Free April Munday by His Ransom Page A

the evening meal. And always there was Berthe, following him with her scheming little eyes. It seemed to him that every time he looked around she was there. Threatening her with the wrath of her husband had failed and he was now trying indifference, ignoring her presence and only speaking to her when she addressed him directly, which she did infrequently. Whatever Rosamunde had said to her had had more effect than his own words.
    He knew that Rosamunde had spoken to the women and expressed her displeasure at their behaviour. They would not risk her further wrath by venturing to the still-room when she was there. Although he could spare little attention from his exertions whilst training in the morning, he had noticed that some of the windows that overlooked the courtyard were full of women and they were watching. He knew from the comments of the other men that the women were watching him. It gave him no pleasure to be such a focus of attention. Eventually, he had found himself scanning their faces and he realised that he was looking for Rosamunde, although he knew that she would not be there. Whilst he was glad that she set her women a good example, the vain man in him had wanted her to see him doing what he did best, although he had to admit that at the moment he wasn’t doing it particularly well. It was as well, he realised, that she did not, if he was to keep his distance from her. He sensed that she held him in high regard and he did not want to encourage any further closeness between them, much as he enjoyed her company. It was rare for him to enjoy the company of a woman. He usually found them weak and their conversation inconsequential, but Rosamunde was witty and intelligent and even had a good grasp of politics, better, Richard suspected, than his own. Spending even more time with her could only make him appreciate her more.
    Richard learned a lot from Margaret. She was as knowledgeable as he had suspected and happy to share her knowledge with someone with knowledge and enthusiasm of his own. He felt that Rosamunde struggled to keep up with them, but he did not worry about that. It was always good for a woman to learn more about salves and potions. It Rosamunde’s case it was knowledge that she might have to put into practice sooner rather than later. Although they did not go beyond the castle walls to see the wild herbs where they grew, Margaret’s descriptions were precise. She also showed him pictures that she had drawn on bits of parchment. She did take him out to the castle’s herb garden on a number of occasions. Although there were a few herbs that he recognised, many were new to him. He knew that Margaret was impressed with his knowledge, although little of it would come in useful this far north. The plants were so different and the growing season for many of them was so short.
    “Why are you so interested in herbs?” asked Rosamunde one afternoon as she stood beside him grinding something in a bowl.
    “Because when you’re fighting there’s not always a physician or a surgeon nearby and after a battle there is always illness. It is useful to have someone who understands about herbs.”
    “So you make poultices and healing draughts for the sick and wounded.”
    “And I can stitch too,” he said grimly, “And set bones.”
    Apparently satisfied, Rosamunde asked no further questions, concentrating instead on the potion she was making and Richard was grateful for the silence. Margaret, who did like to chatter and talk, followed her lady’s lead and Richard learned to enjoy the silence that they shared in the small still-room. Even though he was never alone there, it had become his place of solitude and reflection.
    The more he learned about Rosamunde, the more he valued her company and the more he came to believe that she was not like other women. She was not foolish and her head was not full of men. She did not look hungrily after the men when they were together in the hall in the evenings. When