“Why are the men not training?” Robert demanded, bearing down on him.
“Lady Bethany called them away,” the burly warrior spat, obviously furious at having had his authority usurped by a woman.
“All of them?”
“Aye.”
“For what purpose?”
“I told her the men would be at her disposal once their training was done for the day, that the threat remained and the men must be ready to defend the keep.”
“For what purpose?” Robert repeated.
“’Twas women’s work, I told her! Not fit for a man’s attention, not when he has training to complete! But she would hear none of it.”
“For. What. Purpose?” Sooner or later the words would penetrate.
“I thought she understood when she left, but here she came, dragging a blanket piled high with the men’s gear, determined to toss it into the moat if they did not—”
“Faudron!”
His captain jumped. “Aye, my lord?”
“Where is Lady Bethany?”
“Entertaining the men in the north tower.”
Fury struck like lightning. Grabbing Faudron by the throat, Robert hoisted him off the bench and shoved him back against the wall.
Face mottling, eyes bulging, the man struggled to get his next words out before he suffocated. “N-not that kind of entertaining.”
Robert drew him forward, then slammed him against the wall again.
“C-cleaning!” Faudron sputtered. “Cleaning, my lord.”
Irritated beyond belief, Robert opened his fists and let the man drop down onto the bench again. “Explain.”
Coughing, Faudron complied. “She is forcing the men to clean the north tower, my lord. Called it a filthy pig sty and insisted that if they left it for her to do, she would toss aught she found lying on the floor into the moat. The men did not take her seriously until she began to do just that.”
“The men ignored her request?” Robert found himself torn between anger that the men had disobeyed her and dismay that she had asked them to abandon their training for so trivial a task.
“I, ah, did not think you would wish them to cease their training and, ah…,” the man stammered, searching for an answer that wouldn’t increase Robert’s ire.
Shaking his head, Robert turned and started toward the north tower. “Never show her disrespect again, Faudron, or you shall answer to me.”
“Aye, my lord.” The man did not sound thrilled by the notion.
As Robert approached the open doorway of the tower, another wave of laughter poured through it. A couple of men lingering outside grinned and nudged each other until they caught sight of the approaching earl. Then, smiles vanishing, they bowed and hurried away.
Frowning, Robert slowed his pace and actually found himself slinking closer to the wall outside the doorway so those inside would not see him.
“Give us another, my lady!” a boisterous male voice called out. ’Twas one of Robert’s more spirited knights, young and having only recently earned his spurs.
Several others seconded his plea.
Give them another what?
“Where should I put this, my lady?” a quieter voice asked near the entrance. Hugh.
“What is it?” he heard Beth respond.
“’Tis my favorite tunic,” Hugh answered as though ’twas obvious.
“That’s a tunic?”
“Aye. My youngest sister made it for me.”
“Awwwww. That’s so sweet. Put it in the to-be-washed pile. We’ll see about mending it once it’s clean.”
“My thanks.”
“Sure.” Beth raised her voice over the din. “I don’t know, guys. I think maybe I should stop.”
Vociferous complaints erupted.
“Seriously,” she spoke above them. “I don’t think spouting dirty limericks could exactly be considered proper behavior for a lady.”
Dirty limericks? What were dirty limericks? And why would she think reciting them improper?
His men evidently saw naught amiss with it, because they all denied any impropriety and begged her to continue.
“Are you sure?” she asked next. “I know you’re bored, but I don’t want to do aught that might make Robert angry. And some of these are quite…” She emitted a little huff of frustration. “What’s the word I’m looking for?”
Beth had confessed that she sometimes had difficulty finding the medieval equivalent of some of her modern words. Robert aided her whenever he could, committing her peculiar words and phrases to memory and using them himself on occasion. He wished to do aught he could, after all, to make her feel more comfortable in this place and time.
“Bawdy?” Marcus suggested.
Robert’s eyes widened. She was telling his men bawdy tales?
“I was going to say crude,” Beth murmured, “but bawdy might cover it.” She spoke louder so the others could hear her. “Don’t you think these limericks are too bawdy? I don’t want to upset Robert.”
A brief moment of silence ensued that led Robert to believe they were clearly misleading her and having second thoughts about it. Then they jumped in as one and insisted he would approve.