Chapter 17 #2
“First, I want you to gather all the chambermaids. I will give the orders and you will translate. Then we will see to the rest of the staff.”
Gwen sank into a chair while Owain did as she bid.
When he had gathered the women, Gwen proceeded to outline their duties as she’d heard Elinor do.
Owain listened, his eyes widening at first. After he got over the initial shock, a grin spread across his features and he translated with what Gwen would have said was glee.
The women glared at her, no doubt not relishing the tasks of waxing furniture, beating rugs, sweeping out the rushes, scrubbing the flagstones, setting out fresh rushes and scenting them with herbs, and scrubbing the walls until they were no longer dingy.
Their faces brightened when she promised an extra day’s wages for a job well done.
Owain frowned at that, but said nothing.
The women hurried off, chattering amongst themselves, but not before dipping into a deep curtsy for their new mistress.
Next, Gwen told the serving wenches in no uncertain terms that they were to dress more modestly and conduct themselves with better behavior while they served in the hall.
She gave sweeping orders for the hounds to be removed to the stables immediately and for the knights and men-at-arms to not lounge unnecessarily.
A search of the storerooms revealed yards and yards of velvet and trimmings for reupholstering the chairs and making new bed hangings. Alys got to work immediately.
“Take me to the kitchens, Owain,” Gwen said.
“As you wish, my lady,” he replied, grinning from ear to ear.
The kitchens were at the rear of the castle. The wooden building was large, housing two hearths and several workers. Heat radiated through the structure as cauldrons of soup and meat bubbled over the fires.
Gwen spotted the master cook before Owain pointed him out. He stood next to a spit, deep in conversation with the girl who turned the meat. Every now and again, he would wave a hand or issue a command that sent men and women scurrying.
The furtive glances of his staff alerted him something was amiss. He turned quickly, his eyes widening. His wrinkled face glowed red from the heat, as did his bald head.
He directed a stream of grating English at Owain, gesturing at Gwen the whole time. Gwen drew herself up in her best princess manner. This man was going to be a handful.
“What did he say, Owain?”
Owain cleared his throat. “Uh, he doesn’t like you in his kitchen, milady. Says he’s not about to take orders from a slip of a girl.”
“Tell him he is dismissed.”
“Milady, Oliver has been at Claiborne for thirty years. You cannot dismiss him just like that.”
“Yes, I can. Tell him he is dismissed. And this is my kitchen. Tell him that also.”
Oliver turned even redder as Owain spoke. He shook a fist at Gwen, spouting in English.
“What did he say?”
“He said he will only obey Lord de Claiborne. If Lord de Claiborne dismisses him he will go, and not until.”
Gwen chewed the inside of her lip. She decided to be bold.
She’d seen her father bluff his way through meetings with his chieftains.
She would use the only weapon at her disposal.
“Tell him he does not share Lord de Claiborne’s bed, I do.
And what does he suppose Richard will do when he learns his cook has been rude to his new bride?
I can’t imagine Richard will take kindly to such an insult. ”
Owain translated. Oliver paled, his gaze flickering over her doubtfully. Gwen brushed her hair from her face in a pretty gesture, studying the far wall with interest.
Oliver wiped his hands on his tunic before speaking. Owain turned to her, barely able to contain his smile. “He asks the countess to please reconsider dismissing him and says he will serve her well and faithfully.”
Gwen toyed with her girdle chain. “Very well. Tell him he may stay. From now on, the menu is to be discussed with me.”
Oliver bowed when Owain finished translating. Gwen took a quick inventory of the kitchen. She instructed Oliver to prepare lighter fare in the morning, followed by a large mid-day meal, and ending with a light supper.
By the time she and Owain departed, Oliver seemed more than eager to bake confections and roast tender gamebirds for her pleasure, though he grumbled under his breath the entire time.
Gwen smiled to herself. Elinor would be proud.
When they reached the solar, Owain was beaming at her. “Is there anything else I can do for you, milady?”
Gwen pushed a lock of hair over her shoulder. “Yes, Owain. You can teach me how to speak English. I can’t have you translating for the rest of my life.”
“’Twill be my pleasure.”
“We will start tomorrow then. I am too tired for much else today.” Judging by the shadows creeping across the room, it was almost dusk.
Gwen realized she was exhausted. She’d had no idea her first day at Claiborne would take so much out of her.
Damn Richard! She would succeed in spite of him. “I think I will retire now, Owain.”
“Shall I send a tray to your chamber?”
“Aye.” Gwen turned to go, then stopped. “Thank you, Owain. For everything.”
He smiled in answer.
Later, Gwen lay in bed and thought of the day behind her. Thank God Owain had not balked at her orders, or she would never have gotten as far as she had.
Tomorrow promised to be just as interesting. There were still the outbuildings to be toured, and mayhap the village, and then…
She was asleep before she could complete the thought. Alys pulled the hangings shut and retreated to her pallet.
The knights set up camp once the shadows of night darkened the sky. They’d found a set of prints at Llanwell cave and had followed the trail all day without rest.
Andrew walked over to where Richard sat against a tree. “’Tis odd is it not, milord?”
“Aye,” Richard said, lifting his flask to his lips. He took a long drink of the bitter ale, then wiped his mouth across his mantle.
“Welshmen usually head straight for the mountains. Do ye think they mean to lead us astray, then double back?”
Richard shook his head. “’Tis not like a Welshman to go so deep into England.”
“Ye mean to say ye thinks they’re English? What of the weapon?”
“Edward is having English archers trained to use the longbow. ’Tis more effective than our crossbow and if ever Llywelyn tries to rebel again, he’ll get his own weapon used against him.”
Andrew looked thoughtful. “Well if they weren’t Welsh, why’d they attack us, I wonder.”
Richard had been thinking about that too.
“I’m certain ’tis the same brigands who have been robbing travelers on the road to Chester.
They must have been using Llanwell cave as a hideout and were probably taken by surprise to find us there.
I don’t think they planned the attack. They retreated too quickly once they found out they were outnumbered. Welshmen would have fought harder.”
Andrew nodded. “Aye, yer right about that. The Welsh don’t give up so easily.”
The men took turns at watch during the night. Richard rose sometime after midnight to take his turn. He leaned against a tree to rest the weight of his mailed body.
Against his will, he thought of Gwen. Richard was not at all accustomed to allowing a woman to dominate his thoughts, but he couldn’t seem to get this one out of his mind.
God how beautiful she had become! If anything, her hair was more glorious, her eyes more breathtaking, her body more desirable than ever before. He knew an overwhelming urge to possess her, to mark her as his woman forever. He thought of Rhys ap Gawain and the urge became even stronger.
Rhys loved her. It was obvious from the way he looked at her. Did Gwen love him too? Richard was certain she did. It didn’t matter though. She was his. She was going to sleep in his bed, bear his children, keep him company on cold winter days. Him, and no one else.
A sudden thought struck Richard—there were many ways to make love to a woman and not all of them involved penetration. He was amazed it had never occurred to him before now.
He slammed an iron-clad fist into his hand. The mail chinked dully. By God, she’d not deny him again! ’Twas no wonder she’d responded to his foreplay. She was accustomed to being touched that way, just not to the sex act itself. Richard knew a murderous desire to castrate Rhys ap Gawain.
Slowly, the red mist of rage lifted. What did it matter if she were experienced in other ways? Her virginity was intact so she could not be carrying her lover’s bastard. Surely that was all that mattered.
Richard breathed out between clenched teeth. Seduction was still the best course of action. He would use her body’s response against her until she was too blinded by passion to say no. He vowed he would have her as soon as he returned to Claiborne castle.