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Tiphaine's smile had less of a wince in it this time. "Sorry we don't have time for a snuggle, Delia, but you'd better run before people see too much. You're a sweet girl, and I don't want you getting in trouble."
The young woman came over and embraced her; the kiss was even more interesting than the view and went on for a while.
"Father Peter's not a sheet-sniffer like some. He doesn't notice stuff unless you make him. Besides, I know you'll protect me, my lady Tiphaine."
Nobles, even the few gay ones, didn't end up before an ecclesiastical morals court very often; the military caste wasn't going to let the Church get that much power. Still, not very often wasn't the same thing as not ever:
"Sweetie, my power here is vast and my liege-lady's power in the realm is vaster still, but the Hounds of God are no joke, and they and Father Peter work for the same boss, and the Hounds are sheet-sniffers. Keep that lovely mouth shut about this and everything will be fine, OK?"
"Until next time?"
"Right. Now scoot!"
Tiphaine opened the door and checked the corridor both ways before the girl slipped out; it was windowless and very dark. There were a couple of empty rooms on this floor and no resident servants or established routine as yet, and it wouldn't be much trouble for Delia to slip out looking as if she was dusting or fetching or something. Then she dressed herself, rummaging in the unfamiliar closets and their mostly new contents for a familiar drill outfit of quilted tunic in coarse gray patched linen, and scuffed black buckskin pants stained with white patches of sweat-salt. After that she stamped her feet into her boots, and buckled padded leather support straps on her wrists.
The temptation to tidy up before she left was strong-she was compulsively neat, and hated leaving Delia personal things to the care of others. That was an eccentricity she could get away with, when those quarters were one small chamber or less wherever the Lady Sandra was in residence, which was all even a fairly prominent member of the Household could expect. But picking up after herself would be perilously close to drogeance, here at home in her own fief. The temptation to shower first was even stronger, but she pushed it down.
Got to punish myself for carelessness, she thought, buckling on her sword belt and walking down the stairs, left hand automatically on the hilt to keep the chape on the end of the scabbard from bumping on the stone. Besides, I'd just be getting all sweaty again right away.
She'd been right about it being early; things had been put to right a bit the night before, but the morning cleanup in the hall was just getting started. She walked out, blinking at the increasing brightness and returning her own nod and salute to the clank and crash as the gate guards slapped spears against shields.
Note to self; get all the shields repainted, soon. My arms, Quartered with Lady Sandra's.
The day outside was just on the brisk side of cool, with the smell of dew on dusty concrete and dustier gravel still strong, but there were no clouds in the sky and it felt like it would be a perfect spring day when the sun was a little higher and dispelled the shadows within the courtyard. A scent of old smoke from the bonfires lingered, but the scorched circles had been swept up, and the firepits outside the kitchens were being shoveled clear as she watched, the ashes carted away in big plastic trash barrels for leaching into lye and making soap. A train of two-wheeled oxcarts dumped loads of split firewood there- boon-work dues, by the way the drivers turned around at once and got going towards their own affairs-and scullions began to stack the billets against the kitchen walls. Birds pecked at the ground, and flew up in swirls when someone came too close, particularly when it was one of the patrolling cats. She'd given orders that none of those were allowed over the i
Wielman the steward was bustling towards the Keep gate with a crew, looking nervous as a man herding cats, probably because it was a scratch gang and he was doing two men's jobs; or possibly nervous because he now had a superior resident full-time, and one with enough time to keep a close eye on him. He stopped when she turned towards him, obviously anxious to get to work but unable to dodge a conversation, and his laborers halted behind him in a wave of curtseys and bows.
Delia needed time and distraction to get clear: which was a pain in the ass; nobody except a very strict priest would so much as blink at a tenant-girl slipping out of a male nobleman's room in the morning, except for an admiring chuckle.
"Splendid welcoming feast last night," she said. Then she smiled slightly. "Haven't enjoyed myself so much in months."
"Thank you, my lady. We're all at sixes and sevens, of course, with so little notice of your arrival-you should have a domestic steward or a butler here at the castle, if you're going to take up residence, so I can concentrate on my own work where my offices and the records are. I can move some people up from Montinore and my wife has a young cousin who'd suit."
"Do that," Tiphaine said. "I leave it in your capable hands, Goodman."
Meaning, don't bother me with details, and yes, getting jobs for your relations is a legitimate perk, as long as they don't screw up too badly.
Aloud she went on, lest he get too enthusiastic: "Just enough staff that I can offer suitable hospitality: the cook we had last night will do fine, some assistants, and as many cleaners and maids and such as are needed to keep things tidy. Some of them can commute up from the manor until winter at least, it's only two miles by bicycle. Or you could hire some of the soldiers' wives."
"Very well, my lady, but the Protector and his guests always brought their own body servants on visits," he went on. "Do you have an, ah, valet, or lady's maid who'll be arriving? Or should I find someone suitable from the domain?"
Tiphaine shook her head. "I don't need someone to hand me a towel or comb my hair."
Some people thought that was a status symbol; she considered it a waste of scarce labor. A tenant-in-chief who was a mere baronet could get away with that much informality, though a baron couldn't. She'd need a squire or two eventually, of course, but that was something entirely different. Squires were apprentice knights, and supposed to be of good family. Which so far meant related to someone lucky enough to get into the Association early on. She had Katrina's elder brother's kids in mind for that, particularly since he'd been killed out east last year fighting the cowboys and they didn't have a landed inheritance.
"Ummm-" The steward cleared his throat and seemed, without actually doing it, to glance discreetly aside as he lowered his voice. "But surely you'll at least need someone to look after your wardrobe full-time, my lady? The more since you'll have, ah, two sets. Repairs, replacements, cleaning: I was thinking of the miller's daughter from Montinore village; her name is Delia. She's an excellent needlewoman by hand or sewing machine, she can weave figured work on the loom, and she's used to household ways and ma
Tiphaine gave him a cool, considering glance, tapping her fingers on her sword hilt, head tilted to one side.
Clever. Dangerously so, she decided, her eyes narrowing and lips thi
She'd get in trouble if she just had the men-at-arms hang him for no particular reason; fines from the Court of Petition and Redress, penances from the Church: Casual killing had gone out of style since the wild early years, at least where middle-class types like Wielman were concerned. But when you added all that together she wouldn't have nearly as much trouble as he would, dangling from a noose on the gallows down the road and putting on a di