Chapter Ten #3
As the Lord of Trastamara, Roget had treated the evening feast like court and only his favored were allowed to attend.
The great hall was fairly large, enough to accommodate at least two hundred men, but Roget had only allowed a select number of favorite soldiers in, mostly men who had come into service after he’d inherited his properties from Amabella’s father.
He considered those men loyal to him and the men who once served Alonzo Hemada Abril to be questionable.
As Markus had discovered, there has been a definite hierarchy when it came to the soldiers at Trastamara. Atlas, however, felt everyone should be treated equally and even though the hall wasn’t big enough for all of his soldiers, they were all invited on a first-come, first-served basis.
Men who had served Atlas’ grandfather now found themselves with a seat at the lord’s table once again while the smaller force of Roget’s men were split. Some were inside, some were outside, eating their meals around a big bonfire that burned near the kitchen yard.
But all of them were unhappy with the new lord’s rules.
Markus had seen within the first two days that the Trastamara soldiers were starting to split into two factions – those who had served Alonzo and those who had been brought in by Roget.
It was concerning, something he expressed to Cassius and Damien and the other de Wolfe men, but it wasn’t something he expressed to Atlas.
He didn’t want to create a situation in the young man’s mind until they could see if it righted itself.
But a week later, supper on this cold, clear evening was shaping up to exhibit the same division of men – Alonzo’s against Roget’s.
As Markus approached the hall with Cassius, he could see the same Roget loyalists around their bonfire in the bailey, separating themselves from the rest of the men in the hall.
It had become a familiar sight.
“What do you intend to do about the army separating itself like that,” Cassius said, gesturing to the men around the bonfire. “We’ve been watching this for the better part of a week. An army in factions is ripe for defeat.”
Markus knew that. “As you know, I have refrained from saying anything to Atlas because I had hoped the situation would resolve itself,” he said. “I am still hoping it will ease, with time, especially once they see what a fine lord Atlas will be.”
“Do you think we should send word to Papa?”
Markus shrugged. “If it is still like this next week, mayhap,” he said. “Meanwhile, it bears watching. We must think of things to draw the men together, like drills or exercises. We cannot let them separate like the chaff from the wheat.”
“I think the time has come to tell Atlas what is happening. It is his right, after all.”
Markus reluctantly agreed. At that point, they entered the hall, which was half-full with soldiers.
Damien and Kieran were already at one of the tables along with Alfie and Atlas.
As Markus and Cassius drew near, they could see that Aleanor and Ambra were there, also, but they were at the head of the table, with Ambra seated upon her sister’s lap.
Markus made his way down to the end of the table.
“Good eve to you, my ladies,” he greeted the sisters as he sat on the very end of the big table. “It is agreeable to see you here tonight.”
Ambra had a big hunk of bread and butter in her hand. She was chewing happily, with butter smeared on her cheek.
“Mama said we could eat with everyone,” she said. “Cook is making chicken with cinnamon and onions in sauce. It is a stew. You will like it!”
Markus smiled at the young lady with the culinary inclination. “I will?” he said. “Is that one of your dishes?”
Ambra nodded firmly. “I was in the kitchen and I tasted it,” she said. “It is very good. And she is making rice with raisins.”
Markus nodded as he reached out to pour himself a cup of wine from the pitcher on the table.
The entire week had been an adventure in culinary dishes, things he’d never had before in combination, all of them a creation of Ambra’s imagination.
There had been mutton and eggs with honey and pepper, more stewed mutton with clove and vinegar, and other dishes he couldn’t even recall because every night was something different.
Everything revolved around mutton or fowl or fish, because those were the most readily available, and Ambra liked her cinnamon and cloves and onions and honey, so there was a good deal of that as well, but Markus never thought he’d eat food concocted by a five year old and like it.
But he had.
“I am certain it will be delicious,” he said. “You will make some man a fine wife someday and feed him until he is so fat, he will not be able to get through the door.”
He grinned as he said it and Ambra crowed at his humor. “I don’t want a husband!”
“Why not?” Markus asked. “Remember that my brother, Cassius, has expressed an interest in marrying you.”
Ambra looked across the table at Cassius, smearing more butter on her cheek when she took a bite of her bread.
“He is too old,” she said flatly, which was what she said the first time the subject had come up. “But he can marry Aleanor. She needs a husband.”
Aleanor, who had thus far remained invisible at the table, suddenly appeared stricken with fear to hear her name mentioned. Her eyes darted to Cassius, sitting across the table.
“I… I do not need husband,” she said quickly. “I am not old enough. Mama said I do not need to marry until I am ready, and I am not ready.”
That was the most Markus had ever heard come out of her mouth at one time and she had only uttered the words because she was so terrified. He put up a soothing hand.
“Truthfully, Cassius is not ready, either,” he said. “Not to worry, my lady. We are not trying to foist my brother upon you.”
Cassius, who had been speaking with young Kieran, heard his name. He turned his attention to Markus, frowning.
“Who is foisting whom?” he said. “You are the one who should marry, not me. You are the heir and you need to make a gaggle of little heirs.”
Markus opened his mouth to reply but he caught movement out of the corners of his eyes, turning to see that they were being joined by Amabella.
She only had one trencher in her hand this time and she put it in front of Markus as several servants spilled through the servant’s entrance bearing more food and drink.
But Markus had eyes only for Amabella.
“I see that you have only brought one meal with you,” he said. “And now, you shall sit and enjoy the feast while the servants do the rest. I did not send all the way to Berwick for servants only to have you continue doing their job.”
Amabella smiled at him, some uncertainty in her expression. “And I told you that you did not have to do that,” she said. “I was not troubled by helping in the kitchens.”
“And I told you that I was troubled that you did,” Markus said, moving down the bench so she could sit. “You are the Lady of Trastamara and you should not be serving your guests or the army. You should be charming us with your wit and graciousness.”
He wasn’t cruel about it, but he was firm.
The warm glimmer in his eyes told Amabella that he truly wasn’t irritated with her.
In truth, he had that warm glimmer in his eyes when he looked at her most of the time, an expression of approval and friendship, something she was coming to long for every time she saw him.
It had been years since she’d last seen a gleam like that in a man’s eyes where it pertained to her and she wasn’t even entirely sure Roget ever had that gleam.
But Markus did.
Sweet, beautiful, strong, and brilliant Markus.
The past week for Amabella had been one of bliss. Her days with Roget seemed like another lifetime ago even though it had only been a few days. Eight to be exact. But those eight days had changed her life in ways she couldn’t have possibly imagined, and Markus de Wolfe had been at the head of it.
He’d been her knight in shining armor.
It wasn’t that he spent an over amount of time with her, because he hadn’t. His time had been spent with Atlas, and rightfully so. Once the Earl of Berwick departed, Markus took command and he’d done a great deal with Atlas, and Trastamara in general, in that short amount of time.
The servants had been part of those efforts.
He didn’t like that Roget had treated Amabella like a servant, so two days after his father left, Markus sent word to Berwick for servants – kitchen servants and maids, mostly.
In response, his mother, Lady Berwick, had sent ten kitchen servants and kitchen helpers, plus four maids, all of them reporting directly to Lady de Sauque.
Now, Amabella had a veritable army of servants under her command and she was still trying to become accustomed to it.
She was so used to doing for herself that to have others doing for her had been a drastic change.
Markus, for his part, saw her as a woman to be treated with respect and he was doing everything possible to set that example.
Amabella couldn’t help but adore the man for it.
Aye, she adored him. She adored him as someone who had come to her rescue and the rescue of her family.
She adored him as one does when something is brilliant and unobtainable, a beacon of hope and strength that is the standard for others to follow.
That was how she viewed Markus. She was so very grateful to the man.
And so very unworthy of him.
She knew that. She’d always known that. He was handsome and charming, and she had watched him with her younger children to see how sweet he was with them.
He was the father her children should have, not the distant bastard who had fathered them.
Ambra and Alfie adored him and even Aleanor was coming out of her shell.
At least she was in the hall for the feast, which was something she never did. But she was here now.
Amabella couldn’t have been more grateful.