“And he gives ye more work than any other serf here? Nay, I cannot believe that either.”
“Why would I lie when the proof will begin to show in a few months’ time?”
“Then he does not know of it,” Mary insisted.
“No other has ever touched me, Mistress Blouet. The child is his and he even means to—to take it from me.”
Mary gasped. “Now ye go too far in yer accusations, girl. If it be true yer breeding, likely my lord will find ye a husband, so say no more about it to me. Now come along. Ye have the cleaning of the solar to do the rest of this day, for it has been neglected these…last…three—”
Mary did not finish what, in truth, supported one of Rowena’s claims. She pursed her lips tightly and headed down the stairwell.
Rowena did not follow immediately, feeling overcome with a new dread that Mary had unwittingly given her. Warrickcouldmarry her off, and to a serf, to the meanest villein.Please, God, do not let that occur to him.
Rowena hated entering that solar again, but found it was not nearly so oppressive when she was not lying bound in the bed. Getting anywhere near that bed was out of the question, though. She would rather scrub the floor on her hands and knees, and did, while Enid saw to changing the bedding, dusting, and general tidying. Rowena would have taken the rugs out for a beating, too, but Enid shook her head. They had laundry to see to today instead, Enid the linens, Rowenahisclothing. She was told this by having the clothes dumped in her arms and Enid, with her own arms full, beckoning her to follow.
Rowena had washed clothes only once before in her life, though she knew well enough how it was done. ’Twas not a pleasant chore. The sheets could merely be soaked in a wooden trough with a solution of wood ashes and caustic soap, then pounded, rinsed, and hung out to dry. The servants’ coarse woolen clothing could be done the same, but not so the lord’s fine clothes. These had to be boiled and washed by hand with a milder soap, then boiled again and rinsed not once but three times before they could be hung.
With the great cauldrons of water in the washhouse constantly boiling, the wilting steam, the milder though still abrasive soap reddening her delicate skin, Rowena decided this still was not the worst of her chores, especially since the other laundresses were all friendly, and some even came to help her once Enid left. Nay, she had not gotten to the worst chore yet, but hopefully the Lord of Fulkhurst was not a fastidious man to demand a bath more than once a week, and mayhap she would have a few days’ grace before she had to deal withthatduty.
When she returned to the hall, it was to find the trestle tables for the evening meal already set up. Warrick was not present yet, but the lord’s table was beginning to fill with those privileged to eat there: his daughters, several of his knights, the steward, who was also a knight, and a lady past the middle years who was tutor to the daughters in the household arts.
One of the knights there was Sir Robert, and Rowena made haste to the kitchen to see what needed carrying to the lord’s table, hoping she would have a chance to speak privately with him before Warrick arrived. She had not forgotten the knight’s help in assigning her John Giffard, or her promise to thank him for it. And it would not hurt to cultivate his friendship, for help given once might be gained again, and she would need all she could get to escape this place.
But when she returned with her first tray of meats, Warrick was in his seat, and his eyes lit on her the moment she entered the hall, nor did they leave her until she was gone from sight. She did not see this, she felt it, for she refused to look at him again after that first glance. But there was something so unnerving about his regard, she did not mistake it.
She was amazed to find Warrick waiting for her at the top of the stairs when she came up with her second tray. And his expression definitely boded ill for her.
“Did I not warn you to watch me when in my presence?” he demanded.
“I—I forgot,” she lied.
That only half appeased him. “Will you forget again?”
“Nay.”
“Nay, what?”
“My lord,” she gritted out.
Thatappeased him. “Mayhap you need something to remind you of who you belong to now,” he said in a thoughtful tone, just before his hand reached for her breast.
Rowena jumped back so quickly, her action took her into the stairwell, where she lost her footing. Warrick grabbed for her, but it happened too fast and he could not catch her in time. She did not scream. She felt an instant of relief to have her misery ended in this way, before regret filled her mind. But this feeling, too, was too brief to provoke a scream, for she fell no more than two steps, right onto the manservant coming up behind her with another tray of food.
Both trays hit the stone steps with a clatter as the man reached out to keep himself from falling. It was fortunate he did not grab her, however, or she might have experienced a painful wrenching, for Warrick hauled her off the man about as quickly as she had crashed into him. Nor did he release her at the top of the stairs until he had shaken her hard at least twice.
“Nevertry to avoid my touch again, wench, or worse will happen to you than a tumble down the stairs. Now clean up the mess you caused, and you will do so quickly, because I will not eat until you fill my trencher yourself—and I am hungry.”
In other words, she could expect his anger to mount with each passing minute that he had to wait while she cleaned the stairs? ’Twas no wonder her hands were trembling before she finished.
Chapter 20
Rowena was furious over the anxiety Warrick had caused her, for when she finally got back to the hall with a new tray of food, it was to find him picking on what was already available on the table, and so deep in discussion with his steward that he likely had not given her another thought. But he did still insist she fill his trencher, merely pointing to what foods he wanted. And he also insisted she remain there to refill his tankard with ale, though a young page stood behind his chair with a pitcher of the brew to do just that. And all the while she had to keep her eyes on him.
Rowena was furious about that, too. She did notliketo look at him and see his every nuance of expression, to know exactly when his thoughts turned to her. But she knew this was just another form of revenge, his forcing her to watch his cruel visage, just as serving him at table was. Both were calculated to drive home the fact that she was still at his utter mercy, and he still had none.
When he was almost finished with his meal, he beckoned her forward with a wave of his hand without even looking to see if she noticed. She would have been in trouble if she had not, and knew then that he was also testing her to see how well she obeyed him, though he obviously expected full compliance. That, too, made her furious, that he was so arrogantlysureshe would do everything she was told to do. Did no one ever defy him? Did no one ever deliberately provoke his anger? A stupid thought, since even when he was not frowning, he was frightening. And no matter how angry he made her, she did not have the nerve to tempt a beating or other added punishment—not yet.
“I require a bath this eve,” he told her when he sensed her presence at his side. He still did not look up at her. “Go and see to it.”
