Free The Marriage Prize by Virginia Henley

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    she dismounted and handed the reins of her beloved white
    palfrey, Nimbus, to the groom. "Ned, take the horses to the
    stables and feed and water them while I rout out my bloody
    steward!"
    She found him gorging himself in the dining hal along with the
    entire household of inside servants. Both the quality and the
    quantity of
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    the food and wine on the tables astounded her. These people
    had as many dishes before them at noon as the people of
    Kenilworth and their noble guests had at an evening banquet.
    The steward arose, obviously annoyed to have his dinner
    interrupted. He was a thickset man, whose face looked like
    lumpy porridge, but his tunic was made of the finest velvet,
    and he wore a gold chain. He eyed Rosamond and Nan
    insolently. "State your business."
    Rosamond drew herself up to her ful height and lifted her chin.
    "I am Rosamond Marshal, come to inspect my property, sir,
    and what I find displeases me!"
    "That's too bad. I am in ful authority here."
    "I am the mistress of Pershore!"
    "I am Dymock, master of Pershore. You are nothing more than
    a young girl with her middle-aged nurse in tow. You don't
    seriously think you can come in here and start tossing out
    orders?"
    "Just watch me, Master Dymock... I dismiss you from my
    service for your insolence!"
    He laughed derisively. "Wel , Lady Muck of Turd Hal , you can't
    dismiss me. I was appointed by the Earl of Gloucester to
    manage Pershore as I see fit. I've had no complaints from that
    quarter in the three years I've been in charge here."
    At that moment, Rosamond's groom came seeking her in the
    hal . "My lady, the stables are filthy; the stal s cannot have been cleaned out in months. The stableman refused me fodder, and
    it is no fit place to shelter our horses."
    She gasped in outrage at his blackening eye. "Did the
    bastard strike you, Ned?" She slashed her riding crop against
    her boot. "I shal come and see the conditions for myself. In the meantime, Master Dymock, you wil see that this lady is
    served lunch. Sit down, Nan; this might take me a little while."
    As Rosamond entered the stables, the acrid stench of manure
    and urine-soaked straw hit her ful force. She hesitated for only
    a moment, then, pinching her nostrils closed, she strode
    inside. She found the place as filthy as Ned had described it.
    There were only a half-dozen horses stabled, but it appeared
    that when their six stal s had been fouled to a depth of two
    feet, the animals had been moved to other stal s, where the
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    cycle was repeated. Rosamond was furious at the condition of
    the stables, and cursed herself for bringing only one groom,
    when Lady Eleanor had offered her as many servants as she
    wanted.
    Summoning her authority, she spoke to the only stableman
    present, a burly lout with a red face. "I am Rosamond Marshal,
    and Pershore belongs to me. First, I want you to understand
    that I wil not tolerate you abusing my groom. I have five
    horses, including my two pack animals, that need food, water,
    and shelter."
    "Dymock would have my bal s if I gave your animals fodder."
    He stood before the oat bins with arms folded across his
    barrel chest. Rosamond was so angry, she raised her riding
    crop, but he snatched it away from her with a beefy hand.
    "You'l find yourself on your arse in the horseshit, and he'l have another black eye, unless you get the hel out of my stable."
    "You filthy swine, I hope you suffocate in this stench! Come,
    Ned, I'l help you draw water from the wel for our animals."
    "I'l do it, my lady.... I'm sorry I was no match for him."
    "I shal help you, Ned; I must work off my anger before it
    chokes me. I am beginning to realize a female has no
    authority whatever. Even though I own every inch of land, and
    every stick and stone upon it, the men wil not take orders from
    me. In the name of God, how does Lady Eleanor manage to
    run Kenilworth?"
    "Begging your pardon, my lady, she doesn't do it in the name
    of God, she does it in the name of Simon