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She joined Roland there, removing her gloves and tucking them into her belt, then holding out her hands to warm them.
She hadn’t intended to speak to Roland, but silence was not her natural state. “It seems we were expected, my lord. Was that why you sent Arnhelm and Verdan on ahead?”
“Yes,” he replied, looking around. “Elrod suggested we stop here. I begin to doubt his recommendation.”
“We can ride on and seek another,” she offered, and despite her fatigue.
He slid her a sidelong glance. “No. You are too tired.”
Mavis didn’t disagree nor did she say anything else. She sat quietly by the fire, waiting for wine and refreshment, while Roland sat just as silently beside her, staring grimly at the fire.
* * *
“He don’t look pleased,” Verdan said to Arnhelm as they entered the taproom along with the rest of the men after seeing to the horses.
They took their places on benches some distance from the hearth. It was colder there, but they didn’t want to get too close to Sir Roland.
Looking around, Arnhelm spoke quietly, so that only his brother could hear. “I’ve stayed in worse, and we could have found worse.”
Verdan nodded his agreement as the innkeeper—a reed of a fellow who’d been only too happy to have such a large company and for even less than the last innkeeper—hurried toward the keg that had caught Arnhelm’s eye the moment he’d walked in.
“Here, Halldie!” the innkeeper called out to a not-so-young serving wench who scurried into the room like a squirrel on the hunt for nuts for the winter. She had a pitcher in her hand and two goblets that she set in front of Lady Mavis and Sir Roland before she faced the innkeeper.
“Bring mugs for these men,” he ordered.
As she hurried to fetch them, the innkeeper addressed Verdan and Arnhelm. “So, where are you from?”
“Castle DeLac,” Arnhelm replied.
“That’s his lordship’s daughter, newly wed,” Verdan added.
“DeLac? You’re a ways from home,” the innkeeper replied as the serving wench returned with a tray full of clay mugs.
“We’re her escort to Dunborough.”
The tray of mugs crashed to the floor. The serving woman’s face flushed and her whole body began to shake, while the innkeeper regarded Roland with a glare of hate. “And who might he be, then?” he demanded.
Before Arnhelm or Verdan could answer, Sir Roland slowly got to his feet. “I am Sir Roland, Lord of Dunborough.”
The innkeeper straightened his slender shoulders. “Your men should have said who you were. You aren’t welcome here, neither you nor your wife nor your men!”
Lady Mavis turned as pale as snow while the stony visage of Sir Roland didn’t alter by so much as a wrinkle.
“Aye! Go! Get out!” the serving wench cried, pointing at the door.
Arnhelm rose and motioned for the other men to join him as he sidled toward the door, his gaze darting from Lady Mavis to Sir Roland, who did not move, to the innkeeper and the serving woman. “I am willing to pay—” Sir Roland began.
“I don’t give a tinker’s damn how much you’ll pay,” the innkeeper exclaimed. “We know the kind of man you are.”
“Aye!” the woman cried again. “Your father and your brother showed us! They stayed here, and played their disgusting games with my sister, a poor simple creature who’d never harm a fly. She’s with the holy sisters now, and likely to stay there for the rest of her life, thanks to them! So get out, all of you! I’d rather starve than take your money! Get out, get out, get out!”
Arnhelm quickly led the men outside. “Get the horses and the wagon,” he ordered, but he held his brother back. “There’s goin’ to be hell to pay now. We should have—”
“Sssh!” Verdan hissed as Sir Roland, grim as death, and Lady Mavis, white to the lips, came out into the yard.
“Let’s go see to the ox,” Arnhelm muttered, but before he could, Sir Roland called out his name.
“Heaven preserve me,” he murmured under his breath. There was no help for it, though. He had to face the wrath of the lord of Dunborough.
“Aye,” Verdan whispered as he followed his brother, ready to share the blame and take the punishment with him, too, whatever it might be, as they faced the irate nobleman.
“You didn’t tell the fellow who I was?”
Arnhelm kept his gaze focused somewhere over Sir Roland’s left shoulder as he answered. “I said I was looking for lodgings for a lord and his lady and their escort, my lord. He didn’t ask me your name or where you was from.”
Arnhelm waited, trembling, for he knew not what—but he didn’t expect Sir Roland to simply say, “Ride on to the next inn and see if there’s room for us. And this time, Arnhelm, make sure you tell them it is Sir Roland of Dunborough who seeks lodging there.”
Nearly fainting with relief, Arnhelm glanced at his brother before replying. “Yes, my lord. And Verdan?”
The nobleman regarded his brother coldly. “What of him?”
“Well, my lord, there might be thieves and outlaws on the road, and a man alone—”
“Take him, then. Just be quick about it.”
“Aye, my lord!” Arnhelm replied, turning smartly and hurrying to the stable with Verdan at his heels.
“That was a close one,” Verdan said after they entered the stable.
“Aye, and we’d best make sure we find a better place,” Arnhelm replied. “If there’s one who’ll take him.”
* * *
When the cortege left the inn yard, it was Mavis who didn’t want to talk. She’d been aware that Roland’s family was not held in high esteem and with good reason, yet the vehemence of the innkeeper and that serving woman’s reaction disturbed her greatly. Now she was glad that Roland rode ahead as she tried to decide what she would do if such a thing happened again.
But before they had gone very far, Roland came back to ride beside her.
Even more unexpectedly, he spoke. “Given my family’s reputation, I should have considered such a thing might happen. I would have spared you that humiliation.”
The admission was more than she’d expected from him. “Elrod was glad to have our custom.”
“We were closer to DeLac.”
That was true, and yet... “It wasn’t your fault, my lord, any more than your father’s reputation is your fault. In time, reputations can be changed, if good deeds replace the bad.”
“Do you truly believe that, my lady?”
“Indeed I do, my lord.”
He said no more, and neither did she as they continued for some distance, until Mavis wasn’t sure how much longer she could sit in the saddle. She was about to propose they stop, even if it meant making camp at the side of the road—not something to be wished at this time of year, even if it didn’t rain—when Arnhelm and Verdan appeared in the distance, riding back toward them.
“At last,” Roland muttered.
Unfortunately, as the two soldiers got closer, it was apparent from their expressions that they didn’t have good news.
“I’m sorry, my lord,” Arnhelm said as he reined in, his expression as mournful as his brother’s, “but there’s no inn for the next ten miles willing to have you...us, for any amount of money.”
It seemed word had already spread about the cortege and who led it. Given their slower pace because of the wagon and the ox, a swift rider or even a fast lad on foot could have taken the news from that other tavern ahead of them.
Another glance at the sky confirmed that if they didn’t find a place to sleep soon, they would be benighted on the road.
Nor were the rest of the men pleased, judging by the few muttered remarks that reached her ears until a sharp look from Arnhelm silenced them.
If Roland heard, he gave no sign, although he was sitting even more stiff and upright in the saddle. “Join the rest of the men,” he said to Arnhelm and Verdan, then he motioned the cortege to begin moving forward again.
“What are we to do, my lord? Make camp at the side of the road?” Mavis asked, trying not to sound dismayed. “We can’t go much farther before nightfall.”
“No wife of mine will sleep out like a gypsy,” he grimly replied. “There is a manor nearby. I passed it on my way to DeLac. We shall seek shelter there.”
Mavis was too tired and too worried to voice any doubts or protest, but what if the lord of the manor didn’t want them, either?
They rounded a corner of the road and there before them lay what had to be the manor of a well-to-do farmer or minor nobleman. The low walls surrounding the manor house were made of stone, as was the house, and it had a slate roof. Several chickens clucked in the cobbled yard, and there was a stable and a good-sized barn, as well. A sprawling kitchen garden was at one side, and on the other, a pen holding six cows. In another meadow farther away, a herd of sheep grazed and bleated.
A young woman carrying buckets on a yoke from what might be the dairy toward a back door of the house paused and stared when Roland rode into the yard and dismounted. “Whose holding is this?” he asked.
“S-sir Melvin de Courcellet,” the girl stammered, the buckets swinging beside her.
“Tell him he has guests.”
“Y-yes, my lord,” she replied, setting down the yoke and running into the house.
“We will spend the night here,” Roland announced just before a plump man dressed in a long robe, his round face slightly greasy and with a chicken leg in his hand, came barreling out of the main door. “Who is this who dares to—”
He skittered to a halt and fell silent as his gaze took in Roland, the soldiers and Mavis. He tossed the chicken leg away and wiped his hands on his tunic. “Greetings, my lord. Who might you be?”
“I am Sir Roland of Dunborough,” her husband replied, “and we seek shelter for the night.”
“Roland of...” Sir Melvin cleared his throat and looked a little sick. “Dunborough, you said?”
“Yes. And this is my wife, Lady Mavis, the daughter of Lord Simon DeLac.”
Roland had never mentioned her father anywhere else, so this had to be an attempt to make the man more amenable. He might have done better to speak with less force and authority. From his tone, it sounded as if he was ordering Sir Melvin to take them in.
“DeLac, eh? His daughter, is it?” Sir Melvin said, running a nervous hand around the neck of his tunic. “Of course you’re welcome to stay, my lord. And your lady, too, and your escort. Just, ahem, allow me a moment to tell my wife how fortunate we are. If you’ll excuse me...” He hurried back inside.
“Perhaps, my lord, you should have asked, not demanded,” Mavis said.
“My wife will not sleep rough on the road.”
Behind them, Arnhelm and Verdan gave each other a wary look.
Roland went to help her down, but Mavis shook her head. “I’ll wait until I’m sure we’re welcome.”
“As you wish,” he replied, turning to look at the manor.
She noticed that the back of his neck and tips of his ears were red. Was he ashamed of what he’d done? Or as anxious as she after all?
When Sir Melvin came out of his house, he was followed by a slender, rather homely woman. “This is my wife, Viola. Please, come in and be welcome.”
“Thank you. We are most grateful for your hospitality,” Mavis said, getting down from her horse without waiting for her husband’s aid.
“Come along with me, my dear, and rest awhile,” Lady Viola said to Mavis. “You look done in.”
Mavis smiled, grateful as much for the heartfelt kindness in the woman’s voice as for the offer itself. “I am tired,” she agreed.
“We’ll join you in the hall for the evening meal,” Lady Viola said to her husband as they passed. “I leave it to you, Melvin, to see that Sir Roland’s men are taken care of.”
“Right you are, my dear! Now come along with me, Sir Roland, and we’ll get your horses settled and then your men. There should be room enough in the stable for your horses, and we’ve a building behind it for the ox and your wagon. Your men can all sleep in the hall.
“That’s a fine beast you’re riding, I must say! Speaking of fine, your wife is quite a beauty. Mavis, you said her name was? Lovely name, lovely girl. We’ve heard nothing of Lord DeLac’s daughter getting married, though...”
* * *
Lady Viola led Mavis to a small, comfortable chamber on the second floor of the manor house. Tapestries covered the walls and a large bronze brazier of glowing coals provided warmth. There were cloth shutters as well as wooden ones to keep out the cold and drafts. The furniture was simple, but well made, consisting of a bed, two low chairs near the brazier, a chest for clothing, a washing stand and a stool, where a maidservant sat rocking a cradle.
The servant, a rosy-faced, neatly dressed lass, rose when they entered.
“How is my lambkin, Annisa? Still asleep?” Lady Viola asked.
“Aye, but making little noises like he’ll be waking soon.”
“You go and eat, and I’ll tend to Martin until you return.” As the maid nodded and left the chamber, Lady Viola said, “Then it should be time for the evening meal.”
“I must thank you for your generous hospitality, my lady,” Mavis said at once. “I’m sorry you were forced to take us in, but we could find no other accommodation. Unfortunately, it seems that the reputation of my husband’s relatives has preceded us, and innkeepers are reluctant to give us shelter.”
“It’s indeed unfortunate that you’ve had such a reception so near our home,” Lady Viola replied, “but we’re happy to be of service.”
She spoke with such sincerity, Mavis believed her, and was even more grateful.
“I’m surprised your husband didn’t realize that might be the case.”
Mavis remembered what the groom had told her the first night Roland had arrived at Castle DeLac. “He only stopped once on the journey to DeLac, so he might not have encountered anyone who had any dealings with his family, or knew their reputation.”
“And you did not suspect there might be any such trouble?”
Mavis shook her head. “No,” she replied, suddenly feeling foolish. Sir Blane and Broderick had journeyed to DeLac. She should have expected that they’d behaved just as loutishly along the way as they had when they reached DeLac.
The babe began to fuss. Lady Viola picked up the squirming, swaddled baby with a tuft of light brown hair and, holding him to her shoulder, sat in the chair near the brazier. “Please, lie down, my dear, and rest. You look worn out.”
