Wolf for a Lioness 2

 apologies for being very late.  I took a pain killer last night and it knocked me for six, which was the idea, but ...

 

Chapter 2

 

Isabeau awoke in a sunnier mood, having conceived an idea overnight.  The day without looked promising too, when she unfastened the shutters of the solar, the sun rising golden and turning the lands below to a sea of soft gold as it reflected on the morning mist.  Soon the mist would dissipate and the myriad threads of gossamer spider webs would gleam in the early morning sunshine, as the harvest spiders spread their delicate webs across the land.  Isabeau felt that she had woven an idea as intricate and clever as any of the beautiful webs, that would defeat her enemies as surely as spiders defeated flies.

After breaking her fast, Isabeau asked Wulfric to come into the solar; he bowed, and followed her respectfully. 

“I have a few roofs to inspect, lady, when you have finished with me; they will need shoring up for the winter,” said Wulfric.

“You take care of our people so well,” said Isabeau.  “Wulfric, I have in sooth discovered a most excellent solution to my dilemma.”

“Indeed, lady?” said Wulfric, cautiously.  “You have thought about whom to marry?”

“Yes,” said Isabeau.  “If I marry you, we might continue in the same way, and both continue to care for the people, and we might then both be happy.”

Wulfric stared, his face darkening.  His brows drew together in anger and his blue eyes reminded Isabeau of the blue of lightning in a storm.

“By the Rood!  Is that what you think of me?  a convenience to make sure you have a husband in name only, to be naught but a glorified steward still, and doubtless complacent should you wish to have lovers?  I am not a serf that you can walk upon thus roughly my lady!  When I take a wife I would have a real wife, who will lay with me and bear my children, be my helpmate, I will not be made a mockery of a man!” he shouted.

Isabeau went white.

“I had not thought to deny you marital rights,” she said stiffly, “but I am glad you have refused if what you are looking for is a chattel to do nothing but rear children, you are like all the rest!  I have had a lucky escape, not to be tied to a barbarian of a Saxon whose idea of a grand hall is a stinking barn with earwigs in the roof!”

It was unfair, and Isabeau knew it; Wulfric was far more cultured than the Norman knights who sought her hand, but she was hurt that he would think she would expect a marriage in name only.

Wulfric was furious.  Had she not said they might continue as before?  As mistress and vassal, essentially!  Marriage was a meeting of equals!

“Well, since this conversation is over, I shall be away about my duties, lady,” he said, woodenly.

“Yes, do.  You are an excellent steward even if you prove yourself insufficient of a man not to be unmanned by partnership with a wife who is lettered and educated,” said Isabeau.

His face burned with anger.

“This is what a man expects!” he snarled, and jerked her into his arms to kiss her roughly and thoroughly.

Isabeau made a faint noise of protest then the oddest of sensations swept her body and she found her lips opening under the pressure of his mouth, and a feeling of softness suffused her being.

Then she was stumbling with a cry as he pushed her away, and flung out of the chamber.

Isabeau touched her lips with a trembling hand, her other hand going to her chest, her heart beating wildly.

It was as well that her old nurse, supposedly her chaperone, dozed by the fire in the upper chamber of the solar.  Old Alice would be incensed by such contumely!  And contumely it was – and Wulfric should be punished for laying lewd hands on a Norman lady.

But she did not want to punish him.

Isabeau told herself firmly that he was too good a steward to let such an incident interfere with the good running of the estates. He had been angered; and she had intended to anger him, because he had hurt her by his scornful rejection.

Well, if that was the way he intended to use a wife, perhaps it was as well that the whole matter was over.  To so assault the whole senses of a woman was…

She did not want it to happen again.  The matter was over, and if she did not refer to it again, they might put it behind them and return to their usual relationship.  Though somehow, Isabeau feared that the pleasant camaraderie had been shattered irretrievably.

Isabeau tried to busy herself with sewing, but somehow it seemed difficult to settle to it, and she found herself staring out of the window, furious with herself that she had been so unsettled by something so insignificant, wondering why her lips still burned from that kiss.

Finally she saw Wulfric’s tall straight figure walking up from the fields, and hastily sat herself down in the tall chair to stitch viciously on a torn sheet.

There was a knock at the solar door.

“Come in,” said Isabeau.

Wulfric entered, doffed his cap, and knelt before her.

“I apologise for insulting you, lady.  I should not have done so.  I am sorry.”

The sight of Wulfric, set of face, kneeling before her profoundly disturbed Isabeau; and she jumped up, scattering thread and sewing.

“Wulfric, get up, I will not have you kneeling to me!” she said impatiently. “The incident is closed; I have already forgotten it!”

“And will you also forgive, lady?” asked Wulfric.

“I – yes, if it needs forgiving, I forgive. And it never happened.”

“Thank you, lady,” said Wulfric, rising, though he would not meet her eyes.

“It was as much my fault for wording my suggestion carelessly,” Isabeau found herself saying.

“No lady; it was not your fault.  And besides, it never happened,” said Wulfric, with a ghost of a smile. 

“Very well.  What were your findings regarding the roofs?” asked Isabeau, briskly. As well to change the subject if he did not wish to discuss it.

“Those that need repair will be getting it: Brihtric the thatcher and his boy have been cutting reed, as old Alric the reedcutter died in the winter.”

Isabeau frowned.

“Is there nobody to take his place? It is not seemly that a skilled thatcher should also be cutting his own reed, and wasting time that could be used for thatching.  I fear it might make him skimp if he runs out of time.”

“He has been cutting reed all summer at my direction because of being without Alric,” said Wulfric.  “He has been showing the fatherless boy Anketil how to do it, so the boy might have a trade of sorts to keep his mother.” 

“Good, I had wondered whether to suggest he enter the nearest monastery, and she a nunnery, but that obviates the need,” said Isabeau.  “He is not a stupid lad, and a trade will give him pride.  If he shows an interest, have Brihtric teach him thatching also; and another may learn reed cutting.  But I sense you conceal something; you are not telling me all.”

“I am wondering how to word something,” said Wulfric.  “One of the damaged roofs was, I feel certain, damaged deliberately.”

“Why would anyone do that?” asked Isabeau.

“It’s Torulf Byfield,” said Wulfric, with distaste, “whom I am, in mine own mind, certain was responsible for the siring of Anketil.  He is lazy, feckless and greedy, as I believe you already know?”

“Yes, my father warned me that he was not to be believed if he complained of anything, not without careful investigation,” said Isabeau.  “But why damage his own roof?”

“It is old thatch,” said Wulfric.  “Still perfectly good, but the hut next to him was re-thatched in the spring, and it looks very fine, and by comparison Torfeld’s looks a little shabby.  I think he made a hole in his roof in order to have it thatched.  What will you have me do?”

Isabeau considered.

“Have Brihtric thatch around the hole; if it costs more to do the repair than to do the whole house, then so be it,” she said, “and fine Torulf for carelessness.  That way he is punished by having to pay the fine, though not as much as for deliberate damage, and too by having shiny new reeds on just a part of his roof, which will look even worse than having it all the same colour.”

Wulfric laughed.

“Lady, that is very meet,” he said.  “He is a man who feels deeply what people say about him, and that will be a harsher punishment than the fine, to feel that people whisper behind their hands and call him Torulf Pied-roof!”

“Good, let it be so,” said Isabeau, pleased that she and Wulfric might work together with very little embarrassment.

Then she caught his eye, and she was blushing furiously!

“I’ll go and give orders to Brihtric right away, and tell Torulf that he is fined,” said Wulfric, firmly, and left Isabeau to her blushes and confused thoughts.

Isabeau fought with herself, the memory of the feeling of his lips hard on hers surging up, turning her knees weak, and the feelings surging through her whole body as though she were fevered by the exchange.

 

 

There was some little constraint when Isabeau and Wulfric met at the noon bever; but Wulfric spoke determinedly about how the peasants were gathering in the last of the harvest, and that the winnowing had been delayed by the breaking of a flail, but that Arnulf the carpenter was carving a new flail blade.  Mother Edith, the village wise woman, had warned of a harsh winter, and it was imperative to get the harvest in and stored in preparation.

“How good is she?” asked Isabeau.

“I’ve never known her to be wrong about weather,” said Wulfric.  “I have not trust in her spells and love philtres though, such things are for silly girls.”

Isabeau smiled.

“It is nothing but foolishness, but I wish you will speak to Edith about it; it would be a shame if someone disappointed in love who had used one of her philtres accused her of witchcraft.  She is no witch is she?”  she asked anxiously, crossing herself.

“No, she is no witch, it amuses her to pretend to have witching knowledge though, to get gifts,” said Wulfric. “I would not tolerate a true witch spreading evil amongst the peasants.”

Isabeau gave a brief nod.

“Well, tell her to cease the foolishness; if she will not do so for her own safety, then tell her we can ill afford to lose our weather wise woman and midwife.  I will have her gifted with dainties from the high table to refrain from her foolishness, for I am sure she will find white manchet bread easier to her few remaining teeth than mazlin,” she added.

Wulfric nodded.

“I had not thought of the possibility of someone accusing her of witchcraft,” he said, “You are good to think of it, lady, for any accusation of witchcraft must indeed be taken seriously, and anyone examining her cannot know her as we do, and know that it is in sooth but Edith desiring a little bit of attention.  The promise of white bread, will, I feel sure, persuade her to desist.”

Isabeau thought grimly that she did not put it past Fleury or Danforth to consider the services of a witch to use a love philtre on her; the better to win her lands. 

She wondered whether to speak to Wulfric about it; he was looking at her quizzically.

“I was wondering about whether Sir Hugh or Sir Gilbert might consider approaching a witch,” she said.

Wulfric gasped.

“That – that would be an iniquity!” he said, “By the Rood, surely they would not so imperil their immortal souls?”

“If what we think is true regarding the killing of my father, I would have said they have already imperilled their immortal souls,” said Isabeau, tartly. 

“I – no, I cannot think that Sir Hugh Fleury would do so; I think he would fear a witch more than he would wish to purchase a spell.  And Sir Gilbert Danforth… I suspect him of not believing in anything at all, including witchcraft.”

“It would be a comfort to believe that,” said Isabeau, “I shall pray that thine assessment be correct. What a terrible thing if indeed he has no faith at all!”

Wulfric shrugged.

“It’s his soul,” he said.

A page came up to the High Table where Isabeau and Wulfric conversed and Old Alice drank her bever in cheerful and deaf unconcern at the doings of witches.

“Lady, Sir Gilbert Danforth and Sir Hugh Fleury are without, and would speak with you privily,” the little page piped.

“Talk of devils,” growled Wulfric.

“Let them be brought within; they might put any business they have to me here at the High Table, for I will not receive them privily,” said Isabeau. The page bowed; and ran off.