Battlesong, page 4
The rest of the day passed swiftly enough, for there were many household cares to occupy her time. She enjoyed directing the servants, caring for the keep, administering to the needs of its people, but she suspected when he discovered all she had changed, he would insist on a new steward. Well, she didn’t want to think on that. Nor did she want to think on the strange fluttering she got inside her belly when she gazed into his eyes.
Not long after the nooning, the arrival of a missive from her sister interrupted her work. Laren smiled as she accepted the parchment and bid the servant take a meal before his journey back to Scotland.
She took the scroll to her office, remembering how surprised she had been when she first heard from her sister. For nearly two years after her arrival at Rexton, Nairna ignored her.
In the first message Laren received, Nairna told of her marriage to Fergus Crawford and what a celebration it had been. The letter had been full of Nairna’s fortune in marrying such a man, how grand the wedding had been, and of the many gifts and tributes she had received.
Another year passed before she wrote again. This communication was about how good life was and what she gained in marriage. Two months later, another missive arrived, and it sounded less enthusiastic. Laren suspected Nairna was bored.
After several more letters, it became clear Nairna was unhappy.
Laren pulled her bench from the table and opened her sister’s newest communication. This, like the previous two missives, contained information about her daily life. The tone was an almost desperate recounting of her activities over the last several weeks. No mention of her husband, father, or how she felt.
As Laren scanned the rest of the letter, she realized her sister was miserable. Mayhap, she could ask someone close to Nairna how her sister really fared. But who could she ask? Certainly, not their father. There had been no communication from him since she left the keep with her new husband, but she had not expected any.
“Nay, I canna go to her,” Laren muttered.
Besides, she didn’t want to go to Scotland. Rexton was her home now, and her responsibility.
She tried to remember who in Scotland had been loyal to Nairna. But there was not a Scot, not even one loyal to her sister, who would aid Laren. She had married an English lord and was not much better than a traitor in the Scot’s eyes. She sighed and returned to her chores. Mayhap, another solution would come to her as she worked.
It was nearly time to sup when Ward summoned her again.
“He is waking now,” he told her. “Mayhap, you could tell him a bit of what has changed. ‘Tis only a suggestion. I do not know this man as I thought I did.”
“ʼTis the pain of his injury, I think,” she offered, for he looked as upset as she felt. “I will inform him on the changes I have made, but not ʼtil he has recovered. You know ʼtwill make him angry when he discovers all I have done.”
“Do not delay too long, m’lady. He is no longer the lad I knew.”
“I’ll stay with him until he awakes. He’ll see I have not left the keep. Mayhap, it will relieve his mind. Go, see to your soldiers, for I’m certain they have a concern.”
She took her place on one of the high-backed chairs in his chamber and gazed about her, stunned. She’d been so seldom in this room she had never taken the time to appreciate the fine tapestry, the colorful carpet or the high bed he now occupied. Even the place for the fire was decorated with colored tiles depicting scenes from the woven tapestry gracing the far wall. Two large trunks commanded a place next to the bed. Spoils of the war with the Scots?
It mattered not to her. Her father forced this marriage to save Nairna for a true Scots laird, someone to help him fight the English. However, she had no doubt the English king would win. Had not they trounced the Scots in a recent battle?
At that moment, Arthur roused himself. “Ward?” he asked, his voice slurred from sleep.
“He has gone to see to his men.” She rose from her chair and approached his bed.
“He left me in your care?”
Her breath caught at his angry tone. She could not let him upset her, nor could she upset him. She chewed on her lower lip to prevent her temper from showing. “ʼTis only as it should be. After all, we are wed. I am the mistress of the keep. I tend the sick and injured here.”
He looked perplexed for a moment, then smiled.
Her knees quivered like a bow string after the arrow loosed. She flinched at her reaction. This husband of hers was almost beautiful. Nay, he was not her husband, not really. He left her there, untouched, and marched off to war, only to return when he could no longer serve his king. She chewed at the inside of her cheek, shamed by her reaction to his smile.
“So tell me, what have you done to my home?”
His question startled her. She would not discuss her changes until he could see them for himself. But…how to ignore the question?
“ʼTis not the time to discuss this. We must dress your leg. The wound worries me.” She moved to the door, lifted the bar, and called for Edyth.
“What’s wrong with my wound?” he snarled. “My sister did what was necessary.” As she unwrapped the bandage, he reared up in bed. “Nay, leave it alone.” He winced and let out an oath.
“ʼTis not healing as it should,” Laren said, trying to firm her tone and ignore the sensations he set off in her. “Mayhap, you have done something to cause more hurt. We will see.”
When Edyth appeared, Laren gave orders, naming the herbs she needed, hot water, warm cloths—everything to prepare a poultice. She glanced at him. He leaned on his elbows and looked for all the world as if she had passed a sentence of death over his head. She swallowed the giggle begging to erupt from her lips. At least the poultice would keep him from asking about his keep and her changes.
~ * ~
Arthur ground his teeth and stared at Laren. This homecoming was not what he expected. He was not prepared for the beauty she had become. The few times he thought of her, he imagined her staying somewhere in the keep, sewing or doing whatever young girls did. He had not thought of her as a woman. That was his first mistake.
His second was asking who she was when he arrived at Rexton. Shortly after the king gifted him with the keep, Arthur left to serve in battle. The servants did not know him. They knew his lady wife. Had known her for years. He groaned. What must they think of him?
Dumping Laren at the gate and departing had been a terrible mistake. One he had to rectify. The question was how.
Her maid returned, her arms full of small vials, bandages, and suspicious-looking substances. Following her were more servants with water, fuel for the fireplace, and several containers. Mayhap returning would be his death.
He gave himself up to her administrations. After all, he had survived his sister’s care, and Rhianna had not been the gentlest person in the world when she was intent on getting her way.
For a few minutes, he suffered in silence, thinking on the battle where he’d received this wound. He should have died, but his men had saved him and dragged him to Knockin, where Rhianna treated him. The days that followed were filled with clouded agony. He vaguely remembered his brother, Arvel, involved in the care. However, they had saved his life, and Arthur was grateful. Nay, more than grateful.
He glanced up at Laren as she applied dressing to his wound. With a shout of pain, he shot up in the bed. “Are you trying to slay me?” he shouted.
“Nay, but you must lie still. You will disturb the dressing.”
“Aye, I will. Take it from me. It burns.” He tried to grab the poultice she plastered on his leg.
She pushed his arm away and scowled. “You are not a good patient. The burning will cease in a moment. Be brave.”
He gritted his teeth and glared at her. Was she trying to send him to his maker and add insult in the process? After several minutes, the burning did stop and welcome warmth spread through him.
His curiosity roused, he asked, “What did you put on my wound?”
She bent forward to answer his question, and he got another glimpse of her form. A woman, full of curves, the kind that would tempt a saint. A pleasant scent teased him, her scent, clean, special, a woman’s scent. Lust lunged through his body, and it suddenly occurred to him he’d been without a woman for a long time.
Again, he gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, fighting the desire centered low in his body. He wondered if, when he returned to Edward, all the teeth in his mouth would be shoved into his gums. After a deep breath, Arthur glanced at his tormentor.
She was standing now, glaring down at him. He sighed. Mayhap, he should go back to Rhianna. His sister wouldn’t understand, but he’d at least keep his sanity—and his teeth.
“You wouldn’t ken if I told you. You will have to accept I have the skill to treat you and those in the keep.”
For a second, he wondered where she had gained her knowledge. After all, she’d been very young when he wed her. Her next words interrupted his thoughts.
“We must change this dressing again in several hours. The herbs will begin to work, and the pain will not be as bad the next time. I’ll mix a sleeping draught for you, for ʼtis best.”
“I think not. I have done little else but sleep for days now. I have no desire for more. Instead, you can stay here and talk to me, tell me what changes you have made.”
He grinned at her distraught look. She thought treating his wound would discourage his questions. She had much to learn, this wife of his.
“I have work to do. I’ll send one of your men.”
She raced for the door before he had a chance to object. He would not talk to his men. He wanted to find out from herself what she had done to his home.
Starting to rise, he stopped when her maid’s stern voice halted him. “You must stay abed. If I must tell Laren, she will see you tied to the posts.”
“She would not dare,” he muttered, though the thought intrigued him and made the fire in his groin burn hotter.
“She would. If you attempt to leave that bed, she bade me send for her. You do not know her. She’ll bring Ward with her, and he will see you confined.”
Arthur nearly laughed out loud. Aye, he didn’t know his wife, but he intended to correct that as soon as possible. Learning what she was about would keep him more than entertained until his leg had healed. Of that, he was certain.
~ * ~
Over the next few days, Arthur wondered if Laren had made a vow to make his life miserable. He’d tried at least a dozen times a day to leave his bed, but someone, either her maid, or the man keeping him company would send for Laren, followed by Ward. Arthur wasn’t leaving his bed until she said he could, whether he liked it or not, and he didn’t like it.
On the fourth day, he decided he was master here, not his Scots wife. He said as much and left his chamber. He was loath to admit, even to himself, his leg was much improved. But that didn’t mean he was going to agree with her treatment or the changes she’d made and now refused to describe.
His appearance in the hall was greeted with hurrahs and one or two frowns. When Laren bustled in, he nearly grinned. She was doing more than frowning, but her wrath only served to make her even more beautiful. The fire in her eyes tempted him to take her straight to his bed.
“My lord, ach, you should not be here.”
He attempted to summon anger of his own. “I should. It is past time for me to see what you have done with my land. I think we will start today with the accounts. You did say you dismissed the steward and have taken his place?”
She nodded. He did grin now. Her look of anger dissolved into one of distress, maybe even worry. Mayhap now, he would get a hint of the reason behind his marriage to Laren instead of Nairna.
“If it is not too much trouble, you may bring the books here, or I can accompany you to the place you record the information.” He leaned back in his chair and signaled for more ale. Her obvious fear made him sweeten his words a bit. “ʼTis good, this recipe of yours. Not as good as my sister’s, mind, but acceptable.”
Her fists clenched at her sides as her lips tightened.
He bit the inside of his mouth to keep from laughing. His words hadn’t been much of a compliment, but he didn’t want her thinking the changes she undoubtedly made were acceptable. At least not until he knew what she had changed.
“The account books,” he reminded her.
Laren stomped off to one of the small rooms at the end of the hall. Her rigid figure strode away, the cloth of her gown swishing as her hips swayed. Aye, she was all woman, his woman, and a surge of lust nearly lifted him from his chair.
He fought to control his desire by gritting his teeth. Bedding her would have to wait for a time. If he attempted to exercise his rights, he didn’t doubt she’d fight him for all she was worth. Nay, first they must find agreement about something at Rexton. Mayhap, he overplayed Lord of the Manor a bit too much.
His lust under control, his mind set on a course of action, he watched her return, the accounts nestled against her gown, hiding the swell of her breasts.
She laid them before him, and he smiled. Her expression baffled him. She seemed quite unsettled. What had she done? Hire Scots to tend the estate?
“Aye,” he said as he glanced at the neat script recording dates of the births and deaths of his people, the increase in number of animals, the rents recorded, even the days of service required of each of his men.
“ʼTis a fine job, this.” He glanced at her face. Her mouth hung open, as if his praise were the last words she thought to hear. Unfortunately, he still had no idea why she was given in marriage instead of her sister. “Will you break your fast with me?”
That seemed to surprise her even more.
“My-my lo-lord, I have already broken my fast. If you have completed your examination, I have other duties to which I must attend.”
“Please. I beg of you, sit with me. ʼTis time we talked of many things.” Once again, he smiled at her, satisfied with her hesitation. “Come, tell me how you discovered my steward was collecting rents I had not authorized.”
“I told you one of your people told me she could not pay. When I examined the books, I realized she had been asked to pay more than was recorded. I talked to others and found they, too, paid more. Halstead didna deny it. So I sent him from this place.”
“ʼTwas well done of you. I thank you. I must also offer my apology for our parting those six years ago. I was wrong. I realize that now. Will you forgive me for my thoughtlessness?”
Again, her surprise was plain. Nay stunned might better describe her expression. She opened her mouth, closed it, not once, but twice. ʼTwas obvious she knew not what to say. He smiled and bowed his head. He had been wrong, and he was man enough to admit his transgression.
She jerked her head up then down, a bit too hesitantly to suit him. His words must have stolen her voice. Or was what he had done such a grave mistake she did not intend to forgive his offense? Another thought intruded. Could there be a master plan concocted by some devious Scot to make trouble through Laren? His head ached with unanswered questions.
“I must see to my duties,” she managed to mutter and fled.
“Damn,” he swore. He would never have answers if she ran each time he got close.
Arthur glared at the servants who hustled around him, carrying out their own duties. It suddenly occurred to him. The changes made here were still unknown to him. He jerked to his feet and yelled for Ward. It was clear. Arthur must see for himself what she had done.
Chapter Four
For the rest of the day, Arthur followed Ward from the stables to the mews, the kitchens, the storage room, and pantry, even to the laundry. Nothing was as he left it. Aye, he had only spent a brief time at Rexton before he rode off to serve the king, then to Scotland to claim his bride, but still, this place was not as he remembered.
When they visited the mew, he stared at the floor, now covered with dirt. “What is this?” he asked of the falconer.
“Why, ʼtis sand, m’lord. Your lady said ʼtwill help with their care.” He pointed to the several falcons Arthur kept.
As they left the stables, he turned to Ward. “What of the farmers? What has she done with them?” He was almost afraid of his man’s reply.
“The changes she made have all been for the good, m’lord. Your lady wife is a capable mistress, rest assured.”
“We will see on the morrow. Plan on visiting the cottages early on.”
Arthur limped back to the hall, uncertain of his temper. All Laren accomplished appeared to benefit his holdings, yet weren’t most ladies supposed to sew and entertain, perhaps do a bit of hunting with their own birds, especially ones married as young as she had been? Her competency bewildered him.
He shook his head and eased himself to one of the chairs adorning the far end of the hall. Of course, his sister was an exception. But then, she had been raised to rule a keep.
When he arrived more than two weeks ago, he hadn’t given his hall a careful examination. He hurt too badly. He gazed at the room, intrigued by the added comforts. Fresh rushes were laid on the floor, and a scent of lavender drifted from them. The whitewashed walls brightened the chamber, and the fireplace was as clean as the room. No dogs lingered beneath the tables.
Dogs? What had she done with his dogs?
“Ward!” he bellowed.
His lieutenant came at a run.
“What has she done with the dogs?” Arthur blurted. At least, he could fault her for removing the dogs. After all, they ate the food which littered the rushes.
“They are confined outside, m’lord.”
“Outside? But what of the table scraps?” Oh, yes, he could disagree with what she did with his dogs.
“The servants gather the scraps after most meals and feed your pups. She claims the hall is easier to clean without them under foot. They do come in if the weather is foul and at certain other times. But, let me assure you, they are well cared for.”
Arthur slumped in his chair. Never, when he arrived to discover Laren had taken control, had he expected his home, his own keep, to look so good, or to have suffered no harm. Although he could scarce bear to admit it, for in truth, it hurt his pride, she’d done an excellent job in his name.
