The Courtship - Catherine Coulter [58]
Helen simply stuck out her foot and tripped him. He sprawled onto his face, lay there a moment, then flopped onto his back, and blinked up at her. “Does this mean that you do not want me?”
“Not at this precise moment, no.” She grabbed his collar and dragged him to the taproom door. Her three lads were standing there. “Pick this spirited young scoundrel up and bring him into the yard. Treat him tenderly, boys.”
The young man was yelling now, “No, I want her. I want all that blond hair covering me.” He was trying to grab Helen, struggling mightily, but he was too drunk to do other than flop about.
The lads dropped him on the grass-covered courtyard. Helen picked up a horse bucket full of water. The moment they let the young man drop to the ground, Helen dumped the bucket of water over him.
He yowled.
“Help them all outside, one at a time,” she told her three lads.
“I can’t remember the last time I was so diverted,” Lord Beecham said to Gwen, the barmaid who was watching the young man who’d manhandled her being dragged out now by two of Helen’s lads.
“Little bounders they be,” Gwen said. He watched her march to Miss Helen, take another filled bucket from her, and say, “I weren’t thinking aright, Miss Helen. I was silly enough to be afraid. Now I can see that they’re all jest pathetic young’uns. It won’t happen again.” She looked down at the young man. “Next time you will ask the lady first to allow you to stick your hand up her skirts,” and she threw the water on him.
He lay there choking and coughing, and moaning because his head still hurt from being slammed against the wall.
Within five minutes, eleven young men were all in the yard, sprawled on the large expanse of grass or on the circular gravel drive, all of them soaking wet. Helen stood off to one side and said, in a very proper, disciplining voice that had Lord Beecham ready to collapse in laughter, and, at the same time, nearly go on point: “You are very lucky that none of you got ill in my taproom. If any of you had, then your punishment would be severe and not at all pleasurable.
“As I said, you were fortunate. Now I will tell you that I enjoyed this young man’s singing. He sang with his heart. The rest of you, however, have not endeared yourselves to me. You all need disciplining. However, there are too many of you and not enough time to do it properly.
“You will all remain out here in the yard until you have sobered up and are dry enough so that you won’t drip on my lovely floors. You may remain at my inn if you wish to. But there will be a limit of three glasses of ale. No more. When you accept any future ales from Gwendolyn, you will thank her politely. If you ever feel ill, you will immediately excuse yourself and come out here into the yard. The taproom will close exactly at midnight. Does everyone understand?”
There were grunts, nods, and groans. The one young man whom Helen had complimented, opened his mouth and started singing again. One of his friends threw the empty water bucket at him.
Helen dusted her hands, gave Spenser a brilliant smile, and went back into the inn. She left her three lads standing guard in the yard, watching the young men as they tried to get their wits together again.
“Helen,” Lord Beecham said, awe in his voice, “that was really well done. It was inspiring. You left all their collective manhoods intact, yet gave them a goodly amount of food for thought. I doubt they will forget this day anytime soon.”
“My father told me how to go along with young men when I first bought King Edward’s Lamp six years ago. They’re not bad, just wild and young and have too much money. That mill in Braintree—I had forgotten all about it. If I’d remembered I would have been here to deal with them.” She straightened her gown, twisting around just a bit, and his eyes fastened onto her breasts.
She said, “Thirteen years ago would you have perhaps been