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gloves and working at her cloak's leather ties. The hall was as square as the tower itself, but was divided in twain by a row of pillars. These massive stone arches supported a second floor that reached only halfway across the great room. On the open side, torches burned in sconces beneath the enormous cross beams and two hearths, equidistant from each other, spewed their merry warmth and light into the room. Colorfully painted linen panels hung on the thick stone walls functioning as both decoration and a barrier against the cold.
Yet, the hearths were choked with ashes and the once gaily painted beams were black with soot. The tables, which should have been stored after the evening meal, still stood around the room, their cloths ragged and stained. Beneath her feet the rushes had been beaten into dust. All this despite the fact that more servants congregated in this hall than the abbey had supported, even when she included the serfs from the outlying hamlets.
She pursed her lips in consideration. How long would she have before her husband's return? A warm kernel of determination awoke within her. Come crying to him for help, indeed. She would restore this hall to its former glory and right quickly, too. To do so, she would need these servants as her own this very night. That was not so difficult. It had been the abbess's first lesson: "To take command, one must first create the illusion that command is already yours." All that waited now was the opportunity.
It was on the strength of her pride alone that she shook off her physical woes even as she shook herself free of her sodden cloak. She glanced up at the nobleman waiting patiently at her side. "Now, Sir Gilliam," she said, imperiously drawing herself up to the limit of her slight height.
"Come all ye folk to greet our new Lady Graistan." He had no need to shout, his deep voice thundered about the hall. He stepped away to bow before her. "Please enter this hall, my lady," he said. "As my brother's steward, I bid you well come to Graistan keep. Enter and take your ease within these walls."
Most of the servants knelt or bowed, but a few stood in studied nonchalance, refusing to acknowledge her. She stared pointedly at them. Beneath her cool gaze, all but one bent their knees in halfhearted greeting. Her eyes narrowed. That one was a stout man with a polished bare pate and a pompous carriage.
He met her gaze with a raised and scornful eyebrow. His fine, woolen tunic and studded belt shouted to all who viewed him of his high rank. A servant of rank this was, but a servant nonetheless. In his arrogance he had obviously forgotten this. She almost smiled. The Lord God had given her the opportunity; he would do most nicely as her first example.
"Your welcome is heartily appreciated," she called, raising her voice to be clearly heard, then crooked her finger at her chosen victim. "You there, come and take my cloak," she said.
Gilliam, startled by her unexpected command, turned to look. "That's our wardrober, Hugo," he blurted out, aghast that she would require the man who ruled Graistan's treasury to do such a menial chore.
"Thank you, Sir Gilliam," she said, accepting his information with a gracious nod, but ignored his unspoken plea to let the man alone. "Wardrober, my cloak must be cleaned before the morrow as I have a need for it then."
Hugo sneered down his narrow nose at her. "I am no woman to do your bidding. Find a laundress. I answer solely to Lord Rannulf. Cocking a shoulder and thrusting out his chest, he crossed his arms and shoved his hands into his wide, fur-trimmed sleeves.
"Do you now?" she smoothly replied. At the periphery of her vision she caught the lower servants' laughter. So, he was not well liked, all the better for her. "Upon my marriage to Lord Graistan, I became flesh of his flesh and bone of his bone. His servants, from the lowest stable lad to yourself, became mine at that moment. My lord husband has commanded me to do as I see fit in this
Yet, the hearths were choked with ashes and the once gaily painted beams were black with soot. The tables, which should have been stored after the evening meal, still stood around the room, their cloths ragged and stained. Beneath her feet the rushes had been beaten into dust. All this despite the fact that more servants congregated in this hall than the abbey had supported, even when she included the serfs from the outlying hamlets.
She pursed her lips in consideration. How long would she have before her husband's return? A warm kernel of determination awoke within her. Come crying to him for help, indeed. She would restore this hall to its former glory and right quickly, too. To do so, she would need these servants as her own this very night. That was not so difficult. It had been the abbess's first lesson: "To take command, one must first create the illusion that command is already yours." All that waited now was the opportunity.
It was on the strength of her pride alone that she shook off her physical woes even as she shook herself free of her sodden cloak. She glanced up at the nobleman waiting patiently at her side. "Now, Sir Gilliam," she said, imperiously drawing herself up to the limit of her slight height.
"Come all ye folk to greet our new Lady Graistan." He had no need to shout, his deep voice thundered about the hall. He stepped away to bow before her. "Please enter this hall, my lady," he said. "As my brother's steward, I bid you well come to Graistan keep. Enter and take your ease within these walls."
Most of the servants knelt or bowed, but a few stood in studied nonchalance, refusing to acknowledge her. She stared pointedly at them. Beneath her cool gaze, all but one bent their knees in halfhearted greeting. Her eyes narrowed. That one was a stout man with a polished bare pate and a pompous carriage.
He met her gaze with a raised and scornful eyebrow. His fine, woolen tunic and studded belt shouted to all who viewed him of his high rank. A servant of rank this was, but a servant nonetheless. In his arrogance he had obviously forgotten this. She almost smiled. The Lord God had given her the opportunity; he would do most nicely as her first example.
"Your welcome is heartily appreciated," she called, raising her voice to be clearly heard, then crooked her finger at her chosen victim. "You there, come and take my cloak," she said.
Gilliam, startled by her unexpected command, turned to look. "That's our wardrober, Hugo," he blurted out, aghast that she would require the man who ruled Graistan's treasury to do such a menial chore.
"Thank you, Sir Gilliam," she said, accepting his information with a gracious nod, but ignored his unspoken plea to let the man alone. "Wardrober, my cloak must be cleaned before the morrow as I have a need for it then."
Hugo sneered down his narrow nose at her. "I am no woman to do your bidding. Find a laundress. I answer solely to Lord Rannulf. Cocking a shoulder and thrusting out his chest, he crossed his arms and shoved his hands into his wide, fur-trimmed sleeves.
"Do you now?" she smoothly replied. At the periphery of her vision she caught the lower servants' laughter. So, he was not well liked, all the better for her. "Upon my marriage to Lord Graistan, I became flesh of his flesh and bone of his bone. His servants, from the lowest stable lad to yourself, became mine at that moment. My lord husband has commanded me to do as I see fit in this
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