“What is wrong?”
Hastings just shook her head. The woman would be gone early the next morning. She would forget Beale’s venom in time. She said, “MacDear bakes the pheasant in special herbs. He will not tell me the recipe. I always try to guess and he will tell me mayhap if I am right, but he will just shake his big head when I am wrong. He tells me I am ignorant and must keep studying before I learn what he knows. I have known him all my life. I remember how he would let me help him knead bread in the bread trough. I sunk nearly to the top of my arms in that dough.”
This, Severin thought, as he cut off a chunk of the partridge with his knife and slipped it into his mouth, must be how a husband came to know about his wife. He didn’t mind her speaking of things of this nature to him. He found himself picturing her as a small child but only for a momenVH* said, “It is very good. I taste basil, do I not?”
“Aye, and fennel. There is also a goodly amount of salt, and that is what makes it so tasty. We have always been lucky at Oxborough. My father loved salt and thus was willing to buy it even when it was in short supply and trn price very high. I once went without hair ribbons so he could buy salt.”
Aye, he thought, as he ate the peas, he would have no difficulty with this husband business. He turned to watch Hastings as she coaxed another bite of peas into Eloise’s mouth. The child was fidgeting. She kept looking down the trestle tables. He followed her vision and saw the woman Beale. He tore away a chunk of bread and chewed on it as he watched her. She looked up then and he was smitten by the longing in the woman’s
8 2
At that moment, Severin could not imagine Hastings striking her.
1 v she had been overly harsh. The woman looked very alone and sad.
haps he should allow her to remain at Oxborough. Perhaps Hastings W0uld come to deal well with her.
He would speak to Hastings about it. No, he would tell her what ould happen once he had made the decision. He said to Hastings, “We will continue to buy salt, no matter how high the price.”
“Very good, my lord.”
He wondered briefly if she laughed at him, but no, that wasn’t possible. He nodded and turned to Gwent, who sat on his right. He’d taken the steward’s place, and the man, Torric by name, looked as sour as the woman Beale. He wasn’t old enough to look so pinched, his mouth so seamless and tight. Even his shoulders were stooped forward. As for the rest of the Oxborough people, they were less wary of him now. They behaved as people did in most large keeps. There was laughter, arguing, shouting, children leaning against their parents’ sides, already asleep, dogs chasing bones tossed to them, fighting with each other, growling and leaping about.
He felt good. He was the master here. He finally belonged. His line would follow, even though he had to share her name. Langthorne-Trent, Baron Louges, Earl of Oxborough. Ah, that was his and his alone. He leaned back in the former earl’s elegantly carved chair with the Oxborough crest beautifully etched into its back. A lion stood tall on its back legs, its claws sunk deep into a griffin. Behind was a bower of roses, blossoming wildly, and he could tell that the lion would return to that bower once he’d killed his prey. The motto carved beneath the crest was EN AVANT. Forward.
He turned as Gwent said, “The steward was not pleased when I told him that you were learned, that you read and ciphered. His eyes shifted to and fro when I told him. I fancy he mayhap has lined his pockets with Pilfered gains.”
I will see to it on the morrow. If the man has cheated, I will find it and kill him. I will let you punish him first, Gwent. I know well your