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“He must have sons, thus I cannot wed him, but I know of a proper girl, daughter of Sir William Dorset. He has a small keep near Hawksmere. She should be of marriageable age now. What say you, Thurston?”
Thurston was trembling. He was now Sir Thurston of Hornsby, his father’s small keep near Kentleby. He was going to be Lord Severin’s castellan at Langthorne and now he was going to have a wife. A wife. He wasn’t ready for this. He said, “I—I do not know, my lady. A wife would be a lady and she would expect me to know how to act and speak and I could not belch or make other noises that would offend and—” His eyes rolled back in his head.
Lady Moraine said in that same crisp, clear voice, “ Hastings, perhaps Thurston needs some of the Healer’s potion to steady him. Have I enough to share with him?”
Thurston persevered. He wedded Blanche, the nineteen-year-old daughter of Sir William Dorset, exactly one week af
ter Lady Moraine had made her announcement. Hastings was pleased. Blanche had, as had Hastings, run her father’s keep since the age of twelve. She would see that everything stayed aright.
Lady Moraine remained clearheaded. She put on flesh. She smiled and jested. Severin had stopped shaking his head whenever he happened to look at her. He was getting used to a mother who was as she once was. Still he worried. “You believe the Healer’s potion has really worked, Hastings? You believe this miracle will remain?”
“I don’t know, Severin.”
“I want my mother to return with us to Oxborough.”
She gave him a big smile and hugged him. “I was praying you would want that,” she said, and came up on her tiptoes and kissed his mouth. He went silent, still surprised when she showed him affection anywhere outside their bedchamber.
Gwent had remarked one day that it appeared to him that Severin was a happy man, a man more than content with his beautiful wife.
“Beautiful? Hastings? Nay, Gwent, she is but ordinary, in her looks and in her intelligence. Her nature is even ordinary and—”
Hastings had yelled, flying at him, but he was ready. He caught her, lifted her beneath her arms, and held her high, laughing up at her. “That will teach you for listening to others’ conversations, madam.”
Gwent had stared at the two of them. He slowly shook his head. He turned and walked away, for surely Severin would kiss his wife in but a moment. He prayed that nothing would happen to ruin the contentment.
The next morning they left Langthorne to return to Oxborough. Gwent lifted Lady Moraine onto her palfrey. He’d told Severin that he would watch out for his mother. He would tell Severin if anything untoward occurred because he knew Severin was worried. His mother had been very quiet since the day before.
Severin turned his head one last time to see the place of his birth. Langthorne would regain its power in the region, he would see to it. Thurston was rubbing his hands together, for now he was married, and evidently he had enjoyed the pleasures of the marriage bed. Hastings had spoken privately to Blanche and been pleased. “Everything will go well. You spoke to Thurston, Severin? You told him to be gentle and kind with his bride?”
Severin was frowning. “Aye, I did tell him that. He told me just before we left that I had been wrong in my advice. Then he gave me this huge smile and said that his bride was a tigress and she wanted no gentleness from him.”
Hastings stared at her husband. “I don’t understand.”
“There are some ladies, Hastings, who enjoy a man who’s fierce with them, a man who enjoys rough play, a man who holds them down and pretends to conquer them. Your sweet-faced, gentle Blanche is one of these women. He said she was beyond wild even before he tore through her maidenhead. He said after he did that, she mounted him, pummeling him, nearly killing him by dawn.”
“I had not thought of this. Mayhap you will explain this wildness to me, Severin.”
“I think not, sweeting. All you are to remember is that when we are alone, you are free to do whatever you wish to, save gullet me with a knife if you happen to be angry with me.”
She said nothing to that, merely stared through Marella’s ears, deep in thought. Severin dug his heels into his horse’s sides and rode to the head of his men.
Oxborough Castle, Five days later
“We found Sir Roger and Glenda within two hours of their escape from Langthorne,” Gwent was telling everyone in the great hall, clearly enjoying himself. Only Severin was already privy to the details, and he had told Gwent to keep all those delicious details to himself until he could entertain all their people. Hastings could see why he had wished to wait. He had an excellent audience. He cleared his throat again. “Sir Roger had tried to cover their trail, but he is inept, the poor whoreson.” Gwent spat into the clean rushes, looked up in horror at Hastings, then quickly said, “The girl Glenda had wrapped all the clothes she could steal in an old blanket. She tried to tell me that it was just the rags you had allowed her, Severin. Sir Roger believed we would kill him. I will say this, he didn’t whine like I expected him to. Nay, he sat straight on his horse and appeared to accept his death. When I asked him to give me the pouch of money, he stared at me. He shook his head. He swore he hadn’t taken it. Then he turned pale. He looked to the girl and merely held out his hand.”
Gwent paused a moment to drink from his wine goblet. Everyone was attending him. There wasn’t a sound in the great hall of Oxborough. He cleared his throat, this time speaking directly to Lady Moraine. “The girl Glenda said she didn’t have any pouch. She didn’t know what he was talking about. I merely took that stuffed dirty blanket from her and threw it to the ground. I opened it and kicked all the clothes away. And there was the pouch, wrapped in a shift.”
He paused and speared a piece of pork onto his knife. Lady Moraine placed her hand lightly on his forearm. “What happened, Gwent? Come, you have held it all in for far too long. My beloved son would not tell me anything. Tell us now.”
Gwent almost belched, but he managed to hold it in. Not in Lady Moraine’s face, at least he knew not to do that. He cleared his throat yet again. “I dally not, my lady, it’s just that what followed is best not told in your hearing.”
Lady Moraine lifted her eating knife and gently pressed the point against Gwent’s neck, a clean neck since he had bathed just that afternoon, bless Saint Sebastian’s arrow-pierced body. Gwent said quickly, “I stripped her naked just as Lord Severin had done. I took all the clothes and the pouch and brought them back to Langthorne. My men and I left her there with Sir Roger just staring down at her. The men would have taken her, but I did not allow it. No, we just left her there in the middle of the road. There was no love or lust in Sir Roger’s eyes, my lady, when he looked down at her. None at all. I know not what happened, but I imagine that Sir Roger left her there.”
“You stripped off her shoes, Gwent?” Lady Moraine asked, leaning close.
“Aye, my lady, every stitch of covering.”
“That is good. You remember that Glenda took my shoes and forced me into the forest.”
