Chapter Eight

“I would see the ledgers before I hear any grievances this morn.” Augustin drizzled a thin line of honey on another hunk of still-warm bread, bit into it, and sighed.

Pleased by her husband’s reaction to Gertie’s cooking, Eyreka asked, “Is the bread is to your liking, milord?”

“Aye.”

She watched him reach for his goblet and take a healthy sip of mead and smile. Good, she thought, he too must admit that no one could rival Merewood’s special brew.

“And the mead?”

He nodded, then stood and reached for her hand.

Dunstan walked into the hall and approached them. She’d heard that her sons had arrived during the early morning hours and from the look on her son’s face was not happy with her. Chances were good Garrick would be of the same mind. She sighed deeply, knowing it would take time for them to get used to the new lord of the keep.

“I would like to wait here while you meet with Dunstan.” Eyreka hoped he would agree to her request.

“Shall I send Lady Jillian to you?” he asked.

“Nay, she will be busy with the babe. I’ll be fine.” She paused, staring at her hands, not wanting to ask for help, but needing to.

Augustin surprised her. He knelt before her and tipped her chin up with his forefinger. “Is it so hard to ask my help?”

Another chip of her pride was hacked away by the look of warmth in his eyes. “If I had my sewing—”

“Sara!” he called out.

The tall, thin serving girl answered his summons almost at once.

“My lady wife desires to sew.”

Sara smiled and left, promising to fetch milady’s threads right away.

Augustin clasped his hands behind his back, a movement that stretched the deep green tunic taut across his broad chest. She noticed, though she tried not to, but her husband seemed to be lost in thought, focusing on his first day as lord.

He bowed, then turned to follow in Sara’s wake.

“If you have need of assistance,” Eyreka called out, “I am at your disposal.”

Augustin smiled at her over his shoulder before disappearing from sight.

Sara and Jillian entered the hall together; each had their own armful. Sara carried Eyreka’s sewing, and Jillian her infant son.

“I hope Dunstan remembers to explain his reasoning behind letting one field lie fallow while he plants another.”

Jillian smiled at Eyreka, “Dunstan is the backbone of our home. While my husband would see to our defense, his brother makes certain that Merewood’s people will not starve.”

Eyreka felt a burst of pride flow through her at Jillian’s words. Without her sons to run the holding, Augustin and his men would be floundering. A sudden thought crept through her, tainting her pride with unease…did Augustin care if they were prosperous? A dark thought crossed her mind…mayhap he would not be opposed to running it into the ground, starting afresh with Norman crofters, craftsmen, and servants.

The thought rammed into her, making her feel like she had been in training with Garrick’s men battling the quintain, and had lost, unseated by a weighted bag of sand. All thoughts of his tender kisses slipped from her mind, replaced by the growing fear that she had not considered all of the possibilities.

*

Augustin’s gaze swept the perimeter of the room before letting it settle on the woman seated at the far end. A shaft of sunlight filtered in through the arrowslit, bathing her in its soft golden glow. Someone said something to make Eyreka smile, causing the breath to snag painfully in his chest. The memory of the way she’d responded to his kisses distracted him.

He swore softly, turning away from the white-blonde beauty who looked up at him with uncertainty clouding her eyes. She would do well not to trust him, he thought, he no longer trusted himself… or her. He did not ask for this union, but he had given her his word not to consummate it until they were settled in at Merewood. He had best remember to maintain a polite distance until the time was right. Then he fully intended to confront her with his suspicions.

He ground his teeth in agitation. Monique would never have doubted him. She trusted him completely, depended upon him… loved him. He felt her loss as if were just yesterday, not ten summers past. His love for his dead wife surrounded him, softening his pain. No one could ever take Monique’s place. He would not let them.

“Augustin!” Georges called out above the din of many voices speaking at the same time.

He nodded his head once to indicate he had heard his vassal. The rest of his guard lined up, flanking Georges. Henri stood scowling at the number of people crowded into the hall. Jean and Jacques, identical in face and deed, mirrored the older vassal’s dark countenance. Only Aimory stood apart from the rest, arms behind his back, bent slightly forward listening to Lady Eyreka’s conversation. Augustin noted that when she smiled, Aimory smiled.

Insolent pup, he thought. The lad would do well to ignore the lady and pay closer attention to the ripple of unrest flowing through the hall. Though in charge, they were essentially outnumbered. One by one, the men of Merewood turned toward him, casting wary glances his way, before lowering their gazes to the floor. Merde! He would not coddle these people just to gain their favor. He would dispense justice as he always did; by listening to both sides, and weighing the information carefully before passing judgment.

An hour later, yet another pair of disgruntled men stood before him. Their complaint echoed those he had heard before. Grievances so small as to not truly warrant the judgment of the lord of the keep. As one man accused the other of neglecting to repair the broken fence that divided their properties, Augustin sat stiffly erect, wishing that these people would be done with their tests of his wisdom. There would be time enough for them to see that he would show favoritism to no man.

He was tired of inactivity and needed physical action. He longed to leap from the chair, putting an end to the unending grievances he was heartily weary of listening to. Augustin’s hands actually ached to feel the familiar weight of his broadsword once again.

He held up a hand and waited for silence. “The two of you will work together to repair the fence, and henceforth see to its upkeep.”

“But, milord—” the one man began only to be interrupted.

“How can you—” the other started to question.

“Silence!” he ground out in a hard voice.

Augustin looked to Georges, who had been trying to gain his notice. Augustin followed his cousin’s gaze, resting on that of his wife’s eldest son. So Garrick had finally returned, had he? From the way his wife gnawed on her bottom lip, he knew she expected trouble. His gaze swung back around to where Garrick stood. Their eyes met and held; understanding flashed between them. Garrick would not openly challenge him—yet.

He looked to the open doorway of the hall and watched a rotund little man, flushed in the face, rush forward. “He stole one of my swine!” The man pointed a finger at a tall, broad-shouldered man.

Augustin noted that the accused was overly lean, his face and arms riddled with what he recognized as battle scars. Intrigued for the first time this day, he moved forward to the edge of his seat, searching the man’s face for a clue as to why he stole, if in fact, he did.

The man stood straighter under Augustin’s perusal, belatedly turning his right side away from view. But he was not fast enough, Augustin saw the man’s twisted right arm… mayhap at one time the man’s sword arm. Was he a warrior no longer able to fight, pensioned off now that he was no longer capable of fighting to the full extent of his abilities?

“How do you answer the charges against you?” Augustin noticed a hush had fallen over those gathered in the hall.

The man stepped forward, looked Augustin in the eye and answered, “I took the pig.”

For three heartbeats he waited for an explanation. When it was plain that the man would not oblige him, he sat back and steepled his fingers. Tapping them lightly together, he waited. Mayhap the guilty one’s tongue would loosen during the wait.

Georges shifted next to him. Obviously the accused would say no more. Rather, the other man stepped forward.

“’Tis past time someone listened. One by one, my best swine have disappeared,” the man whined. “Not once has justice been served.”

“I only took the one,” the accused answered.

Irritated by the way the overfed swinekeep droned on and on, Augustin looked away. His gaze fell upon the accused once again, but the man was looking away from him, staring at the far wall. Trying to see what captivated the other man, Augustin’s gaze swept the length of the far wall, coming at last to rest on a small, fragile-looking woman… hugely pregnant, with tears streaming down her face.

Augustin looked closely. The woman’s cheekbones were prominent, and black rings circled her huge brown eyes. She suffers from lack of food, he thought. He looked back to the man, whose gaze was still riveted upon the woman. He seemed to be silently pleading with her. Augustin watched him sigh heavily and mouth the words, “I love you.”

Augustin cleared his throat, loudly. Blessedly, the swinekeep took that as a sign that justice was finally about to be served. Though all eyes were on him, he swore he could feel those of Eyreka and her sons watching him closely.

The accused stood as straight as before, with his mangled arm hanging uselessly at his side. Even if the man had acres land, without grown sons to help him plow and plant it, he would surely starve. It would take the man thrice as long to do a day’s work, if that. Augustin’s gaze locked with the accused. Pride flashed boldly in the man’s gaze, and Augustin recognized it as a warrior’s pride—the very same emotion that held him erect when the bones of his hip ground together, reminding him of the many battles fought and lives lost.

“Will you see him hanged?” Georges whispered in his ear.

It would be within his rights as lord of the keep to dispense justice as he saw fit, though not the way to begin winning his people’s trust.

Augustin ignored Georges and asked the accused to step forward. Whispered conversations flew about the room, as those gathered speculated at the outcome. “Are you ready to accept punishment for your crime?”

“Aye, milord,” the man answered. His mouth was set in a grim line, and his eyes once more riveted on the far wall.

Augustin looked back at the crying woman and noticed that her hands were still rigid at her sides. While he watched, two small, perfectly formed boys with black curls and huge golden eyes peeked around her skirts. The roses in their cheeks and mischief in their eyes attesting to the fact that while their parents starved themselves, the children were well fed. As he would have done for Angelique had he been in the man’s place.

He signaled for Georges and Garrick to come forward. Georges stepped forward, and when the younger man reached his side, Augustin bent close and asked, “Do you know this man?”

“Aye, though he is new to the keep,” Garrick answered.

“Do you trust him?” Augustin asked, locking gazes with Garrick.

Garrick nodded.

Augustin stood and walked to the front of the table facing the accused. “What is your name?”

“William,” the man rasped.

“Theft is a crime punishable by death. As your newly appointed lord, the king has given me leave to mete out justice as I see fit. Mayhap the loss of your good hand would remind you that I can be lenient.”

The collective gasp behind him told him that his wife and her sons did not agree. Blessedly, they held their tongues for now.

William’s face turned ashen, but he did not flinch. This time, he did not seek out his wife. Augustin could hear the woman’s anguished sobs. Be merciful, his heart cried out. Show strength, his brain argued.

“I accept your judgment,” William answered in a gruff voice. “But ask that my family not pay for my crimes, the greatest of which is my failure to provide for them.”

The man’s will was as strong as his own, Augustin thought approvingly. He admired William for the man’s conviction to protect that which was his to his last breath.

Augustin nodded. “Lady Jillian, please show William’s wife and sons suitable quarters until a situation can be found for them.”

The accused audibly cleared his throat, “My thanks, milord.” William looked to his wife and sons and then back to Augustin, “I am ready.”

“Are you now?” Augustin asked, clasping his hands behind his back, rocking back and forth on his booted heels before pacing in front of the accused and the crowd. “ Tres Bien . You are to begin training with my household knights immediately.”

William wobbled slightly, before catching himself to stand erect once more.

“You are a warrior, are you not?”

“Was, milord,” William answered, “but I have lost the use of my sword arm.”

“Are you so willing to die?”

“Nay, but I could not have you believe I would ever be the caliber of warrior I once was.”

Augustin nodded his head, seeming to agree with the man’s wisdom.

“William!” the man’s wife cried out, breaking free of Lady Jillian, throwing herself into his arms. “Please don’t leave me, I cannot face life without you! How will I go on? I love you—” she cried, breaking down into gut wrenching sobs.

There were loud cries for mercy, and furious whispers demanding William’s death from his own men where they stood behind him.

“Silence!” Augustin roared.

The quiet that filled the hall was eerie, as all eyes turned toward him. He noted that Eyreka’s face was as pale as her hair, her ice-blue eyes beseeching him to spare the man. But he had already made up his mind; justice would be served this day. Merewood Keep’s lord would be obeyed.

“I would make room for an honest man among my warriors. Come, Georges will begin your training—”

“But my arm—”

Augustin stopped in his tracks, “Do you not have another?” he asked quietly.

The man’s shocked look told Augustin what he knew in his heart, the man had never even thought of using his left hand. Whomever he had been vassal to was not worthy of such a knight.

“To whom did you pledge your sword?”

“Owen of Sedgeworth,” William answered.

“His lands lie to the south, do they not?”

“Aye, milord.”

“Why did he not pension you off on his land?”

William swallowed audibly, shame flushing his pale face. “He had no use for a crippled warrior. Nor was he willing to take over the care of my family.”

Augustin’s eyes flashed, dark and bleak as a thundercloud. “Garrick?”

“Aye?”

“See that William is given a plot of land and men to plow and plant it. I will send some of my own men to build them shelter.”

Turning back to William and his wife, he softened his voice. “We would be pleased to have you stay in the keep until the birth of your child.” He held out his hand. The young woman grasped it with surprising strength and kissed it.

“Thank you, milord. I will be forever in your debt.”

Augustin shook his head, “I am merely granting what Owen of Sedgeworth should have.” Augustin’s gaze swept the room and noticed all eyes were still on him. “I would do the same for all those I am responsible for.” Tres Bien , he thought, very good. They are beginning to see that I am willing to protect all that is mine… Merewood’s people are now mine.

“Milord,” the swinekeep began, interrupting his thoughts.

“Enough,” Augustin ground out. The man looked as if he would argue further, but finally nodded and walked away.

Augustin turned to go, but was stopped by a light touch on his forearm.

“Milord?”

Augustin braced himself and turned to look at his newest challenge… his wife. All traces of emotion disappeared, hidden behind the mask of indifference he must adopt if he were to deal with her on a daily basis. He answered, “Aye?”

“My thanks,” she offered. “I owe you a debt of gratitude for the clemency you have shown my people this day.”

The softening he witnessed in her gaze as it met and held his disturbed him. “I am merely acting as lord, dispensing what I feel is just and right. Do not forget that your people are now my people as well.”

Eyreka nodded in silent agreement, though a dark look shadowed her clear, blue eyes.

Augustin breathed in deeply, rotating his shoulders. His muscles were stiff from frustration and inactivity, and he felt the sudden need for physical contact, the overpowering urge to pound someone—anyone—into the dirt.

“Garrick! Have your personal guard meet me in the lower bailey.”

The younger warrior’s reaction was gratifying. Augustin had caught him off guard. “’Tis time your warriors tested their mettle against mine.”

With a nod to his wife, Augustin quit the room, his long strides heading purposefully toward the next battle to be waged. Though the first skirmish had been won, he had the gut feeling that the second would be more of a challenge, but far more rewarding in the long run.

He would discover if the young warrior was capable of remaining as seneschal, and if he was worthy of training with his men.

He paused in the open doorway and called out, “Have your herbs and threads at the ready, wife. Your skill as a healer shall be tested before the evening meal.”