearing at the kitchen entrance and hurrying toward them with her cousin at her side.
His beautiful young wife wore a simple brown traveling gown and was shrouded in a thick brown cloak with a rabbit fur collar. Her attire was almost nunlike and her demeanor that of a fresh young maiden—quite different from the bold wanton in his bed last night.
He’d never experienced such thrilling excitement, such perfect satisfaction, in any woman’s arms. He had been sure she felt the same, until he’d seen those devastating tears.
Surely, he told himself, if she’d been forced to take him for her husband, she wouldn’t have been so willing and wanton—but why then had she been crying? He couldn’t think of anything he’d said or done to otherwise upset her, except make love to her, his exciting, virginal—
She had been a virgin. No doubt there’d been some pain, something he hadn’t yet considered, and perhaps enough to cause her tears.
Mavis came to a breathless halt beside his horse and gave him a bright smile. “I’m ready now.”
His gaze searched her face as he tried to discern if she was sincerely happy, or only pretending to be.
If she was pretending, she was very good at it.
“About time, too!” her father exclaimed. “Take her, Roland, and safe journey to you both. God’s blood, it’s freezing out here!”
With that, Lord DeLac hurried back inside without so much as a backward glance at his only child. Meanwhile, Rheged’s wife hurried to embrace Mavis while Rheged continued to regard Roland with a look that might have frozen the very marrow of a man’s bones, if it were anyone but Roland. He had been subject to intimidation his entire life, and by men harder and crueler than Rheged of Cwm Bron could ever be.
“Godspeed and may you have a safe journey!” Tamsin said to Mavis fervently. “Never forget you will always be welcome at Cwm Bron.”
Mavis hugged her cousin tightly. “I’ll remember.”
“Come, my lady, let us go,” Roland said, moving to help her mount her horse.
“As you wish, my lord,” Mavis replied, giving him another brilliant smile.
He doubted anyone could feign such sincere happiness so well. He must be right to think that her pain was merely physical, and if so, that hurt would soon heal.
If only there were some way to find out if that was the sole cause of her tears! He couldn’t talk to a woman with ease, as Gerrard did.
Once Mavis was in the saddle, Tamsin ran up to his wife’s horse and placed her hand on Mavis’s boot. “Remember what I said!” she cried. “Anything you need, you have but to ask! If you require our help, send word at once.”
She made it sound as if Mavis was going to her doom, and his hope began to fade that he’d found the cause of her tears. Yet whatever the reason for this marriage, he thought as he raised his hand to signal the cortege to depart, he was still Sir Roland, Lord of Dunborough, and his bride would make him the envy of any man who saw her.
Especially his brother.
* * *
The day continued to be fine, if chilly, and Mavis would have enjoyed the ride, save for two things: her husband rode several paces ahead as if he didn’t want to talk to her, and the men of their escort riding behind her talked far too much.
“S’truth, I wish I was back at Castle DeLac,” Arnhelm muttered. He was a tall, slender soldier, bearded and the leader of the escort. “Look at him, riding like he’s got a spear up his arse. What kind of lord comes all the way from godforsaken Yorkshire by himself, anyway?”
“One from Dunborough,” his short, stocky brother and second in command, Verdan, answered. “And now, God save us, we got to go back with him!”
“This is a bad time to be heading to Yorkshire, all right. At least we don’t have to stay there. Mind you, she does, poor thing,” Arnhelm said, nodding at Mavis. “It ain’t right, this marriage.”
“Aye, he don’t deserve her. He’s a hard man, and her as sweet and gentle as a lamb.”
Mavis kept her gaze on her husband and tried not to listen, but it proved impossible. Arnhelm had too loud a voice. For his sake, she was rather glad her husband was so far ahead, so he couldn’t hear the men’s conversation. And Roland did sit in the saddle as if his back would break rather than bend if he tried to lean forward.
Determined not to listen to Arnhelm and Verdan anymore, she moved her horse forward until she and Roland were side by side. He might not want to talk to her, but she would speak to him.
She also didn’t want the soldiers returning to DeLac with tales of a silent bride and a brooding groom. While her father might not care, Tamsin would worry. “How much longer will we be traveling today, my lord?”
For a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to answer, but he did.
“A few hours.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “Unless the riding is too tiring or uncomfortable for you.”
“Oh, no. I have spent many a happy hour in the saddle. I’m not sore at all.”
He glanced at her again, then looked away just as quickly, and she wondered if he understood what else she was saying. She didn’t want to come right out and tell him he hadn’t hurt her much, not with the escort so close. Instead, she tried a different subject. “If we make good time, how long until we reach Dunborough?”
“Six days.”
“As long as that?” She had been anticipating three days, four at the most if the weather turned bad.
“The ox cannot go quickly.”
She should, of course, have taken that into consideration. “And your castle? Is it as large as DeLac?”
“Larger. It’s one of the strongest in the north,” he replied, and although his expression didn’t change, she could hear his pride.
“The household must have many servants,” she ventured, wishing she’d taken on more of Tamsin’s duties in DeLac before her cousin had married.
“Enough.”
“Come, my lord,” she gently chided. “Can you not be more specific? I am to be chatelaine, after all.”
He frowned. “I’m not certain. Eua can tell you. Or Dalfrid.”
“And they are?”
“Eua has been serving in the household since before I was born, and Dalfrid is the steward.”
While Roland’s answers were short and to the point, at least he was talking to her, and she took that as an encouraging sign. “I understand you have a twin brother. Does he live in the castle, too?”
“Gerrard is my garrison commander.”
“I look forward to meeting him. How fortunate you are to have someone you can trust in that position.”
“I trust him to look after his own interests, and that means protecting Dunborough. And the men like him.”
“Then I’m sure I’ll like him, too.”
“Most women like Gerrard,” Roland brusquely replied. “He can be a very charming fellow when it suits him.”
Given the slightly hostile tone of his response, Mavis answered cautiously. “I have sometimes wished for a brother.”
“You are close to your cousin, are you not?”
“She’s like a sister to me.”
“You set some store on her opinion, then.”
“Of course, as your brother’s must influence yours.”
“I don’t care what my brother thinks.”
There could be no denying that Roland was absolutely, grimly sincere. And yet... “Except in matters of defense of the castle, I assume.”
“Should Dunborough need to be defended, I will take command.”
“What, then, does Gerrard do?”
“He assigns watches and trains the men.”
She was about to suggest that wasn’t much responsibility for the lord’s brother when Roland said, “I should perhaps warn you, my lady, that my brother’s favorite pastime has always been to mock me.”
She simply couldn’t imagine anyone mocking Roland. “No one likes to be teased. Some of the young men who came to DeLac were apparently under the misapprehension that I would enjoy such cruel sport. I quickly let them know that if they mocked anyone, and especially Tamsin, I wouldn’t even look at them. I would never make sport of you, my lord, or think kindly of anyone who did.”
When Roland didn’t answer, she decided it might be best to speak of something other than his brother. “I didn’t think my father was going to let me take Sweetling. That’s my mare. Don’t you think she looks sweet, my lord?”
“She’s a fine horse,” he allowed, his tone somewhat lighter, although his expression was still grim.
“Yours is beautiful. Hephaestus is his name, is it not?”
“Yes.”
“That’s unusual. Wasn’t Hephaestus a god?”
“The blacksmith of the gods, and lame.”
“Oh, yes, I remember now! He’s also called Vulcan, isn’t he? Did you name him Hephaestus because he’s as black as the smoke from a smith’s forge, or a blacksmith’s anvil?”
“I like the name, and he’s a clever beast.”
“You sound proud of him.”
“He is the first horse I have ever truly owned. The first I chose for myself.” He slid her another glance, not so sharp or searching. “Despite my father’s wealth, I’ve had little I could call my own.”
“I can say the same,” she replied, thinking they had this in common, at least. “That’s why I thought he wouldn’t let me have Sweetling.”
Roland raised his hand to halt the cortege. They had come to a bridge over a swiftly moving, narrow river. Tall beeches and aspens lined the banks, and a part of the edge sloped down to the water. The trees were bare, the ground hard and one bold squirrel chattered at them from above.
“We’ll rest and water the horses here,” Roland announced, sliding from the saddle.
“I’d like to walk about a bit,” Mavis said, looking at him expectantly.
He helped her dismount, then abruptly turned and marched off along the bank of the river, away from where Arnhelm, Verdan and the rest of the men were watering the horses and ox.
It was too cold to simply stand and wait, so Mavis gathered up her skirts and followed her husband. His pace was brisk until he came to a halt some distance from the others in a pretty spot shielded by graceful willows and where the clear water rushed over the rocks beneath.
He appeared startled when he saw her. “You should stay with the wagon,” he said. “There is a wineskin and some bread and cheese.”
“I’d rather be with you.”
To that, he said nothing. But since he didn’t appear angry and he didn’t send her back, she said, “Isn’t it a pity winter has to come? I wish it could always be summer.”
“I like the cold.”
“Because you’re from Yorkshire, I suppose. I’ve heard the dales are quite windy and barren.”
“And cold.”
Clearly he didn’t care if he was painting an attractive picture of Yorkshire or not. Nevertheless, he was talking.
“If Yorkshire is cold, I hope your castle will be warm.” She decided she would have to be bold if she were to learn if he desired her, or had only wed her for the alliance. “Although if it’s chilly inside as well as out, we’ll simply have to spend more time under the blankets.”
She might have been wrong, but she thought his cheeks turned pinker, as if he was blushing. She would never have guessed that a man like Roland would blush, yet apparently he did.
But he was also frowning, his eyes hard as stone, and he very sternly said, “It will be warm enough.”
Such an answer and such a look might have dismayed and silenced her before, but because of that blush, she dared to say, “Nevertheless, we shall have to spend some time beneath the blankets if we’re to have a child.”
“A child?” he repeated, as if such a thing had never occurred to him.
“You do want children, don’t you, my lord?” she asked.
“What nobleman doesn’t want an heir?” he replied. He tugged down his tunic. “You took me aback. Having only recently become the lord of Dunborough, I hadn’t yet considered an heir of my own.”
She took some comfort from the knowledge that he hadn’t married her only to produce an heir.
“I’m happy to hear you want a child, my lord,” she said softly. There was a chance, of course, that the child could be a girl, but she was not going to suggest that. Once, in a rage, her father had told her that daughters were useless except in trade, and she didn’t want to learn that Roland shared the same opinion.
“Can I assume then, my lady, that you also wish to have children?”
“Yes.” She took a chance that she might hear something that would upset her and added, “A child will also strengthen the alliance between our families.”
“I had not considered that.”
Did that mean he hadn’t considered that a child would strengthen the alliance, or that he hadn’t considered the alliance at all when he asked her to be his bride?
He studied her face with even more intensity. “So you will do your duty?”
“I didn’t marry you because of duty,” she said firmly. “I wed you because I wished to. As for why you married me—”
She fell silent and waited for him to answer. To hear from his own lips why he had married her.
He didn’t answer, not with words. He gathered her into his arms and took her lips with an almost desperate passion, that wistful yearning made manifest with his embrace.
As she eagerly responded, she could believe no alliance or the need for an heir had brought them together and made them man and wife. They were united by another kind of need—for affection, for respect, for security in a world that was too often volatile and uncertain.
She put her hands on his broad chest and slowly slid them to his shoulders, wrapping her arms about his neck and leaning into his body. Her legs turned to water when he pressed her body closer to his and slid his tongue between her open, willing lips.
It didn’t matter where they were, or that the air was cool, for she was hot with need. Gasping, anxious, ready and willing, she broke the kiss and hurried to untie the drawstring of his breeches while he moved her so that her back was against the wide tree trunk.
The instant he was free, she grabbed his shoulders and kissed him again. He pulled up her skirts and, with his hands beneath her buttocks, lifted her. She wrapped her legs around him and uttered a soft cry of pleasure as he plunged inside her. There up against the tree they made love like wild, primitive creatures with but one need and that was to mate.
In a few short moments she buried her face in his neck to stifle the exclamation that burst from her throat, while he gripped her tight and made a sound like a cross between a growl and a gasp.
“My lord!” Arnhelm called a short distance away.
They stilled at once.
“My lord, the horses are watered!”
Hot, disheveled, embarrassed but not ashamed, Mavis slowly slid to the ground. Red-faced and silent, Roland turned away to tie his breeches while she adjusted her skirts and tucked a stray lock of hair back into place.
Then he held out his arm to escort her back to the cortege as if they’d done nothing more than admire the view.
* * *
“Good God, you don’t mean t’say they did it right there?” Verdan demanded in a shocked whisper as the cortege once again began to move toward Yorkshire.
“Aye, they did, or I’m blind and deaf to boot,” Arnhelm replied equally quietly.
“Poor thing!” Verdan said, looking at Mavis with pity. “He’s no better than an animal.”
“Aye, like that father and brother of his. I remember when they came to DeLac before. The old goat was after anything in a dress and his son—well, let’s just say the day he died was a good day for the rest of the world.” Arnhelm looked around to make sure the other men couldn’t hear. “I tell you, Verdan, I don’t like this at all. Our sweet lady given to that lout. Neither does Lady Tamsin or Sir Rheged. I’d be willing to wager a month’s pay they’ll gladly come and fetch her, husband be damned, if they think she’s unhappy. Let’s keep our eyes open and if we see more amiss, we can tell them when we return, and save Lady Mavis.”
“I’m willing,” Verdan replied with a nod of his helmeted head.
* * *
After making love with Roland by the river, Mavis was certain he would be more congenial when they returned to the cortege and resumed their journey.
Unfortunately, that did not happen. He again rode several lengths out in front of her and the rest of the men.
She told herself not to make too much of that. He might be tired, or anxious to find a night’s lodging. As for not conversing, it could merely be that he was a naturally reticent man who wasn’t used to having a wife, just as she was no more used to having a husband. And if a tendency to silence was the worst that could be said of him as a husband, that was no great hardship.
As the afternoon wore on, however, she began to wonder if he had another fault—a disinclination to consider that if he was not weary, others might be. She was very tired and her back was starting to ache. The soldiers behind her, even Arnhelm and Verdan, had long since ceased talking, too.
Yet whenever they passed an inn or monastery where they might take shelter for the night, he continued past.
Just when she had decided that something must be said lest they be benighted on the road, they arrived at an inn with a large yard surrounded by a willow fence. This time, Roland raised his hand to halt their cortege.
A plump man wearing an apron immediately appeared at the door and bustled toward them, shooing geese and chickens out of the way, flapping his arms as he went.
“Greetings, my lord, my lady!” he cried, gesturing for them to enter. “Welcome! Welcome!”
“We seek shelter for the night,” Roland replied without dismounting.
“Of course, sir, of course. My wine and ale and beds are the best for miles, and my wife the best cook for miles, too!”
“How much?”
The innkeeper ran a swift gaze over Mavis, the soldiers and the wagon that came creaking to a stop behind them, then named a price that struck Mavis as extravagant even if Roland was obviously a man of means.
Apparently Roland agreed with her assessment. “That is far too much for one night’s lodging.”
The innkeeper ran his fingers over his upper lip. He named a somewhat lesser fee.
Roland shook his head.
The man quoted another price, lower still.
Roland raised his hand as if to signal the cortege to move on. Surely he couldn’t be in earnest, she thought with desperation. It would be dark soon!
“Wait!” the innkeeper cried with a look of panic. He named another price, lower by several pence. “And that is truly the best I can do, sir!”
“Acceptable,” Roland replied, “provided there is a separate chamber for my lady and me.”
“Of course!” the innkeeper cried, and finally Roland swung down from his horse.
“We are honored to serve you, my lord!” the innkeeper enthused. He gave Mavis a broad smile. “Anything you need, you have only to ask, my lady! This way if you please, my lady!”
He waited while Roland, his expression unreadable, raised his arms to help her down. Holding on to his broad shoulders, she slid to the ground and, given the company, tried not to be aware of his powerful body. “Thank you, my lord.”
He only nodded.
Nevertheless, she tucked her hand under his arm as the innkeeper bustled ahead of them into the largest building made of wattle and daub, with a roof of thatch. She could also see a large barn and stable behind the inn.
Meanwhile Arnhelm, Verdan and the soldiers of their escort dismounted and servants appeared from inside the stables to help them with the horses, the wagon and the ox.
The taproom of the inn was a low-ceilinged chamber, the beams dark with age and smoke from the fire in the central hearth. Tables and benches were arranged about it, and rushlights added a little more illumination to the dim room. Sawdust and rushes were on the floor to soak up any spills of food or drink, and she could smell the fleabane sprinkled on them, too.
“The wife’s made a fine beef stew, my lord,” the innkeeper said as he pulled out the bench at the table closest to the fire.
The aroma wafting through the door across the room proved that beef was cooking somewhere.
“Bring some for my wife and me, and the men, too,” Roland said as they took their seats on the bench.
“Aye, my lord, aye!” the innkeeper exclaimed, and he hurried through the door that must lead to the kitchen.
Despite the man’s assurances, however, it seemed his wife was not so willing to guarantee the stew.
“Are you mad?” a woman exclaimed. “Stew for twenty? We’ve not enough meat, you great lummox!”
“But it’s a lord and a lady,” the innkeeper replied just as loudly, either unaware or too upset to realize they could be heard in the taproom as easily as if they were standing beside the hearth.
“So of course you insist they stay and you play the happy host while it’s up to me to feed them!” the woman retorted.
“It seems we’ve caused a spat,” Mavis remarked, untying the drawstring of her cloak. “Obviously he sees some profit flying out the door if he can’t provide enough stew and she doesn’t think they can. Fortunately, such a meal can be stretched with more vegetables and gravy, as she ought to know. I suspect, then, this is the sort of repeated argument that husbands and wives sometimes have.”
When Roland didn’t reply, Mavis folded her hands in her lap. “I could be wrong, of course.”
“I have little experience of husbands and wives,” Roland admitted, albeit with cool dispassion. “My mother died giving me birth, and the women who took her place in my father’s bed were not wives.”
Although this wasn’t pleasant information, Mavis was glad to hear it nonetheless, because Roland chose to share it. “My mother died when I was little, too. I don’t remember her at all. And my father, for all his faults, never brought his mistresses into the household.”
If Roland was going to reply to that, he never got the chance, for the innkeeper returned with their wine, and he was not nearly so merry. “Forgive me, my lord, but my wife fears that we aren’t going to have enough stew for all your men.”
Mavis didn’t want to be the cause of a quarrel, nor did she wish to travel any more that day, so she rose from the bench. “If you’ll excuse me, my lord, and if you don’t mind, innkeeper—”
“Elrod’s the name,” the innkeeper blurted, then flushed even more.
“Elrod, I will have a word with your good wife. Perhaps I can offer some suggestions to help with the meal.”
Elrod’s eyes grew as round as a wagon wheel. “Thank you, my lady, but I don’t think—”
“I’m sure there’s something that can be done, and I’ll try not to upset her,” Mavis assured him as she swept her skirts behind her and headed for the kitchen.
The innkeeper, half aghast, half impressed, looked warily at the tall, grim knight sitting in front of him.
The man might have been made of wood for all the emotion he displayed.
“I’ll, um, I’ll get more ale. It’s in the buttery,” Elrod stammered before hurrying away through another door.
* * *
Roland would willingly have laid out good coin to see what was happening in the kitchen, although he would never admit it. This had truly been a day of surprises, and finding out his wife was willing to offer her aid in the kitchen of an inn was the least of them.
Far more interesting was her assertion that she hadn’t married him out of duty, but because she wished to.
It seemed Gerrard had been wrong, and he had found a woman who wanted him...if her words and her smiles and her passion were to be believed.
Yet how had he responded? Like some lust-addled oaf, taking her with no more gentleness than if she’d been a camp follower on a long campaign.
He had been ashamed ever since—too ashamed to even ride beside her. He should have shown more restraint and dignity. They were nobles, after all, not peasants. Worse, he had behaved as if he were as incapable of self-control as his father or his brothers.
He was not his father. He wasn’t Broderick. He could control his base urges. He understood denial, knew how to suffer in silence and betray no hint of what he was actually feeling.
So until he could be sure that she was being honest and sincere, he would keep his distance.
And be safe.
* * *
Meanwhile, Mavis discovered chaos in the kitchen. A pot containing what appeared to be soup or stew was bubbling over into the fire in the hearth. A harried-looking woman likely in her late twenties, her face long and narrow, her hands sinewy and work worn, was desperately chopping leeks. At a small, rickety table near the washing trough was a serving girl kneading a mass of sticky dough. Baskets of peas and beans were on the floor, and there was a stack of wood near the back door.
“Close the door, Elrod, for God’s sake!” the woman exclaimed without looking up from her task. “And send that lazy, good-for-nothing stable boy to the village to see if he can get more bread. There’s barely a loaf left and what Ylda’s making won’t have time to rise before—”
She glanced up, saw Mavis in the doorway and nearly took off a finger. “Oh, my...my lady!” she cried, swiftly setting down the knife and wiping her hands on her apron. “What are you...? Can I do...?”
“I came to see if I could be of any assistance, since we’re such a large party.”
“There’s enough for you and his lordship, of course!” the woman replied. “We can make more soup for the men. But we don’t have enough bread, I’m sorry to say.”
Mavis ventured farther into the room, which was, she noted with relief, clean. “You could make lumplings. That is what we do at DeLac when there isn’t enough bread.”
The woman regarded her warily. “Lumplings? What are they, my lady?”
“You make them out of flour and water,” Mavis said, starting to roll back her cuffs. “Then you put them on top of the stew or soup when it’s nearly done cooking and cover it all with the lid for a short time.”
“If you’ll tell me what to do, I’ll be glad to try, my lady, and thank you!” the innkeeper’s wife said with genuine gratitude and not a little shock as Mavis took down an apron hanging on a peg beside the door and began to put it on.
“There’s no need for you to do anything, my lady,” the woman protested. She nodded at the girl who was staring at Mavis as if she’d offered to buy the entire establishment. “Ylda and I can make them, if you’ll tell us what to do.”
“I don’t mind,” Mavis replied. “And you are?”
“Polly, my lady. My name’s Polly and this is Ylda,” she added, gesturing at the girl, who was still staring, eyes wide, mouth agape.
“Polly, Ylda,” Mavis acknowledged with a smile. “After a long day in the saddle, I’m happy to stand a bit.”
What she did not say, but certainly felt, was that it was a delight to be in the kitchen. At home, Tamsin had managed the household so thoroughly, she had had little to do and plenty of time on her hands. While she could sew and embroider and did so often, she most enjoyed helping in the kitchen. She had a knack for pastries, and the cook had let her create several special dainties for her uncle’s feasts when Tamsin was otherwise occupied.
Indeed, being in a kitchen and working with flour, even if it was only for something as simple as lumplings, was like being back home, happy and busy and peaceful, if only for a little while.
