She ate more bread and chewed and chewed before saying sourly, “Mayhap there is some truth there.”
He laughed.
“Chandra,” Mark called out, Mary at his side, “what were you doing outside the keep walls? Jerval was very worried about you. Were you hunting?”
“She was playing with this damned hound,” Jerval said, pointing to Hawk, who was not supposed to be in the Great Hall, but when he was trotting so happily next to Chandra, Jerval hadn’t had the heart to kick him out.
“By all the saints’ rigorous prayers, that curdles the blood,” Mark said. He started to stick his hand out toward Hawk. The hound growled at him.
“Chandra gets along well with most animals,” Mary said. “It is a gift.”
“Lady Avicia won’t like the hound inside, Jerval,” Malton said, watching Chandra hug the hound again, his slobber wetting her arms to her elbows. “By God, but he’s a good beast. He is known as the scourge of all enemies of Camberley. I don’t like the look of this at all.”
“Don’t fret, Malton. She won’t tame him,” Jerval said. “I will have Dakyns fetch him soon.”
“More’s the pity,” Chandra said. “Dogs belong in the Great Hall, by the fireplace.”
All the men agreed with her, but kept silent.
Lady Avicia swept into the hall, her sweet memories of Lord Richard and his wicked compliments faded from her mind during the long, bone-jolting journey back to Camberley. She was tired, impatient for a bath, and if the truth be told, itching to discover how Camberley had fared in her absence, with Chandra at the helm. She hugged her son, searching his face for a moment, then nodded to her daughter-in-law, all the while looking about for signs of disorder. She soon found a collection of dust on her beautiful trestle table. She ran her fingers over the table surface.
“You have been at Camberley a week, Chandra,” she said, holding up her dusty fingertip.
Chandra eyed her in absolute amazement and said, “Six days, actually.”
“Nearly seven. It’s almost afternoon.”
Jerval shouted for wine and honey cakes to be brought into the hall, then turned to greet his father, leaving Chandra alone with his mother and Julianna. He had mentioned to his wife several times that she should at least give the keep servants instructions, but she had shrugged indifferently, and he had let her be. It had been Jerval who had told the servants to carry on, but they were used to his mother’s sharp eyes and attention to every detail, and he knew the wenches had grown lax in their duties. He decided to let Chandra fend for herself, at least for the moment.
“You look tired,” he said to his father.
“I am too old for such journeys,” Lord Hugh said, heaving his bulk into his great chair, “and this damned gout hasn’t given me a moment’s peace.”
“All the good food and wine didn’t help. Did you leave Lord Richard and Lady Dorothy in good health?”
“Oh, aye. Even Richard looked ready to take his ease by the time his vassals left. Sir Andrew broke one of Richard’s ribs in the tourney—the one you didn’t stay for.” Hugh glanced over toward Chandra, who stood stiffly beside Avicia. “None of the men blamed you at all for leaving so quickly. By God, what a beauty she is. I trust you are enjoying her as you should?”
Jerval could not keep down a very satisfied smile.
“Aye, so it should be. What does your lady think of her new home?”
Jerval shrugged. “She knows every inch of Camberley—outside the keep.”
“Ah, well then, let your mother handle that.”
“It is that notion that worries me.” He turned as he overheard his mother ask Chandra, “Have the servants treated you as they should, child? Have they done your bidding?”
“Aye, they have, although I have not bade them to do anything in particular.”
Wrong answer, Jerval thought.
“Come, Aunt,” Julianna said, looking toward Jerval beneath her lashes, “surely you do not expect a warrior to take interest in a lady’s duties?”
“Why, Julianna,” Chandra said, looking toward her, “how kind of you to explain things so nicely and so very clearly.”
“Your wine, my lady,” Mary said in that soothing voice of hers. “Your honey cakes are delicious. I have wanted to ask the cook for his recipe.”
“It is I who gave the varlet the recipe,” Lady Avicia said, softening. She found herself staring at Mary. Odd that she had not noticed at Croyland that the girl had the look of Matilda, her sweet, biddable daughter, whose memory always brought a pang of sadness. “You are thin, Mary,” she said. “I hope you will be happy here at Camberley.”
Lord Hugh’s mouth was full at the moment, else his jaw would have dropped to his chest at his lady’s words.
“I am very happy, my lady. Camberley is so lovely, and there are so many windows—I feel as if I am standing in the sunlight.”
“Do you also know about armor, Mary,” Julianna said, “or do you just polish Chandra’s?”
Mary’s sweet smile did not waver as she said to Julianna, “Unfortunately I have not Chandra’s skill—more’s the pity. Also, she always sees to her own armor.”
Chandra felt a moment of envy at Mary’s skill in dealing with Julianna. Julianna’s eyes hardened, and then she turned to Jerval and gave him a dazzling smile. So that was the way things still were. Chandra wondered idly if she would have to clout the nonsense out of Julianna’s head.
“I trust the evening meal will be well prepared.”
Chandra said to her mother-in-law, “I see no reason why it should not be. The servants know now that you are returned.”
“We will see,” Avicia said, ready to bolt for the cooking sheds.
She was on the point of leaving when suddenly she heard Dakyns shouting. She whirled about to see Hawk bounding into the hall, barking loudly, running directly at Chandra. Avicia yelled and jerked Mary behind her to protect her.
Lord Hugh thrust out his big hand to grab the hound, but Hawk eluded him. He grabbed at his sword as the beast dove at Chandra.
“Nay, Father,” Jerval said, laughing as he stayed his hand.
Lord Hugh stood stunned as he watched his most vicious boarhound plant his paws upon Chandra’s shoulders and lick her face with his huge tongue.
“What is that wretched beast doing in here? Get him out, at once.”
“Don’t worry, Mother,” Jerval said, grinning at her. “He is here because he heard Chandra’s voice. It is all I can do to keep him out of our bedchamber. He is forever at Chandra’s heels.”
Avicia drew herself to her full height. “None of those disgusting beasts is to foul the keep. Get him out of here at once or I’ll have him killed.”
It was a mistake, and she knew it the moment her husband took a step toward her. “I beg your pardon,” Lord Hugh said, staring at his wife.
Avicia splayed her hands in a helpless gesture that had, some thirty years ago, led Hugh to the erroneous conclusion that his bride was a soft-spoken girl who needed his strong man’s protection. “You promised, Hugh. The dog is fouling Chandra and making a nuisance of himself.”
“Oh, no,” Chandra said, “you needn’t worry for me, and he is not fouling me, for Jerval and I bathed him but yesterday.”
“He nearly ripped my arm off,” Jerval said. “The men were laying bets on how long it would take him to knock me on my back.”
“God and the angels,” Hugh said, torn between laughter and his wife’s outrage. “You actually gave this vicious hound a bath? A bath?”
“I did not want to bathe him,” Chandra said, “but Jerval thought it would make Hawk more acceptable to you, my lady. My father’s hounds are always in the keep. You, my lord, were always throwing bones to Graynard during supper.”
“Aye, that’s true,” Hugh said, rubbing his chin, remembering Graynard’s nose rubbing against his legs. He forgot that he had cursed the fleas.
“Hugh?”
“The hound is clean,” Hugh said. “As long as Chan
dra is willing to keep him that way, he may stay here in the Great Hall.”
Chandra closed her arms about the hound’s neck and let him throw his great weight against her, dragging her to her knees.
“As you will, my lord,” Avicia said, tight-lipped. She remembered all too well the pigsty Camberley had been when she first wed Hugh, for there had been no lady in residence for several years. She looked toward her daughter-in-law, recognizing that she was beautiful, that she had character and intelligence, but knowing to her innards that the girl saw things as a man would. That wasn’t good. She would have a battle on her hands.
“Hawk is almost human sometimes, my lady,” Mary said. “Indeed, when Jerval yelled at him to hold still for his bath, he seemed to understand. Alma gave me some powdery leaves to rub into his coat. She said it would keep all the vermin away from him.”
The girl was diplomatic, Jerval thought, staring at Mary. Unfortunately, that quality seemed foreign to his wife.
CHAPTER 15
Dinner that evening was set only for the family, well prepared, and served without mishap, thanks to Lady Avicia’s last-minute visit to the cooking sheds. Jerval forked a piece of roast pork into his mouth, closing his eyes a moment at the taste. His mother’s voice brought his head up. “There are no idle hands at Camberley, Chandra, as I’m certain you’ve noticed. Everyone has duties to perform, and we do not cater to slothfulness.” She directed her next words to her husband. “When we arrived, I heard that slut Glenna laughing in the solar.”
Lord Hugh said between bites, “The girl has her uses, Avicia.” He choked on the meat. “Er, that is, she had her uses.”
“What do you mean, my lord?” Chandra asked.
“He means nothing at all,” Jerval said.
“Tell me, Chandra,” Avicia said, wondering how her daughter-in-law could be such a dolt about such matters, “what were your duties at Croyland?”
Chandra smiled. “There were no idle hands at Croyland either. I helped Crecy with the ledger accounts. Lord Richard despises numbers, and during the past year, I saw to Croyland’s purchases and sales.”
“You read?”
“Aye, my lady, my father wished it. Crecy taught me.”
“We ladies do not involve ourselves in that sort of thing at Camberley,” Avicia said, and wondered silently why not.
“You have an honest steward then? One who can count beyond his ten fingers?”
Avicia thought of the oily Damis, whom she had distrusted ever since the day she had seen him strutting in a new fur-lined tunic in the village over a year ago. “I don’t know,” she said slowly.
“Actually,” Jerval said, “I handle quite a bit of that now, Chandra. Damis needs a close eye on his ledgers. My mother is thinking of that new tunic of his. I took the cost of it from his wages. The fellow does well enough now.”
“But what did you do at Croyland that is appropriate for a lady?” Julianna asked.
“Chandra sings and plays the lyre beautifully,” Mary said, “but you already know that, Julianna.”
My little champion, Chandra thought, looking at Mary. She said to Lady Avicia, “My mother directed the servants in the weaving, cooking, and cleaning. She never wished my help. Indeed, she didn’t want anything from me. I know nothing of it.”
“That makes no sense,” Avicia said. “It is a mother’s responsibility to train her daughter.”
“That was not Lady Dorothy’s view of things.”
“Then I will teach you,” Lady Avicia said, and she actually rubbed her hands together. “Since you are my son’s wife and the future mistress of Camberley, there are many responsibilities that will be yours. There is the proper planning of the meals, seeing that the servants do their jobs well, clothes to be woven and mended, the gardens to be tended and, naturally, the care of guests. Ah, so many things to be done.” Lady Avicia rubbed her hands together again as she said with too much relish, “Aye, no one will have to worry about this because I will instruct you.”
Chandra didn’t like that very happy look on her mother-in-law’s face. She wasn’t at all certain that instruction from Lady Avicia would be such a good thing. Probably not even a tolerable thing. She nearly shuddered. She’d spoken aloud about Lady Dorothy because the words had simply popped out of her mouth without her permission. She wondered what Lady Avicia would do now. She thought with horror of using a spinning wheel. Wisely, she kept her mouth shut.
Like his wife, Jerval wondered what would happen now. But what bothered him was what she had said about her mother.
Chandra said at last, “However, I believe that Croyland is the most magnificent keep in all of England.”
Avicia said, “Magnificent mayhap, but the meals were ill prepared save for the marriage feast, the serving maids slovenly and shiftless and the keep filthy. There were bones and refuse in the reeds. I could not even walk about in the bailey without having my skirts soiled. Well, that is not quite true, but almost.”
Jerval saw that Chandra would probably draw her knife to defend all the perfection of Croyland. He said, rising quickly, “It is late. You are all very tired, as are we. Chandra and I bid you good night.”
“She insulted Croyland,” Chandra said as she walked beside him up the stone stairs. “She dared to insult Croyland.”
“The meals were not all that tasty,” he said mildly, and leaned over to kiss her. “I do like your nose.”
She shoved him back. “Leave me be, damn you. You will not make me laugh. You will not make me yowl again. You will not make my brain leap from my head.”
He grabbed her hand, kept walking, and began whistling. Just before they reached their bedchamber, he stopped her and held her hands together in his. “Before we wedded, I never considered our life once it would actually begin here at Camberley. All I could think about was being inside you, kissing every bit of you. I nearly expired with lust. I still do. However, life has intruded. Now, my mother is mistress here, and her standards are exacting.”
“Camberley should be like Croyland—a warrior’s keep, not a sweet-smelling, useless hall where more attention is given to the cleanliness of the tables than to the fortifications.”
“You have eyes. You see that Camberley is very well fortified. The keep is clean. All like it that way.” He paused a moment, then said, “I am sorry that your mother didn’t wish to teach you. It isn’t natural. It must have been difficult for you. But no longer. Now, I know what you should do: just think of the way you feel after I have given you your woman’s pleasure, then speak to my mother.”
She was appalled. “I cannot. She would believe that I have lost all my wits.”
“Aye, and that might be a good thing.”
“She would see me as weak and soft and she would kick me.”
He said thoughtfully, “Now, that’s quite possible. However, I will keep a sharp lookout and see that she doesn’t do that.”
Chandra said, her eyes clouded with sudden memories that Jerval knew weren’t good, “My mother hated me. For as far back as I can remember she couldn’t bear to have me near her.”
“But why?”
“I don’t know. She beat me until I was big enough to fight back and then she stopped. She was afraid of me then.”
“Why didn’t you tell your father?”
Chandra gave him a long look, then shrugged. “I don’t know why I told you that. It’s not important, hasn’t been for many years now.”
“Why didn’t you tell your father?” he asked again.
“She said she would poison him if I did. I believed her.” Chandra shook herself then, as if waking from a dream. “I do not wish to be with you tonight, Jerval. I am angry because you see nothing good about me. I would very likely bite you.”
A mother who hated and beat her own daughter? It made his guts churn, his belly cramp. She was right, though. It was years too late, and now this. He smiled at her. “Come. I will take my chances. I believe I will try some new things on you.”
He d
id and she didn’t bite him.
Before he fell asleep, he said against her neck, “There is so much good about you that it nearly breaks my heart.”
She was soft and limp, her mind easy, vague. “What is good about me?”
But he was asleep.
Rolfe had to squint against the early-morning sun to make out the figure riding toward him. It was Sir Jerval’s wife, astride her destrier. A sword was strapped at her side, and a shield was tucked under her arm. Her long woman’s legs were encased in chausses, with cross garters binding them to her, and she wore a tunic of dark blue wool. Rolfe met Malton’s astonished look, grinned, and spat into the dirt.
Malton drew a deep breath and wheeled about. “I don’t like this, Rolfe. I don’t think she is here just to cheer the men on. I must see Sir Jerval.” He had seen her on the archery range with Jerval and Mark during the previous week, and of course she was a familiar sight in her men’s garb riding her great destrier. But that Jerval would allow her to take part in the Scots’ competition, that he could not believe. She was skilled, no doubt about that, but she was still a lady, she was a female, and she could be hurt.
He found Jerval naked to the waist, sluicing himself from a bucket of water at the well.
“Aye, Malton?” Jerval shook himself, took a towel from a giggling serving girl at his side, and rubbed it over his chest and head.
“By all the ancient gods,” Malton said, “it’s my lady. She’s mounted on that beast of hers, in the tiltyard. She is carrying her sword. We are having the competition this morning. You know it is dangerous. She is a girl, a soft, beautiful girl who surely should not be anywhere near the practice field, and—”
“Of course she will not compete. Don’t fret, Malton. She is just looking over the course.”
“She looks like she is doing more than just looking.”
“Nay, it is nothing more than her interest. She is well trained, so of course she would want to know how everything will be done.”
Malton said nothing more. However, Jerval dressed more quickly than was his wont, mounted Pith, and followed Malton to the tiltyard. Chandra had been gone when he awakened that morning, but she always was. When, he wondered, would she not leave him? When would she stay and let him love her in the morning daylight?