Several miles away, in Axeford Keep, where Sir Warren was temporary castellan for Rolfe, his wife, Lady Roese, was telling him how shocked she had been that morning when she saw Leonie d’Ambert’s face. Warren, who knew of his lord’s troubles with Pershwick, assumed correctly that the lady had resisted the marriage. It was a natural conclusion that if she had been beaten, it was her father who had done it.
But Warren’s wife, who had been away visiting her family for several months, knew nothing of the Pershwick troubles. She knew little of Rolfe d’Ambert, either. Her husband liked him, but that spoke only of Sir Rolfe’s being a good overlord. It said nothing about his character. She knew only that Sir Rolfe had a hot temper, and she concluded that he had beaten his new wife. In her opinion, Lady Leonie had been married to a cruel man.
Unfortunately, Sir Warren did not clear up the misunderstanding. He did no more than grunt when he was told Lady Leonie’s condition. In truth, he wasn’t really listening. His wife told the story the next day to Lady Bertha, who was staying in Axeford Town, and from there the story spread quickly.
It did not take long for a firm debate to ensue, and many husbands and wives, as well as the serfs of Axeford, Kenil, Blythe, and Crewel argued the issue in the following weeks. The men knew their lord, and sided with him. The women did not know him, and they felt that men will always defend each other blindly and against all evidence, so they held to their opinions and sorely pitied the lady in question.
The serfs, who loved gossip, simply divided sides, man for man and woman for woman. And unbeknownst to anyone, the issue went a long way toward winning the loyalty of the people of Kempston for their new lord and lady.
Lady Amelia was furious when she heard the gossip, not because her lover was being maligned, but because the woman being pitied was Lady Leonie, and this would not help Rolfe to forget about her. He might even bring her back to Crewel just to still the wagging tongues.
Rolfe was in fact unaware of what was being said about him in the weeks after the wedding. The gossip was not something his men wanted him made aware of. Even Thorpe took pains to keep it from him, knowing his temper very well.
Briefly Rolfe wondered why his men acted strangely, hushing conversations when he drew near, shouting abuse at their womenfolk in his presence. And, damn him, he had never seen so many disgruntled females. Every woman he encountered was in a pique.
But Rolfe had too many other things on his mind to ponder the peculiarities of women and serfs. He kept to the camp outside Wrothe Keep for several weeks, conducting the terms of surrender.
Yes, he had much to occupy his mind. Yet drifting into his thoughts with alarming frequency were images of a petite form with soft curves and whispering sighs. Lady Leonie, his recent bride, was not forgotten whether or not he wished her to be.
Chapter 12
LEONIE’s every prayer had been answered. Her husband was forgotten. Her life was her own again. No steward had been sent to Pershwick to tell her that a man ruled her life now. She had taken great pains to prepare for a steward, abandoning all her hiding places so that the steward could never accuse her of trying to keep anything from her lord. Everything was in order. But no one arrived and she stopped expecting anyone.
No longer did she have to worry that Judith’s steward would come raiding either. She had freedom, independence, and peace.
But good things do not last forever. One afternoon, working in her garden, she heard the call to halt from the gate, but gave it little thought. Sir Guibert was away, leaving her master-at-arms in charge of defending the keep. The man took his responsibilities very seriously, ordering the gatekeeper to question anyone who wished to enter the keep, familiar face or not.
Leonie continued to fill her basket with parts from her elderberry tree. The gatherings would make dyes for the weaving room, black from the bark and root, green from the leaves. Shades from blue-lilac to purple would have to wait until the berries ripened in the fall.
A second basket, filled earlier, contained herbs and flowers for medicines and cooking: chicory and endive, lovage, sweet marjoram, spearmint and catsmint, white poppy, rosemary, and the petals of marigolds and violets. Leonie trusted no one else to gather these cuttings, for it was too easy for a servant to mistake one herb for another and pick something poisonous for a salad.
The sound of horses entering the bailey made her wonder who could be visiting Pershwick, for Sir Guibert was not expected back until that evening. Horses heralded either guests or a rich merchant, and few of either came to such a small keep as hers.
She leaned over the low garden wall to investigate, and spied a man bearing the Black Wolf’s colors over full armor. He was dismounting from a huge black destrier. There were two men-at-arms attending him.
She jumped back away from the wall before he could see her. In a panic, she wondered why her husband was there. She was trapped there in the garden, for she would be in plain view if she left it.
With that thought, she decided to hide in the garden until he left, all day if necessary, so she moved to the far end of the garden and knelt behind some laurel bushes, praying that Rolfe would leave and she would be spared a meeting with him. But apparently no one above was inclined to grant such a petty request, for it was only moments before she heard someone walking into the garden. Rather than face the embarrassment of being caught hiding, she gathered her courage and stood up.
She was lucky. She saw him first. Her old green bliaut blended well with the surroundings, and he was facing the other end of the garden anyway. She even had a moment to compose herself before he turned around.
She cringed. Besides being afraid, she knew she looked terrible. She was wearing working clothes, and her long braids were wrapped tightly in a hair veil to keep them from trailing in the dirt when she bent over. Even the circlet holding the veil across her forehead was only a strip of worn leather. She looked her worst, and she was facing a man who terrified her.
When Rolfe did not see his wife immediately, he told himself to turn around and go. He had no good reason for coming. It had been impulse that brought him, and he could only blame mental and physical tiredness for causing him to act without thinking. He had slept poorly all the last week. But could he tell his wife that he yearned for her company? That he missed her? That he wanted to see how she fared? It was better she think he didn’t care. Yet there he was, ignoring that, and looking for her.
The best thing for them both would be for him to find her uncloaked and revealed at last. It was not unreasonable to hope that might happen. She was among her own people here, and would probably not hide herself. That would end the mystery, and end, too, the yearning he had for her.
With that hope, he turned around, making one last effort to find his wife here where her servant had said she would be found. This time he saw a girl he must have missed before because her clothing was so nearly the color of the foliage. The lady was not his wife. Dear God, would that she were! For as he moved close enough to see her well, he was stunned by how remarkably lovely she was.
Never had he seen such fair skin, such delicate rosy lips, straight little nose, and sweetly oval chin. She had, not the rosy cheeks of English maids or the dark beauty of the French, but ivory skin, pearllike, without a blemish to disturb its smooth surface. Long silvery lashes hid her lowered eyes, and he longed to see their color.
He seemed unable to speak, to say something to make her look up at him. He could only stand there, staring at her like a fool.
Who was she, this exquisite girl? She did not carry herself like a servant. She was surely old enough to be married. Was she a companion to his wife? How terrible for his hideous wife to be near such a beauty every day!
The girl began to fidget, twisting her fingers together nervously, and Rolfe realized he was making her uncomfortable. Did she know who he was? If so, then she realized she was subject to his will because his wife was her liegelady. Everything he was feeling for her sharpened with that thought, and he knew how much he wanted her. Lord, this girl was making him forget his scruples!
“Be at ease, little flower,” Rolfe said gently. “I mean you no harm.”
“Do you not?”
He liked the sound of her voice, soft and whispery. “Have I given you reason to fear me?”
She raised her eyes to him at last, then quickly lowered them. Leonie had forgotten how beautiful he was. With his helmet clasped in his hand, his black unruly hair curling around his head gave him a boyish appearance contrasting with the rest of his powerful body. His silence had unnerved her, but his gentle voice was just as frightening somehow.
“Your overlong silence was disconcerting.”
“Forgive me, my lady. I deliberated too long, wondering what name to call you.”
“I have a name, but if you wish to choose another, that is your prerogative.”
“You misunderstand, my lady. It is your own name I would call you by—if you will tell me what it is.”
Leonie’s eyes widened and she looked up at him. “You want me to tell you my name?”
Patiently, he said, “That would be helpful, yes.”
She frowned. Was this some game he found amusing? No, she didn’t think he would amuse himself that way. But that left only one other possibility. She was so insignificant to him that he truly had forgotten her name!