Candle in the Window (21 page)

She giggled, for quite clearly he wished to drag
him by some other appendage. “You cherish the thought,”
she accused.

“Nay,” he protested with sarcastic
innocence. “Perish the thought. The wedding day will be a
good chance to renew the vows of my castellans to me, for all will
be here to witness and the priest will ratify their word.
’Twill be a chance for us to see which of your vassals have
defected, too, and need to be brought to heel.”

The pleasure fled her face. “A chance for you
to see who you must fight.”

“Aye,” he said with relish. “It
has been a long time since I’ve lifted my sword in
battle.”

She twined her arms about his shoulders as if she
would shield him. “You’ll take your father, will you
not?”

“For a few minor skirmishes? Perhaps a siege
or two?” He reared back in amazement. “Whatever
for?”

“You’re unused to warfare.”

“Too true.” He nodded. “And
practice with lance and broadsword cannot replace the conditions of
actual battle. Perhaps a mêlée at our wedding would
sharpen my skills. ’Tis a good thought. I’ll discuss it
with Nicholas. Thank you, my love.” He hugged her, kissed her
with brief inattention, and dove toward the great hall.

Saura followed more slowly, and seated herself on
the bench William held out. Nicholas sat at her left. Bula lay
behind her, waiting for scraps to fall. William shared her bench
and her trencher and served her most tenderly.

A quiet permeated the hall as the minions served
and ate their meal with concentrated subservience. The supper
proceeded smoothly. Saura urged the conversation into innocuous
channels: hunting, riding, the problems of managing an estate. She
never gave William the chance to discuss the mêlée, but
she did take the opportunity to interrogate their guest, for a
vague misgiving gnawed at her.

“My Lord Nicholas, you’ve never told us
what prompted this welcome visit.”

“Didn’t I?” William noticed how
Nicholas softened his voice when he spoke to her. “How remiss
of me. I had heard rumors, curious rumors of changes in the
household at Burke, and my curiosity could no longer be
contained.”

“What sort of rumors?” Saura
persisted.

“The truth, apparently. That William’s
sight had returned, that he would marry the mysterious heiress from
Pertrade.”

William wondered, “How does the news travel
so quickly? The messengers have not even been sent out
yet.”

“So that’s the reason you weren’t
bewildered when William arrived,” Saura mused. “I
anticipated a scene when you realized his vision had
returned.”

“What disappointment in her tone!”
William said. “Women thrive on scenes that touch the heart,
eh?”

“We mustn’t disappoint the lady.”
Nicholas’s voice filled with laughter, and he rose from the
bench. “William!” he cried with mock animation.

“Nicholas!” William rose and met him
behind her back, and Bula whined to come between them.

They embraced, murmuring soothing nonsense words
until she chuckled and told them, “Sit, you fools.”

“Look at your stupid dog,” Nicholas
said.

William laughed, and Saura asked,
“What’s he doing?”

“Sitting, of course. Didn’t you tell
the fools to sit?” Bula whined, and William murmured,
“Does that feel good, boy?”

Saura knew that sound. The dog wasn’t
complaining; he was in ecstacy. “Does he like it when you pet
him?”

“He likes it when Nicholas pets him,
too.” William thrust his long legs close beside hers and sat.
“I thought you didn’t like dogs, Nicholas.”

“This is Lady Saura’s dog,”
Nicholas answered.

“Ah, I see.” William found it a strain
to smile, but advised, “You’ll have a friend for life
if you continue to scratch his ears like that.”

“He’s so big, you’d think he was
vicious,” Nicholas said.

“’Tis all for show.” William
showed a cordial contempt for the animal. “We can’t
even hunt with him, he’s such a coward.”

“Hush,” Saura chided.
“You’ll hurt his feelings.”

“The only thing that would hurt that
dog’s feelings is if you didn’t feed him,”
William answered with irritation. “I don’t know why we
keep him around.”

“Because you’re soft,” Nicholas
said.

“Because you love him.” Saura put her
hand on William’s knee, and William patted it.

“No doubt you are both right,” he
replied.

“Actually,” said Nicholas as he resumed
his seat, “I wasn’t
terribly
surprised about William’s vision returning. It was obvious as
his health came back, so would his sight. The rumors of his
marriage drew me.”

“Where did you hear all these rumors?”
Saura asked.

“Oh, did I not tell you? ’Twas Charles
who told me. I assumed by the way he spoke he’d been here
when it happened.”

“When what happened?” William said
sharply.

“When your vision returned. Nay?”
William shook his head and Nicholas shrugged. “He was
drinking, you know how he gets. Drinking and riding around, just
staggering with, I don’t know, some burden weighing on his
soul. And confused. The whole story was mixed up with you and
Arthur and some foolishness about how Arthur tried to ambush
you.” He paused, but William said nothing. Nicholas shook his
head. “I do wonder about Arthur. He’s just an easily
influenced boy. Never seemed like a man.”

“Aye,” William agreed heavily.
“He was just a boy.”

“Was?” Nicholas jumped at
William’s slip. “By God, William, what do you
know?”

Sorry he’d revealed the information, William
could see no way to deny it. “Charles is right.
Arthur’s dead.”

“Not…not that ridiculous story Charles
was spouting?”

“It was fairly ridiculous,” William
acknowledged. He took a swallow of ale and then pushed it away. He
couldn’t afford another slip like that one. He’d
forgotten how astute Nicholas was. Nicholas’s broad-cheeked
face, nubby with a new beard, hid a powerful intelligence. His
smooth, cool personality expressed itself in an occasional burst of
sham heartiness, but his demeanor was that of an older man.

Nicholas’s body excluded him from any feats
of arms. His shoulders seemed no wider than his hips and his belly
at
tested to his fondness for food. Bald except
for a sandy fringe around the back of his head and his ears, his
head was smooth, a fact he checked with a constant nervous
stroking. His fair complexion burned and peeled with regularity,
leaving his nose a rough crimson that owed nothing to intoxication.
Indeed, he kept his indulgence to a minimum, retaining his secrets
and his passions with iron control. Only his eyes, burning with
some inner fire, hinted at his intense personality. They were
hazel, a bland color, and surrounded by short blond lashes, and
red-rimmed from the smoke of the fire, but when William remembered
them he never thought of their unremarkable color. He only
remembered the conflagration that lit them.

Doubt filled William. Doubt about Nicholas’s
motives, doubt about the information that fell too easily into his
hands. He felt a reluctance to tell Nicholas all Arthur’s
confessions, and Saura seemed to agree. “Arthur was crazed
with jealousy,” she told Nicholas. “He bragged about
how clever he was to have ambushed William and me.”

Nicholas said nothing, waiting with nerve-racking
skill for her to continue, but the silence stretched out.
Impervious to such tactics, Saura sat with her hands resting in her
lap. Nicholas grimaced at William, and William relaxed at the sight
of his astute friend baffled by his dearling.

Nicholas said, “He kidnapped you,
too?”

“No one said he kidnapped anyone,” she
observed. “The word was ambushed.”

“I’m sorry. I understood from what your
serving folk said today you’d been gone and I
assumed….”

Now he trailed off, dangling his words like a bait,
but he’d made a mistake and he knew it. “Are you safe
now?” he asked bluntly, paving his way to withdraw from the
conversa
tion. “A great lady such as
yourself is always a target to scoundrels. You’re lovely to
look on and a great marriage prize.”

“My Lord William will take care of that in
August.”

William laughed, trying to relax the unusual
tension that sprang to life between his woman and his friend.

“You make it sound, Saura, as if I’ll
cure your beauty on our wedding day.”

“Nay,” she said with great seriousness.
“But I’ll no longer be a marriage prize when I’m
wed to you, and you’ll be responsible for my welfare. That
will cure
you
of
recklessness.”

“Pity me, my friend,” William mocked.
“She nags me already.”

“A womanly trait. She nags you because she
loves you.” Nicholas glanced away from Saura’s
marvelous face to see William stir uncomfortably. “But
forgive her, for you’ll never cure a beauty as great as
hers.”

William stared down at his hands, clenched in fists
on the table. She
was
beauty, pure
beauty. She transformed ordinary men into towering heroes, and she
never realized how the look of her called forth chivalry in the
roughest peasants. He wondered if he would ever cease to marvel
when he saw that Madonna face lit by her unwavering courage. He
looked up at her, and he was caught again. Had he really had her?
Had he really brought her to an amorous lassitude? She looked so
innocent, so untouched, like a child, like a woman.

She trusted him implicitly, believed everything he
said to her. Yet he had portrayed a false confidence to her.
Whoever had tried to kill them would be at the wedding. He could
take care of himself, but she was a woman, fragile, delicate, and
he knew a sense of possessiveness he’d never dreamed of. His
own well-being was never in doubt, but this villain
would know she constituted his weak spot. The thought
of Saura, kidnapped, alone, blind, afraid, made him sweat and fear
as no other threat could. He would keep her safe, he resolved.
Somehow he would keep her safe.

Rubbing her arms against the chill,
Saura pulled off her
cotte
. Clad in her
shift to protect against the chill, she slipped between the sheets
of the bed in the solar. They were comfortable; someone had brought
in the warming pan and prepared the bed for her use.

The serving folk had had their doubts answered. In
the weeks since William’s return with her signed marriage
contract, she’d been treated with respect, as befits the
mistress of the castle.

Saura touched her lips with her fingertips. They
retained the brief savor of familiarity, a deliberately passionless
kiss left by William as he escorted her to her chamber door and
then deserted her there. It tasted sweet, a pleasure of longing and
respect. He wouldn’t sleep with her, nor work his magic on
her body, not as long as they had company in the keep.

Nicholas had remained with them through the end of
July and the first weeks of August.

She spat out a brief, violent expletive, and buried
her head in her pillow. Damn him for being there, and damn William
for being so honorable.

In some odd way, she wished William was not her
betrothed. No other man could command her respect and her
affections as he did. No other man could make her feel guilty for
being the woman she was.

Unworthy. Inferior.

If she were to marry William—and she would,
for it was the right thing to do, never mind that it fulfilled her
heart’s desire—she must conquer these feelings and
become the woman William believed she was.

Determinedly, she fluffed the pillow and lay on her
back with the covers arranged over her chest. She sighed and closed
her eyes. A draft touched her cheek, and she pulled the blankets up
higher, up around her neck. She’d forgotten to shut the bed
curtains. Scrambling up, she pulled the curtains from their loops
and tucked them close together. The chill sent her back under the
covers, and she settled herself again.

Sleep would not come. For a month, sleep had eluded
her, and like a churning mill wheel, her thoughts whirled in a
disruptive cycle.

The servants. Her ability to efficiently run her
household was the one support she had to offer William.
William’s authority had kept them in order temporarily; she
controlled them in the long run.

The wedding. This had been her first chance to
prove herself as chatelaine. Ordering the meals, supervising the
preparation of food, and arranging the sleeping quarters had kept
her up from dawn to dusk, but she had done it.

The mêlée. That much heralded mock battle
wherein all the knights present chose sides like boys playing at
ball, and
then proceeded to smite each other
with swords. Men were killed in mêlées. Fighting
terrified her; still, William was right. He should practice with
his friends before confronting his enemies. She’d never
undermine his confidence by suggesting she feared for his life; she
knew the value of confidence better than most.

So all her worries were settled. She could sleep.
Sleep.

How could something so ardently pursued evade her?
She was tired. Surely she could sleep. She turned on her side,
hunched her shoulders and drew the covers up to cover her ears. The
summer rain brought a dampness into the keep no fire could dispel.
A dampness, a chill. William was lying to her. Lying with his
voice, not telling her all the truth, trying to protect her. She
wanted to let him lie to her, protect her, but she couldn’t
ignore her surging instincts. He worried about this fiend who
menaced them. He told her all was well, but he didn’t believe
his own words. Whoever this enemy was, he presented a real threat.
He could slip among the guests at their wedding, promoting havoc.
He could murder or kidnap, and how could they pinpoint the
culprit?

William would protect her with the ways of a
warrior, but she must defend him with the ways of a woman.
She’d poke and pry, she’d listen to every voice.
She’d seek those lies that fell so easily from men’s
mouths and she’d find their friends and determine who were
their enemies. And she’d warn William of every potential
risk.

Admitting her real worry eased her. Planning a
defense helped her relax. With one final big sigh, she pulled the
extra pillow from the empty side of the bed. She tucked it under
her chin, embraced it close to her bosom, slipped one leg beneath
and threw one leg over the top. Now she could sleep.

“I count four,” Channing observed.

William squinted through the bright August sunlight
to the riders on the road. “Five altogether. See, one of
them, a female, I think, is held by a leading rein, and one rider
holds a child.”

“No danger, then.” The older man leaned
against a battlement with a sigh.

“We’ll have many riders coming up that
road to the castle in the next few weeks.” William clapped a
hand to Channing’s shoulder. “But I didn’t expect
them so soon. ’Twas only eighteen days ago we took the
contract to Theobald, and only ten days ago we sent out the
messengers.”

“An’ only seven days till the
ceremony.” His man-at-arms beamed at him.

“God speed the day. Who could have arranged
to come so soon? Are they guests, or do they bear news?”

“Guests carryin’ news?” Channing
guessed.

“Aye. Watch for Lord Peter and the boys, but
keep the drawbridge up, and let all who desire entrance call out
their names and business until we have a steady stream of
visitors.”

“Will that not cause offense?” Channing
frowned, at home with the workings of war but not the workings of
society.

“In these times of turbulence, none will
question our wariness. Keep a suspicious eye on all visitors
entering the gatehouse when we open it to traffic, and call me at
once if you smell trouble.”

“Aye, my lord.”

“I’m putting responsibility on your
shoulders, I know, but I must stay in the keep with my lady and
greet our guests.”

Channing opened his mouth as if he wanted to say
some
thing, and then exhaled as if he
didn’t dare. Long familiar with his man’s traits,
William encouraged, “Say it.”

“Ye needn’t worry about the lady
an’ the servin’ folk again, m’lord.”
Channing scraped his toe in the rubble on the wall walk.
“There’s talk, an’ even I’ve heard
it.”

“Talk?”

“The whole castle an’ the village is
buzzin’ with it.”

“What?” William encouraged.

“I’m tellin’ ye! No one’ll
question the lady’s authority again. They’re
sayin’ they made a mistake, they were stupid.”

“Aye, that they were.” William’s
chin firmed to a clean granite line as he thought of the
churls’ insolence.

“Well, no one needs to hang on her all the
time. The serfs’ll do as they’re told now.” His
voice held the contempt of an armed man for the house minions, but
it held something more, too.

William stepped back and examined the scarred
warrior. Channing refused to meet his eye, looking over the
battlements instead and saying, “They’re gettin’
close.”

“I haven’t been hanging on her,”
William observed mildly.

“Oh nay, m’lord. You’ve let her
alone to do her womanly work.”

William pondered, then queried, “Who’s
hanging on her?”

“’Tis just that…perhaps Lord
Nicholas could help you with the preparations for the
mêlée. Or maybe with the stable preparations.”

His bland suggestion told William more than he
wanted to know. “Is there gossip?”

Channing was saved by a hail from below.
“’Tis your guests, m’lord.” He started away
at a run. “I must approve their entrance.”

William ran right beside him. “And
I.”

The calls from below floated up to the men at the
gate
house, and William leaned out to hear. No
sooner had he made sense of the shouts than he roared, “Let
them in. Let them in at once.” Turning to Channing, he said,
“’Tis my lady’s brothers. Send someone out to
search for Clare. I’ll fetch Saura.”

As William raced down the stairway on the inner
face of the wall, Channing shouted the order to open the
drawbridge. It lowered with the creaking of wood and the clatter of
chains, and a fresh breeze blew through the wide-mouthed door as
the brothers rode in. William went among them at once to relieve
one young man of the boy he held.

Dudley nodded pleasantly as he handed the
three-year-old down. He rubbed his arm and groaned, “He gets
heavy after so many miles.”

William looked into the child’s face and saw
a muted beauty that looked like Saura. “This is
Blaise,” he pronounced. “And you’re Dudley, who
studies for the Church. Rollo, the eldest.” He received a
curt greeting from the eighteen-year-old. “And his young
wife.” Very young, he thought privately, as he surveyed the
gangling girl whose horse pressed as close as possible to Rollo. He
grinned at the youth dismounting with painful care.
“You’re John, who is being fostered, and we already
have Clare.”

Four pairs of violet eyes stared at him with
various expressions, and William reeled from the shock of seeing
his Saura stare at him from so many different, masculine faces.
“I am William, your new brother. Welcome to our home.
Welcome.”

Dudley slithered off the horse and smiled in
return. “Thank you, William. It has been a long ride from the
monastery, and I’m glad to get here.”

“And I.” John rubbed his behind and
nodded permission as the stable boy took the reins of his horse to
lead it away.
“’Tis good to meet
our new and mysterious brother. Theobald sent Rollo such a garbled
message, we knew not what to expect. And fathoming our esteemed
father’s mind as we do, we wondered if you’d be
hunchbacked and one hundred years old.”

William laughed with such full-bellied enjoyment
Blaise clapped his hands and even Rollo couldn’t restrain a
chuckle. “The truth,” he sputtered, patting the baby on
the back, “is even more incredible than that.” Blaise
patted William’s cheeks in return, fascinated by the man with
the big rumble. William hugged him and then handed him to John.
Walking to the side of Rollo’s wife, he held up one hand.
“May I assist you, my lady?”

The girl checked Rollo with a quick glance, and
when he nodded she placed her hand in his and slid off her saddle.
“What is your name?” William asked kindly.

“Alice, my lord.” Then, with a troubled
look at her husband, she corrected herself. “Alice of
Montreg, my lord.”

“You are welcome. You’ll be glad to see
Saura again.”

“Oh, I’ve never met her, my lord. Lord
Theobald never let her come to my wedding.”

“Alice.” Rollo spoke firmly as he
dismounted.

The girl jumped and blushed, hanging her head like
a rebuked child.

Rollo put his arm around his bride. “Alice,
we all know how contemptible my father is, but let us not chat
about it in the bailey with the stable boys standing about.”
He hugged her tight for a moment, and then released her. Standing
straight and strong, Rollo reached out a hand to William. “As
my brother said, you are indeed a relief.”

“I am flattered,” William said
ironically.

“Nay, you’re not. To prefer you to a
hunchbacked old man is no compliment.” Rollo smiled, and it
was Saura’s smile.

William’s gaze swept the assembled boys,
noting their black hair and clear, pale skins. “None of you
resemble Theobald.”

“Nay.” Dudley fixed his clear eyes on
William. “Our father’s a weak man, and he passed none
of himself on to any of us. We all look like our mother.”

“Perhaps your father married her for reasons
other than just her lands.”

“Oh, aye,” Rollo agreed. “He
loved her. And he hated her. Just as he does our half
sister.”

“Rollo!” Everyone turned at the shout
to see Clare fling himself from the horse he shared with Kimball.
Clare flew over the drawbridge with winged feet. “John!
Dudley! Oh, here’s Blaise!” The brothers surrounded him
like a clutch of enraptured black birds with a new hatchling. As
the sounds of joyful reunion filled the bailey, Clare took the
heavy babe from John, hugging him with homesick intensity. His
brothers ruffled his hair and hugged his thin shoulders and smacked
him on the back, and when they parted to let him draw breath, he
was laughing and crying at the same time.

Dirty and disheveled from a foray in the woods,
Kimball walked to his father’s side and tugged his sleeve.
Without taking his eyes from the male fraternity, he said,
“Those are all Saura’s brothers, aren’t
they?” It wasn’t really a question, more an incredulous
statement.

William nodded his head at his son. “Half
brothers. An amazing resemblance, isn’t it?”

Peter rode in, with Maud riding pillion, and handed
his reins to one of the stable boys. Dismounting, he helped ease
Maud down and steadied her as she shook her legs out. They strolled
over, and William smiled at the older woman who held his
father’s arm. “Are these your young ones?”

“Aye,” Maud agreed, her eyes sparkling
with pleasure. “I’ve changed the swaddling clothes on
every one of them.”

In a surge, the boys surrounded Maud with loud
enthusiasm, hugging and teasing her as she lashed them with her
acidic affection. “Does my Lady Saura know ye’re here,
yet?”

They muttered and shuffled, and she patted their
behinds with vigor. “Get ye up there, then.”

“Can we sneak up and surprise her?”
Dudley asked.

“You jest,” Rollo snapped. “Have
you ever sneaked up on our sister?”

“Never,” Dudley admitted. “But
think how pleased she’d be!”

They stood and thought, and William suggested,
“I’ll go get her and bring her down to the herb garden.
If you stand still and I place her in the midst of your
circle….”

“Aye, and if we can keep Blaise quiet.”
John’s eyes shone with delight.

“Go bring her,” Maud directed. “I
will position them.”