Bliss(18)
Author: Lynsay Sands

"Yes, well… We shall have to get you some more dresses, then," he announced, distracting her from her ire. His humor contained, his gaze slid over her again. "I do not wish you to wear your hair like that, either. I prefer it down. Do not dress it so again."

Helen’s hand went to her hair at once. She had pulled it back tightly and tied it with a bit of leather Ducky had fetched. As it was, she’d been too weary and miserable to fix her hair properly. Now, she let her hand drop a bit irritably. What did she care if he did not find her attractive?

"I took a tour of our estates today."

Helen glanced sharply. "Our," not "my"? The choice of words surprised her, for everything she’d owned was now his by law, or would be once the marriage was consummated. She experienced a quick memory of last night. For a moment, she was back in bed with her husband’s body pressing down on her, his mouth delighting hers, his hands caressing her. She felt her n**ples harden, heat pooling low in her stomach at the memory, and she flushed with embarrassment at her body’s betrayal. Turning, she picked up her ale to hide her reaction and took a quick drink.

"I get the feeling that I am not well liked by your people."

Helen swallowed with a vaguely amused grimace. His saying that he was not well liked was an understatement. Everyone at Tiernay feared and hated him. And with good reason. Crofters who built too close to the border of his land had been known to find themselves burnt out. Cows who wandered onto his soil were kept. And everyone knew how he treated his people, especially since some of the Tiernay villeins and servants had once been Holden people but had fled here for protection.

"I blame you."

Helen nearly spit out the ale she had just began to swallow. Forcing it down her throat, she turned to gape at him with disbelief. "Me? You blame me because the people around here – your own included – fear and despise you?"

"My people do not fear and despise me," he argued, obviously affronted.

She grunted. "You could have fooled me, my lord. I have taken in enough of your people who claim that they do."

"What?" It was his turn to gape at her. "None of my people have come here."

"They certainly have. I have paid a fortune purchasing your serfs and – " She paused abruptly and stood. There was no sense telling him what he already knew. Lord knew, she had added to his wealth by buying away those servants he would otherwise abuse.

"Where are you going?" her husband snapped, turning on his bench to glare at her as she headed for the stairs. "I am not finished talking to you."

Helen turned around at once. She could be a dutiful wife when the occasion called for it, she thought grimly, enjoying the way he blanched and rose abruptly to fall back from her approach. Continuing forward, she widened her eyes innocently. "Why, my lord, I thought you wished to continue speaking to me? Was I wrong?"

Covering his nose, Lord Holden retreated desperately. She could see the thoughts in his head. A good warrior knew when to attack and when to retreat. This discussion was one best kept for another time. In a few days perhaps. Or a week. When his wife was not quite so ripe. Turning abruptly, he rushed for the keep doors. "I am going to the village tavern to join my men. I want the hall aired while I am gone. See to it."

The door slammed on his last word and Helen sneered at it.

"See to it," she muttered, turning toward the stairs. He could see to it himself when he returned. She was going to her room for a good cry. Perhaps if she cried hard and long enough, her nose would stuff up again and she would be free of her stink long enough to get some more rest. Sighing despondently, she started up the stairs.

"We should have eaten at the keep. I thought you said the food at your picnic from here was good."

Hethe glanced up at William’s miserable comment. He couldn’t blame the man for making it, though. He had thought the meals placed before him at the keep unpleasant, but this tavern’s salty stew, tough and blackened meat, and watered-down ale were worse than anything he had been served by Helen’s cook.

William had not been treated to the same awful fare that his master himself had suffered. And this was nothing like the chicken he’d had the other day from this tavern. Ah well, perhaps they were waiting for more supplies… or something.

Sighing, Hethe chewed determinedly at the black meat he’d been given. He could not even hazard a guess as to its nature. It may have been beef; then again it may have been chicken. It was charred and dried out to the point that he could not tell.

The tavern owner’s wife came forward, slamming a pitcher with more diluted ale on the table, spared a moment to glare at her guests, then marched away. Well, she tried to march, but it was really more of a waddle. The woman was pregnant, obviously so, and very far along, and Hethe was surprised she was still waiting tables in her advanced condition. He watched her waddle through the kitchen door, his eyes sharpening as they landed on an old woman waiting on the other side. Hethe stopped his chewing at once, stiffening where he sat.

It was the old hag who had nearly boiled his balls off with his bathwater the day he arrived. Dear God, the old harpy was following him around, making his life miserable, he realized with dismay. First she was in the castle, now she was here – and he didn’t doubt for a minute that she was behind this horrendous meal.

Standing abruptly, he spat the inedible meat on the floor and made his way grimly toward the kitchen. A sudden silence fell over the room as he did. Hethe ignored the sudden absence of conversation, his focus on the kitchen door and the old hag behind it.

The women in the kitchen must have been warned by the silence in the common room, for both of them stood frozen inside the door, huddled together and watching warily when Hethe appeared. He paused just inside the room, his gaze moving from one woman to the other. The younger of the two looked terrified, her eyes great round holes of panic. The older just looked grim and resigned. She shifted, placing herself before the younger in a protective gesture.

"Is there something wrong with your meal, m’lord?" The old hag had the audacity to sneer as she spoke the title, Hethe noted, greatly taken aback.

"You’re not afraid of me," he realized with amazement. The silly old witch should be afraid of him. Any commoner with any sense – especially one who had just served her liege a meal unfit for dogs – would have been terrified of his temper. The old hag wasn’t.

"I’m an old woman," she pointed out with a smile. "The worst ye can do is beat and kill me, and how many years of my life would you really be taking?"

Hethe stiffened. "I do not beat or kill old people," he snapped impatiently.

"Sure ye do. Old Bets was eighty if she was a day when ye had her killed. And ye’ve done worse than that, too. Ye’d do it to me easy enough, I’d wager."

"Old Bets? Who the Devil is she? And who filled your head with these black lies?" Hethe asked with disgust.

The old hag tilted her head slightly, eyeing him with consideration, but it was the younger woman who spoke, her voice quavering with fear as she did. "He’s right, Mom. He never beat or killed any of the servants himself. He always had that other feller of his do it. He just gave the order."

Before Hethe could respond to such defamatory accusations, the door opened behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw William standing there, his expression grim. The man was obviously prepared to back him up in whatever way necessary. But Hethe didn’t need any backup. This wasn’t a battle. He was just talking to two deluded village women. And he didn’t want the situation to get out of hand – which it surely would if his first witnessed the insolence of these two peasants. He turned to leave, then paused, dug out a coin and tossed it at the feet of his accusers. "For my meal."

With that, he led William out of the kitchen and then out of the inn.

"What happened?" his first asked once they were outside, mounting up to return to the keep.

"Nothing," Hethe muttered, but his mind was on what the women had said. Lies, all of it. He had never in his life beaten or killed, or ordered to be beaten or killed, an old servant or villein. Or a young one. But both those women believed he had, with all their heart. "Who is Old Bets?"

William glanced over sharply at the question. "Old Bets?" he asked with confusion. "I do not – "

"Never mind," Hethe interrupted with a sigh. He would find out about the woman on his own. He would get to the bottom of this if it was the last thing he did. Someone was spreading horrific lies about him.

No wonder Lady Helen had struggled so hard against being his wife. Unless she was behind the slander… He considered that as they rode silently back to the castle. He didn’t like the idea, but supposed it was possible. That would explain why the lies had been easily accepted by Lady Helen’s tenants as God’s own truth. They wouldn’t expect their lady to lie about such a thing. Still, why would she dislike him enough to spread such foul tales?

He would get to the bottom of that, too, he assured himself. If he could ever get close enough to the woman to question her. If she had any more tricks like that stinkweed of hers –

"When do you think we will be able to return to the fighting? I’m sure Henry could use us by now."

Hethe glanced over at his first. He wasn’t too surprised by the man’s question. He and William had rarely stayed in one place for long these last ten years. No doubt the man was growing extremely restless, as his men surely were.

In truth, Hethe was growing a mite restless as well, though he knew where to lay that blame: his wife. His desire for her had been sharp and biting all through the meal after the wedding, and then once he was in bed with her… Her breath hadn’t bothered him in the least once he had dosed himself with those garlic cloves, and he had nearly drowned in the softness of her mouth. She had responded to his kisses, too, making his passion even hotter. He had been like a randy lad, wet behind the ears. He could still taste that desire.

Of course, it had died an abrupt death once he had pulled the furs aside and gotten a whiff of her. His nose twitched now just recalling it. Damn, where she had come up with that stinkweed was a question he would like answered. The bogs, no doubt.

"Hethe?"

Startled out of his thoughts once again, Hethe realized that he had not answered his first’s question.

When would they head back to war? In truth, he wouldn’t mind leaving right away. He was weary of this battling to bed his bride, and the Good Lord alone knew what next she would come up with to forestall him. Maybe his best bet was simply to go back to war and give the Lady Helen time to get used to being married to him. Perhaps once Templetun was out of the way, once things had settled down again, she would give up her ridiculous resistance and resign herself.

"And maybe pigs will fly," he muttered derisively.

"What was that?" William asked.

Hethe shook his head. "Nothing. I am thinking that we should go to the fighting soon. Very soon.

Tomorrow morning, even," he announced firmly. There was nothing really to hold him here.

Chapter Eleven

"He’s gone!"

Helen forced her eyes open as her aunt rushed into the room; then she pushed the hair out of the way and sat up slowly as the older woman rushed to her chest and began to rifle through it. Confusion overwhelming her, she asked sleepily, "What? What is going on?"

"Your husband is gone. Richard de Lucy sent for him in the king’s name. The earl ofLeicesterhas put ashore at the mouth of Deben inSuffolkwith Flemish mercenaries. Bigod has joined him."

"The earl ofNorfolk?" Helen asked faintly, beginning to wake up now.

"Aye. They plan to invade and overthrow in Henry’s son’s name. Holden has been called to help fight them off."

"Really?"

"Aye. Get up! We must hurry."

"Hurry to do what?" Helen asked, feeling her confusion return.

"Lord Templetun plans to leave, too," Nell explained, holding up a dress, examining it briefly, then tossing it aside. "He is breaking his fast right now, but plans to leave directly afterward. If you wish to talk to him before he does so, you must hurry."

Releasing a panicked squawk, Helen shoved the linens aside and leapt from her bed. Her aunt tossed at her the gown she had apparently chosen, then scuttled around the bed and back toward the door. She paused there, turning back to watch as Helen began to pull the dress on over the thin chemise in which she had slept.

"We shall have to do something about your hair," she announced as her niece’s garment settled into place and Helen began to tie her laces.

Catching the concerned tone, Helen reached up to feel her hair, grimacing at the knotted mess it had become. She had ordered a bath brought up the night before, but hadn’t had the heart to demand Ducky’s assistance; the smell had been still very strong. She had sent the maid away and done the best she could at washing her own hair, finding the task difficult in the small tub. Afterward, she had been relaxed but rather weary. She had fallen asleep without even thinking of brushing out the long strands.

Now, her hair was a wild mess about her head.

"I shall fetch your maid," her aunt decided and turned to the door.

"Nay, I shall brush it out as best I can and tie it back. There is no time to have Ducky tend it." Helen grabbed a brush and began dragging it viciously through her hair.

After watching Helen struggle to tug the brush through her hair for several moments, her aunt said with exasperation, "Here. Let me help, then."

"I – " Helen began, then paused when she caught sight of Nell. Rather than approach her, her aunt had moved to the chest and pulled out a clean chemise, which she was presently tying around her face. That finished, Nell moved to Helen’s side and held her hand out for the brush.

Helen gave the object up silently and turned her back to hide the shame on her face. It was humiliating being a pariah. If she had known she would have so little chance to inflict herself on Hethe, she would have had Joan fully remove the scent. The thought made her frown.