The Mercenary's Claim Page 6

  Then, to her amazement, he took her in his arms. “There’s my good girl. You are going to be a good girl, aren’t you?”

  “What?”

  “My dear wife. My darling, Kirsten. I know it will take time for you to learn to love our people as I do, to treat them with affection and yes, respect, for their hard work and loyalty which is worth as much as noble blood, if not more.” He stroked her back, then leaned away to look in her face. “I love you too much to let you go on shaming yourself and me by mistreating the very people who are our greatest joy and blessing.”

  “But they’re just servants,” she sniffled. “I don’t know how else to treat them.”

  “I’ve seen you treat hawks with respect and affection.”

  “Yes, but they have great worth and must be handled carefully or they could turn on you. Even when they are wild, they are beautiful.”

  “The same thing can be said of the folk, Kirsten. Think about it. Then rest. I’ll bring you a tray for your dinner.”

  She knew better than to argue. She was being punished and as she considered it in the new light of her husband’s insights, perhaps she did deserve it. She did have much to consider. It was embarrassing to think that her cousin would know she was in disgrace, but at least Frena would know what she now was beginning to believe: her husband loved her, too.

  * * *

  The summer months were passing all too quickly. Busy and active, Kirsten watched life on the manor grounds grow under her husband’s ambitious stewardship. He was everywhere, supervising everything, getting his hand in at every opportunity and seeming to thrive on early mornings in the fields and late nights in the public houses. She could only hope that he was indeed merely keeping up old contacts when he went on these outings. He certainly came home as eager for her charms as he had been from the first.

  She asked Neslin about it one day when they were cleaning the deer Wern and Gustav had brought in for their supper. “You don’t think he has a woman in the village, do you?”

  “Not my place to say,” Neslin chuckled. She was still stiff in her manner towards Kirsten, though both women had tried to put the unpleasant past behind them, after Kirsten had apologized to both Wern and Neslin. “But I can’t see what he could want in this village. Nobody of a female sort save Oma, the innkeeper’s mother.”

  As if to herself, she continued, “There might be another thing that draws him. What takes a man to a public house? Can be the drink, but he’s plenty of that here, and better. Can be gaming, but the captain, or the master, as I should now say, he doesn’t go in much for wasting money he hasn’t got. Can be for the company of his own kind. That sounds more likely. Varin’s camp can’t be too far off. Might be he wants the sight of a friendly face or two. Faces with beards, that is. And the crowd. Gustav always was a one for the crowds. Loves to tell stories and laughs longest and loudest of all.”

  Kirsten nodded. She could see that in him. Then she frowned. This Varin person was not the kind of man she wanted her fledgling nobleman husband to consort with. She had met him over the weeks and months she had resided here at Schoenfeld. Frena had met him before her departure and had been reserved in her judgments. Neslin of course had always been unstinting in her admiration, but Kirsten could not warm to him.

  The man himself was one thing. What he represented was quite another indeed. She would have to ask Gustav about where he went and what he did there, though what she could do about it if she did not like the answers, she had no idea.

  She was still puzzling over the problem after their simple supper of stewed venison and bread, followed by strawberries bathed in cream. Once Neslin and Wern had taken themselves off to the quarters that they used as often as not, since their children were well taken care of by Neslin’s mother and sister in their house in the village, Kirsten worked up the courage to begin her interrogation. “Are you going to the public house tonight?”

  “I hadn’t thought to.”

  “There’s not much moon, is there? Hard for anyone coming along the main road to see without carrying a lantern that could be seen for miles.”

  “That’s true enough,” Gustav said, his ever-present smile lighting up his face.

  Before meeting him, Kirsten would have expected a man who was hiding something to be uneasy or hesitant in his answer. She knew better now. “What are you not telling me?”

  Gustav laughed. “What do you mean, my dearest?”

  “That smile. You might as well tell me. You know I’ll figure it out eventually.”

  “Your father warned me about you intelligent women,” Gustav groused good-naturedly. He picked her up and swung her onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her soundly. “I’ve found there are two ways to deal with all that cleverness. This is one. The other has you not in my lap, but over it. Which shall it be tonight?”

  “Why should it be either? Why not just answer my question?”

  “Do you really want an answer? Or do you want to hound me for not doing what you want?”

  “How can I know that until I know what it is you don’t want to tell me?”

  Gustav barked with laughter. “Promise not to scold me, then. I fear your frowns as an owl fears daylight.”

  It was Kirsten’s turn to laugh. “I promise. Just tell me. What are you hiding?”

  “When I go to the public house, I meet old friends there. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”

  “Oh, Gustav!” Kirsten groaned and tried to push away from him, but he held her fast.

  “Now, now, you promised not to scold.”

  “I’m not scolding, I’m lamenting. Which friends, exactly.”

  “There’s nothing exact about it. First one then another, that’s all.”

  “Besides Varin, are there any others of your old mercenary band that come regularly?”

  Gustav shook his head. “No, not regularly, and they aren’t a band. They’re an army.”

  “Truly?” asked Kirsten, disbelieving.

  “Truly! He just needs a bit of help persuading new recruits sometimes. For a brilliant tactician, he completely lacks tact. And persuasion.”

  “And personality.”

  Gustav nodded. “And personality, yes. But as a soldier, he’s top notch.”

  “Top notch, I see. So he brings along any fresh blood he’s courting and you talk them into signing up, is that it?”

  “Something like that, yes.”

  “But this fresh talent. Where does it come from, I wonder? I mean, the peasants around here, they only have so many sons growing up and coming of an age to go off as fighting men, and only so many of those won’t be serving in their liege’s army. Namely my father’s army, for the most part.”

  “For the most part.”

  “Gustav!”

  “I don’t only recruit soldiers. You know that. What about our new blacksmith? He’s working out well.”

  “Oh, yes, definitely. He’s wonderful and his wife makes the best meat pies I’ve ever eaten. But you’ve got that smile again. What other kinds of workers do you recruit?”

  “Nothing you need to worry about.”

  “You’re hedging again. That means it’s something shady, but it’s not you doing it. It must be Varin.”

  “Jumping to conclusions, aren’t you? You never did like Varin, did you?”

  Kirsten rolled over him as if he hadn’t spoken. “Now, I know Varin’s been in the mercenary trade for quite a while. What has changed? Hmmm. The territory? The sense of security? The access to the nobility? No, they’re as corrupt as he is, maybe more so. The territory, then. There’s the hills. Growing something?”

  “All right,” Gustav interrupted her reverie. “I’ll tell you. You’ll find out soon enough anyway. I’ve been looking into it and I think these hills will be ideal for growing grapes.”

  Kirsten gave him a suspicious look. “Of course they are.”

  “If that’s such a well-known fact, then why doesn’t your father grow grapes a
nd produce his own wine? Most of the noble houses do.”

  “My mother’s brother has something of a passion for viniculture. As a courtesy to him, my father stays out of the business.”

  “But the hills around here are perfect for it, or so says old Hans.”

  Kirsten gave a start. “You’ve consulted old Hans? I didn’t know you knew about him. My father seems to think he’s our family secret.”

  “So does every other noble family in the realm. How do you think he fares so well? Each nobleman thinks he’s got a private line to the future and all wisdom through old Hans. They all come to him and all he requires is their silence.”

  “And their gold,” Kirsten observed drily.

  “The man has to make a living. His little trickery doesn’t mean he’s wrong. All I need is to find a master vintner. The best come from across the river, down south. It’s a long way.”

  Kirsten, exasperated, shook her head. “That’s why you told me. You knew I’d find out anyway. Going on a trip like that, you know I’d realize you hadn’t just gone to a fair in the next parish.”

  “You are your mother’s daughter,” Gustav commented. “Too clever by half.”

  “You could take me with you, you know. I’d love to see wine country in a foreign land.”

  “It does sound romantic, doesn’t it?” Gustav gave her a meaningful leer.

  “You would think of that.”

  “I’m always thinking of that.”

  “Especially until I get you an heir.”

  “That’s not the only reason and you know it. Why don’t I prove it to you?” He had his hand underneath her tunic and belt before she could stop him.

  “You’re trying to distract me.”

  “Is it working?”

  But then he made sure she could not answer. Bearing her down onto the bench, he pulled her to the end and pushed her clothing out of the way. “What are you doing?” she asked, confused but intrigued.

  He knelt between her parted legs. “A farmer ploughs before he plants his seed.”

  “But not like that! That’s not—”

  “Oh, yes it is.” He stretched up to give her that ever-present smile before he bent his head again to make her gasp and forget everything else.

  * * *

  Later that night, as they lay entwined and spent on the bed where they had moved once the bench had proved too hard, Kirsten tapped Gustav’s chest with an accusing finger. “The lake.”

  “What?”

  “It’s the lake, isn’t it? That’s what you’re hiding.”

  “You’ll have to explain. I’m not yet thinking as clearly as I would like.”

  “You just spent all evening distracting me so I wouldn’t figure out what you’re really up to.”

  “Now, Kirsten! I really am going south to bring back a vintner.”

  “Oh, yes, I’m sure you are, but that’s not what you’re really hiding. I got that out of you too easily and then you were very careful to make sure I got nothing else out of you at all.”

  “I wouldn’t call this nothing! And if you thought I only gave you a night of burning passion in order to distract you, then why did you go along with it?”

  Kirsten gave him an incredulous look. “Because you were giving me a night of burning passion, silly man!” She hit him lightly and he let out a reluctant chuckle.

  “I suppose I earned that.”

  “Sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander.”

  Gustav, laughing, recited the end of the sentence with her then continued, hopefully, “Well, if that’s so, then you could try on me what I did to you.”

  Kirsten blushed deeply. “Noble ladies do not do such things. At least not before midnight. And not with only one glass of wine in them.”

  Gustav gave a shout of laughter. “Then let me pour you another!” He suited action to word.

  They both took sips of the rich red liquid. “The lake is well watched these days,” she commented.

  Gustav, not missing a beat or acknowledging any change of subject, replied, “It’s dangerous at any time.” He began stroking her hair.

  “The king makes his pilgrimage to the abbey every Yuletide.”

  “That’s the worst kept secret in the kingdom.”

  “And he has the area cleared and made doubly secure every year just before he goes.”

  “That’s the second worst kept secret.”

  “But this year, it’s Count Ulrich who has the duty. All the high nobles take it in turns.”

  Gustav’s hand stilled. “I see.”

  “And Count Ulrich is uncommonly lazy.”

  Gustav commenced stroking her hair again. “All the better for… anyone who might be doing something on the lake that, while not illegal, might be frowned upon by the powers that be.”

  “Just so, my lord,” Kirsten observed in the playfully respectful tone she used when she wanted Gustav to pay particular attention. “But he does like to hunt, so he combines any task he may be set with something he actually likes. For example, he always hunts pheasant by the south end of the lake this time of year. Then he works his way northwards around the lake, taking in the grouse and then the deer that my father takes pains to attract to his summer home on the north end.” She ended by emphasizing each phrase separately, giving special attention to the directional words.

  Gustav seemed to understand. “He does this every year?”

  “For as long as I can remember. I feel sure he will combine this duty with the security patrol, or rather, he’ll order his guards and at least a small regiment of soldiers from his private forces to do so. They’ll do the clearing and he’ll appear to be taking a personal hand in it.”

  “Hmmm. Being so predictable is not good strategy, as Varin is always quick to remind me. It would be a wonder if he caught anyone doing anything they shouldn’t, or even things that might be misunderstood.”

  “Not so much of a wonder when one considers it’s too early for anyone to expect a sweep. The last time he was in charge, his troops put down several people. It may be that he caught some innocent ones in with the guilty, but his men are not known to be overly cautious about such matters. They tend to kill anyone they don’t like the look of and pay the blood money later if they have to.”

  “He’s a count. Who’s to object?” His look and tone of disgusted sarcasm had new meaning to Kirsten now that she had lived among the common folk and begun to see them less as tools and more as people.

  “I’m not saying it’s right. I’m only saying it’s true,” she added defensively.

  “It’s also bad for business. Your father isn’t so cold nor so foolish.”

  “But Count Ulrich is and he has the king’s favor.”

  Gustav got out of bed. “It seems to me that a visit to the public house might be in order after all, my sweet.”

  “I thought it might.”

  “I won’t be gone long. Take a short nap, or better yet, drink another glass or two of wine, and I’ll be back before you know I’m gone.” He had his clothes on and was strapping on his boots.

  “If you come back and tell me what you’ve done, we might have a talk about sauce.”

  “Sauce?”

  “For the gander.”

  His laughter followed him into the dark hall.

  Chapter Five

  Kirsten so enjoyed travel. When she looked out of the carriage, she could see the lake on one side, blue and icy depths reflecting towering pines and clouds like bits fraying from a bedspread. On the other side, those same trees, along with the shorter, stumpier holly and dogwood and the majestic oak and ash stood sentinel over a silent sea of sapphire stems.

  Wern, sitting at the front of the carriage with the driver, leaned over to address the wife of his friend as if he were placating some expected complaint. “Won’t be too much longer now, my lady, and we’ll stop for another rest. There’s a nice spot up ahead.”

  Kirsten detected the defensiveness in the man’s tone and resented it. She didn’t
think she had been unreasonably demanding on this trip. “Have I asked for a rest?”

  “Not in the last hour,” came the sarcastic reply.

  “Then why are we stopping?”

  “The horses need a rest and I’ll need to scout ahead. The road afterwards is handy for an ambush.”

  Kirsten grimaced, but acquiesced. “I suppose I could get out my needlework. It’s just that I’m anxious to get to the lodge.”

  “And I’m sure Gustav is more than ready for you to arrive. Otherwise, why would he have invited you to travel so far with only me when he wouldn’t risk you taking the journey with him? He’s probably getting pretty desperate.”

  “Wern! When will you learn? You don’t talk about your liege that way. You call him ‘my lord.’”

  Wern let out a bark of laughter. “As if! My lady, I’ve seen that man in every situation imaginable. When you’ve found a man in the gutter and hauled him out of a pool of his own puke, it’s hard to call him ‘my lord.’ You’re lucky I don’t still refer to him as ‘Goofy Gustav’ like we did when we were lads. I know he’s a brilliant man, and has come a long way, but that’s mostly due to him surrounding himself with all the right people. As you’ve so often observed, he’s not a nobleman.”

  Kirsten sat back to ponder Wern’s words. Soon after they passed over a particularly muddy place on the road, the carriage driver directed the vehicle beneath a large oak and came to a stop. Kirsten could see that soon they would leave the edge of the lake and enter an area of thicker forest. As Wern helped her down, Kirsten asked him, “Then why do you stay with him?”

  “What?” Wern turned to face her.

  “If you don’t respect him, why do you stay with him?”

  “I never said I didn’t respect him. I only said he wasn’t a nobleman.”

  “But you said he only uses other people to better himself.”

  “My lady, I did not,” said Wern very clearly, as if he were offended. “He doesn’t use people. He brings out the best in everyone. That’s a true leader. And if you want an example, look in the mirror.” He stalked off, back up the road.