Lord Of Lyonsbridge. Ana Seymour
richly victualed, and the people to be as properly mannered as any back in Normandy. As the lady of the household, she would set the example.
“Will the table need polishing, too, milady?” the girl with her asked. They’d been rubbing oil into the two heavy wooden dining chairs that were reserved for the master and mistress of the household. Their carved backs had been thick with grime, but Ellen had to admit that the workmanship was as fine as any Norman craft.
“We’ll oil only the legs. The top must be scrubbed with sand.” Ellen stopped rubbing for a moment to look at her helper. “’Tis Sarah, is it not?”
“Aye, milady, Sarah.”
The slender blond girl’s eyes flickered briefly to Ellen’s face, then skittered away as if afraid that her mistress might cuff her at any moment. Ellen took pains to make her tone friendly. “You’re from the village, Sarah?”
“Aye, milady.”
They worked in silence for several minutes, before once again Ellen tried to engage the girl in conversation. “What family have you in the village, Sarah?”
The girl’s pale face flared with color. “She’s not been able to eat in days, milady. She’d be of little use here. She can hardly stand, much less work—” She broke off and looked up at Ellen, her eyes brimming.
Ellen frowned. “What are you talking about, girl?”
The girl’s tears spilled over. “Me mum. Sir William’s men said we were all to come here, no exception. But me mum’s got the wasting disease, and she’s took bad in this cold. Please don’t punish her, milady.”
Ellen straightened up from the chair she was working on and looked at the weeping girl in horror. “No one is going to punish your mother, child. Mon dieu, what a notion.”
“Begging your pardon, milady. I meant no impertinence, but Sir William said that ‘twas by your orders. He said she’d be whipped if she didn’t come to work today.”
Ellen felt a shiver of alarm. Surely there had been some kind of misunderstanding. In their zeal to please the new mistress, the guards may have been overly enthusiastic about rounding up the workers she’d requested. But whipping a sick old woman? She gave an uneasy laugh. “You must have misheard Sir William’s men, Sarah. There could have been no such talk of whipping.”
Sarah looked away. “Not his men, milady. ‘Twas Sir William himself who said it. Verily, I heard him meself.”
The girl appeared sharp-witted. Ellen could not completely discount her tale, but neither could she champion the word of a serf over that of the bailiff. The matter required further investigation.
“Who is caring for your mother now, Sarah?” she asked.
“She’s alone, milady. I’d not leave her, but the men forced me to come.”
“Then go to her. You’re finished here for the day, and you’re not to come back while she still needs you. If anyone bids you come, you tell them to speak with me.”
The girl’s tears had stopped, and she gave Ellen a piteously grateful smile.
“Run along,” Ellen told her. “I’ll visit you on the morrow to see how your mother fares.”
“Oh, milady,” Sarah gasped. She grasped Ellen’s hand with both of hers and made a quick curtsy, then turned and ran lightly across the dining room.
Ellen gazed after her, lost in thought. Her first impression of Sir William had not been favorable, and so far he’d done nothing to change that opinion. She considered him pompous and obsequious, but her cousin had appeared to be pleased with the accounting he’d given of the estate’s affairs. Still, if he was bullying her people, she wanted to know about it. Proper management of an estate was one thing, abuse was another.
She hadn’t seen the two people enter from the small door behind her and gave a start when one of them spoke.
“May we have permission to speak with your ladyship?”
It was the horse master, accompanied by a boy. Though his manner of address was more respectful than it had been the other day at the stables, he spoke forcefully, indicating that the request for permission was a meaningless formality. Nevertheless, after the news she had just heard from Sarah about ill treatment in the village, she was inclined to be tolerant.
“Good morrow, Master Brand.” It was easier speaking to him here in the castle than it had been at the stables. She felt more in control, though she couldn’t decide if it was because she was in her own home or because the gloom of the dining hall dimmed the intense blue of his eyes. She turned toward the boy with him and asked, “Is this lad your apprentice?”
Connor shook his head. “This is John Cooper. He’s asked my help in a certain matter about his family. Tell milady, John.”
The boy was looking at Ellen as if she were the Holy Virgin come to earth. He opened his mouth, but no speech emerged.
Ellen looked from John to Connor. “What matter?” she asked.
“It seems your men have taken the lad’s sister. He’s worried about her, with good cause.”
The tall Saxon had advanced toward her until he stood just on the other side of the chair she’d been polishing. That close, she could feel it again—the disconcerting force of the man. Since the age of twelve she’d had men fawning over her, petitioning for her hand, buzzing about her like bees at a flower. Yet this horse master, this servant who continued to treat her as if he had more important things to think about, made her knees grow weak like the most inexperienced of maids.
The boy with him finally found his voice. “Her name’s Sarah, milady. And she’s a good girl.”
“If your men have done the girl harm, there will be the devil to pay,” Connor added.
The square set of his jaw as he warned her did not detract from his attractiveness. Ellen felt infuriating flutters in her midsection. Sweet saints above, perhaps the man had cast an enchantment on her in the way he appeared to with his animals. She bit the tip of her tongue until the pain cleared the fog from her brain and she could manage a proper response. She could relieve the boy of his worry in short order, but first she felt as if she should make an effort to remind the stableman of his position in her household. “What affair is this of yours, horse master?” she asked coldly.
“Old John the Cooper is dead these past five years. Folks hereabouts are protective of his widow and children.”
She hesitated. Put like that, Master Brand’s interest didn’t seem so out of place, though she shouldn’t allow the master of her stables to be meddling in affairs between the castle guards and the villagers. She would no doubt do well to order Master Brand back to his horses, but she had the feeling he would not go easily. Finally she gave up trying to determine the propriety of his inquiry and said, “The girl was with me much of the morning. I’ve sent her home to take care of her mother.”
Young John’s chest sagged with relief. “Thank you, milady,” he said.
“’Tis fortunate that she’s safe and sound,” Connor said. “The surest way to trouble in the village is harassment of the womenfolk. I don’t know how you do things back in Normandy, but the men here won’t stand for it.”
He was lecturing her again. Ellen’s temper boiled over. She curled her fingers tightly over the carved back of the chair. “Master Brand, I believe we’ve had this conversation before. You’re a servant here. I’ll thank you to keep your advice on running Lyonsbridge to yourself. In fact, I’ll thank you to keep your opinions in general to yourself. Speak when spoken to, as befits your station.”
Connor did not seem the least bit impressed with her outburst. “You’ll find I can be of use to you, milady. If the boy had alarmed the other men in the village instead of coming to me, you wouldn’t have progressed well today in your cleaning. There are some who would rather