The Long Betrothal Ch. 02

Dear Readers-

Sorry for the delay— I spent a week in Maine eating, kayaking, climbing, and totally avoiding intellectual pursuits! I still plan on posting a new chapter every 2 weeks, though, unless editing is especially bumpy.

Thanks again for your support— I'm completely addicted to comments! - Stefanie

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REMINDER:

The Long Betrothal is a four-part series. While it's possible to read the sections out of order and not get lost, there's an actual story to back up all the naughty bits, and it's more fun if you start at the beginning.

- o -

His most trusted men kept their ears open and asked a few quiet questions as they waited for Maxen's messenger to return from Ruthin Abbey with the cleric he'd been sent to fetch.

In the interim, one of his vassals came to him with a story he was clearly not eager to share.

"My lord... the Queen... I mean your... um, Lady Kerin- " he stopped, his mouth moving without sound.

"Spit it out, man. I am not besotted."

Madoc shook his head slowly. "The young queen is... close approaching wicked, m'lord."

Maxen hesitated, surprised at Madoc's choice of descriptors. "In what way, exactly?"

The half-dozen soldiers around him quieted, eager to hear what tale their brother-in-arms was so loathe to relate.

"Her brother was fostered south to Marchia Wallia and accidentally killed a baron's bastard son after the bigger boy attacked him. The brother- Selyf was his name- fled here to his family for shelter, of course." Madoc shifted uneasily as he continued. "When the baron sent his men to fetch the lad back for redress to his crime, Lady Kerin- barely sixteen at the time- met them in the courtyard and sent for the boy. The old king was nearing death by then, hardly knew his own name, they say. When her brother was brought before the baron's men, he refused to answer his sister's questions. She borrowed her man's sword and beheaded the boy. He was thirteen, m'lord."

Maxen's men were silent and shocked. Violence was nothing new to any of them, but women were different. Women- especially ladies- were meant to nurture, not murder.

After a silence, Maxen mused, " 'Tis but a rumor."

Madoc cleared his throat, shaking his head slowly. "Nay, my lord. Many saw it happen. A few families left in the days that followed, with m'lady's permission. Aloud 'tis said she feared the Norman king's wrath, but 'tis whispered that Penrhyn Tywyll couldn't afford the baron's fee for satisfaction, which sure the court would grant. Lady Kerin hoped the grand gesture would suffice, and it did. But..." With a glance around the room that would do justice to the machinations of any courtier, Madoc hesitated. " 'Tis breathed by a few brave souls that Lady Kerin's true desire was for her father's lands and dominion over the people."

Edon and Maxen exchanged a look.

Edon shook his head, disbelieving. "Having witnessed that, why would any of her freemen remain loyal?" The taeogion- serfs- he could understand- they had no choice- but Kerin's ceorl surely would have revolted after such a brutal act.

Madoc shrugged. "They say Lady Kerin attends the sick and wounded and keeps the old and infirm fed. Mayhap it's penance for the boy's death, but those vassals who remain have forgiven her."

- -o- -

Despite the tale of her murderous history, Maxen and his men had been in residence at Tywyll Keep for barely four days when Edon began to question his own dismal opinion of Kerin, and then to question his reasons for doubting.

Daily, he'd become more reluctant to discuss the matter with Maxen. His friend remained aloof, and nominally his reasons for wedding Lady Kerin remained the same: should the Normans finally seize control of Wales, as they'd been threatening for decades, Maxen planned to keep the title he'd claimed and the lands which went with it. Kerin's bloodline gave him hereditary claim to the lands, which he'd enforce with the might of his uchelwr- the lesser lords who'd sworn fealty to him and who would bring their own forces to Maxen's aid.

In Penrhyn Tywyll, they had a jewel- a place to house and train an army that could mayhap stay secret until Maxen called, as well as a potential stronghold to block the mountain passes below.

Despite those eloquently spoken reasons, Edon no more believed Maxen completely free of Kerin than he believed the dozens of tales he'd heard about the woman's wondrous good deeds. The generous, soft-hearted mistress her serfs described would not have beheaded a younger brother who reportedly loved her before all others, nor would she have treated Maxen so ill. For some reason her people were protecting her, and Edon was determined to discover that reason. He could only hope to succeed before Kerin planted her claws too close to Maxen's vital organs.

- -o- -

On Maxen's part, he was disgusted to discover he still harbored a weakness for the woman, despite what she'd done to him, and despite whatever treachery she was hiding. Other than her duties as mistress of the keep- making sure he was well fed and his physical comforts attended to- Kerin didn't often speak to Maxen, but he couldn't avoid hearing her interactions with others. She was still as clever and amusing as the girl she'd been when first they met, gracious and patient with serfs and servants, and inventive when untangling any quandary. As far as he could tell, she rested little and did exactly as her people had reported, selflessly tending to those that needed her care. It irritated Maxen greatly because her behavior conflicted so harshly with the woman he knew her to be.

He stayed away from her as much as possible during the day, but at night, he tortured himself by sleeping in the same room. He'd shocked Kerin by offering to share the big bed, but didn't object when she opted to make herself a pallet on the floor by the fire. It was probably best. He wasn't sure he could make it through an entire night lying at her side without sliding his cock into the warmth he'd felt between her legs when she rode his thigh so eagerly.

He was listening to Edon discuss the upcoming day's work when Kerin crossed the hall with a villein's child on her hip. In a sudden silence, Maxen glanced over to find Edon watching Kerin, too.

Edon met his questioning look placidly. "All else aside, Lady Kerin will be good to your children."

The second Maxen thought of putting a babe in Kerin's belly, his cock sprang to readiness. His erection was harder than the ledge beneath the bailey, and nearly as difficult to miss. Maxen had no choice: he sat down at the table beside them and waved to a passing servant, calling for food. He invited Edon to join him and received a look of such astonishment, he almost laughed aloud.

"We ate an hour ago."

Maxen waved it off. "I'm hungry. Go see how work proceeds on the south tower if you want no food. Our chief stonemason looks old enough to have hewn the base of this mountain with God's own hammer."

With another disbelieving stare, Edon watched Maxen pile ham onto a half-loaf of black bread and take his first big bite. He made a face and stormed away.

Maxen waited until his vassal was out of sight to pour some water down his throat in an attempt to flush the ham, which had precious little room to rest after the hearty meal he'd eaten earlier.

He leaned on his elbows, cursing fate and his own stupidity. It had been so easy to make that vow, to say: I'll bed my lawful wife once a year and get my heirs on another. But look at him now- after only four days of sleeping in the same room with Kerin, he no longer had control of his cock! How the hell was he going to last a year when he couldn't even last the week?

His hard-on cured by the distraction of an ill-conceived meal, Maxen stood. What he needed was a woman. There were plenty to be had around the keep; for certain one of them would suit. Averting his eyes from the food on his trencher, he strode toward a dozen small buildings in the outer bailey.

Half an hour later Maxen tugged a village girl behind the small kitchen granary tacked onto the north wall of the keep. Even with his long stride eating distance and his eyes flitting quickly from face to face, it had taken a long time to find a woman who suited him. This one was pretty enough, he thought, ignoring the pouty lips and the upturned face in favor of pushing her downward and yanking open the tapes at his waist. He shoved his drawers down and held the tunic aside, watching as the wench smiled slyly up at him. She knelt, her fingers closing around the bare skin of his cock, which was already half-hard.

The girl knew what she was doing, using one hand to stroke his shaft while the other cupped his balls. She licked his cock and Maxen watched her mouth avidly while she performed, waiting for the arousal he expected to feel, but he remained stubbornly half-hard. He cursed under his breath, reaching out to stroke the lass's hair. When she lifted her eyes this time, he was momentarily surprised to see that they were blue, instead of the sparkling hazel he expected.

Maxen's hand froze, his eyes running over her delicate features, the fair skin and pert nose, the high cheekbones and wide pink lips. He'd scampered around the bailey like a madman looking for a "pretty" girl, only to chose the one whose features and coloring most closely resembled Kerin's! He swore again, letting his hand fall from her hair as his erection threatened to vanish altogether.

To hell with it, he thought. Maxen leaned his head back against the building, closed his eyes, and pictured Kerin's lovely lips wrapped around his cock. In ten seconds he was hard as hot-forged steel, giving the girl- giving Kerin- something to work with.

Maxen kept his eyes closed, imagining Kerin's hand closed around his cock, Kerin's tongue searching out the dip at the end, Kerin sucking the head and stroking the shaft so firmly as she knelt before him, gloriously nude. He pictured pushing her back onto their bed and sucking her nipples while he parted her legs, exploring the soft folds with his fingers, then thrusting into her... Maxen was on the verge of shooting his seed in the wench's warm mouth when a faint sound garnered his attention.

His eyes snapped opened and landed on Kerin. She stood not twenty feet away with an empty garden basket dangling forgotten on her arm, staring at the woman sucking Maxen's cock. He was only moments from coming, and Kerin's lips parting as she gasped for air were too much for him. He shoved his hips stiffly forward and couldn't stop his hands from latching onto the girl's head, pulling her mouth further onto his cock. He growled and grimaced as he came, and when his eyes opened, Kerin was gone.

His chest heaving, Maxen pushed the wench away from her attempt to lovingly lick him clean. He yanked his trousers into place and fished in his pouch for a coin, which he dropped without glancing down as he strode off toward the kitchen garden.

Kerin wasn't there. He didn't want to alarm the servants by invading the kitchen, so he loitered by the herbs, wondering what he thought he could say that would make any difference. He cursed and retraced his path past the granary, jogging down the steps and through the bailey to the stable, where he saddled his horse and mounted.

"My lord." Two of his teulu, his bodyguard, were at his side, saddling their own mounts.

Maxen opened his mouth to tell them not to bother, then closed it again without uttering a word. It was how things were done. He wouldn't let his men break the rules he'd made to assure their safety: he certainly couldn't break them himself just because he was... what?... what was he? Angry? Upset? Sorry?

No, damn it!

He refused to regret spending his natural lust on a willing young woman. What business was it of Kerin's? She didn't want him, after all, so why should it matter to her who he bedded?

With his teulu flanking him, Maxen jerked the reins and headed down the hill toward the barbican gate, the most well-constructed bit of Tywyll Keep's many motley fortifications. They were in the very beginning stages of rebuilding, and he decided to ride the perimeter checking progress on the outer walls. Surely that would keep his mind off the expression Kerin had been wearing... but... why did she have to look like that? Like she was so damn hurt by what he was doing? What business was it of hers? he asked himself again.

Three hours later, his inspection tour complete, Maxen was still trying to quiet the questioning demons in his head. Why had she looked so very hurt? He might well have slapped Kerin for the pain she'd displayed.

And the damn woman had ruined the selfsame thing he'd gone there for: release! It was the first time spilling his seed had ever been unpleasant, and Maxen sincerely hoped it would be the last.

- -o- -

Since Kerin was mistress of the keep in everything but name, it feel to her to ensure guests were well-fed and made welcome in what was now Maxen ap Dyfed's home. A variety of people supped with them, from Kerin's taeogion and her land-owning freemen to Maxen's teulu and the little old man who was in charge of laying the walls at the outer defenses. Many people bedded down in the Great Hall after the bards had worn their harps into silence and the singers had fallen into their cups or into their wives. The lord and lady would have joined them in years past, when a keep consisted of only two or three floors devoted to defense, but Maxen and Kerin had the luxury of retreating to a separate bedchamber above.

After she saw him with the girl, Kerin went from being polite and mildly reticent around Maxen to being downright miserly with her speech, and she never met his eyes. She'd speak and even smile during dinner, where they sat side by side, because it involved the welfare of her community, but when they were alone, she withdrew into silence.

Biting back his frustration, Maxen left Kerin to her own devices and went about the business of readying Penrhyn Tywyll for war.

Owain of Gwynedd had styled himself Prince of Wales and was busy pushing his borders east into Powys, not looking north to Maxen and Rhos. There were so many warring lords in Wales, Maxen thought, that it was conceivable that Owain was completely unaware of Maxen ap Dyfed. That was fine with him, Maxen laughed. He'd just as soon remain a nameless threat in the mountainous terrain, quietly collecting lands, men, and wealth to strengthen his position before pushing West toward the Irish sea. Prince Owain not withstanding, Wales would not long remain independent unless its many kings united, and therein lay Maxen's true goal. The more territory he amassed, the more powerful his bargaining position would be when the time came to deal with other lords of the land.

Maxen was thankful that the keep itself was in good order, leaving him free to concentrate on the walls and bailey. The anonymous architect had done a good job staggering chambers and shooting positions along the outer walls of Tywyll Keep. The rooms were long and narrow, the lower ones only large enough for a bed and chamber pot, with a curtain drawn across each alcove's mouth. The beds broke down quickly to make way for archers when occasion arose. Further up the inner walls were four larger chambers, the topmost meant for the Lord and Lady of the castle. Their chamber wasn't very big, either, but it had a hearth and a tiny table, and space for a wooden washtub where the lady could have privacy to bathe.

In the outer bailey, the stable and granary needed repairs, and the blacksmith had little more than a roof, leaving him no place to store tools or metal. No proviso had been made for a weaponsmith, either, so Maxen's men had much to keep them busy. He sent two men north to Rhos to gather news and to collect the sulking squires who'd been left behind, and he sent another messenger to Ruthin Abbey, when a week had gone with no word of an approaching cleric.

Maxen would feel better with matters settled, though he doubted the marriage would make Kerin's presence less troubling to him personally.

- -o- -

After several days of silence, the new lord of Penrhyn Tywyll decided he should make peace with Kerin before a priest arrived to sanctify their union. Maxen himself might look on it as a convenience, but it was important for Kerin's people to see the marriage and his leadership blessed by the church. A healthy contribution to the church's coffers would do much to soothe a cleric's conscience, but Welsh law allowed a noblewoman many rights, and it would be best if Kerin agreed to the marriage.

He put his horse up and told his men he'd see them in the hall at the evening meal. As he climbed the keep's wooden steps, he passed Kerin's maid, who reported that her mistress was in the kitchen. Exactly as Maxen expected, his entrance sent half a dozen people scurrying for cover. The old cook and the washerwoman standing near the hearth didn't blink an eye.

"My lord," they murmured in unison.

A quick glance told him Kerin wasn't there, but he stepped further in, sniffing the air. Buttering up the cook never hurt the master of the manor. "I came to complain about the smell," he said sternly.

The women controlled their frowns almost as well as he controlled his smile. "My men accomplish nothing! They stand around discussing the delicious aromas emanating from within and wonder aloud what's to be served at the evening meal!"

Having heard tales about their new lord's fierce temper, the women were more than surprised by this good-natured teasing. They chortled and insisted he have a little taste of every dish in progress. As he was joking with them, Maxen noticed something moving along the base of the outside wall. He was across the kitchen in an instant. The washerwoman squealed, but Maxen had already turned aside. Having thought to stomp a rat, he'd almost killed a kitten.

He bent and scooped the tiny grey tabby to eye level. "You should not be masquerading as a rodent, Sir Kitten." He peeked beneath the furry belly and corrected himself. "Mistress Kit."

The washerwoman hurried to take the kitten from Maxen, but he lifted it out of her reach, which wasn't difficult, because the woman came no higher than his navel.

"My Lord!" she chided, apparently over her fear of him.

"Is this your kitten, m'lady?"

With much redirection he learned that one of the serving girls had found it starving in her parents' woodpile, with no sign of its mother. The ladies in the kitchen were taking turns feeding it with a length of straw.

"That must consume a fair piece of your time." Maxen commented mildly.

Exchanging a worried glance, they assured him that the kitten was cared for only when their work was done.

He almost snorted and had opened his mouth to express doubt when he heard feminine voices from the hall. He shut his mouth and listened to the servants with one ear, scratching the kitten's cheek as he did.

A few moments later, having decided the voices were those of Kerin's women descending from above without their mistress, he straightened. "Well, I'm afraid your cooking smells too good to risk ruining it with distractions. As Lord of Penrhyn Tywyll, I feel it is my duty to confiscate this kitten."

They were obviously unsure of his intentions until he tucked the tiny, sleepy, purring creature into his tunic, settling it above the sash at his waist. Maxen held the neck of the tunic away from his chest as he watched it curl into a ball in the pouch he'd created. "There." He released the tunic and looked up to find the ladies twinkling at him.