An Honorable Rogue (25 page)

Ben glanced back, and she thought that he might have sent her a smile, but she could not be sure because she pointedly avoided his gaze, staring up instead at the high walls of Josselin Castle, which reared up on their left, like a cliff. Men, Rozenn thought bitterly, they were all the same with their silly secrets. Per had hidden his debts from her and she did not care to wonder what Ben was hiding.

And what a time to learn that Ben was keeping secrets from her! Just when she had begun to think that Sir Richard might
not
be the ideal man for her... Just when she was beginning to think she might prefer a certain minstrel. If only he could prove himself reliable.

Rose might not remember her mother, but it took two to make a child. Where had her father been when Rose had been abandoned? Men. Were they ever trustworthy?

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Ben waving at a pretty young woman with yellow hair. The woman was wearing a garish gown with a deep slashed neckline and tight lacings that emphasised an enviable bosom and proclaimed her profession to all but the most naive. Eudo also exchanged greetings with her. Hmph! No secrets as to what they were planning
there.
How typical.

As they rode under the shadow of the gate. Ben undipped Jet and held Piper back till Jet drew level with him. 'You can rest here,
mignonne,'
he said. His face seemed to have relaxed a little as if the pain of his headache was leaving him. 'I think you will like Josselin, but a word of warning--it is the annual horse fair. The bailey will be bustling.'

Briefly he leaned across and squeezed her hand. It was an affectionate gesture, which had Rose regretting her mental diatribe of a few moments ago. She had been unfair. Ben might smile at the girl with the yellow hair, but that did not mean that he and she were anything more than fellow entertainers acknowledging each other, and when Rose was not hurt and angry, she knew that. She bit her lip.

Bustling? Ben did not exaggerate. The castle yard resembled the melee in Count Remond's practice field with carts and horses and men jostling for position. The din was deafening: harassed grooms were bellowing at one another, battling for the few remaining stalls in the stables; horses whinnied, great hoofs struck sparks on the cobbles; a wolfhound snarled at a gaggle of honking geese....

The air was heavy with the mingled smells of horse dung, human sweat, baking bread and cooking meat. Across the bailey, several youths were eyeing a buxom kitchen wench who was giggling and preening herself in the doorway of the cookhouse.

How Ben did it, Rose never knew, but sooner than she would have believed it possible, he had secured the last of the stabling for the horses, and they were elbowing their way through the insane crush, climbing the keep steps.

With the hubbub in the bailey at their backs, they entered the relative cool of the Great Hall.

The Josselin keep was grander than the one at Castle Hellon and the Great Hall just as frantic as the yard outside. In the centre a large fire blazed. The walls were hung with pennants belonging to the knights who owed fealty to the lord of Josselin. There were gold pennants striped with silver; there were red diamonds set on a green background; there were blue and yellow pennants sporting devices Rose did not recognise--the colours of half the nobility of Brittany seemed to be on display in this hall.

Servants were setting up trestles, they were spreading acres of white linen. Dogs darted underfoot, yapping and yelping and scuffling up the rushes. Children were playing tag with the dogs....

Ben shouldered his lute and pack and cleared a path through servants, dogs and children. Taking up her things. Rose followed, stomping stiffly along; she had no wish to lose him. not in this great cavern of a castle.

''Hola,
William!
Ca va bien?
Is all well?" Ben switched to Norman French to address a ruddy-complexioned man of about fifty years of age who was directing the placing of a barrel at one of the serving trestles. A portly fellow. Rose guessed he must be the castle steward.

'Benedict!' The man's face lit up. 'Indeed it is, and all the better for seeing you! You are in good health, I trust?'

'Never better.'

As Rose continued her survey of the hall, she gave half an ear to the conversation between Ben and this William Steward, glad that her years among Countess Muriel's ladies meant that it was no hardship for her to follow Norman French. She eyed the wall-hanging at the end of the hall with something approaching awe and wondered who were lord and lady here. Rose had thought the wall-hanging she had designed for the Great Hall at Quimperle was large, but this one dwarfed it by several yards. Silver and gold thread gleamed as it wafted in the draught. She was busy calculating the cost in terms of material and women's time, when Ben caught her hand and pulled her to him.

'William, this is Rozenn Kerber. Rose, meet William Steward." He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. 'William, Rose is...that is, we... Can you offer us anything other than the common hall tonight?'

William nodded pleasantly at Rozenn before shaking his head. 'Sorry, Benedict, but you could not have come at a worse time. What with the horse fair tomorrow. I would be hard put to find space for a mouse this night, let alone give you a private chamber.'

Pointedly, Ben indicated his lute. 'Not even for an unscheduled performance?'

William shook his head, 'I am desolated, but no. If only you had given me warning of your arrival, but Alfonse le Brun and his troop have long been booked for tonight.' He grinned. 'They are almost as popular as you.'

'I'll wager they do not have Turold's new "Song of Roland" in their repertoire,' Ben said, casually.

William's gaze sharpened. 'You tempt me. You really know it?'

'Assuredly. Heard the great man perform when I was in Normandy last."

'And you have every last stanza?'

'To the last note." Ben said, raising a brow, 'provided, of course, you find us a chamber. I find my memory works best on a good night's sleep.'

The steward turned knowing eyes on Rose. 'Sleep, eh?'

Hot-cheeked, Rose couldn't meet the steward's gaze. Ben grinned. She would kill him when he was on his own, she would kill him...

William Steward rubbed his chin. 'There is a storeroom in the north tower,' he said, thoughtfully. 'For someone who is able to give us Turold's "Song", a small space might be cleared...'

'William, you are a prince!' Ben said. Hand warm at Rose's waist, he turned for the door.

'Mind, there are no fireplaces in the north tower," William said.

'No matter, it's summer. Come on, Rose."

Rose hung back. 'What about Eudo and Gien?'

Eudo gave a little bow and took Rose's hand in a courtly manner. 'It is the Great Hall for us, little lady.'

'Will I find you again?' Rose asked, suddenly afraid she would lose her new friends in the maelstrom that was Castle Josselin.

'Assuredly, I shall seek you out at dinner.'

Ben led her from the Great Hall.

Dinner at Chateau Josselin on the eve of the annual horse fair was a crowded, brilliant and somewhat disorderly affair. The trestles had been dragged together to form three sides of a rectangle. White drapery dazzled. Wax dripped down from candelabra hanging from the rafters, and reflected candlelight shimmered in brass pots and exotic imported glassware. The logs in the fire roared; knives clattered on wooden plates; the voices of the diners rose and fell; children shrieked.

Eudo had claimed Rozenn for his dinner partner and they--as befitted their relatively humble status in this glittering array of lords and ladies and knights and retainers--were seated towards the lower end of one of the trestles, near the door and farther from the fire.

The smells were strong--burnt fat, wine, dogs, sweat. Even horse. Rozenn wrinkled her nose. Ewers of water were available on the side-tables, but apparently not all of this company had made use of them; many still had the stink of their journey on them.

'Eudo, where's Ben?' Ben would not be eating.
That
Rozenn knew, but she would feel better if she could place him.

'Last I saw, he was exchanging heated words with Alfonse le Brun over the re-ordering of the evening programme.'

Rose nodded, smiling her thanks as Eudo speared a chunk of lamb and dropped it on her trencher. 'He will eat later, I expect. Turold's "Song" is long and he will prefer to eat when it's over."

'He gets nervous? I would never have thought it.' Eudo said, catching the eye of a serving girl and indicating that she should refill their wine-cups.

'He's always ill at ease before a performance, but he strives to hide it. As a child, when his father was training him, he would get most vilely ill.'

'It is why he is so talented."

Rose brought her brows together. 'Because he gets nervous?'

'Because he cares--it is one and the same.' The knight sent her an easy grin, 'It is like that in my line of work also; a little nervousness sharpens the ear and eye, it steadies the hand."

Reaching for the stem of her wine-cup, Rose turned it thoughtfully. 'How strange, it is the exact opposite with me. When Countess Muriel was in one of her rages, I could scarcely hold a needle, let alone set a stitch."

'Aye,. we are none of us made the same." He gave Rozenn a straight look. 'And what a blessing that is, to my way of thinking."

Absently, Rozenn murmured her agreement. Where
was
Ben? A brace of servants stood behind the top table, in front of the wall-hanging. Not there. The great tapestry was magnificent though, the way that silver and gold threadwork glistened, catching all eyes. And the
mille-fleurs
--yellow, red. blue--cluster after cluster. It must have taken months and months to finish.

Someone was standing in the north tower stairwell, half-hidden by the shadows. It wasn't Ben. but--Rose sucked in a breath--that man. That red hair was unmistakable, particularly when the torchlight turned it to fire. She frowned. Not again! She had first noticed him at Quimperle, apparently watching Ben. Next she had seen him at the quayside, and again at Hennebont. dashing into that alleyway. And now, behind the red-haired man, in the dim recess of the north turret stairwell,
another
shadow stirred. Rose narrowed her eyes. She knew that profile anywhere. Ben. Her skin chilled. Why should Ben be acting so furtively?

Slack-jawed, she watched the red-haired man's head turn, apparently in response to something Ben was saying to him. Throwing a glance over his shoulder, the red-haired man stepped into the stairwell with Ben. The door closed behind them.

'More lamb. Rozenn?' Eudo said.

'I... I beg your pardon? Oh. My thanks.' While Eudo helped her to more meat from the platter. Rose frowned at the closed stairwell door. What was Ben up to?

Rozenn was dimly aware that Eudo and the knight on his other hand were airing their views on Duke William of Normandy's accession to the English throne. Duke William's campaign of the previous autumn came up, and they discussed the ruthless methods the Normans were employing to suppress revolt in England. Rozenn toyed with her food, vaguely wondering if Adam was having to be ruthless at Fulford, but her mind kept straying back to Ben.

What was he doing? Rose thought that she knew him, had hoped that there were no secrets between them. But this furtiveness suggested otherwise. What business could Ben have with that man? Her every instinct was shrieking that the red-haired man was danger personified, that he was a man who would slit your throat as soon as look at you. Surely this was a man ruthless enough to be working for Duke William....

And what was it that Ben had been discussing with Eudo just before they had broken camp in the wood? Scowling at her meat, Rose poked it with the tip of her eating knife before pushing it to one side.

Just as she was beginning to hope that Ben might be more dependable, more reliable; just as she was beginning to think that she might trust him... She was even beginning to realise that she had made a grave mistake pinning her hopes on Sir Richard because it was Ben whom she loved.

She
loved
him?
Ben?

For a moment Rose was blind to the shimmer and shine of Josselin's Great Hall; she was deaf to the clatter and babble. She loved him. Throat dry, she groped for her wine and brought the cup to her lips. She loved Benedict Silvester. And she did not love him as a sister loves a brother, or even as a girl loves a favourite childhood friend, she--she drained her cup without tasting the wine and stared blankly at the lees--she loved him as a woman loves a man, the man she would marry.

No,
no,
she must not! She would not permit herself to love Ben, not a minstrel who had little more than the clothes he stood up in. She could not marry him.

But she could not marry Sir Richard of Asculf either. And he had lands and... What an idiot she had been! It was Ben, and it had been all long. Mikaela had known. While she... What a blind, stupid...

The door to the north tower swung open and Ben stepped alone into the hall, leopard's-head lute fast in his hand. Across the smoky haze their eyes met. His expression lightened. And Rose's heart, her stupid, foolish, wayward heart, ached as though it would break. What
was
he up to?

As soon as Ben's song and the meal were over, Rozenn took a candle and made her escape from the Great Hall. It would be a while before Ben could leave the revellers. His performance had been received with shouts of applause and he was at present lost in a crowd of admirers crying for an encore.

Rozenn hesitated at the bottom of the spiral staircase that wound up to the storeroom that she and Ben had been given. The stairwell was black as night. Hooking up her skirts, she tucked them into her girdle and began to climb. Her feet rang hollow on the boards.

The boards? Glancing down, Rose scuffed one of the steps with the toe of her boot. Wood, yes, and it definitely sounded hollow. Frowning, she held up her candle to examine the walls. The rope banister was attached to a metal ring in the usual way, but something did not seem quite right.