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Authors: Roberta Gellis
Tags: Fantasy
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Sleaford keep that could be doled out to maintain peace.
The faint humor in his voice did not escape her, and her heart began to beat more quickly. Why should he not give her the best of everything? In the event of her death, it would all be his again. "My lord," Catherine said urgently.
If she wanted more, peace would not be cheap. "What now do you want of me?" Rannulf snapped.
What little color had remained in Catherine's face faded away. "I only wished to beg you to pardon me for my hasty speech. What happened could be no fault of yours."
Rannulf stared at his wife attentively. Certainly it was true that what had happened was no fault of his—he did not even know what had put her out of temper—but that a woman should set aside emotion for reason and, moreover, that she should admit herself wrong on the basis of reasoning, was astounding. He noticed that Catherine was very pale again and was sorry for her; he understood very well how hard it was to admit oneself at fault.
"Very well," Rannulf said approvingly.
That nearly brought another burst of rage from Catherine, but he had led her away from the window seat and she was forced to return with civility the belated compliments she was now receiving. She smiled charmingly and extended a graceful hand to a young man whose fair handsomeness almost took her breath away. Roger of Hereford kissed her hand, murmured good wishes, and moved on to her husband whom he addressed more jovially.
"I do not need to wish you well—you are well. Who could believe that such a face would go with such a dower?"
"Your wife left nothing greatly to be desired on either score," Rannulf replied good-naturedly. He was far better pleased with Catherine than he had expected and was perfectly willing to display his satisfaction.
"Ah, but my wife is not here. She was lightened of a daughter some weeks ago and is still confined."
Rannulf's brows drew together. Childbirth was a serious and dangerous matter. He had lost his first wife to it. "We did not see eye to eye, but I remember the lady kindly. She does well, I hope."
"Aye, and the girl is already a shrew like her mother, God bless them both. When I first held her in my arms, she struck me soundly on the mouth."
"There speaks a new-made father." Rannulf laughed, recalling his own feeling of pride in similar circumstances.
"But I am not a new-made father, at least, it is the third time. All I seem to get is women . . . not that I regret this one. I wanted a maiden this time for I have her already bound in marriage, but the next, I hope, will be a son. There is my brother Walter to succeed me, but my brother … But this is no time to speak of political matters."
Hereford was ready to move on, but Rannulf stopped him. "Why not?" he asked.
He had no particular desire for Hereford to seek him out in private to discuss matters of state. It would only give Eustace another cause to howl about treachery. Far better for a rebel like Hereford to unburden himself of whatever he wanted to say in public.
It was Hereford who glanced at Catherine, but she was standing quietly, not seeming to pay much attention to their talk.
"Very well," he said. "My brother is a case in point. Whenever he needs money, or is bored, or, for all I can tell, when what he has eaten does not sit well in his stomach, he goes out to ravage the land."
Rannulf laughed. "Are you asking me what to do, or asking me to make him mend his ways?"
"I can control my brother," Hereford said impatiently. "I did but use him as an example. Half the kingdom is made up of Walters. Say such a man attacked my land. What should I do?"
"Drive him off." Rannulf looked annoyed and then laughed again. "Bah, you are drunk already. What kind of a fool's question is that? You have held your lands very well against all threat, Hereford."
"Yes, but why should I have that need? Why cannot a man rest in his own keep without listening hourly for the call to arms?"
"Another fool's question.
The faint humor in his voice did not escape her, and her heart began to beat more quickly. Why should he not give her the best of everything? In the event of her death, it would all be his again. "My lord," Catherine said urgently.
If she wanted more, peace would not be cheap. "What now do you want of me?" Rannulf snapped.
What little color had remained in Catherine's face faded away. "I only wished to beg you to pardon me for my hasty speech. What happened could be no fault of yours."
Rannulf stared at his wife attentively. Certainly it was true that what had happened was no fault of his—he did not even know what had put her out of temper—but that a woman should set aside emotion for reason and, moreover, that she should admit herself wrong on the basis of reasoning, was astounding. He noticed that Catherine was very pale again and was sorry for her; he understood very well how hard it was to admit oneself at fault.
"Very well," Rannulf said approvingly.
That nearly brought another burst of rage from Catherine, but he had led her away from the window seat and she was forced to return with civility the belated compliments she was now receiving. She smiled charmingly and extended a graceful hand to a young man whose fair handsomeness almost took her breath away. Roger of Hereford kissed her hand, murmured good wishes, and moved on to her husband whom he addressed more jovially.
"I do not need to wish you well—you are well. Who could believe that such a face would go with such a dower?"
"Your wife left nothing greatly to be desired on either score," Rannulf replied good-naturedly. He was far better pleased with Catherine than he had expected and was perfectly willing to display his satisfaction.
"Ah, but my wife is not here. She was lightened of a daughter some weeks ago and is still confined."
Rannulf's brows drew together. Childbirth was a serious and dangerous matter. He had lost his first wife to it. "We did not see eye to eye, but I remember the lady kindly. She does well, I hope."
"Aye, and the girl is already a shrew like her mother, God bless them both. When I first held her in my arms, she struck me soundly on the mouth."
"There speaks a new-made father." Rannulf laughed, recalling his own feeling of pride in similar circumstances.
"But I am not a new-made father, at least, it is the third time. All I seem to get is women . . . not that I regret this one. I wanted a maiden this time for I have her already bound in marriage, but the next, I hope, will be a son. There is my brother Walter to succeed me, but my brother … But this is no time to speak of political matters."
Hereford was ready to move on, but Rannulf stopped him. "Why not?" he asked.
He had no particular desire for Hereford to seek him out in private to discuss matters of state. It would only give Eustace another cause to howl about treachery. Far better for a rebel like Hereford to unburden himself of whatever he wanted to say in public.
It was Hereford who glanced at Catherine, but she was standing quietly, not seeming to pay much attention to their talk.
"Very well," he said. "My brother is a case in point. Whenever he needs money, or is bored, or, for all I can tell, when what he has eaten does not sit well in his stomach, he goes out to ravage the land."
Rannulf laughed. "Are you asking me what to do, or asking me to make him mend his ways?"
"I can control my brother," Hereford said impatiently. "I did but use him as an example. Half the kingdom is made up of Walters. Say such a man attacked my land. What should I do?"
"Drive him off." Rannulf looked annoyed and then laughed again. "Bah, you are drunk already. What kind of a fool's question is that? You have held your lands very well against all threat, Hereford."
"Yes, but why should I have that need? Why cannot a man rest in his own keep without listening hourly for the call to arms?"
"Another fool's question.
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