Chapter Four
They had a priest, and a feast, and a bride, but they had no groom.
Bric, along with Pearce and Mylo, had ridden out just after sunset when they’d received word that raiders, possibly the Nottingham rebels, were attacking a nearby village.
Concerned that the raid was meant to draw the army away from Narborough, Daveigh remained behind with a goodly portion of his army while Bric and the others rode out to see about the raid.
In Bric’s defense, he hadn’t a choice about riding away just as the priest had arrived from King’s Lynn to the north. The town in question was Downham, a few miles south of Narborough, so Bric led a squad of men from the castle and Daveigh ordered the castle bottled up against a possible attack.
With all of the men outside, remaining vigilant as a cold and moist night settled, there were only five people in the hall enjoying a rather elaborate meal – Keeva, Eiselle, Sir Pearce’s wife, Zara, Sir Mylo’s wife, Angela, and the priest who ate more than two men combined.
The priest had introduced himself as Father Manducor, a warrior for God, and he was a mass of a man who planted himself at the end of the table and ate like a glutton.
In fact, Eiselle was having a difficult time looking at anything other than the priest, who burped and slurped his way through Lady de Winter’s lovely meal.
The dogs who roamed the hall of Narborough had all congregated around the priest, who was throwing bones and scraps to the floor at an alarming rate.
Appalled by the priest’s behavior, Keeva kept up a running stream of chatter as the man’s ghastly manners could be heard above all.
She had first introduced Zara, Lady de Dere, and Eiselle had been pleased to meet the woman who was very close to her own age.
Zara was blonde, rather plain, but she had a bright smile that seemed to be constantly plastered on her face.
Angela, Lady de Chevington, was also introduced, a very young woman who had a two-year-old child she spoke of constantly.
Between Angela’s chatter and Zara’s grinning, Eiselle wondered if she was ever going to fit in with these women.
She tended to keep to herself, and she wasn’t particularly social because she’d never had much opportunity for such things, so the interaction with new and strange women had her stomach lurching again.
As Angela spoke of her young son and his love of playing in horse dung, Eiselle found herself smiling wanly and drinking far too much wine to settle her belly. At least, she hoped it would. But about an hour into the feast, she started to hiccup uncontrollably.
“My lady, are you ill?” Keeva asked with concern. “May I get you something to ease your affliction?”
Eiselle had her hand to her mouth, struggling to stop the hiccups. “I am not ill, my lady,” she said, ripping off a loud hiccup. Mortified, she smiled weakly. “I… I suppose it has simply been a long day and I am weary. My stomach is unsettled and I do apologize for my terrible manners.”
Keeva was genuinely concerned. “Your manners are impeccable, my dear,” she assured Eiselle. “I am sorry your constitution has been upset. Mayhap you would like to retire for the evening? I am not sure when the men will return, so you may as well retire.”
That sounded like a very good idea to Eiselle.
She was looking forward to spending some time alone, retreating away from people she didn’t know but who were trying to be kind to her.
In truth, she was tired of listening to the priest burp and grunt, and he’d deteriorated into farting, so she thought it best to simply return to her chamber.
“I should like to, my lady,” she admitted. “I am sorry to retire so early. I am sure you wished to speak long into the night, but I have a feeling there will be many opportunities to do that.”
She was looking at the other ladies as she spoke, and Zara smiled that toothy smile at her. “Tomorrow we were planning on going to the stream to the west of Narborough,” Zara said. “There are bushes of berries and it is also a very good place to hunt mushrooms. Will you attend us?”
Eiselle knew they were trying to be kind but, before she could answer, Keeva spoke. “Tomorrow is her wedding day,” she reminded Zara. “The lass doesn’t want to be pawing through the bushes on the day she is to marry. There will be time for that later.”
With that, she stood up, indicating for Eiselle to do the same. Eiselle bid a good evening to the ladies at the table as Keeva once again escorted her to the chamber on the upper floor. As they entered the stairwell, Keeva spoke softly.
“Zara and Angela mean well, but I swear to you that I cannot stand their prattle at times,” she muttered. “Zara is empty-headed at times and she drinks to excess. Wine is like mother’s milk to that lass.”
Eiselle looked at her with some shock. “How… terrible,” she said, not knowing what else to say. “She seemed kind enough, as did Lady de Chevington.”
Keeva snorted. “All Angela can speak of is that little brat who runs wild,” she said. “Well, I suppose that is not fair; the lad is very cute, but he has a wild streak in him. She had better learn to tame it before I have to take a stick to him.”
She was animated as she spoke, her Irish brogue heavier the more animated she became. Eiselle ended up grinning at her as they ascended the stairs. “A holy terror, is he?”
Keeva looked at her with surprise before bursting out laughing. “A beastly child if there ever was one,” she said. “You shall meet little Edward soon enough.”
Eiselle lifted her eyebrows. “I am sure I will,” she said. “Lady Angela seemed very proud of him.”
Keeva rolled her eyes. “God’s Blood, the woman lives and breathes that lad. You think she’d birthed the Christ Child.”
Eiselle couldn’t help the laughter. They reached her chamber and Keeva bid her a good sleep with a kiss to the cheek, leaving Eiselle thinking that she was coming to like Lady de Winter, just a little. She seemed honest, brutally so, and that was a welcome attribute as far as Eiselle was concerned.
Heading into her chamber, she shut the door and bolted it.
Her bower was still and quiet, the only sounds coming from the crackling in the hearth.
Someone had stoked the fire, swept the floor, and put an iron pot full of water on the arm that hung over the hearth.
Eiselle stuck her finger into it; it was delightfully warm. She was eager to use it to wash with.
Throwing open her trunks, she pulled forth soaps and combs and her sleeping shift.
Given that her father was a merchant, she often had access to things most people didn’t – she had three bars of hard, white soap that smelled of almond blossoms, and a fourth bar that smelled of lemons.
She had skin oils that smelled of flowers, and a salve for her lips that tasted of honey.
Every product she had was something she’d simply taken from her father’s shop, and he’d simply ignored whatever she did.
Her father wasn’t one to pay much attention to her, anyway.
Unfortunately, there was no tub in which to take a bath in her chamber, and she didn’t want to call for one, so she made due with the warmed water from the pot and a bowl on the table.
Stripping down, she used a rag and the soap to wash herself, all the while thinking of this momentous day and of the man she’d been pledged to marry.
Bric…
Truthfully, she was disappointed that he’d not been present for the evening meal, but she understood it was unavoidable.
Eiselle had spent most of her life at a manor house, with several servants and about twenty men her father hired as protection, and there was never anyone riding out to protect a village or fight a battle.
Even when she’d been at Framlingham, she was never directly exposed to the knight who served Bigod.
She’d been kept with the other wards, and Lady Bigod made sure her ladies were kept well away from the lustful men.
At least, that was the way she’d phrased it.
But that had been Eiselle’s only exposure to fighting men, and the military function of a castle, so her experience at Narborough was new and, frankly, disappointing. It was also a little frightening – men riding out to battle, with their sharp weapons and war horses.
It was a very long way from her father’s quiet shop.
But it was something Eiselle realized she was going to have to resign herself to.
She was to marry the man known as the High Warrior, and she assumed that he would ride to any battle de Winter was involved in.
She knew nothing of knights, of their lives, and of how they lived.
She hoped her husband would be patient enough to teach her.
If he didn’t send her back to her parents first.
Thoughts lingering on her betrothed, and the entire situation, she finished washing and pulled on her sleeping shift that smelled of lavender.
Her mother had sprinkled it in her trunks, and everything was infused with the fresh, clean smell.
It reminded her of home, and of the garden her mother kept but, oddly enough, she didn’t long for what she’d left behind.
The only things at home were her indifferent parents, and she wasn’t sad for them.
As anxious as she had been for coming to Narborough, she actually felt welcome in spite of everything.
Now that the excitement of her arrival had died down, she was coming to think she might like it here. At least, she hoped so.
But all of that hinged on Bric MacRohan.
Brushing out her long, dark hair, she re-braided it and stoked the fire once more before climbing into bed. It was quite comfortable and warm, and as she lay back on the pillow, she realized just how exhausted she was. It had been a very eventful day.
Sleep claimed her before she was even aware of it.
Bric had just passed beneath the portcullis of Narborough’s gatehouse when Daveigh was standing in his path.