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Authors: Catherine Coulter
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had said he was a man to be trusted. Naturally he was. He was a man of honor. She doubted even that. Perhaps he wasn’t a model of the minstrel’s songs of the chivalrous knight. He was a man and a warrior and he would rule his possessions. She was one of them. But, damn her, she could trust him. Kill her? Mayhap he would want to thrash her, but not kill her.
He wanted to tell her so, he wanted to give her at least one order, but he simply had not the will to open his eyesand tell her that he resented her speaking so plainly to Graelam. Graelam wasn’t her husband. He wished Graelam would tell her that he, Severin, didn’t have the feelings of a toad.
There was something else. Aye, he wanted to tell her that he could mend himself without her damned potions. He did not want to have to show her gratitude, not that he had any intention of doing so in any case. But the goblet was at his lips and he felt her fingers prying open his mouth. He had not the strength to fight her.
When it was done, when Hastings was satisfied that he would rest easily, Graelam called for Severin’s man Gwent to stay close to him. Gwent was a giant of a man, larger even than Lord Graelam. There was a wide space between his front teeth and a very deep dimple on his chin. He had large hands, a rough tongue, and, she saw, a gentle manner with both Severin and Trist. But what relieved her mind was that the marten liked him. That satisfied her.
“I will bring you some ale and bread, Gwent, and Trist, well, I will find something to interest him.”
“The little lordling likes eggs that are lightly boiled, not firm on the inside, just very hot, the yellow and the white a bit clingy. Once the yolk was too hard and Trist spit on the back of my hand. I thought I should warn you. But the marten is not spoiled, not really, and it amuses Severin to please him.”
Little lordling indeed, she thought. “You’ve been with Lord Severin long, Gwent?”
“Since he was a lad of seventeen, just arrived in the Holy Land. He saved my life in a Saracen ambush. My master had been killed. I swore fealty to him on that day. Aye, I have never known boredom with Severin.”
Of course Gwent hadn’t ever known boredom, Severin thought, feeling as though his brains were as sand trickling through a sieve, except for those hideous weeks in the dungeon in Rouen. Why was she asking Gwent all these questions? When he was himself again, he would see that she kept her woman’s curiosity to herself. He wanted to tell her that Gwent would protect her while he was still lying flaton his back, but why should he bother to tell her anything? No, he thought, he would remain as silent as the night. He breathed deeply, feeling the inexorable blankness seep into his brain.
Hastings wished she could stay and ask him to tell her of every happening in his master’s life since his seventeenth year, but she couldn’t. It was late. The servants needed instruction. She needed to speak with MacDear the cook, a brawny Scotsman who had a special way with roasted capon and honeyed almonds. His use of spices rivaled her own knowledge of them.
She leaned down and lightly touched her fingers to Severin’s cheek, felt the coolness, and left him with Gwent. He was sleeping deeply now. He would live.
6
“I KNOW ,” SEVERIN SAID TO GRAELAM . “ YOU MUST LEAVE . You and your men grow restless.”
“I will leave on the morrow when I am convinced you will have the fever no more. Hastings has told me you won’t, but she isn’t always right. I must visit Edward in London to tell him that all has gone well.”
“I hope that whoreson Richard de Luci rides away from Oxborough.”
Graelam said as he smoothed on his gauntlets, “The man you spared will tell him the Oxborough heiress is both wedded and bedded, that is certain. There is nothing for him here. I worry only that he might try to assassinate you, for he is a mangy coward, so greedy it is said he dug the gems from his father’s
He wanted to tell her so, he wanted to give her at least one order, but he simply had not the will to open his eyesand tell her that he resented her speaking so plainly to Graelam. Graelam wasn’t her husband. He wished Graelam would tell her that he, Severin, didn’t have the feelings of a toad.
There was something else. Aye, he wanted to tell her that he could mend himself without her damned potions. He did not want to have to show her gratitude, not that he had any intention of doing so in any case. But the goblet was at his lips and he felt her fingers prying open his mouth. He had not the strength to fight her.
When it was done, when Hastings was satisfied that he would rest easily, Graelam called for Severin’s man Gwent to stay close to him. Gwent was a giant of a man, larger even than Lord Graelam. There was a wide space between his front teeth and a very deep dimple on his chin. He had large hands, a rough tongue, and, she saw, a gentle manner with both Severin and Trist. But what relieved her mind was that the marten liked him. That satisfied her.
“I will bring you some ale and bread, Gwent, and Trist, well, I will find something to interest him.”
“The little lordling likes eggs that are lightly boiled, not firm on the inside, just very hot, the yellow and the white a bit clingy. Once the yolk was too hard and Trist spit on the back of my hand. I thought I should warn you. But the marten is not spoiled, not really, and it amuses Severin to please him.”
Little lordling indeed, she thought. “You’ve been with Lord Severin long, Gwent?”
“Since he was a lad of seventeen, just arrived in the Holy Land. He saved my life in a Saracen ambush. My master had been killed. I swore fealty to him on that day. Aye, I have never known boredom with Severin.”
Of course Gwent hadn’t ever known boredom, Severin thought, feeling as though his brains were as sand trickling through a sieve, except for those hideous weeks in the dungeon in Rouen. Why was she asking Gwent all these questions? When he was himself again, he would see that she kept her woman’s curiosity to herself. He wanted to tell her that Gwent would protect her while he was still lying flaton his back, but why should he bother to tell her anything? No, he thought, he would remain as silent as the night. He breathed deeply, feeling the inexorable blankness seep into his brain.
Hastings wished she could stay and ask him to tell her of every happening in his master’s life since his seventeenth year, but she couldn’t. It was late. The servants needed instruction. She needed to speak with MacDear the cook, a brawny Scotsman who had a special way with roasted capon and honeyed almonds. His use of spices rivaled her own knowledge of them.
She leaned down and lightly touched her fingers to Severin’s cheek, felt the coolness, and left him with Gwent. He was sleeping deeply now. He would live.
6
“I KNOW ,” SEVERIN SAID TO GRAELAM . “ YOU MUST LEAVE . You and your men grow restless.”
“I will leave on the morrow when I am convinced you will have the fever no more. Hastings has told me you won’t, but she isn’t always right. I must visit Edward in London to tell him that all has gone well.”
“I hope that whoreson Richard de Luci rides away from Oxborough.”
Graelam said as he smoothed on his gauntlets, “The man you spared will tell him the Oxborough heiress is both wedded and bedded, that is certain. There is nothing for him here. I worry only that he might try to assassinate you, for he is a mangy coward, so greedy it is said he dug the gems from his father’s
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