When Love Awaits me-3 Page 11

  Wilda frowned. "There are rumors—"

  "For shame, Wilda. You know I do not countenance rumors," Leonie said automatically, and because Wilda knew her lady disliked gossip, she fell silent. It was just as well, for Wilda did not want to be the one to tell her lady about the rumors concerning her and her husband.

  It suited Wilda to have the servants at Crewel think Rolfe d'Ambert had beaten his wife on their wedding night. She disliked him because of the insult he was dealing Leonie by keeping his mistress in their home.

  Wilda had no desire to correct the women servants' opinions, or to argue with the men who took their lord's side. She was going to stay well out of the battle and had warned Mary to do the same. Rolfe d'Ambert was not a man to be patient with servants.

  She said only, "Well, Sir Edmond did serve the best foods and wines."

  "He must have had a different cook," Leonie said dryly and Wilda giggled.

  "Indeed, I understand the cook fled with the coming of the new lord.

  The one who rules the kitchen now was enlisted from the stable."

  Leonie was appalled. "Surely there must be some assistants of the old cook who are still here?"

  "Yes. They could improve the fare, but they will not." Wilda lowered her voice. "There was much resentment here against your husband, and there still is."

  "Was Sir Edmond loved?"

  "No. He had a heavy hand. But with him there were no surprises and the servants always benefited from the abundance of food left over from his entertaining. But Sir Rolfe is here so little that they have not had any chance to know him, so they don't trust him. And his temper frightens everyone. No one is willing to draw his master's attention to himself."

  Leonie nodded. She had half guessed as much. She glanced once more at the row of closed doors. "Are these rooms all empty?"

  Wilda knew her lady well. "She sleeps in the large room that was Sir Alain's," she whispered.

  "But where does Sir Evarard—"

  "That one is a soldier through and through. He sleeps with the men-at-arms. Mildred says he would be happiest rolled in a blanket under the stars."

  "And how would Mildred know that?"

  Wilda grinned. "One thing Sir Evarard does not dislike about his being settled instead of marching from one campaign to the next is the women here. He is a handsome young man, my lady."

  Leonie controlled an urge to grin. "And you are thinking of trying him out yourself?"

  Before Leonie's marriage, Wilda would never have admitted such a thing, but now she answered loftily, "I have thought of it."

  Leonie shook her head. How could she scold Wilda for wanting pleasure? It never did any good to point out the sinfulness in a union without marriage.

  "In the next few days," Leonie said, changing the subject, "you will have little time to think of such things. You wanted a chance to put the Crewel servants to work, and now you will have it."

  Wilda was delighted. "You have his permission then? We may begin—

  "

  "Not his permission, but we will begin anyway." "But—"

  Leonie cut her short. "I cannot live like this. And he is not here to stop me." "Are you sure, my lady?" "Most sure."

  Amelia was shocked when every woman servant in the keep descended on the hall with brooms and soap and water. She pulled Leonie aside.

  "Rolfe will not like it."

  Leonie smiled tightly. "Then you must put the blame on me, for this place offends me and I will not stay here another day under these conditions. Of course, if my husband is pleased, then you must take the credit yourself. I am sure you intended to clean the house, but have been unable to find the time."

  The sarcasm was heavy, yet it went right over Amelia's head. "To do anything here, you must constantly supervise. The serfs are too simple to carry a task through on their own. Do you not think I have tried?"

  Leonie kept her doubts to herself. It was an effort just to talk to this woman.

  "I have my own methods of doing things."

  "If Rolfe is satisfied . . ." Amelia grumbled.

  "But I am not satisfied, Lady Amelia. I am not asking you to volunteer your help, however."

  She would not ask for permission either. See if the woman dared overrule her.

  Amelia was wise enough to back down. She had gained too much to risk a confrontation with Rolfe's wife over such a trifling matter as this.

  "Suit yourself, my lady," Amelia said before moving away.

  Leonie nodded to Wilda, whose eyes twinkled as she began shouting orders to the women gathered around her. And so it began. There was some grumbling once the task was explained, but Wilda's sharp tongue quickly took care of complaints.

  Leonie would have pitched in to help, as she had always done at Pershwick, but to do that here would lower her position. As it was, too many of the servants looked first to Lady Amelia for approval.

  With Wilda in firm control in the hall, Leonie gathered some men servants and directed them to follow her outside. She sent four men to gather new rushes, and another to summon Sir Evarard. Then she took three men to the kitchen.

  The staff were instantly resentful of her presence, having gone so long without any interference. Besides the cook, a lean man of middle age, there were five male assistants and three children, who were allotted the easiest tasks. Little Idelle was one, and Leonie had to stop herself from smiling at the girl until after she dealt with the rest of the staff.

  The condition of the long shed that served as the kitchen was appalling. Smoke and grease were so thick on everything that it was a wonder the building hadn't burned down. The pantry, larder, and buttery were in no better condition.

  She took no pity on the cook, for he was solely responsible. "You may return to the stable where your talents will be better used," she told him, daring him by the severity of her expression to object.

  He seemed relieved. After he left, she ordered the three men with her to begin removing everything from the kitchen. The five male assistants and Idelle were told to follow Leonie to the garden. There she looked at each man in turn, judging their attitudes and knowing that if her plan didn't work, she would end up being the cook herself.

  She turned her attention to the little girl and allowed herself to drop her severe manner for a moment. "Idelle, do you remember the 'good-for-naughts' you were picking from the garden?"

  Idelle's eyes widened. "I did not pick them again, my lady, I swear."

  "I know, but now I want you to pick them again, every one of them."

  "But there is so much!"

  "Exactly. And since they serve no purpose, they do not belong in the garden. Do you see?"

  Idelle saw only that it would take forever to do what her lady was asking, yet she wanted desperately to please Leonie. "I will do it."

  Leonie grinned at the forlorn face. "I did not mean you should pick them yourself. No, these men here will do the picking, roots and all—especially the roots. You will stand by to watch and see they do not miss any, and to see that they do not rest until the task is done."

  "You mean they must do asIsay?" Idelle gasped.

  "That is correct."

  "My lady, I protest!" One of the men spoke up. "It is not—"

  "You question my will?"

  "No, my lady, but—"

  "Is it the task you object to? Or that you must follow the orders of a child? But I have seen with my own eyes that you know nothing about keeping a kitchen clean, and I have tasted what fare has come out of that kitchen, so I assume you also know nothing about cooking. What good are any of you, except to pull weeds?"

  One of the others stepped forward. "I can produce meals that would tempt any palate, my lady."

  Leonie raised a brow. "Can you? Well, I will not ask you why you have kept that knowledge to yourself until now, but I will give you this day to prove your words. If you do not lie, you will be cook henceforth, and the kitchen will be yours to rule. But if you are not telling the truth . .

  ."


  She left the threat up in the air. It was best for them to guess how harsh she might be. If she threatened a beating, some might think they could withstand it or that she wouldn't follow through. The same with banishment. But if they had no idea what she would do, they were not likely to risk incurring her wrath.

  "I—I will need help, my lady." The new cook indicated his fellows.

  "What is your name?"

  "John."

  Leonie smiled at him, surprising and enrapturing him. "You will have all you need, John, help and supplies. I ask only that you do not order more than you need, or find yourself short. Report daily all purchases to Master Erneis for the accounts. Can you guess what else I want done?"

  He could not meet her eyes but he answered, "A thorough scrubbing from top to bottom."

  "Yes. All utensils, pots—everything. There is no excuse for an accumulation of filth in the kitchen and I will not tolerate it again. See that the cleaning is done before the next meal is started. You may make use of the three men who have already begun the work, the men I brought with me. Eight men should be quite enough."

  "Thank you, my lady."

  Idelle looked miserable again as the five men followed their new leader to the kitchens. "Does this mean I will have to pick all the 'good-for-naughts' by myself?"

  "Indeed, no." Leonie grinned. "But this is an important task, important to me. Can you think of anyone who would do a good job of it?"

  "My friends in the kitchen," Idelle suggested eagerly.

  "The other two children?"

  "Yes."

  "Then you may get them to be your helpers. And there is no rush, Idelle. The point is to do a good job the first time. When you finish, there will be much planting here that you can help me with."

  "I would like that, my lady."

  "Good. Now run and get your friends. Sir Evarard is coming to speak with me."

  Leonie moved across the bailey to meet him. He did not look at all agreeable.

  "Sir Evarard—"

  He cut her short rudely. "Do not think, my lady, that this will please Sir Rolfe. You wait until he is gone and then you turn this place upside down. He will see that you are set on causing trouble."

  "You dare take that tone with me?" Leonie said icily. She glared up at the man, her eyes hot. "If you will not give me the respect due me as your lord's wife, then I will not abide in the same keep with you. You can tell thatto my husband when you bring him tales of what youthinkI have done!"

  The man squared his jaw stubbornly. "You think to talk circles around me, my lady, but no one can even enter the hall because you have caused such a mess. What excuse do you have for tearing everything apart?"

  "You idiot! Do you not recognize the process of cleaning when you see it? But how could you, since there has been no cleaning done here since you came?" She added icily, "The hall will be in proper order by the end of the day. And the food you eat tonight will be wholesome. What I have done, Sir Evarard, is save myself from having to treat you for food poisoning, which would have struck you and everyone else here soon enough if the conditions in the kitchen were allowed to go unchecked.

  Now you tell me—who is inconvenienced by what I am doing except the servants who are now paying for what they have neglected all this time?"

  Sir Evarard was no longer as belligerent. "Perhaps I did not understand."

  "Is that all?" she demanded stiffly, and he reddened. "Forgive me, my lady. I saw only the upheaval. I thought you still meant my lord ill. It—it is known that you were forced to marry him, and a woman forced is discontent, so I believed that you . . ."

  Leonie relaxed completely, all her anger flowing out of her. "You are very loyal to my husband."

  "There is no other lord I would serve," he declared staunchly.

  "Then let me put your mind at ease, Sir Evarard. I will tell you something if you swear you will not repeat it." She waited for him to nod, then told him, "I ask you not to repeat it, because I have not told Sir Rolfe this. I want him to think I accept the blame for the trouble my people caused him. I accept all the blame. But the truth is this: my people didnotact on my orders. There were no orders. But my people are loyal to me, overzealously so. They acted on their own after they heard me curse Sir Rolfe."

  "You only cursed him?"

  It was her turn to blush. "It was a—rather heated curse. But if I had known what events it would set in motion, I wouldn't have lost my temper that day."

  His eyes lit with unexpected humor. "It is a good thing your men-at-arms are not as loyal as the others."

  "They are," Leonie said with a grin. "They just didn't hear me cursing the Black Wolf that day."

  "He does not like that name," Sir Evarard said hastily.

  "What?"

  "My lord does not like to be called the Black Wolf," Evarard repeated.

  "Oh. I thank you for the warning."

  He smiled at her. "I thank you, my lady, for telling me what you have."

  "Do not mistake me, Sir Evarard. You were correct in thinking I am not content here. But that is between my husband and myself. I wanted you only to know that you need not fear I will ruin anything that is his. It is my lord who will know what I feel, not his possessions or his people."

  She could see it in his eyes. Their truce was over. She should have left well enough.

  Leonie sighed. "I am sorry, Sir Evarard, but we differ in our opinions of Rolfe d'Ambert. He has offended me too grievously for my opinion to change, but I will say no more to you against him."

  Sir Evarard held his tongue. He was drawing his own conclusions, and they were the wrong ones. He assumed the lady had been offended by being sent away from her husband directly after the wedding. But she was back now, and she ought to have forgiven that slight. He did not guess that she was referring to Lady Amelia's presence at Crewel Keep.

  He knew she had been told Amelia was Rolfe's ward, and he saw no reason for her to suspect the truth.

  Too, if anyone knew how thoroughly Rolfe's affair with Amelia was over, Evarard did. Amelia was now sharing Evarard's bed. More exactly, he was sharing hers. He would never have trifled with his lord's former mistress, but she had convinced him that Rolfe had relinquished all claims to her. Proof was, the lady said, that Rolfe did not even care if she stayed in his household, so completely had he dismissed her from his mind.

  Sir Evarard brought himself to the present situation. "You sent for me, my lady?"

  Leonie stepped back into her role as mistress of Crewel, however empty that role often seemed. To display her authority, she would give orders, not make requests.

  "I want one of your men to ride to Pershwick. He is to speak to Sir Guibert, or if he is not there, then to my aunt Beatrix. He is to say he comes from me, that I need wormwood and chamomile from my supplies. They will know why I need those herbs."

  "We have supplies here, my lady. I do not think Sir Rolfe will like you taking from Pershwick."

  "My husband has no say in what I take from Pershwick, for Pershwick is mine," Leonie stated firmly. "And since those herbs have not been in use here, I doubt that you have them in supply. I want the herbs today.

  The wormwood will help combat the fleas here. It must be strewn before the new rushes are brought into the hall, and afterward as well. The chamomile will curb the odors in the rest of the keep until all the rushes can be changed. I will not tolerate filth, Sir Evarard, and please do not question my motives when I give orders."

  "As you will, my lady," he replied brusquely and turned away.

  "I am not finished," she said sharply.

  He turned back reluctantly. "My lady?"

  "How often do you hunt, Sir Evarard?"

  "Every day. For sport as well as for the table."

  "You use the dogs or do you have hawks?"

  "Hawks are too tedious to carry with us and we did naught but move from place to place before we settled here. My lord has not yet purchased good hawks. The few we have here bring down an occasional bird. I
do not use them. I prefer the dogs."

  "Then I can assume the hunting dogs get enough exercise, and if not, that can be seen to outside the walls of the keep. Inside, they will no longer have free rein. And I do not mean just inside the hall. Their habits are too foul."

  "But they are fed in the hall."

  "No longer," she replied, shaking her head with distaste. "Is there no master of the hounds?"

  "Yes."

  "Then tell him to keep the animals penned at all times when they are not in use. If Crewel has no dog pens, he is to build some—adequately, so the pens can easily be cleaned daily."

  "The man will balk, my lady," he warned her.

  "Then you will replace him," she replied smoothly. "And if there is no one else who qualifies, then deal with him harshly until he stops balking.

  Otherwise I will have to bring my own man here from Pershwick."

  "I will see the matter settled, my lady."

  He said it so quickly that it was comical. She supposed she could use that threat again if she had any more trouble. He wouldn't be the only one at Crewel who would resent outside help. She'd do well to keep that threat in her arsenal, she told herself.

  Chapter 20

  HE could not stay away even for a week, was Rolfe's thought about himself as he rode into the bailey at Crewel in time for dinner, five days later. He felt as much disgust with himself as he had when he'd found himself drawn back to Leonie the day after his wedding, when he hadn't even known what she looked like. Still, there were reasons other than his wife for his early return.

  The campaign at Wroth had come to a standstill. For the fifth time the tunnel they were working to get under the walls had collapsed. Rolfe could not afford this new delay. Time was working against him now. The remaining keeps that he had yet to win had been closed up for nearly seven months. They would be getting desperate, reaching a point where they would be forced to open up and fight. And if Rolfe was not there with the bulk of his force when one did open up . . .

  He had a decision to make about Wroth Keep, but it was a decision he could make at home as easily as he could camp outside of Wroth—easier here, in fact, for once he took his wife to bed he could at last put her from his mind long enough to devote his thoughts to Wroth.