Marguerite stood on the parapet beside High Tower just as the sun winked over the horizon. Dread accompanied the familiar sight of knights riding into the distance, as when her father and brothers rode out to fight and die for Duke William, the day her husband rode toward his last skirmish, the first time Alaric abandoned her in Hereford.
Unspeakable horrors had followed each departure.
The wind flared her mantle and she wrapped it tightly around her body, encasing her distress. What new brutality would beset her now?
Widowed, without family to arrange a marriage, she had pursued Alaric—a man who could protect her from others, for whom tender feelings were unnecessary. After he deserted her to join William, she had not once wondered if he’d lived or died. Her thoughts then, as now, had been only for Johan.
No one, least of all Alaric, knew that she had discovered Johan among the wounded and bedraggled soldiers arriving at Hereford. She’d spent weeks cleaning his mangled flesh and tending his mindless, shivering body. And one terrible night when his fever had risen again, she had bathed him with cool water until he’d regained his senses and rasped, Marguerite? I should have known. Either I am dead and in hell, or I am alive, and you have come to torment me. In either case, get your scut away from me. And no one knew she had gone to the chapel and prayed tearfully for his life.
A cawing raven drew her attention up to High Tower’s thatching where it perched. At the tower’s ramparts, she saw Alaric’s bride looking toward the valley. When the raven flapped its wings, Marguerite crossed herself and spit on the back of her fingers. Death begone! She watched it glide over the people and carts, horses and pigs filling the yard below, now her domain.
She tried to feel grateful. A mistress rarely had the privilege of subjugating her protector’s wife, of usurping a wife’s domestic authority. But Marguerite knew little about ruling a lord’s manor and she could not risk failure. Suddenly she despised Alaric for leaving her in this tenuous position, isolated at this bleak, primitive place, cut off from the royal court—with Johan.
Elise also watched Alaric leaving the valley and did not know what she felt. Wedded and bedded by a complete stranger who clearly loathed her, she thought anger would be more appropriate than dejection. She had believed that any man would, if not cherish her, welcome her usefulness. Her mistaken conviction appalled her, and shame heated her cheeks. As the sun sprang fully into the sky, she heard Hortense coming to join her and composed her features to present an untroubled countenance.
“Did he hurt you?” Hortense asked, glancing over the ramparts at troops.
“No.” The consummation had merely frightened her. But her husband’s threats and Brian Dubec’s intrusion into her bed had seared her heart.
“Well and good,” Hortense said. “Here, allow me the honor.”
Elise dipped her head for the ritual dressing of her hair. As Hortense adjusted the wimple distinguishing a married woman, she said, “I saw Roland off. He and your husband nearly crossed swords this morning.”
“What?” The prospect of her husband killing her dear friend—and King Philip’s envoy—horrified Elise. “Why?”
“He accused Stafford of abusing you. Your husband refused to fight. Instead, he mocked Roland’s interest in his marriage and ordered Gilbert to see Roland to the main gates with all respect due to a high-ranking courtier. I assured Roland that you are well and gave him a message for your sister.”
“Thank you for diverting his thoughts to Marie. I will miss him. Is Brian . . . still here?”
“He left last night. Come,” Hortense said. “The seneschal and castellan await you. It is time to take charge of your new home and your people.”
As they descended the stairs, Elise pushed her gloom aside. She had much to do, and with God’s will and her husband’s liegemen, she intended to establish a castle worthy of any nobleman.
The benches and tables crowding the tower’s common room last night were moved aside, leaving a large hollow space. Elise approached Johan and Gilbert standing beside the brazier, providing the only light in the dark room.
“Good morrow,” she said, smiling.
“Lady Stafford,” Johan began as Marguerite stepped out from the shadows. “His lordship left instructions that he did not want you . . . burdened by the rigors of overseeing the castle in his absence.”
Elise frowned, and before she could speak, Marguerite said, “Lord Stafford has revoked your rights to govern his demesne and his feudum. He gave those rights to Johan, Gilbert, and to me. I—not you—will decide where hearth servants work and what personal services you need. You are forbidden to administer his estates, which are now entirely under Johan’s authority. If you wish to leave High Tower, you must request of Gilbert armed guards to accompany you. Do you understand, lady? Anything, and everything, you seek will come through us.”
“As I thought,” Hortense said, assessing Marguerite. “Lord Stafford has raised his whore from the dung heap!”
Marguerite gasped. “Why you old—”
“Desist!” Johan grabbed Marguerite’s raised arm.
Alaric’s mistress! Elise thought, and Hortense knew it when they’d met her yesterday! Although mistresses were common, husbands never set them above their wives.
“So, he has revoked Lady Stafford’s rights!” Hortense said to Johan. “The reason for this uncommon arrangement?”
“These are his lordship’s orders,” he said. “We do not question. We obey.”
“Clarify his lordship’s orders, Johan!” Hortense demanded.
As Johan revealed the details, Elise studied his flushed cheeks and felt the full weight of her marriage descend upon her. Numb as a worm in winter, she met Gilbert’s cool, distant gaze and ignored Marguerite’s impertinent smile.
“I understand,” Hortense said, “that your authority supersedes the authority of all others. Is this so?”
“It is.”
“Good. Let us be clear,” Hortense said. “Lord Stafford’s restrictions apply to his wife only. They do not apply to me.”
Johan and Gilbert exchanged glances, and, after a brief hesitation, Johan answered, “Yes.”
“Very well,” Hortense said. “In accordance with Norman practice, you will ensure that all honor, privileges, and courtesies are extended to me as the kin of your lord and lady, including unlimited access throughout the castle and to the village.”
“Yes.”
“I intend to serve my niece and convey her needs to you directly, without appealing to underlings, who have no authority over me.”
“What?” Marguerite said. “I am chatelaine, here!”
“Do you, Johan de Vaux, sworn in fealty to your lord, take orders from this woman?”
“I rule the castle and all those within these walls,” he answered with a slight smile.
“Excellent,” Hortense said. “I will assist my niece, your ladyship, to become accustomed to her constraints and allow you to oblige his lordship without contention. Do you agree to this arrangement?”
“I do,” Johan said. “Until I deem it necessary to change this arrangement, you alone are exempt from anyone’s interference. And you may bring your requests directly to me.”