She was right, he told himself as he stood with Cristen and Richard in the tower room where she would be staying. If Bernard was as ill as she said he was, his need was greater than Hugh’s. And there was another benefit to her staying in the castle to minister to Bernard. Her vigil would help to convince Guy that she had been telling the truth about her reason for coming to Lincoln.
Hell and the devil, Hugh thought, trying not to scowl too openly. It would be easier to scale a castle wall without a rope than it is to get Cristen to myself.
“I will put my squire at your disposal for the duration of your stay, Lady Cristen,” Richard was saying. “He will be able to procure for you anything you might need.” As he spoke, two of Gervase’s men arrived with another brazier for Cristen’s bedroom and a pallet for Mabel to sleep upon.
Cristen pointed out to the men where she wanted them to place Mabel’s mattress. “You are very kind, Sir Richard,” she said distractedly.
He made a little bow. “I am happy to be of service, my lady. It will not reflect well upon us should we allow a prisoner in our hands to die.”
A mistake, Richard, Hugh thought acidly. You just said that to the wrong person.
Cristen’s fine brows lifted. “I will do my best to keep him breathing for you.”
The sheriff’s men departed, leaving the three of them alone in the room.
Richard said, “It is a shame that Hugh did not inform us sooner about Bernard’s condition. Had we known, he might not have become so very ill.”
Careful! Hugh sent the silent message to Cristen, afraid she might not see the trap.
“Hugh did what he thought was best,” Cristen replied, calmly evading it. “He sent for me.”
“That was wise of him,” Richard agreed. He turned to look at Hugh. “My real regret is that you have so little trust in us that you felt we would do nothing for Bernard on our own.”
“You think I don’t trust you and your father?” Hugh said in astonishment.
Richard looked ineffably sad. “You don’t trust me, at any rate. And I don’t think you like my father because he succeeded Ralf.”
Hugh said, “It always amazes me, Richard, how well you are able to read my heart.”
Faint color stole into Richard’s cheeks. “I had better go.”
“Good idea,” Hugh said.
Richard turned back to Cristen. “Thank you again, Lady Cristen. My father and I appreciate your generosity.”
“She is doing it for Bernard, Richard, not for you and your father.”
Cristen said, “Thank you for your assistance, Sir Richard. I should very much appreciate the service of your squire.”
Richard bowed once more. His cheeks were still a little flushed as he went out of the room.
Left alone, Hugh and Cristen looked at each other.
“I was touched by his concern for Bernard,” she said.
Hugh snorted. “The only person who exists in Richard’s world is Richard.”
He walked over to her and put his arms around her. She leaned against him.
“Try not to let him disturb you so much,” she said softly.
His arms tightened. “Christ, but I wish you didn’t have to stay here.”
“Bernard really is ill, Hugh. I wasn’t exaggerating.”
He sighed. “I know.”
The sound of leather soles scraping against the floor came from the passage, and Hugh dropped his arms and stepped back.
Mabel came into the room. “Thomas told me that you needed me, my lady.”
Hugh felt Cristen’s attention shift away from him. “Aye, Mabel. We have a sick man to look after.”
“I had better go and leave you to your work,” he said resignedly.
Cristen sent him a quick smile, then turned back to Mabel.
Hugh walked out of the room. As he ran lightly down the tower stairs, he decided that he would spend the afternoon paying a visit to Edgar Harding of Deerhurst.
The manor of Deerhurst lay to the south of Lincoln, east of the River Witham. The Harding who had dwelt there during the time of King William had been one of the few Saxons who managed to save his property from the greedy hands of the Norman conqueror. The Hardings had kept their holdings under the rule of William’s sons as well, but now, under the conqueror’s grandson Stephen, land that had belonged to the Hardings for generations had been given away to a Norman earl.
The property that remained to Edgar Harding, however, was extensive and well cultivated. For generations, the city of Lincoln had depended upon produce and fodder from Deerhurst to feed its people and animals during the long winter months.
Hugh had been to Deerhurst several times with Ralf, and so he knew what to expect once he rode in through the palisaded wooden fence that surrounded the enclave. The Hardings had never adopted the Norman style of building, but had maintained instead the old Saxon timber construction and architecture. Instead of a single castle keep, Deerhurst consisted of a series of separate rectangular buildings: the halls, bowers, sleeping chambers, kitchen, and stable of the manor.
Hugh stopped Rufus just inside the open gate and gave his name to the burly man who had stepped in front of him. He asked to speak to Edgar Harding.
The Saxon stared at him suspiciously, then told him to wait. Hugh remained exactly where he was, giving Rufus a loose rein so he could drop his head and stretch his neck.
About a dozen people were scattered around the courtyard, all looking at Hugh. Their expressions were not friendly.
After almost a quarter of an hour, a slender, fair-haired young man came out of one of the buildings and approached Hugh and Rufus. He stopped next to the stallion’s head and said in French, “I am Cedric Harding. I regret that my father is not at Deerhurst at present. May I be of some assistance to you?”
The young man looked to be about Hugh’s age and had a similar build. His words were irreproachably courteous, but there was a wary look in his blue eyes.
Hugh made a quick decision. “Perhaps you can. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
Cedric Harding’s face was perfectly expressionless as he replied, “Of course not. Come inside with me.” He looked at the burly man who had resumed his post at the gate and said in English, “Alfred, take Lord Hugh’s horse and see that he is attended to.” Then, switching back to French to speak to Hugh, “Come with me.”
As Rufus was led away toward the stable, Hugh fell into step with the younger Harding.
“I am my father’s eldest son,” Cedric informed him.
“I am surprised that we have not met before this,” Hugh said. “I grew up in Lincoln as the foster son of Ralf Corbaille.”
Cedric Harding’s blue eyes flashed toward him. “I know.”
Hugh was silent, waiting for an answer to his comment.
Cedric shrugged and said, “My father does not like his household to mingle too closely with Normans.”
Hugh, who thought this attitude was supremely shortsighted, forebore to comment. Instead, he followed Cedric into the largest of the wooden buildings, which he knew from previous visits was Deerhurst’s main hall.
This Saxon edifice was very different from the Norman-built castles to which Hugh was accustomed. The front door of the large timber structure led into a small porch, which served as an anteroom to the main room. This was a large rectangular hall with a long hearth laid in its center. Smoke holes in the cross-beamed roof let out the fumes that drifted up from the roaring fire. A bench ran along the two long walls of the hall, and above the bench was hung an impressive display of weapons: round Saxon shields, throwing spears, thrusting spears, swords, and battle axes. Directly facing Hugh on the opposite short wall of the hall, several carved chairs with arms were placed on a dais. The wooden floor of the hall was swept and bare of rushes.
A handful of men were seated on the side benches. A low stool in front of them held food and ale, and they paused in their meal to look curiously toward Hugh and Cedric as they came in.