she’d been by his compliments.
She spotted Denly, one of the stronger servants, and told him it was time to start taking down the tables to clear a space for dancing. Then she went to have a few words with Gordon, the minstrel, about the music for dancing. She herself never danced, but Mavis enjoyed it.
First, though, she would speak to Sally, a young and particularly voluptuous and overly friendly maidservant lingering at the table where the youthful squires sat.
Until tonight, Tamsin had never understood how any woman could give up the precious possession of her virginity to any man outside of marriage. There was too much to lose, even for a poor girl.
Now, though, when she remembered Sir Rheged’s dark eyes and voice, she was beginning to understand how a woman could succumb to desire regardless of the consequences. His compliments had sounded so sincere, she could believe his words were not mere meaningless flattery, but spoken from the heart.
Even so, any pleasure to be gained from giving in to lust surely outweighed the risks, especially for a highborn lady. Bearing a child out of wedlock meant telling the world you were too weak to resist your base impulses. You were a woman of shame.
As for Sally, one of these days, she would probably come to Tamsin in tears to say she was with child and what should she do? Tamsin would see that some kind of dowry was provided and perhaps even a husband, if there was another servant willing to marry her.
But she would deal with that when and if it became necessary. In the meantime... “Sally!”
The maidservant with thick auburn hair and a pert little nose knew better than to linger any longer and came forward at once. “Yes, my lady?”
“Open the shutters near the doors. The hall is getting too stuffy.”
“Yes, my lady,” Sally replied, doing as she was bid and wisely ignoring the obvious disappointment of the young squires.
Tamsin couldn’t imagine Sir Rheged ever being like those boys, giddy with excitement over the tournament, trying their best to look manly and to persuade a woman into their bed.
Determined, even ruthless she could see, but never giddy. As for looking manly, she could well believe Sir Rheged had always exuded that sense of contained and controlled power. And when it came to persuading a woman into bed, she wouldn’t be surprised to learn women had fought for the privilege.
“Careful, my lady!” Denly called out as she nearly stepped into the path of the servants moving the top of one of the trestle tables out of the way.
“I shall be,” she murmured, and not just when it came to moving the tables. She would avoid Sir Rheged of Cwm Bron for the rest of his visit there. It would surely be better—and safer—that way.
* * *
Late the next morning, after the light rain had let up just as Sir Rheged had said it would and the melee had commenced in the far field, Tamsin headed to the kitchen to check the progress of the preparations for the feast that would mark the end of the tournament. As she neared the entrance, she heard the unmistakable sound of a slap, followed by Armond’s loud and angry voice. “Get up, you lazy, good-for-nothing scamp!”
Tamsin hurried into the kitchen to see Ben, the little spit boy, holding his cheek, while Armond towered over him, hands on beefy hips. “Armond!” she snapped. “You know I don’t allow any servant to strike another!”
Armond glowered at her. “He was asleep when he has work to do.”
“You know my rules,” she replied. “If you don’t wish to obey them, you may leave the castle.”
“Your uncle—”
“Has no desire to be involved in any household disputes, as anyone will tell you. The servants are in my charge, and I keep the peace, not him. If you don’t wish to obey my rules, there are plenty of other cooks who would be glad to have your place. Hit Ben or any other servant again, and—”
Mavis burst into the kitchen like a howling gale. “They’re coming back! The melee’s over already!” She came to a startled halt. “Oh, am I interrupting?”
Tamsin turned her back on the cook. “Are you sure?”
“Charlie says one of the guards saw their armor gleaming in the sunlight down the road, so they’re coming back. Let’s go to the wall walk and see if we can tell who won,” Mavis eagerly suggested.
Despite Tamsin’s avid curiosity, that news could wait. The returning knights would be wanting hot water and fresh linen to wash before the feast. Their ladies, too.
“I can’t,” Tamsin replied before she addressed some of the younger maidservants. “Sally, Meg and Becky, start taking hot water to the guest apartments.”
The young women sighed in unison, for carrying the buckets of hot water was no easy task.
“Oh, please come with me, Tamsin!” Mavis pleaded. “There’s time and you don’t have to stand near the edge of the walk. They haven’t reached the outer gate yet.”
“Charlie could be wrong, then. Meg, Sally, Becky, don’t bother with the water until we’re sure, or it might be too cold when they return.”
“That’s right—we should be sure,” Mavis agreed. “Let’s go look ourselves.”
“All right, but I can only spare a little time,” she said, giving in. After all, she should know if the melee was really over or not, and she could stand against the tower, where she couldn’t see over the edge to the ground below. She had always been afraid of being up high, even as a little child and before her parents died of the ague, and for no reason that she could name, other than a vivid notion of what a fall from a great height could do.
Together the two young women hurried through the corridor connecting the kitchen to the great hall.
Mavis wore a finely woven green gown with a lighter green overtunic, her blond hair gleaming like molten gold; Tamsin wore a plainer gown of doe-brown wool, the sleeves rolled back to expose slender arms and capable hands, her long braid of chestnut hair swinging down her back as always.
Skirting the excited and ever-present hounds, they walked quickly through the hall bustling with servants spreading clean linen on the tables and sprinkling fresh rosemary and fleabane on the rush-covered floors. Denly was putting new torches in the sconces. Despite their hurry, Tamsin made sure all was as it should be as she passed the servants, giving each a nod and a smile.
“I’m sure Sir Jocelyn won the day,” Mavis said as they climbed the steps to the wall walk near the main gate in the inner curtain wall. “He was the squire of Sir William of Kent.”
“He’s very comely, too.”
“That isn’t why I think he’ll win,” Mavis replied with a toss of her head. “He’s very well trained.”
That might be, but he’s no Sir Rheged, Tamsin thought, then silently chastised herself for even thinking of the Welsh knight.
As they came out onto the wall walk, Mavis went right to the edge, while Tamsin stood with her back against the solid tower. Her cousin pointed at the group of men in the area between the outer
