Johanna Lindsey - When Love Awaits

"You are worried about our new neighbor?"

Leonie glanced sideways at Beatrix, surprised. She didn't want her aunt burdened with this.

"What is there to worry about?" Leonie hedged.

"Bless you, child, you need not hide your troubles from me. Do you think I am not aware of what happens around me?"

Leonie believed just mat. "It is of no great importance, Aunt Beatrix."

"Then we will have no more rude young knights coming to threaten us with angry words?"

Leonie shrugged. "They are only angry words. Men like to bluster and snarl."

"Oho, do I not know it."

They both laughed, for of course Beatrix knew more about men than Leonie did, confined as she had been since the age of thirteen.

Leonie confessed, "I thought we would have visitors today, but no one came. Perhaps they do not blame us for this day's trouble."

Beatrix frowned thoughtfully, and her niece asked, "Do you think the Black Wolf might have other plans this time?"

"That is possible. It is a wonder he has not already burned our village."

"He would not dare!" Leonie cried. "He has no proof my serfs have caused his troubles. He has only the accusations of his own serfs."

"Yes, but that is enough for most men. Suspicion is enough." Beatrix sighed.

Leonie's anger drained away. "I know. Tomorrow I will go to the village and make certain that henceforth no one leaves Pershwick land for any reason. There will be no more trouble. We must see to that."

ROLFE d'Ambert threw his helmet hard across the hall the moment he strode in. His squire, newly acquired from King Henry, hurried to catch it. The helmet would need a trip to the armorer before he wore it again, but Rolfe was not thinking of that. Just then, he needed to smash things.

At the hearth across the large hall, Thorpe de la Mare hid his amusement at his young lord's display of temper. It was so like the boy he had been, not the man he was now. Thorpe had seen many such displays in the years he'd served Rolfe's father. The father was dead these nine years and Rolfe's older brother had inherited their father's title and the bulk of his estates in Gascony. The property left to Rolfe was small, but the greedy brother had wanted even that and had outlawed Rolfe from his home.

Thorpe left with Rolfe, giving up his comfortable position to follow the young knight rather than serve the brother. The years since had been very good, years of fighting as mercenaries, growing rich from the ransoms won at tourneys. Rolfe was now twenty and nine years to Thorpe's two score and seven, yet Thorpe never regretted letting the younger man lead him. Other men felt the same way, and Rolfe had become a leader to nine knights and nearly two hundred mercenaries, all of whom had chosen to stay with him now that he was settled.

But was Rolfe settled? Thorpe knew how Rolfe felt about Henry's generosity. The estate gave him more aggravation than he had experienced in years. Much more, and Rolfe would be ready to leave it all and return to France. The estate was something that existed only as an honor, for it gave nothing tangible and drained his purse daily.

"Did you hear, Thorpe?"

"The servants have talked of nothing else since the woodcutter moved into the keep for the night," Thorpe replied as Rolfe sat down heavily in the chair next to him.

"Damn me!"

Rolfe slammed a fist down on the small table beside him, opening a crack down its middle. Thorpe kept his expression carefully blank.

"I have had enough!" Rolfe bellowed. "The well fouled, the herds scattered into the forest, the serfs' few animals stolen, and this was the third fire. How long to rebuild this hut?"

"Two days with several men working quickly."

"And so the fields will be neglected. How can I wage war when my flanks are forever being nipped at? Am I to leave Crewel and come back to find nothing left of it, the serfs run off, the fields barren?"

Thorpe knew better than to answer.

"Do you want men sent to Pershwick again?" Thorpe ventured carefully. "Will you punish the serfs?"

Rolfe shook his head. "A serf would not act alone. No, serfs follow orders, and it is the one who gives orders that I want."

"Then you will have to look elsewhere than Pershwick, for I met Sir Guibert Fitzalan, and I swear that when he heard why I had come, his surprise was too real to be feigned. He is not a man who would stoop to this knavery."

"Yet someone there is urging serfs to mischief."

"I agree. But you cannot take the keep. Pershwick belongs to Montwyn, and Sir William of Montwyn has enough keeps that if you try, he can summon more men than you are prepared to meet."

"I would not lose," Rolfe said darkly.

"But you would lose your advantage here. Look you how long it has taken just to win two of the other seven keeps belonging to Kempston."

"Three."

Thorpe raised his brow. "Three? How?"

"I suppose I can thank Pershwick, for when I reached Kenil Keep today I was so furious over what happened here that I ordered the walls destroyed. The siege is finished there."

"And Kenil useless until the walls are rebuilt?" It was the only conclusion.

"I . . . well, yes."

Thorpe said no more. He knew that Rolfe had meant to use catapults only as a last measure in taking the seven keeps. It was part of a bold plan, conceived when the tourney failed in bringing the rebellious vassals to heel. The tourney had been for the benefit of those vassals, giving them a chance to meet their new lord and judge his skills. But instead of merely testing his skills with theirs, they had tried to kill him. Rolfe was therefore left in the unenviable position of owning eight keeps of which seven would not open to him.

Waging war against one's own property was never profitable, and least profitable was to destroy that property. So Rolfe recruited five hundred soldiers from King Henry's forces. Harwick and Axeford keeps made terms to surrender without any damage sustained once the bulk of Rolfe's army appeared outside their gates. The army then moved to Kenil, and now, after a month and a half, Kenil was taken.

Rolfe sat there brooding and Thorpe took a moment to wonder why Lady Amelia had not come down. She had probably heard Rolfe's voice raised in anger and decided to hide. Rolfe's mistress would not know him well enough yet to know he would not take his anger out on her.

Hesitantly, Thorpe asked, "You do see that now is not the time to attack the east? You must clean your own house before you go looking at another's."

"I see it," Rolfe said testily. "But tell me what I am to do. I offered to purchase Pershwick, but Sir William wrote that he could not sell it because Pershwick is part of his daughter's dower lands, left her by her mother. Blast that nicety. The daughter is under his rule, is she not? He could force her to sell it and give her another property."

"Perhaps the mother's will is written just so, and he cannot."

Rolfe scowled. "I tell you, Thorpe, I will not stand for another offense."

"You could always marry the daughter. Then you would have the keep without having to pay for it."

Rolfe's eyes, black since he'd entered the hall, began returning to their normal dark brown. Thorpe nearly choked. "I was but jesting!"

"I know." Rolfe mused thoughtfully, too thoughtfully for Thorpe's liking.

"Rolfe, for the love of God, do not take this idea to heart. No one weds merely to get a few serfs under control. Go over there and knock some heads together, if you must. Put fear into them."

"That is not my way. The innocent would suffer with the guilty. If I could catch one of the culprits, I would make an example of him, but always by the time I get there, they are long gone."

"There are many reasons for marriage, but to quell the serfs of a neighbor is not a good reason."