His lips tightened. “You have no proof, my lady, that I did anything wrong. Crewel is not Pershwick. There was chaos when Sir Rolfe came here. Supplies were low and costs high.”
“Were my husband not injured I would let him deal with this, for you try my patience,” Leonie said angrily. “You say I have no proof?” She turned to the cook and demanded, “It is stated in these accounts, Master John, that last week you needed supplies costing thirty-five marks. Is that right?”
“My lady, no!” The man gasped. “Not even ten marks were spent.”
Leonie’s eyes flew back to the steward, whose pale face was now mottled with anger. “Well, Master Erneis?”
“You have no right to question me concerning the accounts, Lady d’Ambert. I will speak with your husband—”
“No, you will not!” she snapped, stepping back toward the entrance and signaling to the guards, who had been listening, amazed. “Take Master Erneis to his quarters and search his belongings. If the money he has stolen can be found, he may leave Crewel with the clothes on his back—no more. If the money is not found”—she looked at the little steward once more—“you will get your wish to speak to my husband. And I doubt he will be lenient.”
Leonie returned to the hall to wait, stewing with anger, wondering if perhaps she should not have handled the matter herself. Should she have told Sir Evarard, or Thorpe de la Mare, and let them take care of the steward?
It was a very short time before she learned that the episode was, for good or ill, finished. The guards approached her sheepishly to say that the steward had flown while they were searching his belongings. Only fifty marks had been found. Out of hundreds, only fifty? How was she going to tell Rolfe?
Chapter 27
ROLFE groaned as he bent over to open the large chest. He knew he should not be out of bed at all, as Thorpe had warned him repeatedly. He was weak and his wound had been stitched together only the day before.
But Rolfe was impatient. Ever since he had learned that Leonie had helped him instead of causing his wound, he had wanted to make amends for his boorish behavior. What must she think of his distrust, especially after she had only just helped him to win Wroth?
He had spent most of the day wondering what he could give Leonie by way of a special gift. He didn’t want her to think he was buying her forgiveness, but he wanted to give her something lovely, something she would treasure. He realized that he did not know her likes and dislikes, and that he had no inkling of what she already possessed. A visit to her chests in the anteroom was called for, and he waited eagerly for Thorpe to leave the room so that he could rise from the bed.
The first two chests contained only clothes. The third, smaller chest held Leonie’s treasures. He felt a twinge of guilt when he saw how little was there. There was an ivory chess set, and a small wooden box lined with velvet that contained twelve silver spoons. There were pouches holding imported spices. On the bottom of the chest wrapped in soft wool was a jeweled leather girdle, and another of gold cord. In a small box he found three gold brooches. One was set with garnets, another was enameled. Besides these there were two silver hairpins, a gold buckle, and one fine piece, a gold necklace with six large garnets spaced between the links of the chain, a gold cross dangling from the center.
So few fancy jewels for one so beautiful. But Rolfe knew that Leonie had been put aside by her father as a child. Who had there been to gift her with pretty trinkets, to watch her eyes glow with surprise and delight? A flash of hatred washed over Rolfe for the man who had hurt Leonie so badly.
The door opened softly and there she stood. And there Rolfe stood—her chest open to him, and blood soaking through the sheet he had wrapped around himself. Caught red-handed, with no excuse.
She simply stared, her expression unreadable, saying not a word. Rolfe flushed and turned away, making his way slowly back to the bed.
Leonie followed him into the inner chamber. Silence hung in the air until, at last, she spoke.
“If you were looking for my medicines, my lord, de la Mare should have told you my basket is there by the hearth.”
Rolfe sighed. “So he should have.”
“But I must warn you against trying to treat yourself. You could do more harm than good if you are not familiar with the remedies. I am willing to help you.”
“Are you?”
Leonie turned away, unnerved by the suddenly soft tone. “You should have waited until I came.”
“But I was not sure you would come.”
She met his eyes. It was apparent that he hadn’t yet heard about the steward. But something was troubling him.
“Why would I not come, my lord?” she asked pointedly. “You have made it clear that you must always be obeyed.”
“But you do as you please anyway.”
They were suddenly speaking of what was wrong between them, and neither had intended that to happen. “I do not allow anyone, my lord, to command my thoughts and feelings. Otherwise, as your wife, I am yours to command.”
Rolfe nearly laughed. Of course she was right, he could not control her thoughts or feelings and it was unreasonable for him to have tried. What he needed to do was work on changing her feelings, some of them.
“If you would rather not tend me, Leonie, I will understand.”
She found the humility in his voice less than convincing. “The gift I received from my mother to heal and comfort is mine to share. If I cannot use it, it becomes worthless. Now will you let me stop your bleeding?”
He nodded, and she pulled the sheet to the side to remove the stained bandage. As she worked, she glowed with pleasure, proud and glad to be using her skills.
“You find pleasure in helping others?” Rolfe asked suddenly.
“Yes.”
He sighed. He had been wrong. As Thorpe said, it was simply her way to help people. He was nothing special to her.
“Something is wrong, my lord?”
“No,” he lied glibly. “It has just occurred to me that I may have hurt you by calling for the leech instead of you.”
“I was not hurt,” she assured him quickly. “I was angry at the foolishness of it, because I knew Odo was incompetent. But your order to keep me from you was understandable. You were weak and in pain. You were not thinking clearly.”
“Why do you make excuses for me?”
She shook her head. “If you had been yourself, my lord, I am sure you would have had me put in irons instead of simply barring me from here.”
“Put in irons!” He frowned. “I would never…You are my wife.”
“That is not the issue,” she said angrily. “Someone tried to kill you. That person must be found and punished—no matter who it was. I would expect no less if I had tried to kill you.”
Rolfe laughed ruefully. “I admit I thought of you first when the arrow struck and I saw the villain moving off toward Pershwick. I did not want to believe you capable of arranging my death, but the thought was there, and not unreasonable, given your past…I am truly sorry for doubting you this time, Leonie.”
Why wouldn’t she look at him? She had finished changing his bandage, and was rummaging in her basket. She held up a small blue bottle. “Will you let me give you this for the pain, my lord?”
Rolfe frowned at the evasion. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, and she seemed most uncomfortable suddenly.
“No!” he snarled, regretting it immediately.
“So you still doubt me?” she asked softly.
“I did not say so.”
“Yet you refuse my tonic, and I know you are in pain. You fear I mean to poison you, is that it?”
“Damn! Give me that!” He grabbed the bottle from her and took a swallow. “There! Now tell me why you cannot forgive me.”
“But I do,” she said softly, her gaze steady. “I can only hope that you will be forgiving when I tell you—”
“Do not tell me.” He cut her off abruptly. “I want to hear no confessions from you.”
“But I want to tell you about—”
“No!”
She stood up and glared at him, all meekness gone. “You would make me wait and dread your anger until someone else tells you? Well, I will not do that. My lord, I dismissed your steward and I am not sorry for it.”
She waited for the explosion, but Rolfe simply stared at her in amazement.
“Is that all?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied stonily.
“What—what did you expect me to do, Leonie?”
“You have every right to be angry, and it won’t hurt your wound if you feel like shouting at me.”
“Perhaps,” he said quietly, trying not to grin, “if you told me why you dismissed him?”
“I discovered Master Erneis was stealing from you, and not just a little. Hundreds of marks.”
“How do you know he was stealing?” he asked sharply.
She quickly explained. “I am only sorry that I handled it badly, for he is gone now and so is your money.”
“You still have not said why you are sure he was stealing.”
“My lord, I wouldn’t know how much you gave the steward to begin with, but he said you gave him eleven or twelve hundred marks. You have been here seven months, and in that time he recorded spending nine hundred marks. That is far, far too much.”