A Year & a Day Page 8

  From the forge, Jock took Lynx to inspect the castle stores. As they walked, hens and chicks scattered before them. “Do we have geese?” Lynx inquired.

  “Very few, my lord.”

  “Make a note to buy a large flock. My bowmen prefer the feathers of the gray English goose.” As they walked, Lynx noticed the children. He always noticed the children. They were happy and healthy with sturdy legs and red cheeks. Jock spoke to all of them, tussling a wee lass’s hair or cuffing a lad across the ear. Lynx was surprised when the children addressed Jock as Granddad, for he was no graybeard.

  When they arrived at the castle stores, David Leslie voiced his problems without hesitation. “Comyn’s men wiped me out. The thoughtless swines fed my store of grain to their horses when the hay ran low.”

  Lynx nodded as he walked through the storage sheds, noting they were very low on all food supplies. “Buy more. Buy oats for the horses. Stock up on dried staples, beans, peas, lentils, barley—whatever you need.”

  “I need siller,” David said bluntly.

  “Then buy some … oh, siller means money, of course!” Lynx laughed and looked at Jock ruefully. “You didn’t tell me the coffers were low.”

  “The coffers are empty, my lord,” Jock replied quietly.

  “Don’t look so glum, man, that’s easily remedied. We will buy what we need for present use, but we must also replenish the livestock for Dumfries’ future needs.”

  Both Leslies looked relieved.

  “We’ll buy new flocks … I know that sheep mean wealth in the dales. I’ll need to talk with the head shepherds and the cattle herders,” Lynx decided.

  “I’ll tell them tonight. My sons Ben and Sim are the head shepherds and the cattle herders are wed to my daughters.”

  Lynx looked at Jock in amazement. “Christ, man, how many sons and daughters do you have?” “Only ten, my lord.”

  “Only?” Lynx almost choked. “To a man who has none, ten offspring is prolific indeed.” Lynx’s brows went up as another thought occurred to him. “The children call you Granddad because you are their granddad!”

  Jock nodded happily. “I have thirty grandchildren. No, I lie, I have thirty-one. My son Ben’s wife had another bairn in the night.”

  Lynx stared at him in awe; such a feat seemed almost beyond belief. “I envy you, Jock Leslie.”

  As they walked to the brewhouse, Lynx’s steward said, “May I be so bold as to suggest a handfastin’ if ye wish to become a father?”

  “Explain this handfasting custom to me,” Lynx invited.

  Jock thought for a minute, searching for an analogy the Norman lord would understand. “Handfastin’ sets decent women apart from the whores. It puts the stamp of approval on a woman lying with a man. In the dales it’s usually a preliminary to wedlock. The usual length of a handfastin’ is a year and a day. At the end of that time the couple either decides to wed or to part. But if the union produces a child it is legitimate, even if no marriage ever takes place.”

  “The custom is a safeguard for women and children,” Lynx said pensively.

  “Aye, my lord; bastardy is frowned upon.”

  Lynx de Warenne wondered if Jock Leslie was giving him a warning. “My men have their orders; there will be no forcing of women at Dumfries.”

  * * *

  In the late afternoon his steward showed Lynx de Warenne over every room in the castle. The two men hadn’t stopped talking and planning since early morning. Inside the fortification, Lynx was hard-pressed to make suggestions for improvement. The drains had been cleaned, the floors scrubbed, the fireplaces did not smoke, and even the dogs were penned up and not allowed to run underfoot.

  The furnishings of Dumfries were almost luxurious. In most of the chambers, tapestries covered the stone walls to keep out the cold, many of the upper bedchambers had thick carpets on the floors, and the wide beds all had heavy bed-curtains, woven woolen blankets, and spotless linen. Every bedchamber had a spacious wardrobe and some even had hearths.

  The castle, built in true Norman style, was flanked on each corner by a square tower. “This is the Master Tower.” Jock led the way up the stone steps to the first level, which consisted of two rooms connected by an arch. “These have always been the living quarters of whoever governed Dumfries.”

  Lynx noted that every chair was cushioned, every bench padded. The furniture was black oak, polished with beeswax. A games table boasted a set of chessmen, musical instruments hung from the walls, and there was no shortage of polished silver mirrors. When Lynx heard his squires’ voices above him, accompanied by a woman’s laughter, he climbed to the upper level, where again two chambers were connected by an arch.

  He saw immediately that his squires had set up his own bed, carried up his trunks, including his weapons chest, and were busy hanging his clothes in the wardrobe. But it was the woman who caught and held Lynx’s attention, as she spread fresh sheets across the bed. She was a comely wench, dark with a generous mouth and well-rounded hips. The curve of her belly told him that she was ripe with child.

  “Should you be doing this?” Lynx asked, concerned for her advanced condition.

  Jock chuckled. “This is my daughter Mary. You needn’t worry, my lord, this is her sixth bairn.”

  She bobbed him a curtsy and threw him a saucy look. “Welcome to Dumfries, Lord de Warenne.”

  “Thank you, Mary,” Lynx replied, crushing the covetous feeling that gripped him for the child, if not the woman.

  “Ye’ll want a fire to counter the dampness. Mary, show the squires where the wood is stored,” Jock bade.

  Lynx stared after the fecund young woman, shaking his head in wonder. “Do you have any unwed daughters, Jock Leslie?”

  Jock laughed and joined in the jest. “I have one lass who isna handfasted yet. Ye’d best hurry if ye’re interested, my lord!”

  Jane had known the lynx would return to Dumfries as surely as she had known spring would return. She thought of him as the lynx because he was the embodiment of the magnificent animal with whom she had had the extraordinary encounter. Now she remembered the name of the man who had accompanied Robert Bruce.

  “Lord de Warenne,” Jane whispered the name aloud and felt her heart flutter with trepidation. The incident at the forest pool had been unfortunate and disturbing, yet somehow it had had an air of inevitability about it, as if it had been preordained. Her emotions had been in such turmoil, but luckily she had managed to mask the fear and the awe she felt for him.

  Jane lifted the touchstone she wore about her neck and gazed down at the painted lynx. The tawny mane, the green eyes, the massive shoulders bore an uncanny resemblance to de Warenne, and she could not help but feel the man posed a threat to her.

  Jane did not return home but instead sought out her brother Keith at the stables. He was the only one who seemed to understand the things she felt and did, without finding her strange or, worse still, laughing at her. Jane liked the smell of the stables. The mingled scent of horse, hay, and leather played counterpoint to the acrid smell of horse manure. But when she saw a group of unfamiliar men-at-arms she was filled with trepidation. Jane turned on her heel and was hurrying from the stable when Keith caught sight of her.

  He dropped his currying brush and rushed after her. “Jane, don’t run off. Come and look at the horses— they’re the finest I’ve ever seen, especially Lord de Warenne’s black stallion.” Keith took hold of her arm to stay her flight.

  “I cannot … those men—” The words stuck in her throat.

  “Come up to the mews while I return Talon to his perch.” Keith took the falcon on his wrist and led the way up to the loft where the hawks were kept. “The men are knights who belong to the new lord.”

  The hooded birds of prey recognized the voices and screeched for attention. Jane gently stroked the breast of a female merlin, quieting her immediately. “I’ve seen him,” she whispered ominously.

  “Lord de Warenne?”

  Jane nodded. “I saw him before.
”

  “Aye, he came with Robert Bruce, Earl of Carrick.”

  Jane shook her head. “I saw him before that.”

  Keith, realizing she was trying to tell him something, gave her his full attention.

  “Do you remember when I saw the lynx at the forest pool? Well, I saw him there again.” She lifted the Celtic touchstone on its leather thong. “I took the lynx for my magic symbol. I thought if I could merge my spirit with his, it would give me power and strength. Anyway, the lynx came to me in a dream and he turned into a man … It was Lord de Warenne.”

  Keith nodded slowly. “That is second sight … seeing things before they happen. Have you had any visions?”

  “I saw him at the forest pool this morning, but I don’t think he was a vision. I think he was real.” “The lord’s name is Lynx.” “What?”

  “His name is Lynx de Warenne.”

  Jane’s lips parted in surprise and dismay, for that is what she had called him, the lynx. “Keith, what does it mean?”

  “I know not. Yet his destiny and that of Dumfries are somehow bound together. There is a purpose; perhaps a divine one, perhaps not. But whether for good or evil, only time will tell.”

  “I believe that my new touchstone will protect me against him!”

  Keith’s eyes examined her face. “He has frightened you. Jane, I don’t believe he is a threat to you.”

  “I’m not afraid of him,” she assured her brother, lifting her head proudly, but deep inside she was afraid of him and of the things he made her feel.

  That evening when the Leslie women gathered at Judith and Ben’s house to welcome the new bairn into the family, an air of excitement prevailed. The breathless talk was all of Lord de Warenne, his handsome young knights, and the swarthy Welsh bowmen. The young women downplayed any anxiety they felt toward the newcomers. Yet the edge of apprehension they felt added to the thrilling knowledge that the men were dangerous and undefeated in recent battles.

  “Judith, ye’re missing all the excitement. His knights are so tall, ye’ll never believe yer eyes,” Kate informed her. “The Welsh bowmen are no’ so tall, but they make up for it with brawn!”

  Mary, bursting with self-importance, announced, “I made his bed today!”

  The others turned to her eagerly. “The lord’s bed?”

  “Aye. He was greatly concerned for me, working in my condition.”

  The girls laughed. “Making a bed isna work!”

  Mary continued, holding up her hands. “He was this close to me. He could have reached out an’ touched me.”

  “An’ did he?” Kate asked suggestively.

  “No, Father was there with him,” Mary said with a wink. The young matrons hooted with laughter.

  As Jane put Judith’s children to bed, she listened to the Leslie women. Whenever they got together, their favorite subject was the male of the species, and Jane had always been puzzled that they did not share her fear of men. She kept it to herself that this morning his powerful hands had touched her body intimately as he’d held her pinned beneath him. Jane shivered, remembering his savage masculinity; while the other women were greatly attracted to him, Jane felt wary of him.

  Jane kissed the children and sang them to sleep, with a soft, soothing melody. But on the inside she was seething with passionate emotions. She was apprehensive that when she fell asleep tonight, the lynx would come to her in her dreams.

  Lynx de Warenne lay abed in the Master Tower, going over the day’s events in his mind. All had gone exceedingly well, far better than he had anticipated, and he knew most of it was due to the competence of Dumfries’ steward, Jock Leslie.

  All that was needed to make the demesne flourish was money for new flocks and herds, and the de Warenne coffers were healthy. He did not consider it a waste to spend personal monies, even though Dumfries belonged to the crown. In the back of his mind, Lynx had the notion that his sojourn in Scotland might just be long-term.

  Though the subjugation of Wales had taken place a decade and a half ago, Edward Plantagenet and his armies had still found it necessary to spend most of the last ten years building great castles along her borders to hold the wild tribesmen under control. Lynx doubted the Scots would be any easier to control.

  His mind moved on quickly to Dumfries’ immediate needs. A few hunts would supply them with venison, boar, and game, and the river Nith and the open sea of Solway Firth would provide an abundance of fish and shellfish. If he established a market in the town of Dumfries, Lynx knew it would attract produce and supplies from miles away, perhaps even from across the border in England. And he would encourage ships to bring in goods from Wales and Ireland.

  He reminded himself to visit the Franciscan monastery on the morrow to learn if they produced aught more useful than prayer, and for the umpteenth time, he pushed away a thought that refused to leave his mind entirely.

  When Lynx had finished reviewing the day’s events and had gone over his plans for tomorrow, he allowed himself to examine the thought carefully. Jock Leslie had a daughter who wasn’t spoken for. Was this Providence? Was this his chance to beget an heir? Breeding seemed no problem whatsoever for the Leslies.

  A moment of self-doubt assailed him. Did the fault lie within himself? The de Warennes were not prolific breeders; neither he nor Jory had produced a child. Still, he argued with himself, his father had produced not one but two children. If he mated with a Leslie woman, mayhap the odds would be in his favor!

  Lynx imagined how shocked the nobility would be if he wed a commoner. John de Warenne would disapprove of such a union, but Lynx cared naught for that. He was a man who made his own decisions regarding his personal life. The king would not be best pleased either, yet hadn’t Princess Joanna just married her husband’s squire?

  His thoughts turned to the young Leslie woman. Her appearance, age, and temperament were of little importance to Lynx de Warenne. If she could give him a child, the rest was immaterial. All that mattered was that she be willing. The accepted custom of handfasting somehow made the idea more plausible. If the union produced no child after a year and a day, the union could be dissolved. On the other hand, if the young woman became pregnant, he would marry her immediately.

  Lynx’s thoughts became clouded as he recalled the feelings of loss he had suffered when his wife Sylvia had died. He hadn’t spent enough time with her and had been ridden with guilt. He assured himself that would not happen if he wed a girl of lower station. There would be no romantic involvement whatsoever, for either of them. The relationship would be a simple one. She would be the mother of his child. In return she would receive the respect and honor due her as his wife.

  Try as he might, Lynx could think of few disadvantages to the idea. Alicia would throw her usual tantrum, but when he pointed out to her that their relationship would remain unchanged, what possible objection could she have? In any case, Alicia had no say in the matter and would be miles away in Carlisle for the next few months.

  Lynx’s thoughts returned to Jock Leslie. His steward was the key to any such plan. He would speak to Jock in the morning. If he and his steward could come to terms on an agreement regarding this matter, that would be all that was necessary.

  Now that he had made up his mind to pursue the hand-fasting, Lynx felt more at peace with himself than he had in a long while. He fell asleep visualizing himself holding his baby son. When his dream began, he was surrounded by children who looked like him.

  8

  The following morning Lynx de Warenne decided to ride to Lochmaben to buy livestock. The Bruces derived a great deal of their wealth from the herds of cattle and flocks of sheep that covered most of Annandale. Lynx asked Ben and Sim Leslie to accompany him since they knew far more about sheep than he would ever know. Lynx also invited their father, Jock Leslie, to accompany him. The six- or seven-mile ride up the valley to Lochmaben Castle would give Lynx the opportunity to lay the proposal for the handfasting before his steward.

  Lynx left his squires at Dum
fries, relying on their innate common sense to handle whatever might arise in his absence. Though lower in rank than the young de Warenne knights, Thomas and Taffy had their lord’s full authority to take charge should it become necessary.

  At midmorning, Jane was startled when her brother James came bursting through the doorway of the stone house, his arms and face streaked black with soot and sweat. Jane stepped back when she saw that a tall, fair-haired stranger accompanied him.

  James addressed Megotta. “There’s bin an accident at the forge! One of the lord’s knights has bin burned. Fetch some ointment!”

  Megotta’s face and attitude became stony. “My healing salve is for Scotsmen, not filthy Englishmen!”

  James’s mouth fell open. “Are ye daft, woman? We need yer help!”

  Megotta folded her arms across her scrawny chest, pressed her lips together, and replied firmly, “Ye’ll not get it!”

  Taffy stepped forward. “Ma’am, I’m Welsh, not English. Some of our Welsh are healers as you are, but they are unfamiliar with the plants and herbs that grow in these parts. Could you tell the medicine men the properties of some of the local plants?”

  “I could, but I won’t.”

  When James spotted Jane, he turned from Megotta in frustrated fury. “Jane, will ye come?”

  With an apprehensive glance in Taffy’s direction, Jane nodded her head and ran to get her medicinal box.

  On the way to the forge Taffy said, “Lord de Warenne will be most grateful to you, lady.”

  Jane saw relief and gratitude writ plain on the squire’s face and saw something else there too. The well-muscled youth had a blush upon his cheek when he spoke to her, and Jane was discomfitted to realize that the young man found her attractive.

  When they reached the forge, a circle of men were gathered about a young knight sitting upon a stool. Another knight, obviously a concerned friend, knelt before him. As well as Jane’s brother Alex, Lord de Warenne’s squire Thomas stood by looking helpless, while two dark Welsh archers conversed in Celtic.