Chapter 4
Four
Emily had just sat down to break her fast with Alys when the door to the donjon swung wide. She frowned at Alys as people began rushing into the room in a flurry of activity.
A wiry man of about a score-and-ten years led the way, clutching a small black book to his right side.
His black hair was thin and short, and a shock of his bangs continually fell into his eyes no matter how much he brushed it aside.
He wore a bright orange tunic and whipped orders off his tongue with amazing speed.
“You, there,” he said to one of the fifteen women.
“You pick three others and immediately start cleaning the upper floor. I want four women in the kitchens scrubbing, and the rest of you can start in here. Master carpenter,” he turned to the bearded older man at his right.
“See that this hall is completely redone.” He threw his left arm wide as he gestured toward the walls.
“They need to be reinforced, painted and, well, whatever you think. I want it light and airy. Homey. Aye,” he said with a satisfied smile, “let us strive for a homey feel.”
“Milady?” Alys asked. “Who are these people?”
Emily shook her head. “I don’t know. But I suspect the man in orange must be Lord Draven’s steward.” Or he was a lunatic to come unbidden into Lord Draven’s hall and start making such changes.
Nay, he would have to be the steward.
As if sensing her thoughts, the man moved to her side. “Good day, milady.” His expression bright and cheerful, he offered her a large smile. “I’m Denys, Lord Draven’s steward.”
As suspected.
He drew forth the book, opened it to the page that was marked by a small quill pen and set it on the table next to her. He took a vial of ink from the satchel on his girdle and opened the top. Dipping the quill, he paused and looked up at her. “I was told to ask after your particular needs.”
Before she could answer, there was another commotion at the door.
“Out of the way,” someone shouted.
The crowd parted like the Red Sea as a group of four men hefted a large headboard through the door. The men paused just inside the hall and rested the intricately carved mahogany piece against the far wall. “Would someone tell us where to put this?” a young man asked as he panted.
“Well, it certainly doesn’t go in the hall,” Denys muttered under his breath. He crossed the room and gestured to the stairs with his quill. “Up the stairs to the lady’s room on the right.”
Denys turned to one of Lord Draven’s servants and instructed the man to show them the way.
Stupefied, Emily watched the men struggle up the stairs with her new headboard.
“What is going on?” she asked Denys when he returned to her side.
He smoothed his sleeve meticulously, then met her gaze. “Lord Draven woke me an hour before sunrise and had me start preparations for your stay. He said the donjon was to look as if the king himself were staying with us.”
Denys ran his finger down the list of items he’d written in his book.
“I was told to find a housekeeper, a better cook, a baker, another brewer. There were shrubs and flowers to be ordered and a gardener. More cattle and hens,” he said, frowning as he looked up from his list. “I was told to get a lot of hens.”
“Hens?” she asked, confused as well.
“Aye, red ones, his lordship said. Nothing but red hens for the lady.”
Emily laughed at the very thought. It’s been a red hen she’d used against “the” terror.
For all his bluster, Lord Draven did have a keen sense of humor.
Denys looked back at his notes. “The housekeeper is named Beatrix and said that she could be here this afternoon. She’s a widow-woman who seemed very nice.
If you have any problems with her, let me know and I shall deal with her forthwith.
Now, what other items do you require?” Again, he positioned his quill for her orders.
Emily sat perplexed. When she’d spoken to Lord Draven the night before she’d assumed she would be the one to put things in order.
The best she’d hoped for was a housekeeper and maybe a village girl or two to help with the cleaning.
Never had she expected an army of helpers to descend on the keep, let alone all the other items Lord Draven had ordered.
“I can think of nothing.” She looked to her maid whose face mirrored her own amazement. “Alys?”
“Nay, milady. ‘Twould seem his lordship thought of everything.”
Satisfied, Denys returned his vial of ink to his satchel and closed his book. “Very good, then. You and your maid may relax and know that I have everything in hand. Should you think of anything you need, please let me know.”
“Thank you.” Emily glanced about at the bustle, overwhelmed by Lord Draven’s generosity.
Denys had started away from her table when a thought struck her.
“Wait, Denys?”
He literally hopped back to her side.
Thinking what a peculiar man he was, Emily gestured toward where the lord’s table should be set. “Did his lordship perchance order a table and a dais?”
She could swear the steward’s face lost some of its color. “Nay, milady, he did not.”
“Then perhaps you should add that.”
He hesitated. “I don’t think that would be wise, milady.”
“Whyever not?”
“Draven has little use for the pompousness of aristocracy.”
Emily looked over her shoulder to see Simon standing behind her with his hands behind his back.
How long had he been there?
Emily gestured to where a dais should be. “‘Tis not pompous, Lord Simon. ‘Tis expected.”
“In other halls, mayhap. Not here.” Simon surveyed the activity. “As usual, Denys, I am impressed by your meticulousness.”
“My pleasure is to please you, milord.”
Simon laughed aloud. “And so you have. Draven on the other hand...”
“‘Tis what he ordered,” Denys said defensively.
“Aye, but I can’t wait to see his face when he enters this fray.”
Denys nodded as if understanding whatever it was Simon meant.
Emily on the other hand was quite lost.
Denys inclined his head to her. “Well then, if there is nothing else, I shall get back to work. Supervising and...” Denys looked to Simon, “and more supervising.”
Simon excused him, then brought his arms from around his back to show Emily the fresh loaf of bread he held in his hands. “I swiped this from the baker’s cart. He brought it with him from the village, and I thought you might like it more than what you have.”
She thanked him as he set it on the wooden trencher and sliced her a bit of it. “It smells wonderful.” She took a small piece of it and placed it in her mouth.
And it tasted even better.
Swallowing the bread, she watched Simon as he looked around the hall.
“Why is it you think your brother won’t be pleased?” She was dying to know.
“He’d rather have this place fall in upon his ears than see it—” he broke himself off as if catching his words. “Did I say that aloud?”
“Aye, you did.”
Simon quirked his head. “Then Draven is right, I should better counsel my tongue.”
“I say you should counsel it less,” she teased. “For I would like to know.”
“And I would like to keep my tongue in my head. Should Draven catch me spilling out his thoughts, like as not, I shall find it quickly removed.”
She could well understand his wish not to make his brother angry. From what she had seen, Draven could indeed cause much damage to someone should anger possess him.
“Now, milady…” Simon gave her a curt bow. “If you’ll excuse me, I should like to get this armor off for it chafes in places I cannot mention in mixed company.”
Unsure of what she should say, she watched as Simon made his way through the bustling scrubbing maids and workmen.
“This is a strange place, lady,” Alys said when they were again alone.
“It is indeed.” Emily shared her bread with her maid. “Why do you think Lord Draven refuses to have a table?”
“I cannot imagine. Perhaps for the same reason you are breaking bread with your maid?”
Emily smiled gently. “You are more family than servant, you know that.”
“Aye, but don’t you think Lord Simon thought it strange that you sit here with me?”
She nodded. “No doubt he found my habit as strange as I find Lord Draven’s. But I doubt Lord Draven thinks of servants as family. From what I have seen, he keeps his own company.”
Nay, there was much more to his lordship. Things she couldn’t even begin to fathom.
“You know, milady…” Alys drew her attention. “Lord Draven has given you a perfect opportunity to seek him out.”
“I was just thinking that.” Emily smiled. “After all, the least I could do is thank him for his efforts.”
“A kiss should do as a nice thank you.”
“Alys,” she scolded. “I could never be so forward.”
Alys laughed so hard, she choked on her bread.
Emily patted her on the back. “You’re not amusing.”
“Nay, milady, but your comment certainly was.” She coughed to clear her throat. “I’ve seldom known you not to be forward.”
Emily bit her lip impishly. “I know. ‘Tis a terrible thing I’m told.”
“Terrible or not, if milady wishes to catch the raven, she must lay the trap, and no one ever laid a successful trap by being timid with the lure.” Alys stood up and pulled at Emily’s kirtle to lower the neckline.
“Alys!” Emily said insistently.
“Oh, ‘tis just a little.” She smoothed Emily’s veil and pulled one curly tendril of hair free of the linen to drape on the right side of her face.
Alys tilted her head to study Emily’s face, then squinted. “Nay.” She shook her head. “Too nunnish for our intents.”
Reaching up, Alys unpinned the veil from her head, placed the pins in her mouth, then fluffed and smoothed Emily’s hair with her hands.
Again, Alys studied her for several seconds before she nodded and removed the pins from her mouth. “There now. Pretty as an angel, you are. But now remember, ‘tis not angelic thoughts you should be having.”
Emily rolled her eyes at her incorrigible maid.
Alys pinched a bit of color into Emily’s cheeks. “Moisten your lips and be off.”
Emily did as told, then winked at her. “Wish me luck.”
“Luck, milady, and good fortune.”
With a deep breath for courage, Emily went to find Lord Draven.