Well she knew it but did not say so, too afeard at the moment of his intent. But that fear lasted only as long as it took him to mount the stairs, mere seconds, even though the stairwell in the east corner tower rose the two-storied height of the Great Hall to reach the third floor of the keep. At the top he set her down and, with a curt nod, immediately returned below.
How chivalrous, she thought, then thought of him no more. The door to the lord’s chambers was right there, with the stairs continuing up to the battlements surrounding the roof, but Reina moved slowly down the narrow passage that cut through the thick wall of the keep, lit by several window embrasures. She passed the women’s quarters, where most of her ladies slept in a chamber beyond, with the weaving-and-sewing room in front where the chambermaids slept, and finally reached her own small chamber in the north tower. She could have long since moved into the spacious lord’s chamber, but her grief had kept her from it, and when she married would be soon enough to take up residence there.
Her room was empty, as it should be this time of morning, and Reina slumped back against the door with a weary sigh, too tired to move even a few feet more to her bed. She could not think of the rest of the day, the entertaining she must do, the questions she had promised to answer for her guests. It was so hard speaking to visitors, never knowing how much to say, who might be aware of her circumstances, lying to anyone who was not. The lying was the worst, and it was her father who had started it all, thinking he was doing as she would want.
If only Lord Raymond had not died, she would have wed before her father left to follow King Richard on Crusade two years ago. She had been betrothed to Raymond when she was only three, had never thought to object to the match even though she barely knew Raymond, had seen him no more than a half-dozen times in her whole life. But when it was time for them to marry, he had become a favorite of Henry’s court, and the old king had made much use of him, sending him hither and yon to do his bidding. There never seemed to be time for Raymond to send for her, or to come himself to Clydon so they could speak their vows. And then she had received the news that he had died while crossing the Channel, drowned while trying to save a child who had fallen overboard.
Reina was saddened by the news, but ’twas not as if she knew the man well enough to truly grieve for him. Yet his dying had certainly put her in a fix, for her father had already taken the vow to go crusading with his overlord, Lord Guy, and the new king, Richard Lion-Heart. There she was, fifteen, unwed, and Roger de Champeney about to depart for the Holy Land, with no time to find her another husband.
So he had bidden her to make some choices of her own and send them to him for his approval, and this she had done. But her first letter to him had not reached him. She heard from him first, of how they had stopped to conquer Cyprus, and of the king’s marriage there to Berengaria of Navarre. He had taken four of his vassals with him and had lost one to fever in Cyprus.
There had been a cart full of loot with that letter, but she had been loath to sell any of it no matter how much she needed the money, for it came from the Crusade, and that made it almost holy.
Her second letter had reached him still in Cyprus, for the king had stayed long there, and her father wrote again, approving of two of the men whose names she had submitted: Lord John de Lascelles, who used to be one of her father’s retainers until his brother died and he inherited the family lands in Wales, and Richard de Arcourt, heir to Lyonsford, and already in possession of Warhurst Keep and town, which was only a few hours’ ride from Clydon. Both men Reina knew fairly well and liked; both she felt she could deal well with as husbands. Both men were young and fair to the eye. Richard was possessed of a fine humor and could make her laugh; John was good and kind. She would be happy with either, but her preference was Richard.
Her father died in the siege of Acre just a month after he had written his last letter, so he never knew of her preference. The letter she got from the earl, informing her of his death, also mentioned that Roger had told him shewasbetrothed again, only he had apparently been delirious before he died and had not given the earl a name. “I have no fear that whoever Roger chose for you will be acceptable to me and willing to do me homage. He loved me too well, and I him, to put an enemy of mine in Clydon, so this is to officially give you my permission, and my blessing on your wedding.” But the earl also went on to say be wanted the deed done within a few months for her own safety, and news of it sent to him.
Reina had been confused, until she realized what her father had done. He had lied to his friend and overlord to give Reina her preference, one of the two men he had approved for her, otherwise Lord Guy, who became her guardian on her father’s death, had the right to choose a man for her, or even to sell her wardship instead, keeping her unmarried, though he was not likely to do that. Although he had always been kind to her and loved her because he loved her father, such things were not considered when making an alliance. And without his permission and his approval of the man she married, she could lose her inheritance.
So she had written to Richard, asking him to come to Clydon. She had not said why, unwilling to propose an alliance in a letter, but she had conveyed an urgency. He had been difficult to locate, and after a month had passed and she had yet to hear from him, she had written to John, too, willing at this point to take either one of them, especially with the earl’s castellan pressing her for a date. After this morning and Falkes de Rochefort’s effort to take her, the urgency was far more critical. She was lucky that in all these months, he was theonlyone to try.
Reina started to push herself away from the door, only to have it push back at her as it opened. Her shout stopped Theodric from sending her flying.
“Reina, you should have seen that slut Eadwina wagging her tail in his face,” Theo said in disgust. “And Dame Hilary will send her to bathe him unless you say otherwise. Let me see to him, Reina, please? Eadwina always gets—”
“See to who?”
He gave a dramatic sigh. “The golden behemoth. Who else?”
Reina sighed normally. Who else indeed? “Go.” She waved a hand. “What do I care?” And then: “Wait! Get this devil’s weight off my back first.”
He did, stripping her down faster than he ever had before. She almost laughed at his impatience. And he had called Eadwina a slut?
When only her underwear was left, the sweaty short shift and braies, she collapsed on the bed. “Did you at least see to my bathwater ere you rushed up here?”
“Of course,” he replied indignantly as he tossed her armor into a corner.
“Then send Wenda to me. And, Theo?” She leaned up on her elbows to warn him. “If your ‘behemoth’ is not interested, best get out of his way right quickly.”
The boy nodded, grinned and was gone.
Chapter Six
Lord Rothwell did not deserve to be so fortunate. A man who had gained his extensive lands through the wedding of five rich wives, and now he was doing it again, increasing his vast wealth with Clydon.
Ranulf did not know if there were other fiefs or subtenants involved, but Clydon alone was a magnificent holding by any standards. He had seen the numerous fields planted with spring crops on his approach to the castle; the large village, large enough to contain at least two hundred villeins, with sturdy cruck cottages made with timber trusses to last, a stream flowing behind it, giant oaks shading it. There was a water mill in the distance, and a manor house, and an immense stretch of woods where he and his men had camped yestereve and left the supply wains and camp followers this morn.
But it was the castle itself that was most impressive. Not even Lord Montfort’s demesne keep was as large, nor Ranulf’s father’s, for that matter. The outer bailey was several acres at least protected by the thick curtain wall with its many towers projecting at regular intervals. Numerous buildings stood back against the walls inside the bailey: a large stable, a thatched barn with animal pens on either side, a smithy, a brewhouse and several storehouses. There was a fish pond in the left field as well as a large dovecote, but the entire right field was allowable for an exercise yard.
The mews were in the inner bailey, as were a granary and a smaller stable and more storehouses. Here too were the kitchen and a garden complete with beehives, though a newer kitchen had been added inside the keep, following the example of keeps built in recent years, in an attempt to have food passably warm by the time it reached the table.
The whitewashed keep itself, with immensely thick walls, rose at least a hundred feet, the corner towers rising another twelve. Divided by a cross-wall to support its height, the keep boasted three floors above a basement, with garrison quarters and wellhead sharing space now with the new kitchen on the second floor, the Great Hall on the third. Entrance to the keep was through the forebuilding, a substantial extension on the left side of the castle. It rose three stories itself, the external stairs leading up to the second floor protected at the top by a collapsible bridge, the chapel on the top floor of it, off the Great Hall.
Ranulf had seen much of this himself. The squire Aubert had supplied more detail during his rattling discourse as he led them up to the Great Hall, and the servant the lady had called Theo was also a font of information, answering whatever questions Ranulf put to him. ’Twas the only reason Ranulf had let the boy attend him at his bath when he offered his service, sending Lanzo off straightaway to clean his bloodied armor and sword.
Usually a female servant was sent to assist a guest at his bath, though if the guest was important enough, the lady herself would do it—the lord’s wife, that is, rarely his daughter. Ranulf had never been considered important enough to have the lady of the house attend him, which he was grateful for, but he did usually get the cream of the wenches fighting for the honor, and he could remember many a pleasant hour spent not just in bathing.
At the back of his mind, he had expected to see that luscious blond wench from the hall show up in the tower chamber he had been led to, but instead the boy had arrived with the menservants carrying in the large tub and heated water, a tray of wine, cheese and fine manchet bread to tide him till the afternoon meal was served, and even a change of clothes, which he was not usually offered, mostly because of his size, then again, because he was not an important guest. He allowed the Lady of Clydon did consider him important, not only because he had said he came from her lord (he was not unaware she assumed he had meant a different lord than Rothwell) but because he had literally saved her and Clydon from her enemies, whoever they might have been.
