Knight's Move. Jennifer Landsbert
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pale brown in colour, made in Spain using oil of olives and smelling pleasantly of that distant land. Hester had bought a stock of it at last year’s fair in Wareham on Maud’s strict orders, else the price would definitely have deterred her. ‘It’s what my lady Adela always used and you could do worse than emulate the old mistress’s ways,’ Maud had scolded time and again when she saw the dirt which always seemed to be ingrained in Hester’s hands.
As Hester scrubbed at her arms with the soapy flannel, her mind grew numb, which seemed a blessing after the way it had been racing a few minutes before.
She dipped the cloth into the water and rubbed it more gently over her skin, trying to wash away all the tension and uncertainty which that man—her husband—had brought with him. She unplaited her fair hair and fluffed it out before dipping her head into the bowl. The water soothed her aching head as she massaged her scalp. Looking down, she almost smiled as she saw the contents of the bowl turning brown with mud. How often Maud had berated her for her unlady-like ability to attract dirt.
Tipping the dirty water into the slop bucket and refilling the bowl from the warm jug, Hester began to rinse herself clean. Across the room, the door clicked as it opened and shut again. So, Maud had soon recovered from her scolding and was returning to help her dress.
‘Pass me a towel, will you?’ Hester called out, as she stood dripping behind the screen, squeezing the water from her long hair.
‘Towel, please, Maud,’ she called again. Maud was being slow, perhaps still sulking from her telling-off. Hester rubbed the flannel over her face one last time in case any mud lingered. Some soap dripped into her eyes and stung so sharply that she stood there blinking and wincing, unable to see anything as her eyes watered with pain.
‘Ouch, I’ve got soap in my eyes. Where’s that towel?’ she demanded, sticking out her hand until the towel was thrust into it. ‘Thank you,’ she said, dabbing at her sore eyes. They were smarting less now as she raised her head and found herself looking not at the plump, familiar face of Maud, but into the hard, rugged features of her husband.
‘You!’ she cried. ‘I thought it was Maud.’
‘No, it’s definitely not Maud,’ he replied, his eyes lingering on her naked curves.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she demanded, trying to cover herself with the towel. ‘How dare you enter my room without my permission? How dare you pretend to be my maid? Have you no honour? You despicable…’ Hester realised there were no words to describe the outrage he had perpetrated.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, woman, I didn’t pretend,’ he protested heatedly. ‘You heard me come in, you asked me to pass you a towel. I fetched you one. I don’t need permission to enter my own house.’
So this was how it was to be. He intended to trample all over her, allow her no rights, no privacy…
‘You despicable rat,’ she snapped.
‘Holy blood, woman, is there no reason in you? I didn’t even know this was your chamber. I haven’t set foot in this house for ten years, remember?’
‘How could I forget?’ Hester shot back.
‘If you must know, this was my mother’s room,’ he continued reluctantly, clearly not at ease giving his explanation. ‘I have happy memories of it. I wanted to see it again. When I entered I thought it was empty. Then you asked for a towel. I supplied it. I did not follow you here to prey upon you and claim conjugal duties, as you obviously expect,’ he said forthrightly, but Hester could see his eyes travelling over her body again and felt herself blushing red-hot under his gaze.
She tried to pull the towel further around her, but was painfully aware of its inadequacy. ‘Prove you’re telling me the truth by not looking at me in that way,’ she ordered.
He laughed, a deep, rich chuckle. ‘My wife seems to require many proofs from me,’ he rejoined, ‘but I will avert my eyes if you wish. Ah,’ he said as the door clicked open once more, ‘perhaps this is Maud now.’
‘Oh!’ squealed the maid, seeing them together. ‘Oh, forgive me,’ she said and turned in a fluster to leave.
‘Maud, come back immediately,’ Hester cried.
‘Oh, are you sure? I’m sorry, my lord, I… My, my, what a joy to see you two getting on so well. Who’d have thought it after ten years apart?’
Hester’s blush of embarrassment merged with one of rage as Guy grinned in the most infuriating manner.
‘Who would have thought it, indeed?’ he echoed, raising his eyebrows and aiming a sardonic look at Hester.
‘And how much you’ve changed, my lord,’ Maud continued, oblivious to her lady’s discomfort.
‘So has the lady Hester,’ he remarked, looking her up and down. She tugged again at the towel, and took a step backwards, trying to retreat into the shadows. ‘I must say, Lady Hester,’ he continued, ‘you have certainly grown beyond all recognition. I had not expected that such a skinny little girl could have grown so well.’
The cheek of the man! Hester felt as if her blushes would never fade as he grinned at her, his eyes lingering on the curve of her hips and breasts, which, she was only too aware, the towel did little to hide. And it was all made worse by his obvious enjoyment of her embarrassment. How could she live in the same house as this objectionable, uncouth lout?
‘Well, much as I would like to stay and assist with lady Hester’s toilette, I must go and wash myself. I look forward to seeing more of you at dinner,’ he grinned, throwing a last insolent look in her direction, as he turned on his heels and left the room, closing the door behind him.
‘Not a word, Maud,’ Hester ordered grimly as the old woman turned to her, her mouth open and drawing breath, ready for much chatter.
Hester dressed hurriedly, pulling on a woollen dress of deep green which had been washed and darned since she had last seen it. Maud’s skill had made it look fairly respectable once more, far more so than when she had last discarded it, when the hem had been stiff with mud and the threadbare patch on the elbows had finally worn through. Glancing down at herself, she saw the way it clung to her hips, then flared out towards her ankles.
‘And now, my lady,’ Maud suggested tentatively, but with a look of cautious determination, ‘I think this would look well with the green.’ She was holding out a fine girdle, woven in gleaming, amber-coloured silk, with threads of gold running through it.
‘Where did that come from?’ Hester asked, her eyes fascinated by the way the cloth was gleaming in the firelight.
‘’Twas my lady Adela’s. I’m sure she would have liked you to wear it. She would have been fond of you.’
‘’Tis too fine, Maud,’ Hester said, turning away in search of her usual, workaday girdle.
‘You can’t wear that,’ Maud expostulated, following her eyes to where the woollen girdle lay, trailing amongst the heap of clothes on the floor. ‘’Tis covered in mud, my lady. All these things must be washed immediately to soak out the soil.’
‘What about my other one, the brown one?’
‘That one is still airing after yesterday’s wash,’ Maud replied firmly. ‘You can’t go down without a girdle. You’ll have to wear this one,’ she concluded, as she gathered up the muddy pile of clothes and headed for the door with an air of finality. The shabby old brown girdle had long since dried, but she wasn’t going to let on about that. She had also decided not to tell Hester that the silken girdle had been worn by Lady Adela on the day of her marriage to the old lord, Sir Guy’s father. She knew her wilful young mistress would have thrown it aside, and Maud was determined to have a little wedding-day finery in evidence for the return of the young lord to his bride.
Hester tentatively fastened the girdle round her hips. Its silken weight hung perfectly, the long tie falling down the centre of her skirt, transforming the faded wool of