She looked at the marten. He was lying along the length of Severin’s arm now, looking sleek, his belly stretched with all the food he’d eaten.
“He is fat.”
“Aye, he doesn’t hunt much. Not enough time has passed he suffered so in Rouen. He will improve.”
“Lord Graelam told me of your captivity and why Trist eats pork.”
“He shouldn’t have. It is not your affair.”
“Evidently he didn’t agree with you. Since we are married, isn’t it ••igfet that we know something of each other?”
He stared down at his pewter plate that still held its slice of thick bread with meat chunks on top of it. The thick gravy had congealed. He saw that she hadn’t eaten much either. Not that he cared. He said aloud, “It isn’t important to me. You are my wife. You belong to me. You are an obligation. I will protect you as I will protect all else that is mine.”
She’d been an obligation to her father, keeping her distance, treading quietly around him, seeing to his comfort, but still she was her mother’s daughter, and thus to be despised. She remembered hearing one of the other women say to Dame Agnes that Hastings’s mother had cursed when she’d borne a girl rather than an heir, even though the girl child would be named Hastings and thus carry on the tradition. No, Janet
had wanted an heir because she knew Fawke would make her go through pregnancy again until she bore him one. But Janet had come to love her daughter, Hastings was more certain of that than she was certain of anything else in her life. Aye, her mother had loved her dearly until she had died beaten to death by order of her husband. Hastings shook away the memories. She looked at her husband, another who saw her as naught but an obligation. “You said you had bedded women before you arrived here. I do not understand that.”
A black brow went upward. “What is there to understand? I am a man. I told you, I wanted to have control with you.”
Because the marten was lying fat and replete along his arm, because she couldn’t fear a man with an animal lying on his arm, she said, “When I was fifteen the jeweler’s son kissed me. I liked it. I suppose I should have enjoyed him more before I wedded you.”
His arm must have locked because the marten raised his head, readying himself to move quickly. Severin drew a deep breath, then rubbed the animal’s head with his finger. Both his arm and the marten eased.
He speared a chunk of beef with his knife, looked at it a moment as if it would perhaps poison him, then ate it. He chewed slowly. Finally, he said, “You are not meek. That is a requirement in a wife. You will hold yourself silent. You will obey me. You will not mock me with an eye to angering me.”
“I am not mocking you, merely jesting with you. Well, mayhap there is irony to be gleaned from my words. Do not misunderstand me, my lord. I see that you are a man. I am assured that you are a strong and an able protector, a warrior. I accept that. I will even accept you as my husband, since I have no choice, but I will not become one of the rushes for you to tread upon. Even my father, who had no affection for me, did not expect that of me.”
“A husband is not a father.”
She felt as if she were battering herself against the curtain wall of the outer bailey. “No,” she said quietly, “I believe you are right.”
“You are not grieving for your father.”
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“I have grieved for the past two months. I could ease his pain, but nothing more. I couldn’t cure him. Not that he wanted to accept anything from my hand that would ease him.”
“You are truly a healer?”
“I try. Sometimes I succeed. Sometimes the illness overwhelms the victim and all my efforts to heal.”
Lord Graelam cleared his throat as he rose. “Listen, all. Let us all drink to the new lord and lady of Oxborough.”