All the long hours she had spent learning to read and write so she could keep her own records, and now her skill would go to waste—for a while anyway. How long would he keep her there? If only she knew.

Hours later, Rolfe found Leonie curled up in the chair, the parchments spread over her lap, an inkwell on the low table beside her. He had not expected this. The church, which dispensed all learning, frowned on imparting any at all to women. Very few men outside the church could read and write. Rolfe could write, but it was a skill he did not make use of, relying on clerks to see to such things.

Rolfe picked up one of the parchments and examined it. But her eyes opened, and he dropped it back on her lap.

"Do you make sense of those scratches, my lady?"

Leonie sat up, startled. "Of course. They are my records."

"Who taught you to write?"

"A young priest at Pershwick."

"Why would he?"

Leonie was wary, but his tone was agreeable. He seemed merely curious.

"I threatened to dismiss him if he would not."

Rolfe had to stop himself from laughing. "Did you? I take it he succumbed to your threats. But why would you want to learn? Did he not keep accurate records for you?"

"Accurate, yes, but he balked at certain changes I wanted made. It is a long story, my lord. Rather than involve the priest in what I wanted done, I decided to do it myself, so I insisted he teach me."

"I am pleased, then. Here is one thing you cannot object to doing for me," Rolfe said. "You will serve as my clerk."

"Me?" she cried. "You mean you do not write?"

"I spent my youth on the training field, not cloistered with a tutor."

He felt no embarrassment over the half lie. It was true that he had not given up any training time for learning, nor was he ever cloistered with a tutor. His tutor had had to follow him onto the training field, an inconvenience the old priest did not appreciate.

"But surely you have a clerk?"

"I am not asking you to take over the Crewel accounts," he said. "But you can deal with simple correspondence."

She bristled. "I suppose I can, if you do not think it will overtax my intelligence."

Her sarcasm amused him. "Not at all."

Leonie rose stiffly. "Very well, my lord."

She put her accounts away, and when she came back into the room, Rolfe was sitting in the chair she had vacated. His eyes fastened on her, hooded, unreadable. She raised a hand to hold her linen bedrobe closer together, acutely aware of how thin the cream-colored robe was.

"Come here, Leonie."

It was a soft command, but it was a command. Nervously she glanced at the big bed. As abhorrent as it was to her, it did offer an excuse.

"It is late, my lord, and—"

"You have had a nap, so do not say you are overtired."

She met his steady gaze, but it was a moment before she could get her feet to move. Finally she stood near him.

"Closer."

She took another step, and then Rolfe reached out and pulled her down onto his lap. His hands locked around her, resting on her hip.

Hesitantly, her eyes met his.

"I am glad you took my warning seriously, dearling, for I do not give warnings more than once."

Leonie closed her eyes. He assumed she was acquiescent because he had ordered it. He was going to find she was not a servant.

"What happens, my lord, when your warnings are not heeded?" she asked.

His lips nuzzled her neck. "You do not want to know."

"But I do, my lord."

"Rolfe," he corrected, his lips moving to the center of her throat.

Leonie groaned. "I am sorry, my lord, but I cannot."

"Cannot what?"

"Call you by name."

He leaned back. His hands came up to clasp her face. "Just say it. It is a short name, easy to say. Say it."

He was smiling and his tone was husky, persuasive. But as she gazed into his eyes, she saw Lady Amelia. That lady sat firmly between them.

"I cannot."

"You mean youwill not."

"Very well, I will not."

Instantly, Rolfe was on his feet, Leonie held firmly in his arms. He carried her to the bed and dropped her there, glaring down at her.

"Woman, if I did not think you had more sense, I would swear you do this purposely, just to rile me. If you wish to sulk, do so, but do so alone.

If you are wise, you will be done sulking when I come to you again."

He strode angrily from the room, slamming the door.

Leonie lay back, slowly relaxing. She sighed. She guessed she would not see him again before he left in the morning. That suited her fine. But then she realized where he would spend the night and she tensed.

Surely someone would see him going to his mistress, and no doubt everyone would know of it by the next day, for things like that were kept secret only from the wife.Thiswife already knew, however, and her husband did not care whether she knew or not. That was the vilest insult, that he made no attempt to spare his wife's feelings.

Chapter 19

ROLFE had indeed left Crewel by the time Leonie ventured into the hall the next morning. Thorpe de la Mare had gone with him, leaving Sir Evarard as castellan of Crewel, in charge.

Leonie was in a foul mood after losing so much sleep trying to convince herself that what her husband did did not matter to her personally, only the shame of it disturbed her. Her mood was not lightened when she found Lady Amelia breaking her fast at the high table with Sir Evarard, the two of them laughing together.

They presented a tableau illustrating that the mistress was accepted there and the wife was not. It was also stabbingly clear that Amelia was in an excellent humor.

The two fell silent as they saw Leonie. She did not greet them or even glance their way again, but continued on toward the chapel as if that had been her destination all along. She knew she was too late for mass, so she didn't even glance inside the chapel, but left the forebuilding and stepped outside into the bright morning light.

She had a decision to make, one that might get her into even worse trouble with her husband, but one that was worth considering for her own sake.

It was simply not her way to be idle. That only encouraged the kind of mood she found herself in. She needed to be occupied.

Of course, Amelia must surely be gratified to find herself placed above Rolfe's wife in his household. But if Amelia knew the art of maintaining a household, she was surely keeping her knowledge to herself.

The problem was, no one at Crewel seemed to care about the conditions they lived in. For Rolfe to sacrifice his own comfort in order to honor his mistress showed great depth of feeling. Leonie could do nothing about Rolfe's feelings, but she would not live in a pigsty or be mistress of one.

If she was to order certain tasks done, who was to deny her? Rolfe might, when he returned, but by then she would have accomplished much and the improvements might assuage his wrath. Would Lady Amelia dare complain? Leonie was willing to risk an argument with that one.

The decision made, she went to find Wilda and Mary. She found the stairs that led to the servants' quarters above the first floor. At the top of those stairs she found, not one large room, but a narrow hall. The servants' quarters were on the left side, and there were many small rooms on the right side of the hall.

Wilda came when Leonie called her name softly. "My lady."

Leonie's curiosity was aroused. "Are stores kept up here?" she asked, looking at the row of rooms.

Wilda understood and shook her head. "My lady, I never heard of such as this. It was Sir Edmond's idea to offer his guests privacy, so he ordered those small chambers built, each with a bed and other conveniences."

"Each one of these is a small bedchamber?"

Wilda nodded. "Mildred said Crewel was never without guests. Sir Edmond liked to impress his guests."

Leonie was not surprised that the maid knew so much. Servants gossiped. "Private chambers instead of a pallet in the hall is impressive indeed. I did not realize the Montignys were so wealthy."

Wilda frowned. "There are rumors—"

"For shame, Wilda. You know I do not countenance rumors," Leonie said automatically, and because Wilda knew her lady disliked gossip, she fell silent. It was just as well, for Wilda did not want to be the one to tell her lady about the rumors concerning her and her husband.

It suited Wilda to have the servants at Crewel think Rolfe d'Ambert had beaten his wife on their wedding night. She disliked him because of the insult he was dealing Leonie by keeping his mistress in their home.

Wilda had no desire to correct the women servants' opinions, or to argue with the men who took their lord's side. She was going to stay well out of the battle and had warned Mary to do the same. Rolfe d'Ambert was not a man to be patient with servants.

She said only, "Well, Sir Edmond did serve the best foods and wines."

"He must have had a different cook," Leonie said dryly and Wilda giggled.

"Indeed, I understand the cook fled with the coming of the new lord.

The one who rules the kitchen now was enlisted from the stable."

Leonie was appalled. "Surely there must be some assistants of the old cook who are still here?"

"Yes. They could improve the fare, but they will not." Wilda lowered her voice. "There was much resentment here against your husband, and there still is."

"Was Sir Edmond loved?"

"No. He had a heavy hand. But with him there were no surprises and the servants always benefited from the abundance of food left over from his entertaining. But Sir Rolfe is here so little that they have not had any chance to know him, so they don't trust him. And his temper frightens everyone. No one is willing to draw his master's attention to himself."

Leonie nodded. She had half guessed as much. She glanced once more at the row of closed doors. "Are these rooms all empty?"

Wilda knew her lady well. "She sleeps in the large room that was Sir Alain's," she whispered.

"But where does Sir Evarard—"

"That one is a soldier through and through. He sleeps with the men-at-arms. Mildred says he would be happiest rolled in a blanket under the stars."

"And how would Mildred know that?"

Wilda grinned. "One thing Sir Evarard does not dislike about his being settled instead of marching from one campaign to the next is the women here. He is a handsome young man, my lady."

Leonie controlled an urge to grin. "And you are thinking of trying him out yourself?"

Before Leonie's marriage, Wilda would never have admitted such a thing, but now she answered loftily, "I have thought of it."

Leonie shook her head. How could she scold Wilda for wanting pleasure? It never did any good to point out the sinfulness in a union without marriage.

"In the next few days," Leonie said, changing the subject, "you will have little time to think of such things. You wanted a chance to put the Crewel servants to work, and now you will have it."

Wilda was delighted. "You have his permission then? We may begin—

"

"Not his permission, but we will begin anyway." "But—"

Leonie cut her short. "I cannot live like this. And he is not here to stop me." "Are you sure, my lady?" "Most sure."

Amelia was shocked when every woman servant in the keep descended on the hall with brooms and soap and water. She pulled Leonie aside.

"Rolfe will not like it."

Leonie smiled tightly. "Then you must put the blame on me, for this place offends me and I will not stay here another day under these conditions. Of course, if my husband is pleased, then you must take the credit yourself. I am sure you intended to clean the house, but have been unable to find the time."

The sarcasm was heavy, yet it went right over Amelia's head. "To do anything here, you must constantly supervise. The serfs are too simple to carry a task through on their own. Do you not think I have tried?"

Leonie kept her doubts to herself. It was an effort just to talk to this woman.

"I have my own methods of doing things."

"If Rolfe is satisfied . . ." Amelia grumbled.

"But I am not satisfied, Lady Amelia. I am not asking you to volunteer your help, however."

She would not ask for permission either. See if the woman dared overrule her.