The Norman's Heart Page 8

Whatever else Mina thought of Sir Roger de Montmorency as she slowly walked to the chapel to listen to Father Damien mumble the mass, she had to admit that he was the epitome of a Norman nobleman. He was arrogantly vain, but not without some cause, considering his looks and the magnificence of his muscular body. He was stern and harsh, yet he lacked that haunted look of permanent sadness she had observed in the baron. He must have a friendlier side, too, or why would a person like the kindly Sir Albert remain with him?

  Roger had been truly dismayed to think he had hurt her. There could be no doubt of the anguish in his eyes, and for a moment she had been tempted to tell him the truth. Only her instinct for self-preservation had held her back, because she did not know what Sir Roger would do if he discovered she had lied to him.

  He had mentioned a physical pain. She did not know losing her virginity would hurt, and she was glad to think she had avoided any further harm. Hadn’t she already endured enough at men’s hands?

  As she knelt in the small chapel, Mina told herself she was relieved she was still a virgin and proud that she had outfoxed Sir Roger de Montmorency.

  Chapter Seven

  Later that day, several peasants surreptitiously watched their lord riding home along the edge of his fields.

  The men saw a tall, strong, handsome and very serious man whose piercing gaze seemed to exhort them to work even harder, and they quickly bent to their tasks. The unmarried women sighed furtively and blushed at their own lustful thoughts. They also thought it best to avoid his eyes, in case Sir Roger de Montmorency might somehow guess what was in their minds and—gracious God!—stop to speak to them. Still, more than one permitted herself a brief, improbable dream.

  Roger, however, was oblivious to the scrutiny as he rode upon the remains of the old Roman road that skirted his lands. He was thinking that Edred had done a fine job of training the gerfalcon. The young bird had taken a crane in a fast, easy kill and had even successfully gotten some rabbits Bredon’s dogs had roused. All in all, a fine day’s catch hung from his saddle, as well as Albert’s and some of the other noblemen.

  His head felt much better, too, because of the fresh air, no doubt, and being away from that confusing, unsettling woman he was married to. He allowed himself to admit that he was also relieved to be free of the worry of offending the baron. Out here in the woods and the fields, he was his own master again, beholden to no one, in command of his own destiny.

  Roger surveyed his domain. His fields looked well tended; the crops were growing as they should, and the outbuildings and houses of his tenants seemed in good repair. The cattle pastured on the common land were fat and contented. The herd of sheep had grown considerably. He could hear the blacksmith’s forge ringing with the strokes of the smith’s hammer at the farthest edge of the small village that had grown between the main road and the river.

  Scattered around the village green were the houses of the local craftsmen, and close to the smithy was the alehouse, where the serving wenches occasionally offered a lonely man solace. Roger supposed that was the type of place Mina thought the baron should patronize, although the idea of the baron going to a peasant’s alehouse was quite inconceivable.

  Mina must have heard about Moll and her sister, although if she thought they were whores, she wouldn’t be quite right. Moll and Poll weren’t above taking gifts, as he well knew, but it was always their decision to accept both the gift and the giver. He might decide to go there again himself. He might have to.

  The notion of the baron having to pay for a woman’s services was also ludicrous. Why, Roger could recall several jealous quarrels among noblewomen who were vying for the honor of his favor, either secretly or with astonishing audaciousness. There had been plenty of quarrels about him, too, of course.

  What would his bride make of that knowledge? Probably not much, he thought with a scowl. “What do you say to a horse race to the castle gate?” he proposed, coming out of his reverie to give Albert a very brief smile.

  Albert reigned in his horse and stared with mock dismay. “You cannot be serious, my lord. My poor beast against that demon stallion? It would not be even close to fair.”

  “You make it sound as if your horse is an old nag,” Roger complained. He wanted very much to feel the wind whistling past his face and the surge of the horse’s muscles beneath him.

  “I thought you were sick,” Albert countered.

  “I’m feeling much better now.”

  “Undoubtedly seeing your manor in such good condition has helped,” Albert noted dryly.

  “Indeed it has. Come, race me. Prize to the winner.”

  “Well...” Albert suddenly kicked his horse into a gallop, the motion taking Roger and his stallion by surprise. With a shout, Roger spurred his own mount and soon the other noblemen, Edred, Bredon and the lads who had helped with the hunt were left behind, splattered with the mud thrown up by the horses’ hooves.

  “Come on, Raven,” Roger urged, pumping with his knees and whispering in his stallion’s ear. As he had planned, the air rushed past, making his hair and clothing stream out behind him like banners in a stiff breeze. The game tied to his saddle bounced and jostled, but Roger ignored it. Indeed, he didn’t care if it fell off, because Albert was still ahead, although not by much, and Raven was going to be beside Albert’s horse in another moment—

  Then Father Damien, his head bowed and his lips moving in silent prayer, stepped onto the road from one of the pathways leading out of the forest toward the village. With a cry, the old man jumped back, but by then Roger had already checked his horse and slowed until he saw that the priest, although surprised, was quite unharmed. Once more Roger dug his heels into Raven’s side and urged him onward.

  To no avail. Albert galloped into the ward first, albeit barely ahead of Raven.

  Roger yanked his horse to a halt and jumped down, scowling darkly. “That wasn’t fair!” he cried, stalking toward his friend.

  Unperturbed, Albert dismounted and untied the game affixed to his saddle. “Your horse made it unfair to begin with,” he replied calmly. “Now, what will I take for a prize, since you lost?”

  “By God, I’ll take your ears!” Roger snarled.

  Albert grinned. “They are not my most attractive feature, but if you insist...”

  “Oh, go to the devil!”

  “Since I have sworn my allegiance to you, Roger, I always rather expected I might have to follow you there.”

  By now, Roger’s scowl was merely for show, as they both knew. They turned toward the kitchen, by silent mutual consent deciding to get some ale. Suddenly Dudley erupted from the hall, looking as if he were about to burst into tears or fall into an angry fit.

  “My lord!” the steward exclaimed, his tone one Roger had never heard him use before, “I must speak with you immediately!”

  “What is it?” Roger asked, somewhat concerned, although he was quite used to Dudley’s overwrought reactions to minor inconveniences. “Has the kitchen caught fire? Or a merchant cheated us?”

  “My lord, I...” Dudley looked at Sir Albert and then the other huntsmen as they rode into the inner ward. “Come into the hall, if you please. I would rather speak to you alone.” He grabbed Roger’s arm and nearly dragged him inside.

  This physical action was so unusual, Roger began to have a real sense of dread. He thrust the door closed and faced his steward. “What is it?” he demanded.

  “It’s her, your wife!” Dudley cried, looking about nervously as if he expected Mina to pop up from behind one of the benches. “She wants to run everything. I tried to explain I’m the steward, not a simple chamberlain or pantler, but she won’t listen. She says the hall is her responsibility now, as well as the bedchambers and the food and the linens and God knows what else.” He assumed a martyred air. “Apparently I am no longer necessary. If that is indeed so, my lord, I will gladly leave. I have been a steward here nearly my whole life, but perhaps that is of no account anymore. Perhaps you think me too old, too useless. If that is
true, please have the mercy to say so at once. It isn’t necessary, or kind, or honorable to have this woman do it, even if she is your wife!”

  “Dudley, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Roger said firmly. “I gave my wife no such powers. She has acted without my knowledge or consent, and rest assured, I have absolutely no intention of turning the running of my estate over to anyone else, especially a woman. It would be ludicrous to let her try to do your job,” he assured the agitated steward. “I quite understand that, and I will speak to her at once. Where is that...that...my wife?”

  “She is in the kitchen, telling the cook what to do. He’s going to leave us, I’m sure, and he’s the best cook we’ve ever had. The look on his face when she started in on the cost of his ingredients! I sympathize with him, of course, but it would be terrible if he were to go.”

  Dudley kept up a continuous stream of similar complaints as he trotted after Roger, who headed toward the kitchen with a murderous expression on his face. For once, the usually softhearted Dudley felt as one with his tempestuous lord.

  When Roger reached the entrance to the kitchen and saw the scene before him, he halted abruptly. What kind of merrymaking was this?

  Thorbert, the cook, usually a morose fellow concerned only with culinary matters, was actually laughing out loud as he watched Mina rolling out some sort of pastry. Nearby, two scullery maids were giggling uncontrollably, their faces dusted with flour, and the spit boy was laughing so hard he could scarcely do his job.

  Meanwhile, Roger’s wife, the new mistress of Montmorency Castle, stood at the table with her cuffs rolled back, some kind of sack tied around her neck to protect her gown from flour and a decidedly ugly, manure-colored wimple covering her red hair.

  Even more astonishing, the severe, cold bride he had left that very morning was laughing as loudly as any of them, her eyes sparkling with good humor.

  Whatever problem Dudley had sensed before had obviously been overcome. “What is going on here?” Roger demanded, marching into the room.

  The laughter stopped at once, and everybody stared at him, their faces flushed and guilty, as if he were accusing them of butchering the estate’s best bull.

  “We are preparing the evening meal,” Mina said, and he noticed that she was neither flushed nor contrite. “I am showing Thorbert how to make a mince pie.”

  By now, Dudley had entered the kitchen. Roger heard his startled gasp but didn’t look at him.

  “I see,” Roger remarked, going closer to the table. The aroma coming from the bowl of minced meat, fruit and spices certainly smelled delicious. “Reginald should have told me you had such skill,” he said to Mina, who quickly moved away as if she dreaded touching him, even inadvertently.

  “I don’t suppose he knows,” she replied.

  “Do you think you can finish unassisted, Thorbert?” Roger inquired, fighting to keep his voice just as unemotional. “I need to speak with my wife and my steward.”

  “I believe so, my lord. There is only the pastry crust left to do, is there not, my lady?” Thorbert asked Mina respectfully.

  “Yes, and let’s hope it rises properly,” she said. For some reason, this sent Thorbert, the scullery maids and the spit boy into renewed gales of laughter. Their reaction did nothing to lighten Roger’s mood as he walked along the kitchen corridor toward the hall, trailed by Dudley and Mina.

  The moment he reached the dais, Roger threw himself into his chair and glared at his wife. “What have you been up to?” he demanded.

  “I have been helping the cook and teaching him a new recipe,” she replied coolly, raising one brow very slightly.

  Roger had never noticed how shapely her eyebrows were—and he shouldn’t be noticing such things now. “Dudley tells me you are usurping his position. I won’t allow that. He is my steward, not you.”

  Mina turned to the puffing, red-faced Dudley, her expression the very image of remorse. “Is that how you felt, Dudley?” she asked, her voice full of sincerity. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I thought I was doing my duty as my lord’s wife. I certainly didn’t mean to offend you or anyone else. Perhaps in my desire to please my husband, I acted overzealously. Please accept my apologies.”

  Roger’s eyes narrowed. Was she truly sorry, or was this some clever display of regret? He honestly couldn’t tell. Surely a more infuriating woman had never existed.

  Mina smiled at Dudley. An incredibly warm, friendly smile that lit her whole face and made her beautiful.

  She had given such a smile to his steward, not her own husband.

  Dudley blushed and shifted, as uncomfortable as any lad facing a pretty girl. “To speak the truth, my lady,” he said, “I was rather affronted. I have been steward here for many years, and I thought...” His voice trailed off shyly.

  She went to him and took his two plump hands in hers. “Please accept my humble apologies, Dudley. I am counting on you to help me here. I may have been out of place, but I have never had the opportunity to run such a large household. As I said, I want only to please my husband—” she glanced at Roger, and he didn’t know what to think “—and perhaps I was too anxious and abrupt. I beg your pardon.”

  “Oh, my lady, please!” Dudley cried. “I spoke too hastily, I’m sure. Ask me anything, anything at all.”

  God’s wounds, was everyone here going mad? Or was this red-haired witch casting spells on them? Roger didn’t know, and he told himself he didn’t care. “Since this little misunderstanding seems to be over and all is forgiven and you two are such great friends,” he snarled, “I’m going to the armory.”

  He strode from the hall, convinced that swinging a few swords would make him feel better.

  Roger’s notion that Mina’s apology was not sincere was incorrect. In fact, she meant every word, and was genuinely distressed to think that she had upset the steward. She knew that she would need his cooperation in order to run the household, and she also believed that in her anxiety and zeal, she may have acted with unseemly haste and apparent rudeness.

  There was another reason she did not want to alienate Dudley. Aside from Sir Albert, she suspected that Dudley knew Roger best, since he had served the family for so long. It was imperative that she learn how to please Roger—or at least keep his mood relatively pleasant, for everyone’s sake. Dudley might be the best person to teach her how to gauge her husband’s humors.

  So, as she stood beside Dudley after Roger had marched away, she said, “I hope I haven’t angered him too much.”

  Dudley grinned and patted her arm like a kindhearted relative. “Don’t be too concerned, my lady. He can be ill-tempered, especially when he’s tired. I learned long ago not to pay too much attention, although it doesn’t do to ignore his orders and requests. His rebukes are not ones to take lightly, either, I can tell you.”

  “Does he often go to the armory when he’s upset?”

  “Well, there, or riding, or hunting. He goes, that’s all. He’s always been that way, even when he was a boy. Many’s the time his father had to drag him out of some hiding place when he’d done something wrong or was distressed.”

  She gestured for Dudley to sit. He seemed in a talkative mood, and she wanted to know about the man she had married. “He was an unruly child? Or a troublesome one?”

  Dudley chuckled, his rotund belly quivering like one of Thorbert’s sauces. “Troublesome? Not often. Nor was he what you’d call unruly. He was a one for mischief, though. Not a bad boy, just heedless. And he liked to have his own way. Many’s the argument he had with his sister. How they’d scream at each other! My heavens above, the noise!”

  Mina could easily picture that.

  “But he loves Madeline, for all that. Why, she tried to trick him with that Welshman of hers, and he still let her marry him. Still, the fellow was certainly as fine and noble as any man you’d ever hope to meet, even if he was a peasant.”

  This was a little more difficult for Mina to imagine. The proud, arrogant Sir Roger de Montmorency agreei
ng to let his only sister marry a peasant? Perhaps there was more to the story than that.

  She also thought she would like to meet Madeline, her sister-in-law. She must be quite a woman to try to fool Roger. If she had known Roger well, as a sister would, she probably would not have had the gall to attempt it. Either Madeline de Montmorency was very brave, or else there was a compassionate part to Roger that Mina had yet to see.

  “But he was never a sly one, him. Temper, yes, but once the storm blew over, it was over. Not a mean bone in his body. Spare me a sly child, my lady. And then he’d joke about it. Oh, God’s blood, how he’d get me going! His sister, too. The tears would roll down our cheeks.”

  “He doesn’t laugh much now,” Mina noted pensively.

  “No, no, he doesn’t. He hasn’t since he come back from living with Lord Gervais. I suppose it comes of growing up.”

  “Lord Gervais was...?”

  “His foster father. That’s where he went after his parents died, to be trained until he came of age. His sister got taken to a convent. Strict place, I gather, but it couldn’t be as rigorous as what Roger went through, training under Lord Gervais’s man. He’s got some knight there, I hear, who’s about as tough and hard as they come. I kept things here for Sir Roger till then,” the old man added with pride.

  “You did your task excellently, too. I can tell,” Mina said.

  However, her thoughts were not on Dudley’s good stewardship. She was envisioning a young, hot-tempered boy who knew how to laugh. What had happened to that boy and his laughter? Trained out of him, perhaps, by ruthless, brutal teachers. Or stolen away by the death of loving parents.

  Laughter had been her salvation, the only thing that brightened her long, lonely days, rare though it had been. She could still laugh, despite everything.

  She had spent a very pleasant time in the kitchen today, making jokes about flabby dough that would not rise which, coming from a bride, had scandalized everybody. They had struggled valiantly to suppress their laughter until she had winked at them. Then they had spluttered, giggled and guffawed helplessly, especially as she continued to make such remarks with a straight face, for the most part, finally laughing herself only moments before the enraged Roger had entered the room.