Oddly, Severin thought of Marjorie. He remembered clearly the glory of her silvery hair, her vivid blue eyes that glistened when she laughed and darkened to a near black when she reached her release. Then her image dimmed. He had not thought of her in a very long time. She had long since been married off to another man. She was buried in a past that he would no longer allow to haunt him.
He said to Fawke, “Graelam has told me her name is Hastings. Surely a strange name for either a male or a female.”
Fawke tried to smile, but the muscles in his face wouldn’t move upward. He felt the deep weakness drawing on him, pulling him toward bottomless sleep, but he managed to say low, “All firstborn daughters in my line since the long-ago battle have been named Hastings in honor of our Norman victory and our ancestor, Damon of Trent, who was given these lands by William in reward for his loyalty and valor, and, of course, the hundred men he added to William’s force.”
His eyelids closed. He looked waxen. He looked already dead. He said, voice blurred with pain and weariness, “Come to me when you are ready. Wait not too long.”
“Two hours.”
Graelam motioned for Severin to follow him from the chamber. He nodded to a woman who went in and sat beside Fawke of Trent, to watch over him whilst he slept.
“Aye, if we can find Hastings, it will be done in two hours,” Graelam said. “She is usually working in her herb garden. Aye, it must be tonight. I am afraid that Fawke won’t survive until the morrow.”
As you will. Trist is hungry. I would feed him before giving my name to this girl Hastings.” Severin reached his hand into his cloak and pulled out the marten. He raised the animal to his cheek and rubbed his flesh against the soft fur. “No, don’t try to eat my glove, Trist. I will give
you pork.” He raised his eyes to Graelam’s face. “No other of his species eats much other than rats and mice and chicken, but when I was captured near Rouen last year and thrown into Louis of Mellifont’s dungeon, he had more rats on his dinner plate than a village of martens could eat. He didn’t have to hunt them down. All he had to do was wait until one came close, kill it, and eat. After I escaped, he wouldn’t hunt another rat. I believed he would starve until he decided that he would eat eggs and pork. It is strange, but he survives and grows fat.”
Graelam said, “He poked his head out a few moments ago. It seemed to me he didn’t like being in Fawke of Trent’s bedchamber. He quickly withdrew again.”
“He remembers the smell of sickness and death from the dungeon. Not many of us survived.”
“Aye, well, now he will eat all the pork he wishes.” Graelam paused a moment on the winding stone stairs. “Severin, I have known Fawke and Hastings for nearly ten years. Hastings was a clever little girl and she has grown up well. She knows herbs, and over the years she has become a healer. She is bright and gentle. She is not like her mother. As the heiress of Oxborough, she will fulfill her role suitably. I will have your word that you will treat her well.”
Severin said in an emotionless, cold voice, “It is enough that I will wed her. I will protect her from the scavengers who are already on their way here, just waiting for the old man to die so they can come and steal her. That is all I promise-that, and to breed sons off her.”
“If she were not here to be wed, then you would have to become another man’s vassal. You would still be Baron Louges but you would watch your lands turn hard and cold with no men to work them.”
“They are already hard and cold. There is naught left there.”
“You will have the money to make things right. You will have Hastings as your wife. She will oversee the management of Oxborough when you are visiting your other estates.”