THIRTY-FOUR

 

Married. To Romein. No longer a Capet, but a Montague. Julia could scarcely believe it, but one look at Romein on the ladder below her, and she knew it was true.

Then dread's dark wings engulfed her, for as she saw Romein, so far below, for a moment, in dawn's faint light, he appeared too pale, like one dead in the bottom of a tomb.

She whispered a prayer that it was not so. She was a water witch, not a seer.

A soft knock at the door dragged her from the balcony.

"Lady Julia? I brought up fresh water, so you might wash. I shall have breakfast ready directly. Would you like me to bring it up, or will you take it downstairs?"

"I'll come down for breakfast, Amma. Leave the water jug outside the door. I'll just be a moment."

"Very good, my lady." The jug clunked to the floor, before the sound of Amma's footsteps died away.

Julia washed and changed into a new gown, wishing she'd had more time with her husband to enjoy being his wife. But that would come tonight, she promised herself, before she headed down to breakfast.

The kitchen was quiet, filled with the normal morning bustle as Amma and one of her daughters in law made bread and prepared a pot of soup to set on the fire for dinner.

"We are almost out of fish, Lady Julia," Amma said.

"If the weather is fine, I shall take the boat out on the river today, and see what I can catch," Julia said. She could not remember the last time she had sailed, aside from aboard Captain Balthasar's ship. One day, she must take Romein out on the boat, and teach him to sail.

"The first loaf is ready, my lady. Would you prefer butter or honey?" Nellie asked.

Julia wanted soft cheese, but until they replaced the dairy herd, there would be no fresh milk or cheese. "Honey," she said, for that was a fitting wedding breakfast, surely, on the first day of her honeymoon? Though she should be sharing the meal with her new husband...

On the morrow, she promised herself.

When she'd finished the bread, and washed the honey from her fingers, Julia turned to Amma. "I know we need fish, but how are our other stores? I mean to call by the mill this evening, so I will see what he can spare." She fought to cool the telltale blush threatening to burn her cheeks.

Nellie was too busy setting the new loaves in the oven, but Amma had surely seen. Then again, Amma had known she'd spent the night with Romein, so her cheeks would tell the housekeeper no tales she did not already suspect.

"We have almost no meat left, and the flour is running low. We have enough vegetables to last the week, but not enough to see us until spring. This is the last crock of butter, and while we have hard cheese enough to see us for some weeks yet, I fear it will not be enough if Sir Thibault is our guest for much longer."

From the thinning of Amma's lips, Julia knew she thought even less of Thibault than she herself did. She wished she could find some pity in her for the poor scarred man, but when he behaved like a...

"Julia! Why is there no ham? Or eggs? We are in the country – surely someone can go out and catch a pig or something!" Thibault appeared in the kitchen doorway, his eyes as red as his nose. He'd evidently drunk far too much wine last night, and was still feeling the effects.

Any other morning, she might have tried to placate him. But that was before she knew he'd eaten most of her winter stores, stores she'd bought from Romein. Now she'd married Romein, she refused to support the leech any longer.

"There are no pigs because we slaughtered and salted the last one in the autumn. There is no ham because you have eaten it all. And there are no eggs because chickens do not lay eggs when the days are so short and cold. And even if someone did go into the forest to hunt wild boar, they would need an experienced hunting party, and it would take at least a day or two to bleed and dress the carcass, before it could be cooked. What we have is bread, and some honey. If that is not good enough for you, then I suggest you return to Paris and dine with the other tourney champions. Or, better yet, return to my father, and his plentiful table!"

Pain exploded in her cheek. It took her a moment to realise that Thibault had struck her.

"If you ever speak to me again with such disrespect, my soon to be wife, that is just a taste of what I shall give you in return," Thibault spat. "It is your fault the cellars are so bare here. You have mismanaged this place for so many years, it is no wonder even your peasants do not know the first thing about farming. Why, the first thing I shall do when we are married is teach the peasants to do as they are told, just as you will. There will be no digging up fields covered by snow. No, they shall plough and plant in spring, like sensible people. I might not be a farmer, but even I know that crops sown in the dead of winter will die!"

Julia took a deep breath. Tonight, when he had drunk himself into a stupor, she would have the men carry him out and toss him in the river, just like she'd wanted to do when she'd first arrived in Veluwe. Then they would lock the gates, and never allow him to enter Veluwe again.

Luckily, Thibault stormed out of the kitchen, saving her the need to reply.

"My boys will take him to the nearest pigpen and toss him in tonight, my lady," Amma said softly.

Julia managed a smile, though her jaw ached from Thibault's blow. "And I will promise them a smoked ham as a token of my thanks, when we have one to spare."