camping in the woods rather than risk an argument with Gar over lowering the plank bridge and opening the gate.
But then, over the next few days, he and Gar were likely to spar over one thing or another—especially if Gar took it into his head that Darian wasn’t a guest, but a servant.
“Hail on the wall!” he shouted at the guard on the wall walk near the gatehouse. “Darian of Bruges requests entry at the behest of Earl William.”
“Who is that with you?”
“Lady Emma de Leon, who I assure you is no threat.” The guard turned around and shouted down into the bailey below, no doubt sending someone to the keep to seek permission from Gar.
Darian glanced over at Lady Emma, who’d borne the entire journey with admirable stoicism. Not usual for a lady, at least not the ladies of his acquaintance, which he admitted weren’t many. Still, he remembered last summer’s flight from London when William had insisted Queen Matilda flee the city before it was captured by the enemy. Her life had been endangered, and she hadn’t fled this far into Kent, and yet she’d chided William over her discomfort.
Not so Emma. She must surely be stiff and sore from bouncing on the cart’s unyielding seat, and likely hungry from lack of food since nooning. At the moment, she was looking up, inspecting the wall and gate, waiting patiently for someone to lower the drawbridge.
A second man appeared on the wall walk. The light was now so dim Darian couldn’t say for certain who the man was—though from the man’s height and silvery hair, he surmised that Gar had come to see for himself.
“Were it not for the lady I would tell you to come back on the morn,” Gar declared from above.
If not for the lady, Gar might refuse to let him in at all, which would suit Darian fine. But there were William’s orders to consider, so Darian strove to keep his tone amicable. “Were it not for the lady’s sake, I would not request admittance at this late hour.”
Soon chains rattled and winches groaned as the drawbridge began to lower and the iron gate to rise.
“I gather you and Gar are not on the best of terms,” Emma commented.
“We have no great liking for each other. Gar would prefer that all the Flemish in England be sent back to Flanders.”
Her eyebrow arched. “Even Earl William?” “Especially Earl William. The notion of a man of Flanders being named an English earl doesn’t sit well with Gar.”
“Then why does William keep him as his steward?” A question Darian had once asked of William after Gar had ordered a peasant whipped for mixing a batch of mortar too thin.
“As long as Gar continues to efficiently oversee the defense of Hadone and the building projects, William sees no reason to replace him. The man is a reliable steward and William considers that a boon.”
The drawbridge thudded to the ground. He nudged his horse forward and the carter snapped his whip.
Darian led them across the bailey. Here, too, were changes. The pile of rough stone had been moved to near the uncompleted section of wall, where masons and laborers applied chisel and hammer to smooth those stones to be raised on early morn. More shelters, built of timber and roofed with thatch, abutted the new wall. Flickering candlelight seeped from the closed shutters of most of them.
Just as Earl William wanted, people were settling here, a new town forming.
When Darian reached the keep’s stairway, where Gar now stood with a group of servants and stable lads, he dismounted and tossed the reins to one of the lads. Before he could turn around to aid Emma from the cart, Gar rushed by and held up a hand, which Emma courteously accepted.
“I welcome thee to Hadone, Lady Emma.”
Emma descended with as much grace and dignity as was possible when climbing down from a cart. “My thanks, Gar. Your hospitality is greatly appreciated.”
“ ’Tis not right that a lady should be forced to endure the rigors of the road in such rough company. I hope
But then, over the next few days, he and Gar were likely to spar over one thing or another—especially if Gar took it into his head that Darian wasn’t a guest, but a servant.
“Hail on the wall!” he shouted at the guard on the wall walk near the gatehouse. “Darian of Bruges requests entry at the behest of Earl William.”
“Who is that with you?”
“Lady Emma de Leon, who I assure you is no threat.” The guard turned around and shouted down into the bailey below, no doubt sending someone to the keep to seek permission from Gar.
Darian glanced over at Lady Emma, who’d borne the entire journey with admirable stoicism. Not usual for a lady, at least not the ladies of his acquaintance, which he admitted weren’t many. Still, he remembered last summer’s flight from London when William had insisted Queen Matilda flee the city before it was captured by the enemy. Her life had been endangered, and she hadn’t fled this far into Kent, and yet she’d chided William over her discomfort.
Not so Emma. She must surely be stiff and sore from bouncing on the cart’s unyielding seat, and likely hungry from lack of food since nooning. At the moment, she was looking up, inspecting the wall and gate, waiting patiently for someone to lower the drawbridge.
A second man appeared on the wall walk. The light was now so dim Darian couldn’t say for certain who the man was—though from the man’s height and silvery hair, he surmised that Gar had come to see for himself.
“Were it not for the lady I would tell you to come back on the morn,” Gar declared from above.
If not for the lady, Gar might refuse to let him in at all, which would suit Darian fine. But there were William’s orders to consider, so Darian strove to keep his tone amicable. “Were it not for the lady’s sake, I would not request admittance at this late hour.”
Soon chains rattled and winches groaned as the drawbridge began to lower and the iron gate to rise.
“I gather you and Gar are not on the best of terms,” Emma commented.
“We have no great liking for each other. Gar would prefer that all the Flemish in England be sent back to Flanders.”
Her eyebrow arched. “Even Earl William?” “Especially Earl William. The notion of a man of Flanders being named an English earl doesn’t sit well with Gar.”
“Then why does William keep him as his steward?” A question Darian had once asked of William after Gar had ordered a peasant whipped for mixing a batch of mortar too thin.
“As long as Gar continues to efficiently oversee the defense of Hadone and the building projects, William sees no reason to replace him. The man is a reliable steward and William considers that a boon.”
The drawbridge thudded to the ground. He nudged his horse forward and the carter snapped his whip.
Darian led them across the bailey. Here, too, were changes. The pile of rough stone had been moved to near the uncompleted section of wall, where masons and laborers applied chisel and hammer to smooth those stones to be raised on early morn. More shelters, built of timber and roofed with thatch, abutted the new wall. Flickering candlelight seeped from the closed shutters of most of them.
Just as Earl William wanted, people were settling here, a new town forming.
When Darian reached the keep’s stairway, where Gar now stood with a group of servants and stable lads, he dismounted and tossed the reins to one of the lads. Before he could turn around to aid Emma from the cart, Gar rushed by and held up a hand, which Emma courteously accepted.
“I welcome thee to Hadone, Lady Emma.”
Emma descended with as much grace and dignity as was possible when climbing down from a cart. “My thanks, Gar. Your hospitality is greatly appreciated.”
“ ’Tis not right that a lady should be forced to endure the rigors of the road in such rough company. I hope
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