Page 63 of Bold Angel
A sandy brown brow arched up. “But you hate such tasks. Since you were a child, you have gone out of your way to avoid household duties.”
“That is true, and surely ’tis not a job I would choose, but now ’tis my place to see it done. I’ve plenty of time, and…” Soft heat crept into her cheeks.
“And…?”
“And I would please my husband.”
He still looked skeptical, his well-formed lips thinning into an uncertain line. “You are sure about this?”
“Am I not a rapid learner? You have known me long and well, Richard. I can read and write; I am tutored in Latin and French. I have learned how to grow corn and how to hunt. I know much of animals and plants, and I’m well-schooled in the care and handling of horses. There is naught I cannot learn, should I decide to accomplish the feat.”
For the first time, Richard smiled. There were dimples in his cheeks, she noticed, but he worried so much that she had never seen them.
“What you say is true,” he said. “You have always loved learning and have readily mastered your subjects. I will teach you what it is you need to know.” He leaned forward on his desk. “God’s truth, ’twould be a boon should you decide to take over the task.”
They started later that day, Caryn changing into a faded brown linen tunic, braiding her hair, then coiling it into a knot at the nape of her neck.
“In simplest terms,” Richard began, “’tis the chatelaine’s duty to see to the running of the hall. There is much to be done here at Braxston. ’Tis well past the time for a cleaning, the rushes must be changed, the walls need whitewashing, and there are keckies and wispies to make.”
Keckies were lights made of flax soaked in tallow and stuffed in a hollow reed. Wispies were made of tallow-soaked straw. She had helped her mother make them once, and once she had made them with Marta. She smiled. In this, at least, she would not need his help.
“’Twould serve the place well should we panel some of the walls,” she added, glancing at the stark gray stone interior. “There is an artist in the village, a man named Morcai, who could paint a handsome picture upon the wood. And I saw tapestries in a storeroom. Ral must have brought them here from France.”
Richard flushed. “I meant to see them hung, my lady, but there never seemed enough time.”
“Do not apologize, Richard. I am the one who has been remiss. But I mean to change things.”
He smiled, making him look far younger. It occurred to her he wasn’t all that much older than she, yet he had always seemed so. “The tasks are many,” he said, “but there are able servants to help you. Still, ’twill require your supervision and the hours will be long. Should you change your mind at any time, do not hesitate—”
“I will not change my mind, Richard.”
And she did not.
From daybreak to dusk, Caryn worked beside the servants in the keep. At first, for all her effort, the changes remained obscure. Still, the cleaning kept her mind off her worry for Ral, and as the days turned into weeks the atmosphere in the hall began to change.
“You do your lord husband proud,” Marta said, beaming at the tapestry they had just hung on the wall in the master’s chamber. “Though ’twould not make him happy to learn how hard you have been working.”
“I would have the place ready by the day of his return. Since we cannot know when that day is, I will continue to work as I have been.”
Marta grunted. “As much as you have always loathed such tasks, ’tis certain you will eventually come to your senses.”
Another week passed and then another. Trestle tables were repaired, linens bleached and mended, and men set to work carving platters and spoons, or plaiting osiers and reeds into baskets or weels for catching fish.
From morning till night, the great hall bustled with activity, involving nearly everyone in some task or other, all save Lynette, who rarely entered the keep. Now that it was well known that Lord Ral slept with his wife, the willowy blonde kept mostly to herself. Caryn wished the woman would leave, but there was no placefor her to go, and clearly she had not given up hope of regaining Ral’s attentions, a fact that Caryn refused to ponder, except in her chamber in the middle of the night.
Though she had lost a little weight with her efforts and there were smudges beneath her eyes, she continued her long days of labor, until the tasks she had set were finally complete. Which proved to be a boon, since a messenger arrived the following day, bringing word of the lord’s return.
“The wardcorne has spotted his banner!” Caryn raced down the stairs to join Marta in the great hall. “Do I look all right? Mayhap I should change the amber tunic for the one of forest green.”
Marta chuckled, her thin shoulders quaking, lines crinkling at the corners of her eyes. “The amber suits you, my pet, as does the style of your hair.” Left unplaited but bound in a snood of woven amber silk shot with gold. “Lord Ral will be pleased.”
Sweet God, she hoped so. She had prepared for weeks for this day, could hardly wait for the look of pleasure she was certain to see on his face when he saw what she had done to the castle.
From top to bottom, Braxston shown like the jewel it was, the soot now gone from the newly whitewashed walls, the tapestries hung, the rushes on the floor strewn with sweet fennel and sage.
She waited out in the bailey, along with the knights who had remained to guard the keep and the servants who waited with anticipation for the arrival of their lord. They watched in silence as the Dark Knight led his men across the drawbridge, traveling with just a small escort, the others remaining in Caanan with the king.
Ral wore his mail, which glinted in the sunlight, but no helmet, and he carried his red and black dragon shield. He must have freshened himself in the stream, for his face was clean-shaven and his hair still lookeddamp. Sunlight glistened blue-black on the thick wavy strands.
