Norwyck's Lady

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Marguerite laughed and asked Eleanor to tell her about Norwyck’s wall.

“Bartie says that every cottage must be within the wall. We’ll even have two wells inside, one in the castle and one in the center of the village!”

That was a definite advantage. Norwyck could withstand a siege as long as they had a water source. Food would be another problem altogether, but if the villagers stored their grain and kept chickens and pigs in their yards, ’twould not be quite so bad.

Marguerite had no idea how she knew all that, but did not question it when they reached the site where masons were erecting a gatehouse, using large stones gathered from the hills and fields. She was amazed by the extent of Bartholomew’s project, but knew it made perfect sense to defend Norwyck this way.

It seemed to Marguerite that he was a prudent and vigilant overlord, actively working toward the safety and well-being of all who lived within his realm.

There was a great deal of activity here. Dust flew and tools clanged as voices carried across the site. Men pulled carts laden with the stones that would make up the wall, and tipped them out on the ground near the masons. Others stood on ladders, laying rock and patching small holes with mortar.

Eleanor took great delight in showing Marguerite around, dashing here and there, speaking to some of the men at work. Marguerite had to direct the child away from potential hazards several times, but Eleanor continued to scamper everywhere, running on both sides of the wall. She tipped over one bucket of water, and stuck her foot in a mass of wet mortar.

“Eleanor!” Marguerite cried. Though she had no real authority over the child, she knew she had to get the girl away from the work site before she caused a serious disaster.

A burly man in a coarse brown tunic caught Eleanor’s arms before she could fall into the mess.

“I am duly impressed with the wall, Eleanor,” Marguerite said, looking up gratefully at the giant who’d rescued the child. She grasped her hand and pulled her away. “But we should take ourselves back to the keep.”

“Aye,” said the burly man, wiping Eleanor’s shoe, “your brother wouldn’t want ye here, m’fine young lady. Besides, we’ve got some problems.”

But an exuberant Eleanor slipped away again.

“M’lady.” The man turned to Marguerite. “Lord Norwyck has been sent for, and he’ll be on his way in a moment. ’Twould be better if he did not find his sister here.”

Nor did Marguerite want him to find her here, either. She gave a quick nod to the fellow and turned to go after Eleanor. She would insist that they return to the keep before Bartholomew arrived.

But Eleanor delighted in her game, running away from Marguerite and attempting to hide behind a precariously stacked pile of rocks. Marguerite worried that the child might upset the pile and injure herself. ’Twas obvious Eleanor was not going to come away easily, so Marguerite had to think of some way to entice her.

“I’ll wager I can beat you back to the keep,” she called. “I’ll even give you a head start.”

Eleanor laughed aloud and came away from the rock pile, allowing Marguerite to breathe again. “Nay! I’ll make it there first!” the girl cried, then ran away through the village lanes toward Norwyck Keep, while Marguerite watched her.

“I’ll give ye due credit, m’lady,” the big man said behind her. “Ye handled her better than most.”

Marguerite turned to face the man, and saw that Bartholomew had arrived and stood beside him. He still wore the sweat-stained tunic and hose she’d last seen him in, and he remained silent, quietly observing. Marguerite did not know how long he’d been standing there, but he said naught.

She gave a slight bow, hoping he could not hear the wild beating of her heart, then turned and walked away.

Bart was going to have to find a younger nurse for his sisters. One who was more capable of governing them than poor old Ada could do. The family’s old nurse had declined in the past year, and Bartholomew would not have his sisters making the poor woman’s life miserable.

As he stood watching Marguerite’s fading form, his mouth quirked into the semblance of a smile. She had handled Ellie like a master—better than even he could do, and he’d been the only one who’d had any control over the girl since William’s death.

“M’lord?” Big Symon Michaelson brought his attention back to the matter at hand.

“What seems to be the trouble?”

“Er…the bailiff and the reeve are about to come to blows, m’lord.”

This was not the first time the two men had clashed during the building of the wall. Norwyck’s Bailiff Darcet was a strict little man whose opinions and judgments often seemed overly harsh to the villagers, and Bart himself had had occasion to question his competence. On the other hand, the reeve was intimately familiar with the situations of every family in the village, and he exempted the village men or women from work accordingly.

Until now Bartholomew had kept the peace by keeping the two men separate. But the wall-building was an important function, one he could not keep either from attending. He just wished he could manipulate them as well as Marguerite had managed Eleanor.

He followed Big Symon to the gatehouse and spent an hour solving the dispute to everyone’s satisfaction, when all he wanted was to go back to the keep, get cleaned up and consider the best way to seduce Marguerite into his bed. He wanted her with an intensity that was entirely foreign to him. Even without knowing who she was, or what lies she’d told him, he felt a desire that was unparalleled.

That did not mean he would trust her. He would provide shelter and board at Norwyck, but ’twas not necessary for him to believe every tale she told. She was beautiful, and enticing, and that was enough for him.

Chapter Six

All day long, Marguerite experienced fragments of visions that made no sense, and left her feeling unsettled and uneasy. Try as she might, she could not remember who the blond children were, nor could she place the manor house with all the flowers surrounding it. She had no doubt that these images meant something, but she could not figure out what.

So preoccupied was Marguerite that ’twas after the evening meal before she remembered the jewels in the trunk in the tower room. But Eleanor had been confined to her chamber for the time being, as a penalty for evading Nurse Ada and causing so much disruption at the site of the wall construction. Marguerite would have to wait until the child was freed from her punishment before she could get the jewels back to Bartholomew’s chamber.

Supper was a quiet affair, and Bartholomew did not join them, since he was out on patrol with a company of knights. Only John made any attempt at conversation, while Henry attacked his meal silently. Kathryn excused herself as soon as she was finished eating, and Marguerite followed soon afterward, feeling troubled and lonely.

She went up to the tower and discovered that a fire was already burning cozily in the grate. She would have sat down and gazed out at the sea while she tried to sort out her thoughts, but night had fallen and ’twas dark outside the tower windows. She lit a lamp and stood alone in the center of the room, feeling chilled in spite of the fire.

She finally knelt by the trunk where she had hidden the jewels, taking each piece out to admire it in the flickering light. ’Twas awkward having them in her chamber, but there was naught she could do about it now. She would see that they were all returned to Bartholomew’s chamber as soon as possible.

Marguerite put the precious pieces away, then prepared for bed, kneeling first to pray for the return of her memory. Then she prayed for Bartholomew, that God would return him safely to the keep after his patrol, and finally added his siblings and all of Norwyck to her intercessions.

She undressed down to her shift and washed, and was just about to blow out the lamp and climb into bed when her chamber door opened and Bartholomew stepped inside.

As always, Bart was struck by her beauty. Unclothed as she was now, or fully garbed, she enticed him as no other had ever done.

“M-my lord?” she asked tremulously.

He stepped into the room, unsure why he’d climbed up here now, still smelling of horse and sweat, when he’d told her to come to him when she was ready.

“Is there…”

“My sisters need looking after,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back. The idea had come to him just now, when he realized he needed some reason, some excuse to have barged in on her this way. “I thought perhaps you…”

“Perhaps I…?”

“Would take them on,” he said, taking one step toward her. “Only until I find a proper nurse for them.”

“But I don’t belong here, my lord,” she said. Her voice was quiet, naively seductive. She reached for her shawl and covered her gloriously bare shoulders.

Bart swallowed and moved closer. His fingers burned to touch her; his mouth longed to taste her. ’Twas a kind of madness he could neither understand nor control.

“As soon as I remember where I belong, I must leave Norwyck.”

“Have any memories returned?”

She shook her head. “Nay, not really. A few faces, a manor house…that’s all.”

“Then it may be some time before you remember who you are…where you belong.” He, too, could play this game.

Her eyes glittered with moisture, and Bart wondered if she’d produced those tears for his benefit, to play upon his sympathies.

She could not possibly know that he had none.

“I…I suppose I could look after Eleanor,” Marguerite replied. She slipped away from him and moved to the fireplace, unaware that the light from behind outlined her legs and hips in detail. Bart’s mouth went dry. “But Kathryn will not take kindly to my supervision.”

He cleared his throat. “I saw how you handled Eleanor today,” he said. “I have no doubt that you can manage something with Kate.”

“Your confidence is humbling, my lord,” she said.

And her apparent naiveté was all too beguiling. Was that part of it? Had she been sent by Lachann Armstrong for some nefarious purpose, mayhap to seduce him, as Felicia had been seduced by his son?

Bart almost laughed at the thought. If anyone at Norwyck were to be seduced, ’twould be Marguerite. And soon.

“Will you do it?” he asked. “Watch over my sisters?”

She bit her lip. “Aye, my lord,” she finally said. “I’ll try.”

“All is quiet, my lord?” Sir Walter asked, meeting Bartholomew at the foot of the stairs in the great hall.

“Aye,” Bart replied. “No raiders in the hills tonight.”

“It’s turned cold, though.”

Bart nodded. His feet and hands had been nearly numb when he’d returned to Norwyck’s courtyard after his patrol. But his visit in Lady Marguerite’s chamber had warmed him significantly.

“My lord…young Henry asked me to speak to you with regard to his fostering.”

Bart rubbed the back of his neck. He hadn’t expected his brother to ask Sir Walter to intercede for him.

“The lad’s fondest desire is to become a knight,” Sir Walter said. “There must be an estate where he can go and squire, my lord. I would not deny him this, if I were you.”

“Nay,” Bart said with a sigh. “I know he should go, as should John. ’Tis just that the past months have been difficult…for all of us….”

“Aye,” Walter said. “You could not bear to part with them.”

Bartholomew would not deny it. He had needed the presence of his young brothers to help soften his grief when William had been killed. But ’twas past time to let them go.

“’Tis true,” Bart said as he poured warm, mulled wine into a thick earthenware mug. He offered it to Walter, then poured his own and sat down in one of the big, comfortable chairs before the fire. Everything continued on at Norwyck, different, yet just as it had before, with Will gone and Felicia’s betrayal. There were quiet nights in the hall, teasing banter with his siblings.

And now there was Marguerite.

“I have yet to meet the lady you brought back from the shipwreck,” Sir Walter said.

“I’ve asked her to look after Eleanor and Kate until she regains her memory.”

Walter frowned as if he had not heard Bartholomew correctly. “She still does not remember?”

“Nay. And she still wants me to believe she cannot remember who she is, or where she’s from.”

Sir Walter scratched his head. “I’ve seen that once, my lord.”

“What? A bump on the head—”

“Nay, the loss of memory,” the knight replied. “When I was a lad, no older than your brothers, a man in our village fell from a tree while he was picking apples. He was knocked unconscious, and when he came to his senses, he had no knowledge of who he was.”

Bart frowned. “Did he ever remember?”

“Aye, I think so. He must have,” Walter said, frowning at Bartholomew. “Mustn’t he?”

Bart had no idea. But the fact that Walter had witnessed the same kind of memory loss suffered by Marguerite lent credence to her story. Still…just because she might have told the truth about her memory did not mean they had to believe anything else she had to say. She was a woman, and therefore capable of any manner of deceit.

“My lord…” Sir Walter seemed hesitant. “You know that I had my doubts about Lady Felicia for many months after you and Lord William left with King Edward for Scotland.”

“’Tis pointless to belabor it now, Walter.”

“I just want you to know that I did what I could to control the lass,” he said. “’Twas my opinion, back when your father made the betrothal agreement with the lady’s father, that she was not to be trusted. She had too many opportunities to ally herself with the Scots while she was in France.”