Hugh sighed and went back to work on the abacus. A few minutes later Elbert conducted into the chamber a lean, jaunty man who somehow managed to appear fashionable in a travel-stained cloak and muddy boots.
“Greetings, Julian,” Hugh said. “A good journey, I trust?”
“Aye, sir.” Julian swept Hugh an elegant bow and handed him the letter. “A good horse and no rain. A bit of trouble with a pack of robbers on the Windlesea road but I showed them your seal and that was the end of the matter.”
“I am pleased to hear that.” Hugh glanced at the letter.
Julian coughed discreetly. “Your pardon, sir, but I feel obliged to point out that there likely wouldn’t have been any trouble at all if I had been wearing a proper livery. I think something in blue and yellow trimmed with a bit of gold braid would be nice.”
“Later, Julian.”
“My post requires something quite eye-catching. Robbers would notice it straight off. They would recognize your man and never bother him at all.”
Hugh glanced up warily. “We’ve discussed this matter before, messenger. You are supplied every year with a serviceable robe, cloak, boots, and a new leather pouch.”
“Aye, m’lord, and ‘tis most generous of you,” Julian murmured. “But everything you supply comes in only one color.”
“What of it?”
“Black is not a fashionable color, m’lord,” Julian said with a hint of exasperation. “I look like a wandering monk on the road.”
“Would that you would travel as frugally as one. Your quarterly expenses were outrageous. I meant to speak to you about them.”
“I can explain them all,” Julian said smoothly.
“I trust you can.”
“Sir, about the new livery.”
“What new livery?” Hugh growled. “I just told you there will not be any new livery.”
Julian plucked at his sleeve with an expression of disgust. “Very well, let us assume that we stick with the basic black.”
“An excellent assumption.”
“It would be somewhat more attractive if you would at least allow some gold braid.”
“Gold braid? For a messenger to wear in the mud and snow? Madness. You’d likely be murdered on the highway for the trim on your robe.”
“Not three months past John of Larkenby gave his personal messenger a fine new robe of emerald green,” Julian said persuasively. “Trimmed in orange. And a matching cap. Very nice.”
“Enough of this nonsense. Any word of my liege lord’s health?”
Julian’s handsome face sobered. “I gave him your regards, as you requested.”
“You saw Sir Erasmus?”
“Aye. He received me only because I am your man. I hear that be sees very few visitors these days. His wife handles most of his affairs now.”
“How did he appear?” Hugh asked.
“‘Tis obvious he is very ill, my lord. He will not speak of it, but his wife is red-eyed from weeping. The doctors believe his heart is failing him. He is very thin. He starts at every small sound. He looks exhausted and yet he says he cannot sleep.”
“I was hoping the news would be better.”
Julian shook his head. “I am sorry, my lord. He sent you his best wishes.”
“Aye, well, what will be, will be.” Hugh slit the seal on the letter. “Go to the kitchen and get yourself something to eat.”
“Aye, m’lord.” Julian hesitated. “About the livery. I know how you feel about the expense. But it strikes me that now that you’ve got lands of your own and a fine keep, you’ll want the members of your household dressed in a fitting manner. After all, m’lord, the world judges a man by the clothing his people are given to wear.”
“When I find myself concerned with the opinion of the world, I’ll let you know. Begone, messenger.”
“Aye, m’lord.” Julian had served Hugh long enough to know when he had pushed his master’s patience far enough. He bowed himself out of the chamber with his elegant, slightly supercilious manners and went off down the hall, whistling.
Hugh gazed unseeingly at the letter in his hand. Erasmus of Thornewood was dying. There could no longer be much doubt. Hugh knew that he was soon going to lose the man who had been in many ways a father to him.
He swallowed heavily to relieve a sudden fullness in his throat, blinked once or twice to clear his eyes, and then he concentrated on the letter.
The missive was from his London steward. It reported on the successful arrival of a shipload of spice. The steward had, in his usual punctilious fashion, listed each chest, its contents and estimated value, together with notes concerning the expenses. Hugh reached for the abacus.
“Excuse me, my lord,” Benedict said from the doorway.
Hugh glanced up from his work. “Aye?”
“Sir Dunstan sent me to tell you that the stables have been cleaned and made ready. He wants to know if you wish to speak with the blacksmith.” Benedict caught sight of the abacus and paused. “What is that, my lord?”
“‘Tis called an abacus. It is used for making calculations.”
“I have heard of such.” Benedict came forward with an intent expression. His staff thumped on the floor. “How does it work?”
Hugh smiled slowly. “I’ll show you, if you like. One can do sums, multiply, or divide. Most useful for keeping one’s accounts.”
“I would like to learn how to use it.” Benedict glanced up shyly. “I have always been interested in such matters.”
“Have you?”
“Aye. Alice taught me as much as she knows about calculations but, in truth, ‘tis not an area of great interest to her. She prefers matters of natural philosophy.”
“I know.” Hugh studied Benedict’s rapt expression. “Benedict, I think it’s time that you dined in the great hall together with your lord and the rest of the men of this manor. You will present yourself downstairs today at the midday meal.”
Benedict looked up sharply. “Dine with you, my lord? But Alice thinks it best if we eat in our own chambers.”
“Alice may do as she pleases. But you are one of my men and you will dine with the rest of us.”
“One of your men?” Benedict looked startled at that notion.
“Your sister is betrothed to me and you live here at Scarcliffe,” Hugh said casually. “That makes you a member of my household, does it not?”
“I had not thought of it in such terms.” A shy eagerness appeared in his eyes. “You are right. I will do as you command, my lord.”
“Excellent. Speaking of Alice, where is your sister?”
“She went into the village to speak with Prioress Joan.” Benedict picked up the abacus with reverent hands.
“Did she go alone?”
“Aye.”
“Did she say when she would return?”
“Not for some time.” Benedict carefully moved one of the red counters along a thin wooden rod. “I believe she mentioned something about searching out some new stones for her collection.”
Hugh frowned. “Stones?”
“Aye. She expects to find some interesting ones in the cliff caves.”
“Hellfire and Saints’ bones.” Hugh surged to his feet and started around the edge of his desk. “Your sister is going to turn me into a madman.”
“That’s what Uncle Ralf always used to say, too.”
Hugh paid no attention. He was already halfway down the hall, heading for the staircase.
“As you will see, Lady Alice, there is much to be done here.” Joan lifted a hand to indicate not only the convent garden in which she and Alice stood, but the whole of the village. “I have accomplished what I could during the three years I have been prioress of this house, but it has been difficult without a proper lord to govern these lands.”
“I understand, madam.” Alice surveyed the neat gardens. Several nuns were working industriously to weed and water the plants and prepare the ground for winter.
The walk into the village had been a cur
ious one. Alice had been greeted by a wide variety of people. Farmers had paused in their work to nod respectfully. Small children at play had smiled shyly at her as she went past. The brewer had come to the door of her cottage to offer a mug of new ale. The blacksmith had beamed from the other side of his glowing forge. The miller’s wife had given her a loaf of bread, which her son, Young John, had proudly handed to her.
Alice was aware that an air of expectancy hovered over Scarcliffe today. Its people believed that the legend had come true, or at least that it was well on its way to being fulfilled. Their rightful lord was among them. The curse had been lifted and all would be well.
A pang of regret went through Alice at the realization that even the earnest and good-hearted Joan was speaking to her as though she really would be the next lady of the manor.
The prioress was right. There was much to be done here, Alice thought. And Hugh would see to it that things would be accomplished. He would take care of these lands because his own future was tied to them.
But she was not at all certain that she could take the risk of binding her own future to Hugh’s and to Scarcliffe. I did not believe that I was a coward, she thought. Ah, but never before has my own heart been at stake.
Life would be simpler and calmer in a large, cloistered convent. Far more conducive to the study of natural philosophy.
“That ridiculous legend did not help matters.” Joan led the way along one of the garden paths. “‘Twas a great nuisance to have it hanging over our heads all these years. I would like to have a few words with the idiot who invented it.”
Alice glanced at her in surprise. “Surely you do not believe in the legend yourself?”
“Nay, but the people of Scarcliffe certainly do. I must admit that the longer these lands went without a strong lord, the more evidence seemed to indicate that the curse was real.”
“Legends seem to take on a life of their own.”
“Aye.” Joan grimaced as she halted near the herb garden where a tall nun labored alone. “Lately, we have even begun to suffer from the predations of outlaws and robbers because there was no lord with a household of strong knights to protect us.”
“Outlaws will no longer be a problem now that Lord Hugh is master of Scarcliffe,” Alice assured her with great confidence.
The tall nun paused in her work. She leaned on her hoe. Beneath her wimple, her eyes were dark and somber. “There are other calamities every bit as bad as a plague of robbers. The curse is real, Lady Alice. Lord Hugh will learn that soon enough.”
Joan rolled her eyes indulgently. “Pay no heed to Sister Katherine, my lady. She is a skilled healer but she often sees only the most dismal possibilities.”
Alice smiled at Katherine. “If you believe in the curse, then surely you are satisfied that all is well here once more. The legend has been fulfilled.”
“Bah. I care nothing for the legend of the green crystal and the Stones of Scarcliffe,” Katherine muttered. “‘Tis but a tale for children.”
“Then what concerns you?” Alice asked.
“The true curse on this land is the bad blood between Rivenhall and Scarcliffe. Betrayal and murder fester in the manner of an infection that cannot be cured.”
“You refer to the old enmity between the two manors, I presume,” Alice said.
Katherine hesitated in obvious surprise. “You know of it?”
“Aye, Lord Hugh told me the sad tale. But if you fear that there will be war between Rivenhall and Scarcliffe because of it, you may set your mind at ease. There will be no violence between the two manors.”
Katherine shook her head with a doleful air. “The seeds of revenge were planted in the past. They have sent forth a dark herb that poisons this land.”
“Nay.” Alice was beginning to grow angry with the healer’s grim view of the situation. “Calm yourself, Sister. Lord Hugh explained to me that there will be no violence. He said that both he and Sir Vincent have sworn oaths to the same liege lord, Erasmus of Thornewood. Sir Erasmus has expressly forbidden them from engaging in anything more bloodthirsty than the occasional joust.”
“‘Tis said that Erasmus of Thornewood is dying.” Katherine’s hand tightened around the hoe. “When he is gone, who will control Sir Vincent and Sir Hugh? Scarcliffe and Rivenhall are a long way from the centers of power. The lords of these lands will be free as unleashed hounds. They will go straight for each other’s throats.”
“Sister Katherine has a point.” Joan frowned. “I have always considered our remote location to be one of the few good things about these lands. It is safer to live far from men who command armies and worry about who is on the throne. But it does mean that we are dependent upon Lord Hugh to maintain peace.”
“He will do so,” Alice insisted.
She was not quite certain why she felt so compelled to defend Hugh’s good intentions. Mayhap it was because she knew him far better than these women did and she wanted them to have confidence in him.
“There will never be peace for Scarcliffe and Rivenhall,” Katherine whispered.
Alice decided it was time to change the subject. “Is this your herb garden, Sister?”
“Aye.”
“Sister Katherine joined this house many years ago,” Joan said. “She is expert with herbs. At one time or another we have all been grateful for her tonics and potions.”
“My mother was a healer,” Alice offered. “She was a great student of herbal lore. She had many unusual plants in her gardens.”
Katherine ignored the comment. She gazed steadily at Alice. “How long have you been betrothed to Hugh the Relentless?”
“Not long. And his name is not Hugh the Relentless anymore. He is Hugh of Scarcliffe now.”
“When will you be wed?”
“Sometime in the spring,” Alice said vaguely.
“Why do you choose to wait so long?”
Joan gave her a reproving look. “Lady Alice’s wedding plans are no concern of yours, Sister.”
Katherine’s thin mouth tightened. “A betrothal may be broken easily enough.”
“Nonsense.” Joan was clearly annoyed. “A betrothal is a solemn and most binding commitment.”
“But it is not a vow of marriage,” Katherine said.
“That is enough, Sister,” Joan said sternly.
Katherine fell silent but she continued to stare at Alice.
Alice flushed beneath the scrutiny. “Lord Hugh wished to wait until spring to wed because he has so many other important matters that must be seen to immediately.”
“Quite understandable,” Joan said crisply. “Pray, return to your labors, Sister. Lady Alice and I will continue our tour of the convent grounds.” She started off down another path, drawing Alice in her wake. “Come, let me show you our wine-making workrooms. Then, mayhap you would care to see the library?”
Alice brightened. “Oh, yes, I should very much like to see it.”
“I hope you will make use of it.” Joan waited until they were out of earshot of Katherine before adding softly, “You must forgive the healer. She is very good at her work but she suffers greatly from melancholia.”
“I understand. ‘Tis a pity she cannot heal herself.”
“She takes a tonic made from poppies when her spirits are especially low, but other than that, she says there is little that can be done for her condition.”
Alice frowned. “Potions made from poppies must be used sparingly.”
“Aye.” Joan slanted her an interested look. “You sound knowledgeable on the subject. Did you follow in your mother’s footsteps, my lady?”
“I have studied herbal lore and I have kept my mother’s handbook on the subject, but after she died I turned to other interests.”
“I see.”
“I consider myself a student of natural philosophy.” Alice came to a halt and looked toward the forbidding cliffs that rose behind the village. “As it happens, I had planned to further my investigations in such matters later this morning.” r />
Joan followed her gaze. “You intend to explore the cliffs?”
“Aye. I have never seen a cave. It should prove most interesting.”
“Forgive me, my lady, but I’m not certain that is a sound notion. Does Lord Hugh know of your intention?”
“Nay.” Alice smiled brightly. “He was occupied with weighty affairs of business this morning. I chose not to intrude.”
“I see.” Joan hesitated as though she felt she ought to say more on the subject but she changed her mind. “You told Sister Katherine that you did not think there would be war between the manors of Rivenhall and Scarcliffe.”
“Aye. What of it?”
“Are you certain? This land has suffered much, my lady. I do not know if it could survive such a disaster.”
Alice chuckled. “Have no fear, Lord Hugh will protect Scarcliffe.”
“I trust you are right.” Joan broke off abruptly as she glanced at a spot directly behind Alice.
A jolt of awareness went through Alice at that instant. She knew without turning around that Hugh was in the garden.
“I am well pleased to learn that you have such great faith in my abilities, lady,” he said in his emotionless voice. “I would wish that I could have a similar degree of faith in your good sense. What is this I hear about your plans to explore the caverns of Scarcliffe?”
Alice whirled about to find him looming as large and solid as Scarcliffe Keep itself on the path behind her. His black hair was windblown. His amber eyes gleamed with a dangerous intelligence. She had seen very little of Hugh during the past three days but on each occasion she’d had a similar reaction.
Whenever she happened upon him, even for a fleeting moment, the impact on her senses was startling. Her pulse quickened and something curled deep in her stomach. Memories of the night in Ipstoke when he had touched her so intimately warmed every part of her body.
She had not been able to sleep well for thinking of that passionate interlude. Last night she had prepared a hot drink of chamomile tea to settle her senses. She had got herself to sleep but she had dreamed. How she had dreamed.
“You startled me, my lord.” She fought her unsettled reaction to him by glowering ferociously. “I did not hear you come into the garden. I thought you were occupied with your accounts this morning.”