Chapter Three #2
Much like her daughters, however, she still fell into the old habits that Benoit had instilled in her.
You will serve me, you whore, with all that you are.
Lysabel was so accustomed to supervising the kitchens so that the meal would be perfect, and Benoit would be satisfied, that behaving as the leisurely lady of the manse wasn’t something that ever entered her mind.
She wasn’t one to sit when there was work to be done, simply because that was what her husband had expected of her.
It was years of conditioning that saw her go into the kitchens to supervise the progress of the meal as her daughters continued their small tasks.
When nighttime finally fell, and the land beyond the warm kitchens was dark, the cook brought in the fowl that she had been roasting outside over an open flame.
It was time to serve the hungry who had gathered in the hall, and Lysabel made sure the bread and butter were sent to the tables.
Servants were moving into the great hall as the soldiers gathered around the feasting tables, and the buzz of conversation could be heard.
Lysabel collected her girls from where they’d been completing their duties and pulled them over to the master’s table, which was now for only the three of them.
Lysabel never thought she’d know the day where Benoit wouldn’t be sitting at the center of the table, arrogantly surveying all beneath him.
Now, that chair was empty and it would remain so.
The first time Lysabel had realized that, she broke down in tears.
No one had noticed, thankfully, but for her, it had been a pivotal moment in her life.
No more pain.
More men entered the hall and the trenchers were put out.
The conversation grew louder as Lysabel and her daughters sat at the dais, served by a serving wench who was young and sweet, and often liked to play games with Cynethryn and Brencis.
The girls were excited to see her, trying to coerce her to sit with them, but the servant girl shook her head and whispered words that instantly quieted them.
Lysabel liked the young servant, Cassie was her name, because she was not only attentive to the girls, but to Lysabel herself.
Trenton had asked her if she’d had anyone to tend her wounds, and it was Cassie who did it.
A well-bred young woman whose father had owed Benoit a debt, she had served at Stretford for the past two years to pay off that debt.
Now, as Lysabel looked at her, she realized that she could send Cassie home.
Benoit wasn’t around to stop her.
As she pondered that possibility, she noticed someone entering the great hall, a large figure who had moved into the shadows once he came through the door.
The light from the hearth and the numerous candle banks weren’t enough to reach to the entry door, which was tucked into the northeast corner of the hall.
With the dais being at the opposite side, Lysabel couldn’t see very much of who had entered.
In fact, she was turning back to Brencis to help the child cut her meat away from the bone when, abruptly, she took a second look at the figure now moving into the hall and into the light because something about him was vaguely familiar.
It took her a moment to realize that it was Trenton.
Shocked, Lysabel turned the meat cutting duty over to Cassie, who was still hovering near the table, and quickly stood up, rushing to greet Trenton. When their eyes finally met, Lysabel couldn’t help the smile that was so easily on her lips.
“Trenton,” she gasped. “You… you have returned.”
She sounded incredibly surprised and Trenton smiled at her, an awkward gesture, as if he hadn’t smiled in years and had forgotten how. It all came out like a grimace.
“Indeed, my lady,” he said, oddly uncomfortable. “I apologize if I am interrupting anything, but I came to see how you were… faring.”
Lysabel was deeply touched. More than that, she was glad to see him, the rush of excitement one has when seeing someone to whom she owed a great deal.
Trenton appeared much different than he did the last time she’d seen him, as he’d been dressed for the serious task he’d been undertaking.
But this time, he was dressed for travel, with black leather breeches, boots to his knees, a few layers of tunics, and a heavy leather vest that acted as protection against weapons, including arrows that might be fired upon unsuspecting travelers.
But there was more to her observations, something she hadn’t really noticed until now – Trenton was easily as tall as his father, who was the tallest man Lysabel had ever seen, and he had his father’s nearly black hair and smoky gray eyes.
But his father had a long, angular face from what she remembered, and Trenton had a square-jawed appearance with a big cleft in his chin.
He was handsome; there was no question about that. The man was quite beautiful as far as men were concerned. But she’d never considered anything about him beyond that; to her, he was an old friend and nothing more.
Lysabel was shaken from her observations when it occurred to her that he might want to speak to her alone.
He seemed rather ill at ease, looking at the men around the hall as if unnerved by their mere presence.
Lysabel came to the conclusion that, perhaps, he had something to tell her that he didn’t want others to hear.
He seemed reluctant to say anything more than what he’d already said.
No conversation, no idle words of chatter. Simply… silence.
Nay, she didn’t like that thought at all – he’d returned when he never said he would, and now he seemed… nervous.
Oh, God…
“Please,” she said, suddenly feeling sick to her stomach. “Come… come with me. We may speak elsewhere.”
Trenton didn’t say anything, but he nodded, and Lysabel led him out of the hall, fighting off the panic that was growing in her heart. She took him down a small flight of stairs and into a section of the manse that contained several rooms, all darkened at this hour whilst everyone was in the hall.
Trenton trailed after her in the darkness until they ended up in a room that smelled heavily of smoke and dampness.
Lysabel shut the door behind him and he stood there, in almost complete blackness, listening to her moving around in the room.
Suddenly, a flint sparked and a small flame on the tip of a taper pierced the dark.
As she moved to find another candle, he spoke.
“I did not mean to take you away from your meal,” he said in his deep, raspy voice. “We could have just as easily spoken on the morrow, my lady.”
Lysabel lit two more candles, these in an iron candelabra, and with those additional tapers, the room lit up sufficiently to show that they were in a solar of some kind, with expensive furniture and wood-paneled walls.
The darkened hearth had an elaborately carved mantel, with images of saints and scenes of great saintly battles.
As Trenton glanced around, Lysabel set the candelabra on the cluttered table in the center of the room.
“You did not take me away from my meal,” she said. “Clearly, you have come for a reason and I would not be so rude as to put you off. Trenton… has something happened with Benoit?”
Weary from four very long days of travel, Trenton realized that his appearance had frightened her.
It had been unexpected, and abrupt, and now the woman was spiraling into panic.
He could hear it in her voice and see it in her expression.
Feeling foolish that his appearance had been so clumsy, he hastened to reassure her.
“Nothing has happened,” he said quickly. “I am sorry if you thought I have come to tell you otherwise. De Wilde is dead, my lady, and I have only returned to see how you were faring since his death. I swear to you that is the only reason.”
Realizing her momentary panic had been unfounded, Lysabel exhaled heavily and closed her eyes, leaning against the table for support.
She couldn’t describe the relief she felt and even if she tried, she would have burst into tears before the words left her lips.
Therefore, it took her a moment before she could recover her composure enough to face him again.
“It was kind of you to think enough to return,” she said, though her voice was still quivering. “In fact, I am glad that you did. It gives me the opportunity to thank you for what you did.”
Trenton gazed at the woman in the pale light; the night he’d abducted Benoit, she’d been beaten and harried, but she’d still been surprisingly lovely.
Standing before him now, she looked relaxed and content, her face smooth and unmarred by a bruised cheek, and her hair was gathered at the nape of her neck, revealing the swan-like feature and graceful shoulders.
In truth, it made him wonder why he’d never looked at her twice in the days he’d known her, because Lysabel Wellesbourne was a genuinely stunning creature.
“There is no need to thank me,” he said. “I was on an errand for the king.”
Lysabel shook her head. “Truly, Trenton, you have no idea…” She paused, thought carefully on her words, and began again.
“Suffice it to say that my children and I have experienced peace for the past thirty-six days, peace as we have never known. I was thinking this evening, in fact, of how my daughters seemed to have blossomed in just the short time their father has been… away.”
Trenton regarded her carefully. “I heard you had daughters.”
“Aye,” she nodded. “Two. Cynethryn, whom we call Cinny, and little Brencis, known as Cissy.”
So she has children who were subject to Benoit’s horror, he thought grimly. “And they only believe he is away?”
“Everyone does.”
He understood, mostly because he’d told her to convey that very thing to the people of Stretford. “For now, that is all you can do,” he said. “But at some point, it will be known that he is dead.”