He stood rooted to the spot where he was standing until finally the priest moved forward and gently closed Rowena’s sightless eyes. Behind him the infant whimpered weakly, and turning, Father Anselm signaled to Elsbeth to follow him with the child to the family chapel. “Will you come, my lord?” he asked the baby’s father.
Wordlessly he shook his head in the negative, and pushing past the priest, stamped back down to the hall, where he proceeded to get drunk, finally falling into a stupor in the hour before dawn, even as Henry Keane breathed his last, tortured breath. By the time Jasper Keane awoke in the midday, his head aching, his mouth foul, the grave for his wife and infant son had been dug and stood ready. In Greyfaire’s small church Rowena had been laid out in her coffin in her finest gown, her golden hair newly washed and braided into a single thick plait, her arms cradling her dead child.
The good folk of Greyfaire village had spent the morning in solemn procession past the bier, and now waited anxiously for Sir Jasper Keane that they might bury their poor lady. When he finally came, accompanied by his captain, Seger, it was midafternoon and close to sunset, for it was December first. Jasper Keane glanced briefly at the woman who had been his wife for such a short time, and then signaled the priest to begin.
The church was cold. The service brief. Jasper Keane lingered at the gravesite only long enough to shovel a clot of dirt upon his wife and son’s coffin. It was FitzWalter who lovingly completed the task of filling in the grave as the last red-orange rays of the sun sank behind the western hills. Rowena had been laid to rest beside her first husband, Henry Grey, even as all who knew her best realized she would want to be. His sad task done, FitzWalter returned to the keep and found Sir Jasper Keane and Seger in the hall with two pretty servant girls, already half drunk, and obviously preparing for a long night of wenching. They did not notice either his arrival or his departure from the hall, for with a scornful look at the pair, the keep’s captain had quickly taken his leave. It was unlikely that Sir Jasper would miss him this night.
FitzWalter was a man of unusual height, a height made even more unique by the fact he was also slender to the point of emaciation. His lack of girth was deceiving to those who did not know him, for though he was thin, he was strong and wiry. He had a long head and a sensitive, almost mournful face with intelligent, light-colored eyes and a high forehead. He kept his sandy-colored hair cropped short. His most distinctive feature, however, was his very deep voice.
“I’ll be at the cottage,” he told the watch, and then crossing over the keep’s drawbridge before it was raised for the night, he hurried down the hill to the small stone house Lord Grey had given him and his family years before. There was pale gray smoke rising from his chimney, visible even in the deepening twilight. A light shone warmly through the front window of the cottage. FitzWalter opened the door to his home and, ducking beneath the low lintel, entered within, where his wife Rosamund, his son Rowan, and four of his daughters were seated at the trestle table. His three eldest daughters were already married and gone to live with their husbands’ families.
“You’re not needed at the keep tonight?” his wife inquired.
“He’s got Seger with him,” FitzWalter said grimly. “They’ve Derward the huntsman’s daughters to keep them company, and both will be well fuddled by morning. They’re loose jades, the pair of them.”
“They’ve no mother to tell them better,” Rosamund said quietly.
“Thank God Wanetta, Scirleah, and Nellwyn are wed and away from Greyfaire,” FitzWalter said. “Sir Jasper will now have no restraints upon him with Lady Rowena dead. There won’t be a lass around who is safe from his roving eye.” He fixed his gaze on the youngest of his daughters. “You, Jane, what is your age?”
“Nine, Da,” the girl answered.
“And you, Eba?”
“Seven, Da.”
“And my wee Annie?”
“Five, Da,” the smallest child lisped.
FitzWalter nodded. “They should be safe, but you, Lona, you won’t be unless I marry you off. Rad’s grandson would be a good match for you, and you know it.”
Rosamund saw the mutinous look flash in Lona’s eyes and she quickly said, “Lady Arabella promised Lona that she should be her own personal maid, husband. Lona can look higher than Rad’s grandson, I think, and besides, Sir Jasper would be apt to take thedroit du seigneurof our girl should she be a bride. ‘Tis just the sort of thing that would give him pleasure.”
FitzWalter nodded in agreement with his wife. “Aye, he would enjoy forcing a hapless virgin. I’d not wish that on our Lona.” He was silent a long moment, and then he said to his daughter, “Are you brave enough to ride over the Chevoits to tell Lady Arabella of her mother’s death and to ask that she take you into her service, Lona?”
Lona never hesitated. “Aye, Da!” she told him.
“Husband!”Rosamund spoke sharply, and her warning glance took in her younger daughters, who were wide-eyed and fascinated by this table conversation.
“You’ve heard nothing, my girls,” FitzWalter said quietly to Jane, Eba, and Annie. “If you should tell anyone of our words, we could lose our very lives. Do you understand?”
The three nodded solemnly and chorused in unison, “Aye, Da!”
“Then get to your pallets, my girls, say your prayers, remembering poor Lady Rowena’s sweet soul, and go to sleep,” their father told them.
The three arose from the table and scrambled obediently up the narrow staircase of the cottage to the loft above, where their childish voices were shortly heard droning their prayers.
FitzWalter smiled fondly after them, and then turning, said to his remaining daughter, “You’ll go before dawn, Lona, and your brother will accompany you. I’m giving you Lady Arabella’s mare to take to her. Rowan, you’ll have that black gelding, but you must be back by night. Neither Seger nor Sir Jasper know the number of horses in the stable, so they will not miss the mare. The sky tonight told me that there will be rain by morning, and so it’s unlikely either of those two will venture forth from the keep tomorrow. Sir Jasper will want to enjoy his ‘inheritance’ for a bit, I’m certain. When Lona is missed, we’ll simply say she ran off because she didn’t want to marry Rad’s grandson. Everyone knows her feelings on that matter, don’t they, Lona?” her father finished with a small attempt at humor.
“You mustn’t hurt the boy’s feelings,” Rosamund said soft-heartedly.
“Don’t worry, Mother, it won’t,” Lona said, laughing. “Rad’s grandson doesn’t like me any better than I like him. Besides, he’s got his eye on our Jane, and she really likes him.”
“Does she, now?” their mother said, surprised. “Well now, that certainly puts a different light on matters, doesn’t it?”
Her family laughed at her, for Rosamund was a matchmaker at heart, and she was, in fact, such a good one that all of the village relied upon her in matters of the heart.
“Where am I to take Lona?” Rowan demanded. He was a practical young man, very much like his father.
