Chapter Four
The Scots weren’t finished yet.
Stephen had never doubted that and was therefore not surprised when he mobilized about two hundred men from the castle to attack a section of the city that was experiencing a weak resurgence of rebellion.
He and de Lara rode to the northwest section of Berwick’s walled city to quell a group of about one hundred Scots who were attempting to retake the city section by section.
Although it was not a particularly brutal battle, it was long and frustrating and went on well into the night.
By the time they were finished, they had killed about thirty Scots and lost eleven men.
Stephen assigned extra men to protect that area of the city at night, before returning to Berwick.
It was well after sunset and the castle blazed with the ghostly glow from hundreds of torches.
The great hall was lit up, light from inside the room streaming out through the lancet windows.
Exhausted, Stephen and Tate dismounted their chargers, turned the beasts over to the grooms, and headed for the hall.
“I shall check that portion of the city again after dawn,” Stephen told Tate. “From what those rebels told us, there are more of them than we know still in the city.”
De Lara nodded wearily. “I would imagine it is nothing tremendously organized. There are die hard rebels in any conquered people.”
“Aye, but it will only take one or two strong men to organize them and then we will have to worry about the Scots retaking the city,” he shook his head.
“At least we have brought the suspected leader back with us and I fully intend to bleed the man dry of any information he might have. But I am nonetheless thinking of asking the king for more reinforcements to flush the rebels from the city altogether.”
“You already have almost one thousand men.”
“Indeed I do, but we had over eight thousand just two days ago. Most of the English commanders have already left and headed for home.”
“True enough,” de Lara rubbed his eyes. “I can send for another five hundred from Carlisle. Henry of Lancaster can send another five hundred. Perhaps you should ask Norfolk to leave a detachment; he is leaving on the morrow, you know.”
“I know. I have already asked him to leave me as many as he believes he can spare.”
They had reached the hall. Stephen opened the door and was hit in the face by the warm, fragrant air inside. It smelled like rushes and roasted meat, and he felt his hunger immediately. Stepping inside, it was a bright and busy world.
The first sight that greeted him was Joselyn, heading towards him from the east side of the room.
She was dressed in the cranberry wool, her luscious figure emphasized by the cut of the garment.
Her dark hair was pulled away from her face and the pale blue eyes were brilliant.
Stephen watched her with appreciation as she smiled and curtsied politely.
“Welcome home, my lord,” she said, glancing to de Lara and bobbing another curtsy. “Lord de Lara.”
Tate acknowledged the lovely woman, grinning at Stephen when the man turned to look at him as if to reaffirm the fact that he had married a truly beautiful lady. Removing his helm, de Lara scratched his head and, still grinning, moved off towards the dais where a huge table of food was spread out.
Stephen didn’t notice that Tate had left; he was entirely focused on his wife.
She looked absolutely radiant, a far cry from the cold and dirty creature he had met last night.
Sleep, new clothing and an improving relationship with her new husband had worked wonders.
He could hardly believe it was the same woman.
Joselyn gazed up at him, feeling the intensity of his stare as if he had reached out and grabbed her. Her cheeks flushed a delightful shade of pink.
“I hope the meal pleases you,” she said, sweeping her arm in the direction of the table. “There were virtually no provisions left at the castle and we only had what your men brought in since yesterday.”
Stephen knew that the city of Berwick, including the castle, had basically been starved out during the siege but he made no reference to it.
He didn’t want to dampen the mood and there was no point in reiterating what they both knew.
So he took her gently by the elbow and escorted her to the heavily-laden table.
“The fare looks quite generous, my lady,” he reassured her.
In fact, he was quite surprised to see all of the food.
There were dishes everywhere, things he didn’t even recognize.
But he remembered that during that unpleasant encounter last night she had told him that the nuns of Jedburgh had taught her the art of cooking.
He had no idea what she meant until this moment.
He gestured at the table, somewhat in awe.
“Good Christ,” he couldn’t help the soft exclamation. “Did you do all of this?”
She nodded, somewhat modestly. “Your men brought flour, salt, bags of dried currants and apricots, wine, a few jars of honey, bags of nuts, and slabs of mutton and pork. I did what I could with it.”
He looked at her, stunned. “Surely you had help.”
She shrugged, reaching down for a wooden plate filled with something gooey and sweet-looking. “There were two women that aided me. Berwick has no cook, so the servants take turns.” She lifted the plate. “These are sweet cakes with apricots, nuts and honey. Would you try one?”
He just stared at her. Then, he reached for one of the pastries, realized he had his mail gloves on and paused to rip them both off, tossing them to the bench.
He then took one of the pastries and put the entire thing in his mouth.
Joselyn watched with trepidation as he chewed a couple of times, stopped, and then resumed at a slower pace.
“Is… is it not to your liking?” she asked timidly.
Stephen chewed a few more times before swallowing. He licked his lips and looked at her. “Lady, that was by far the most marvelous thing I have ever eaten and if you let anyone else have one, I shall be sorely disappointed. I would have them all for myself.”
She grinned brightly and he returned her smile, adding a bold wink with it. In truth, the little cake had been luscious. He gestured at the rest of the table. “What else do we have that is decadent and wonderful?”
Everything was. She had cooked the pork in honey, the mutton in rich gravy, and had a variety of completely fattening breads about the table.
The only vegetable they had were carrots, which she had boiled in honey and cloves, the only manner of spice that they had.
They were exquisite. Stephen sat down next to his wife and ate until he could hardly move.
Even then, there was still more food on the table and he continued to try everything put before him.
As the night wore on and de Lara joined them, Stephen was so gorged that he was sure he would become ill.
Tate was no better off. He, too, had eaten himself sick and he finally excused himself as the hour grew very late.
As Stephen licked his fingers of the last of the apricot pastries, he watched de Lara wander away to sleep off his overindulgence.
Joselyn sat next to her husband, her trencher licked clean of the pork she had stuffed herself with.
When Stephen glanced at her, he caught her staring at him and he smiled.
“Lady, if I had not already married you, I would have married you this instant based on the skill of that meal alone,” he said, watching her blush furiously. “Do you mean to tell me that the nuns at Jedburgh taught you to cook like this?”
She shrugged modestly. “My tasks were mostly kitchen-related. One of the nuns was from Paris and she was a wonderful cook. I learned a great deal from her.”
“No doubt,” he replied sincerely. “But tonight was a feast fit for a king and I did not, in fact, see Edward at all this eve.”
“He was here earlier,” she told him. “I heard him tell some of his men that he would be leaving on the morrow.”
Stephen scratched his black head wearily. “I see,” he muttered. “Then I must seek the man out before he leaves.”
Joselyn watched him shove a last pastry into his mouth, hardly able to swallow it because he was so full. She laughed softly at him.
“This will not be the last opportunity for you to eat pastries, my lord,” she told him. “I will make more, I promise.”
He grinned at her, burped loudly, and then rose to his considerable height.
“See that you do,” he commanded, but it was lightly done.
“My lady, your culinary skill is beyond compare. I have never in my life had such a fine meal and I thank you deeply. I cannot help wonder if this was meant for a special occasion.”
She stood up next to him, so petite against his considerable height that she only came to his diaphragm area. Her smile faded as she groped for words.
“I suppose it is a special occasion,” she ventured.
“I wanted to show my gratitude for what you have done for me and for my mother.” Her smile vanished as she looked up at him.
“I said terrible things to you last night, my lord. I called you heartless and cold, and clearly that is not the case. What you did for my mother, and for me, goes beyond what I believed you capable of. I am very sorry that I said such horrid things. I hope that someday you will forgive the tongue of a scared, exhausted woman.”
His blue eyes grew warm and a faint smile played on his lips. “There is no need to apologize,” he murmured. “I know it was a difficult night and I further know that I did not make it easier for you. War dictates my behavior, lady. Last night, we were still at war. Today, we are not.”
She smiled gratefully. “You are too forgiving,” she said. “But I thank you just the same. I hope this meal was a worthy token of my gratitude for your kindness.”
Stephen reached up and stroked her tender cheek; he couldn’t help himself. “It is more than worthy,” he said softly. “As are you.”