And just what line was he to take with his bride? She was an intriguing creature. Her air of cool detachment from her surroundings made her seem older than her years, but when she'd danced that wild tarantella with Oliver Becket, she had been all fire and life, a sensual, passionate whirl of flame. An intriguing paradox, and one he had better figure out sooner rather than later.
He found his own friends in the Great Hall when he went down a few minutes later. They did not look as if they had spent a night of debauchery and drinking, which didn't surprise Simon. War had made them all past masters at taking their pleasures with a degree of control.
The well-kempt condition of the Great Hall, however, did surprise him. He'd left it looking like a battlefield, spilled food and wine thick on the floor, benches upturned, littered tables and stained cloths. The riotous assembly had continued until past dawn, so the servants had had little time to achieve the present scene of cleanliness and order. When the masters of a house were as neglectful as the lords of Ravenspeare, their servants tended to reflect their carelessness. But someone in the castle kept a tight hand on the household reins.
The floors had been swept and polished, the long tables scrubbed. The air was sweet with beeswax and lavender. Bread, meat, ale, and coffee were set out on a table before the brightly burning fire, and it was here that the cadre were gathered, breaking their fast before going for a morning ride.
"I give you good morning, Simon." Jack Chauncey greeted him with a wave of his tankard. "Will you break your fast?"
"Thanks, but I've already done so abovestairs." Simon sat on the bench, stretching his aching leg to the fire.
Jack smiled slightly. "You passed a pleasant night, I trust."
Simon merely nodded and his friends understood that he didn't wish to discuss his wedding night.
"Your bride's a beautiful girl, Simon, but I could wish you'd chosen a wife from some other family than these damnable Ravenspeares." Lord Stanton cut into the sirloin before him.
"Aye, they're a vile-mannered crowd," agreed Sir Peter Lancet.
"No more than expected," Simon pointed out, leaning forward to the fire, his hands resting on his knees. "But I suspect they've some tricks up their sleeves."
"You've had wind of treachery, Simon?" Jack looked sharply across the table.
Simon shrugged. "Some. I'd be glad if you'd watch my back."
"That's what we're here for."
There was a short ruminative silence, then the door to the hall crashed open and the two wolfhounds bounded in ahead of their mistress. "There's a real Fen blow going," Ariel declared in explanation for her tempestuous entrance.
"The wind snatched the door from my hand." Her cloak was blown away from her shoulders, her hair torn from its pins, her cheeks pink.
She came up the hall, looking around with a frown. She drew off her gloves and ran a finger over the long mahogany table that stood against the far wall, then pulled the bellrope. A servant appeared almost immediately.
"Paul, the grate is tarnished," she said. "And the andirons haven't been polished."
"I'll see to it directly, Lady Ariel." The man bowed and hurried away, returning in a few minutes to set to work with rag and scouring pad.
Ariel watched him for a second, then nodded as if satisfied, and came to the table. She cast an eye over the platters. "I trust you have everything you need, my lords. It's simple fare at this time of day, but breakfast will be at midmorning."
"You run an admirable household, Lady Hawkesmoor," Jack observed. "I'd never have expected such order so early this morning."
"The servants are accustomed to dealing with my brothers' messes, Lord Chauncey," Ariel said shortly. "If you wish to ride out before breakfast, I will instruct the stables to saddle your horses."
"There's little enough amusement to be had riding in the teeth of a Fen blow, as I recall," Simon observed. He was the only member of the group familiar with the Fenland's irascible and unpredictable weather, and he knew well the miseries of the great dust clouds as the topsoil was ripped from the land by the gale.
"No," Ariel agreed. "But if one stayed indoors whenever the wind got up, one would rarely venture forth. Particularly in winter."
"True enough." Simon bent to massage his aching leg. He had no desire to ride out himself into a wet and freezing gale, but neither did he wish to remain idly in the castle waiting for the malevolent brothers to awake from their drunken stupors.
"If archery appeals to you, my lords, there are targets set up in the far court. It's well sheltered from the wind," Ariel suggested, frowning as she watched Simon rub his leg. She had a salve in the stillroom that would ease the ache, but she would need to administer it herself and she was reluctant to perform such an intimate service.
"Excuse me," she said abruptly. "I have things to do."
Simon watched her walk briskly out of the hall through the door leading to the kitchens, the dogs trotting at her heels. Ariel may have had no female guidance, but it seemed she knew how to manage a large and difficult household. The servants treated her with genuine respect, untinged by the fearful subservience they showed toward their masters.
"Archery, Simon?"
"Aye, by all means." He got to his feet. Practice with both long- and crossbow kept his upper body fit and muscular, maintained the strength in his arms and hands. All he had to rely on these days.
Ariel stayed awhile in the kitchen, but Gertrude had everything in hand both for the breakfast and for the evening's banquet. Ranulf had planned a duck shoot for his guests after breakfast, and to ensure good sport, he had had the gamekeepers decoy flocks of birds into the nearby meres and rivers. His guests would have good sport that afternoon, and the bride and groom would, of course, take part.
Perhaps Ranulf had some nasty surprise planned for his brother-in-law among the reeds, Ariel thought. Should she warn the Hawkesmoor of her brothers' murderous intentions, or let him take his chance? He seemed well able to take a care for himself, and he had his own warrior friends at his back. But if she didn't warn him, and if he did fall into a trap, wouldn't she then be as guilty as those who had set the trap? Was a crime of omission as bad as one of commission? It was a grim dilemma.
But her Arabians would still prove the way out for herself. A thousand guineas for one colt! And she had two more that would be ready for sale in a month, and a mare in foal. If the word spread among the newly growing racing community, she would be able to achieve her independence. She could leave here, leave her husband, set up on her own. If she had financial independence, then she could achieve anything. And if she saved the Hawkesmoor's life, maybe he would even agree to give her her freedom. An unconsummated marriage could be annulled. If she saved her husband from her brothers, he would owe her something.
She became aware of a hand tugging at her skirt and snapped out of her reverie, realizing that she was standing stock-still in the kitchen door and had been for many minutes. "What is it?" She looked down at the grimy child at her knee.
"Me mam," the little girl said. "She's powerful bad. They sent me to fetch yer."
"That's Becky Riordan, m'lady." Gertrude looked up from stirring a cauldron over the fire, her face red, perspiration beading on her forehead. "Her mam's expectin' over Ramsey way."
She'd never have time to get to Ramsey, help the laboring woman, and return to Ravenspeare before the duck hunt. Let alone before breakfast. And if she wasn't here, there would be awkward questions. But Sarah and Jenny could take her place, if she could get them there.
Without further thought she fetched from the storeroom the leather bag that contained her shiny instruments. "Come, Becky." Taking the child's thin hand, she hurried with her to the stables. "Put the gray to the gig, Sam," she instructed a stable lad. She helped the child into the vehicle; the dogs leaped, barking around the wheels, and streaked off along the narrow cart track as their mistress drove hell for leather toward the village.