The Fairy Godmother Read online

  "Eadsele, are you not well?" Lord Suthtun asked the boy now, looking as startled as Odel by the boy's sickly state. Pressing the back of his hand to his squire's forehead, Lord Suthtun scowled. "You're on fire. How long have you not been feeling well?"

  "I don't know, my lord. I was cold while we were traveling, but thought it was just the weather," he answered miserably, swaying where he stood. Lord Suthtun reached out and caught the lad's arm to steady him.

  "Hmph." Matilda turned away with purpose. "You'd best put the boy to bed before he falls down. I shall send servants up to move Lord Cheshire's things."

  "If you would follow me, my lord," Odel said. Suthtun lifted the boy into his arms and followed as she led him to Lord Cheshire's room, somehow managing to wave away any eager lords who might have slowed their progress.

  "I shall have one of the servants arrange a pallet for the boy," she said as she let him into what had--until a few moments ago--been Lord Cheshire's chamber.

  "Nay. Have them arrange one large enough for me." Crossing the room, he set the boy gently on the bed and pulled the furs up to cover him.

  Odel was still for a moment as she watched him care for the squire. The man seemed extremely kind; his voice was soft and reassuring, his hands gentle. Her own father had never shown her such tenderness. Her thoughts were disturbed a moment later as the door opened behind her and servants began to file into the room. Within moments Lord Cheshire's things had been removed, and water and a clean cloth had been supplied. Lord Suthtun bathed the lad's head.

  "Is he your son?" The tenderness the man showed was exquisite, and the question burst from Odel's lips before she had even realized it had come to mind. But Lord Suthtun didn't seem upset. He hardly seemed to notice, so busy was he with his caretaking.

  "Nay, he is my squire, the son of an old friend placed in my care to train and raise."

  His answer seemed to suggest that he would tend as kindly to anyone under his charge, and Odel pondered that. This man was an enigma. His clothes were old but well tended; he had claimed to stop for the night simply for the good of his horses; and now he showed dutiful care and even affection for a squire. He did indeed appear to tend well to what was his. What would her life have been like had her father been more like this man? she wondered.

  "Might I prevail upon you for some mead, and perhaps some broth for the boy?" he asked suddenly.

  Shifting, Odel nodded. Then, realizing that he could not see her nod, she murmured, "I shall have some brought up at once. And for the pallet to be arranged. Would you care for your supper to be brought here as well, or shall you join the table?"

  His gaze slid to the window, then he glanced toward her. "I would not wish to trouble the servants any more than I have to. I imagine I can manage joining the table."

  "Then, I shall have one of the servants come and sit with Eadsele when 'tis time for the meal." Odel slid from the room to see to these things.

  Downstairs, she had barely stepped off the landing before she found herself surrounded by suitors. It was as if they had been lying in wait for her return. Compliments, offers to escort her on walks, to play music for her, recite poetry to her, all smothered her like a cloying blanket as she tried to make her way to the kitchens. By the time she broke loose and escaped the great hall, she was thoroughly annoyed. She nearly trampled Matilda as she tried to enter the steaming kitchens.

  "Oh, there you are, my dear," her godmother said, then paused to look at her more closely. "Oh, my, you do look vexed. Is Lord Suthtun's squire worse?"

  "Nay, I just--" She gestured vaguely over her shoulder, then shook her head. "Never mind. I came to arrange for some broth and mead to be taken up for the boy."

  "I already arranged that," Matilda assured her.

  "Oh, good. Well, then, Lord Suthtun asked that a pallet be prepared for him. He wishes the boy to have his bed while he is ill."

  Matilda's eyes narrowed, her eyebrows arching in displeasure. "Do you mean to say Lord Suthtun forced Lord Cheshire from his bed for a squire?"

  Odel frowned at the woman's expression. "He did not force anyone. I suggested we put Lord Cheshire with Lord Beasley. Besides, I think it is terribly chivalrous of him to give up his bed for a sick child."

  "If you say so," Matilda agreed irritably. "But I assure you Lord Beasley is smarter than to give up a warm, soft bed for a boy."

  "Well, whether that is smarter is debatable," Odel snapped, then sighed as the kitchen door swung open to reveal one of her many suitors.

  Smiling as he spotted her, the man let the door swing closed and hurried forward.

  Chapter Three

  "Would that be Lord Cheshire?"

  Odel glanced up from her food to follow Lord Suthtun's gesture. He had taken a seat at the place she had saved him just as the meal was being carried out. Throughout the supper they had discussed the uncommonly cold weather they were having this winter, his squire's fever--which was still high--and various and sundry topics of less importance. Odel nodded and answered his question. "Aye, it is. How did you know?"

  "Because he is glaring daggers at me," Michelle murmured with that ever-present amusement. "I think he is distressed at my pinching his bed."

  "It wasn't really his bed to begin with," Odel pointed out dryly, her gaze moving over the man in question to his cousin, Lord Beasley. The two men sat side by side and neither of them looked pleased. Lord Cheshire looked especially resentful as he glared at Lord Suthtun. In truth, both men had already made their displeasure with the new arrangements known to Odel. When she had stood firm on the arrangements despite their complaints, they had settled into some unsubtle pouting. Odel didn't know whether to be amused or put out by their behavior, but it was obvious they both felt as her aunt had predicted; they were much too important to be forced to double up.

  They had even been making noises about leaving. She guessed she was supposed to be overcome with dismay at the threat, but the only feeling she could work up was a vague relief. Really, having all these men fluttering around was quite wearing. Having a couple of them leave would hardly put her out.

  "So?" The drawn-out word drew Odel's curious gaze and Lord Suthtun grinned. "Which one do you favor?"

  Odel stared at him blankly for a moment, then felt herself flush. Apparently he had determined that the lords all gracing her table were suitors. Of course, she remembered, Matilda had said something about suitors when he and his squire had first arrived.

  "Actually, I am not interested in any of them," she said at last, grimacing when his eyebrows arched in disbelief. "Having them here was my . . . Aunt's idea. I have no desire to marry."

  "Ever?" he asked.

  "Ever," Odel assured him firmly, then scowled at his expression. "You find that difficult to believe?"

  "Well, aye, I guess I do. Most women wish to have a husband to supply all the riches and jewels they need to be happy."

  Odel's mouth tightened at that. "I desire no man to supply riches and wealth. I have more than I need." More than she was even used to or comfortable with at the moment, she thought a bit unhappily. While it was nice that the keep was not as mean and cold as it had been, Matilda had rather overdone it.

  Suddenly realizing that Lord Suthtun had been silent quite a while, she turned to see him examining her as if trying to decide if he should believe her. She supposed he must have decided to take her word, because he next asked quietly, "Then what of a husband to provide children?"

  Odel swallowed. She had never really even considered the possibility of children. She had given up on them a long time ago, when she had realized that her father had no intention of letting her marry and leave him. Now the possibility rose before her and she actually found herself tempted for a moment. Then she recalled that she would have to marry to have them--and that a man would likely make her children's lives as miserable as her own had been. "I would like to have children," she admitted quietly. "But, I fear, the price of a husband seems overly steep to me."

  Lord Suth
tun considered her briefly, then murmured, "Lord Roswald must have been even more of a tyrant than I had heard."

  Odel peered down at her plate uncomfortably, then changed the subject. "Inheriting Suthtun must have come as something of a surprise."

  He was silent for a minute, then followed her lead. "Aye. My uncle was still relatively young, and even had he not been, his son should have inherited. The fact that they both died within days of each other from a cold was a great surprise to all. How did your father die?"

  "His heart gave out. In his sleep," she explained, then forced a smile for the servants who suddenly appeared before them. There were four in all, carting a suckling pig.

  "Shall I?" Lord Suthtun murmured, withdrawing a small jeweled dagger from his waist and gesturing toward the platter.

  "Thank you, yes." Odel watched as he sliced off some of the juicy white meat and moved it to her plate--a silver one no less, more of Matilda's magic. Many castles, she'd heard, had a silver plate and goblet for their lord on special occasions, but Roswald had never been one of them. Odel's father had been too cheap. Now everyone at the high table was eating off a silver plate and drinking from a silver goblet. Father would be rolling over in his sarcophagus, she thought with some enjoyment.

  A small sound from her right made her realize that a small mountain of meat now sat on her plate. He was reaching to put more on, but looking quite perplexed. Obviously, he had been waiting for her to say "enough." Her father would have given her the thinnest, toughest serving he could manage, and that would have been that. She was not used to her wants being observed. Flushing with embarrassment, she murmured, "Thank you," and was relieved when he nodded and turned his attention to filling his own plate.

  It wasn't until he set the dagger on the table between them that Odel noticed its beautiful carved hilt. "Oh, my, how lovely," she commented, picking it up. "Wherever did you get this?"

  "It was a gift from the king." He peered at his food as he answered, looking particularly embarrassed. Which only managed to make Odel more curious.

  "What was the gift in honor of?"

  Suthtun shrugged slightly. "I assisted him in an endeavor," he answered vaguely, then changed the subject. "Did your father never arrange a marriage?"

  It was Odel's turn to look uncomfortable. "Nay."

  "And your mother?"

  "She died when I was quite young."

  They were both silent for a moment, then her guest asked, "Is your Aunt Matilda the only family you have left?"

  Odel nodded. "And you? Were your Uncle and cousin your only family?"

  He shook his head. "The former Lord Suthtun was my mother's brother. My mother and my two sisters are both at Suthtun now, no doubt preparing for Christmas."

  "Your father?"

  "He died when I was young."

  "Your sisters are younger than you, then."

  He raised his eyebrows. "Aye. How did you know?"

  "Well, you did not mention any husbands, so I just assumed."

  He nodded. "Yes, my sisters are both quite a bit younger. There was another sister and a brother between us, but they didn't survive past childhood."

  Odel murmured some suitable sounds at that, then asked, "And ere inheriting the title and estate of Suthtun, what--"

  "I was a mercenary," he answered, apparently unperturbed by the question. And quite successful at it, Odel guessed, now understanding where his expensive clothes came from. As a mercenary without land or title to eat up his funds, he had been free to spend his earnings on such things. Now a lord of an impoverished estate, he spent his money more carefully.

  Suddenly, all he had said began to ring bells in her mind. The knife was in honor of a favor he had done the king. He had been a mercenary prior to inheriting Suthtun. His name was Michelle--a French name, and not all that common in England. In truth, she knew of only two men with that name: the man seated beside her and a mercenary who had saved King Edward II from a suspected witch in Coventry.

  She recalled her father having spoken of it with a laugh; he had been sympathetic to no one, not even his liege. The "witch," John of Wiltham, had been arrested for attempting to poison the king with a potion. Accusations of black magic had quickly followed. Wiltham had been arrested and held in Coventry to stand trial, but when the king had gone to question the man personally, Wittham had attacked him, trying to kill him with his bare hands.

  It was said he would have succeeded, had a mercenary accompanying Edward not stepped in and killed him. The king had reputedly given this mercenary--named Michelle--his own jeweled knife in thanks. She recalled her father's jealous dismissal of the whole incident.

  Odel's gaze dropped to the knife on the table, her stomach rolling over. "You are Michelle the witch-killer."

  Michelle grimaced, then shook his head. "I have killed hundreds of men, yet I kill one accused of witchcraft and suddenly I am Michelle the witch-killer."

  Odel relaxed somewhat at that, and even managed a smile. That was true; he had only killed one witch--and that had been one trying to kill the king. He was not exactly a witch hunter. "You have nothing against them then?" she said in a joking manner, but her gaze slid to where Matilda sat observing the guests.

  "Well, I would as soon kill one as look at them," he admitted, drawing Odel's face back around in alarm. "But I am not interested in hunting them down. Witches are a nasty bunch. Sneaky, too. Killing with potions and elixirs rather than facing a man in fair battle. Aye. They are a nasty lot."

  The knight turned his attention to his meal then, unaware that Odel was now trembling with fear. Her poor aunt! Tildy might call herself a fairy godmother, but anyone seeing her cast dust in the air and mutter over it would surely call her a witch. And Michelle would not need to hunt to find her. Dear Lord, if he saw her pull one of her stunts he would--

  "Well, I had best go check on my squire," Michelle announced suddenly, getting to his feet. Pausing, he turned to take Odel's hand and bow over it. "Thank you for the lovely meal, my lady."

  Odel nodded, then watched him leave the table. He crossed the room and jogged lightly up the steps.

  "Oh, my, that is a lovely dagger, isn't it?"

  Turning, Odel glanced at Matilda, then down at the dagger she was gesturing to. Lord Suthtun had forgotten his blade. "It was a gift from the king . . . for killing a witch!"

  Tildy's eyebrows rose, but rather than appear worried, she merely said, "Well that makes sense. The man obviously couldn't afford to purchase it himself."

  "Wealth is not everything, Matilda," Odel said irritably, picking up the dagger and wiping it on a crust of bread.

  "Well, it may not be everything, but it certainly helps to make a body happy," Matilda answered promptly.

  Odel clucked in disgust. "Oh aye, it certainly did that for my father." She gave her aunt a pointed look, then rose.

  "Where are you going?" Matilda shifted around in her seat to peer after her as Odel started away.

  "I am going to return Lord Suthtun's blade and check on his squire."

  She hurried away, and was at the top of the stairs before she realized anyone had followed. But just as she turned toward the room Lord Suthtun had been given, a hand on her arm made her stop and turn. The man behind her made Odel's stomach lurch.

  "Lord Cheshire." She tried for a smile, but knew it was a bit stiff. She really wasn't in the mood to hear any more of his complaints about rooming with his cousin. "Is there something I can do for you?"

  "Aye." He hesitated briefly, then lifted his chin. "I am a very handsome hu--man, am I not?"

  Odel managed to restrain a grimace. Sighing, she nodded solemnly. "Aye, my lord." It was the truth. Lord Cheshire was quiet the most handsome man she had ever laid eyes on. His hair was a pale brown that flowed in waves down to his shoulder. His eyes were as black as Vlaster's jacket. His face and figure were perfection itself; she was being honest when she said, "You are very handsome." Then she continued with, "Now, if you would excuse me?"

  Ode
l started to turn away to continue on to Lord Suthtun's room, but Cheshire grabbed her hand, drawing her to a halt. "Nay."

  "Nay?" She peered at him narrowly as she tried to free her hand from his.

  "First we must settle this. I am the most handsome man here. Would you not agree?"

  Sighing, she nodded impatiently. "Aye, my lord. In fact, you are the most handsome man I have ever seen."

  "Well, then, why do you avoid me? Do you not know how fortunate you would be to have me to husband? Why do you resist falling in love with me?"

  Odel's mouth dropped open at the forward question. "I . . ."

  "I would be a good husband to you. I would let you eat all the juiciest morsels. I would give you five or six babies. I would make you happy."

  Eyes wide, Odel heard a high, almost squeaking sound slip past her lips. She quickly closed her mouth, then shook her head in the hopes of clearing it so that something useful might come to mind to say. She was still struggling when he suddenly swept her into his arms. Passionately, he breathed, "We would do well together. You will love me." Then his mouth descended on hers.

  Odel wasn't very experienced when it came to kisses--well, all right, this was her first--but if this wet, mushy experience was what they were all like, she decided, she could do quite nicely without them. Her decision never to marry had not been a mistake. She began to struggle in Lord Cheshire's grasp.

  "Unhand her!"

  That voice was rather like the crack of doom, Odel thought faintly before Lord Cheshire finally released her. Steadying herself with a hand on the wall, she turned to peer up the hall. Aunt Matilda was barreling toward them. Who would have thought such a deep authoritative voice could have issued forth from her plump, usually cherubic countenance? Although she didn't look very cherubic at the moment. She looked furious. And, oddly enough, Tildy in a fury was quite an intimidating sight.

  Odel almost felt sorry for Lord Cheshire. The man was suddenly looking terrified. Almost, but not quite, she decided, using the back of her hand to wipe away his slobbery kiss.

  "How dare you overstep yourself so!" Matilda raged, coming to a halt before them, her eyes spitting fire.