“What do you know of managing one’s estates, my lord?”
“Nothing,” he said candidly. “It is not for me to manage an estate. That is what one has servants for, madam.”
“Servants, even the best of them, will steal when not properly overseen. It is a great temptation for them, my lord. Do you know how to purchase cattle?” she asked.
“Why would I?” he returned.
“All the cattle from these lands were stolen when my parents were killed. In the spring I will have to replace them.”
“You have been home several months,” he responded. “Why have you not already done so, madam?”
“Because the Stanton folk are few, and not able to grow enough grain to feed a large herd through the winter. And why should we feed them when someone else will? The spring is the best time.”
“Oh,” he answered. “My father is sending us a herd of heifers, and a young bull,” FitzTudor said. “I did not ask when they would come.”
“Your father’s people will understand, and not send them until spring. By that time you will be back with the Earl of Pembroke, and he will not have to send them. I would not take his cattle under false pretenses,” Adair answered.
“You are my wife!” the boy said angrily.
“Temporarily, and in name only,” Adair replied calmly. She almost expected him to stamp his foot at her.
Llywelyn FitzTudor jumped up from the settle before the fire where they had been sitting. He yanked Adair up. Putting his arms about her he tried to kiss her, mash-ing his mouth against hers desperately. “You belong to me now!” he raged at her.
Not only was he shorter than she, he was slight of body. Adair, almost gagging on his bad breath, broke his hold on her and shoved him away. “Do not ever dare to accost me in such a manner,” she snarled at him. “You disgust me, my lord!”
FitzTudor struggled to his feet and lunged at her again, but suddenly he found himself facing a large and snarling wolfhound who bared yellowed but still sharp fangs at the boy, who screamed in fright as he was backed away by the dog.
Adair waited until her would-be husband had been pushed into the settle, where he fell, half sobbing.
“Enough, Beiste. As you can see, my lord, I have protection against such assault as you have just committed.
Touch me again and I shall order the dog to tear out your throat. Do we understand each other?”
“Bitch!” FitzTudor cursed at her.
Adair laughed at him. “Boy,” she taunted him.
Outside the windows of the great hall the snows began to come down in earnest, the cold outside matched only by the cold inside. By Christ’s Mass the countryside was hidden beneath a deep coverlet of white. Adair passed out gifts to her servants and her villagers. She did not include FitzTudor in her largesse; nor did he present her with anything. Twelfth Night came and went. They barely spoke. In fact, they barely even met except now and again in the great hall, when FitzTudor would come to the high board and join her for a meal.
January ended, and February was ushered in with a great blizzard and snows that reached the eaves of some of the cottages on the outskirts of the village. The Stanton folk were kept busy keeping open the road through the village and up to the house. The servants kept to the hall. To Adair’s surprise and delight, Beiste had sired a litter of pups, who were born early in the month. He would sit almost grinning by his mate’s side, guarding her while she nursed their offspring. But he also continued to watch over Adair, the hair on his back bristling whenever FitzTudor came into the great hall.
Llywelyn FitzTudor was not happy with the situation, and he complained to his manservant, Anfri. “I am master here by right, and yet I am not.”
“Your every wish is obeyed, my lord,” Anfri said, “is it not?”
“Aye, but I can tell it is not because I am the earl, but because she told them to obey me. These Stanton folk do not see me as their lord. They behave as if I were a guest who has overstayed his welcome,” FitzTudor grumbled. “And she is worst of all. She is my wife under God’s law and the king’s law, but she practically ignores me. And I cannot get near her because of that damned dog. Miserable old cur. Beiste. He is well named. I hate the damned creature!”
“If you could get near your wife what would you do?”Anfri murmured boldly.
“I would place her on her back and fuck her until I put a babe in her belly,” FitzTudor said. “Then she could not send me away. But as long as she maintains her virgin status she has grounds for annulment. I will be made a laughingstock in my father’s house. She is a beauty, isn’t she, Anfri? My cock hardens just thinking about her. At least in my father’s house I had women on which to ease my lust, but not here. It has been pent up for several months now.”
“Then surely your seed is at its strongest now, my lord,” Anfri said. “You should look to catch the lady when the dog is guarding his mate. She is most vulnerable then. I believe part of this dilemma is that she has a virgin’s fears. If you could soothe those terrors she would surely be more amenable to you, my lord.” His black eyes glittered as he spoke to his master.
“And just how do you suggest I do that?” FitzTudor demanded.
“By putting your manly cock within her love sheath, my lord. Nothing cures a maiden’s alarm of the unknown like a strong familiarity with her fears,” Anfri replied.
“You give me food for thought,” FitzTudor said thoughtfully, and after that he began to watch Adair more closely. And by doing so he saw one day after the main meal had been served and eaten that his wife went to her chamber alone. Looking about, he saw that the old dog was snoring with his mate and their puppies by the fire. Fortified with several goblets of rich, dark wine, Llywelyn FitzTudor followed Adair upstairs, watching as she entered her chamber. He listened carefully, but did not hear the key turn in the lock as he did each night. Slowly he crept down the dimly lit corridor. He put his hand on the door’s latch and felt it give way. The door opened. Surprised, he stood for a moment in the open door, and then he quickly stepped through into the bedchamber, shutting the door behind him and quietly turning the key in the lock.
