Malia Martin (25 page)

Aleene felt a burning spark of fury ignite within her at his words. “How dare you!”

“She is a woman of wealth, Aethregard, a woman of property.” One of the men interrupted her.

“A woman who handed over her property to a Norman. A traitor.”

She wanted to slap him, wanted to see the red outline of her own fingers on his cheek, but
she took a deep breath and waited a small moment to calm herself. “Why do we speak like this of each other? We are on the same side in this fight, Aethregard. Let us work together to keep England out of the hands of a foreigner.”

“A foreigner?” Aethregard lifted his chin and let out a belly laugh. “You surely are one to speak, Aleene of the black Spanish eyes.”

The silence that surrounded them at that taunt seemed to slice right through to Aleene’s heart. She had spent her life as the outsider. But still she was English, no matter what she looked like. She had made a mistake in taking Cyne into her home, and now she wanted nothing more than to right that wrong and fight for an English king. “Aye, the eyes are from Spanish blood, my brother,” she finally said, pinning him with an icy stare. “But the heart is English. Now,” she turned to survey the men before her, “let us not allow a foreign bastard the right to reign over English men.”

“’Tis not so easy as that, Aleene of Seabreeze.” Stigand said slowly. “William rides under the pennant of the pope. Our defeat at the hands of the duke shows the will of God.”

“I have already told you, sir, while I was within the enemy camp, I learned that William used trickery to secure the pope’s backing. How could he not? Harold was never even brought before the pope to state his own side.”

Aethregard cleared his throat. “If I may,” he smiled at Aleene, then turned toward the assembled men. “Of this trickery she speaks, I know nothing. But I do know the pope speaks the word of God and the pope has spoken in favor of William. That means God has chosen William as our king. God has spoken, but we still stand about listening to a woman.” He spat out the last word with disgust.

Aleene turned on Aethregard. “And you call me a traitor?” She took a step toward him. “What you say here today is the ultimate in cowardliness.”

“You are most definitely a traitor if you call me, a warrior at Harold’s side, a coward.”

“A warrior? Ha!” Aleene stepped closer to her stepbrother, her hands clenched at her side. “I did not see you there, Aethregard. You did not fight at Harold’s side.” She turned to the men seated at the table. “This man should have no say here. Harold banned him from court.”

“No, Aleene.” Stigand stopped her, his hand raised in front of him. “Wait.” He stepped away from the table and walked toward Aleene and Aethregard. “Do not bring your sibling squabbles here. We do not have time for them.” Then he turned toward the men. “It is hard for me to do this. I want an English king with all of my heart, but I fear on this point Aethregard is right. God has spoken. Since he rides beneath the banner of the pope, I must, as an archbishop, support William of Normandy. Tomorrow morning, I shall ride out with the other archbishops to where William camps and tell him of our decision.”

“No!” Aleene cried, rushing forward.

Stigand held up his hand once again, stopping Aleene. “It is the will of God.”

Aleene shook with the anger that roiled through her, but all she could do was watch as the men nodded and bowed their heads in prayer.

Aethregard also bowed his head, but his gaze caught hers before his eyes closed. Triumph gleamed there, and pure hatred. Aleene heaved a sigh of deep frustration and stalked from the room. She stopped only long enough to whisper to her stepbrother, “If I see you again, ever, I shall kill you.”

“As you did Tosig?” The hatred from his gaze now coated his words.

Aleene blinked. “Tosig?” She shook her head, then, sure that Aethregard was touched in the head. “I only wish I could count his death as one of my deeds!” She turned her back on her stepbrother, hoping never to see those soulless gray eyes again.

The weak sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving a gray, cold, darkening dusk. Robert hunched his shoulders against the sharp wind that scattered leaves about them with a lonely whining sound. Duncan had gone to bed already, but Robert could only sit staring into the fire, watching the flames form into faces and ghosts. His father was there, a book in front of him. His brother and mother danced before him, their smiles turning garish as the flames licked at the blackening night. He thought of the warm hearth in his mother’s home, where he had sat and learned his studies from his father, and where his mother had told stories on cold nights. Until Robert had been ten, she had told stories to him and John, and then she had kissed them both and tucked them into bed.

Finally, Robert had ducked away from the kiss, and told her he was too old. Now Robert stared into the fire and wished he had let her kiss him until he was thirty. She had wanted him to follow in his father’s footsteps, be a learned man, stand behind the dukes of Normandy. But Robert had more ambitious plans. He wanted wealth. He wanted property. He didn’t want to be at the whim of some over-haughty simpleton.

Robert laughed, a hollow sound in the night, and threw a small stick into the fire. Wealth. He had it now. He was the lord of his own castle. He had everything he had once only wished for. His dreams were his, they were in his hands. He looked down at his dirt-stained fingernails. But now that he had them, he realized they were not what he wanted.

He wanted Aleene. He wanted what his mother had always taught him to want. Love, hope, caring. His home had been full of those things, and now, more than anything in the world he wanted to give them to Aleene. He wanted to fill her life with laughter and light. He wanted to see her smile, watch her dance, and feel her happiness. He wanted to make love to her body, and hold her heart in his hands. Robert turned his palms up in his lap and stared at the calluses that hardened them. Instead his hands were empty, and his own heart was being eaten away by despair.

A noise from the track that ran along their camp caused Robert to lift his eyes. A man on horseback clattered down the road, his outline dim, but still noticeable. Robert watched as the man headed for William’s tent.

The man swung off his small horse, slicked his fingers through his hair, and went to the tent door. And in that instant Robert knew him. The feelings that had pushed him to kill in battle were nothing to the hatred that seethed inside of him now. He stood, throwing the blanket away from his shoulders, and marched toward William’s tent. He brushed past the sentries and threw open the flap. “How dare you come here, you cowardly son of a dog!” he yelled.

Aethregard turned quickly, his face blanching to a grayish hue.

“Robert!” William interrupted his next outburst. “We have good news!”

“I have no care for good news, I wish only to kill this man.” Robert took a step toward Aethregard, who retreated until his back was against the side of the tent.

“I do not have to take abuse from you!” It was a whine more than a statement and Robert scowled at his wife’s stepbrother.

“You are horse dung beneath my feet.”

“I would say the two of you are acquainted?” William asked, walking to stand in front of Aethregard. “Robert, do listen, Aethregard has brought good news. Our quest shall be one step closer to the end tomorrow.”

Aethregard nodded. “Yes, Stigand, the archbishop of Canterbury comes over to our side tomorrow. It is only a matter of time now.”

The news should have made him beyond elated. Instead, Robert could think of nothing but Aleene’s sickening cries as he thought she lay dying after ingesting the poison given to her by the man now hiding behind his liege. “So, you are a traitor now, Aethregard? How fitting.”

“I am not. I fight for what is right.”

“You fight for who is winning, you swine.”

“Come now, Robert.” William laid his hand on Robert’s arm. “There is no need for this. We celebrate, for tomorrow we come closer to victory.”

“You celebrate.” Robert shook off William’s hand. “I shall leave Duncan here in my place. I have business that must be attended to.” William raised his brows, his eyes narrowing. Robert knew he had probably lost any more land or booty that William might have given him, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care in the least.

Aethregard stepped out from behind William, his demeanor triumphant. “Robert, your diplomacy is a trifle lacking, is it not?” He smiled showing graying teeth and blackened gums.

“You have seen nothing, yet.” Robert smiled hugely, pulled back his fist and hit
Aethregard as hard as he could in the face. Blood spurted from Aethregard’s nose as he bent forward screaming. “That was for Aleene. Don’t you ever touch her again.” Robert swiveled on his heel and left the tent. The despair he had felt only moments ago was completely gone. Hope reigned in his heart once again.

She was asleep, she knew, but it seemed that some frantic activity happened around her. Finally, Aleene opened her eyes to see Berthilde throwing clothes into a trunk. Aleene leaned up on her elbow, squinting in the dim light of a single candle. “What do you do, Berthilde? Why are you up?”

Berthilde turned to her just as another figure entered the room. “Ah, you awake my sleeping beauty.”

Her heart fluttered and then beat heavily against her chest as Aleene stared at the large outline of Robert in the shadows. “You!”

“We wanted to let you sleep as long as possible.” He came forward, the candlelight illuminating the planes of his face. “Now, though, you must be quick.”

“Quick?” She sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Why are you here?” Aleene opened her eyes and stared at her husband. “What in the name of heaven is going on?”

“I am taking you home.” Robert went down on his knees at the side of the bed, taking her hands in his. “We both fight for a cause that is beyond our governing. We can do no more.”

Aleene yanked her hands out of Robert’s. “What do you say? I will not leave here!”

“Aleene, Stigand is going over to William’s side tomorrow morning. It is only the beginning of the end for the English resistance. Surely you know that you can do no more.”

“How is it that you know such a thing, Robert de Guise?” Aleene narrowed her gaze on Robert’s haggard face. “Have you been spying again?”

“No, ’tis another that spies now, Aleene.” He sighed heavily and pushed himself up to stand next to the bed. “You can do no more here, Aleene. And I wish only to take you home and begin the healing. I am tired of fighting.”

Aleene threw back her covers and jumped out of bed. “You should have thought of that before, Robert.” She turned to face him. “Perhaps before you journeyed across the channel to kill.”

Robert sighed. “Please, Aleene, let us go home.”

“I shall not go with you!”

“You shall.”

“What do you propose to do? Tie me to a cart and haul me away?”

“If I must.”

“Oh!” Aleene whirled away but had nowhere else to go in the tiny room. “Oh!”

“I don’t want to do such a thing, but I will do what I must. And right now we should be home.”

“Home?” She clenched her fists at her sides. “Home? So you will go back to Normandy?”

“You know what I mean, Aleene. We must begin the . . .”

“Healing?” Aleene turned on Robert. “Yes, you said that already. You wish to heal the wound that you ripped open? I fear ’tis not possible, Robert. I fear ’tis a fatal wound you have inflicted upon
my
home.”

With a thump Berthilde closed the chest she had shoved full of clothes. “This is ready to
go, my lord,” she said to Robert, then turned to her mistress. “I have laid out a kirtle for you, Lady Aleene. It will do ye well for the cold journey ahead.”

Aleene could only stare. “You would follow this man? Our enemy, Berthilde?”

Robert sighed as he shouldered the heavy trunk and left the room, but Aleene continued to watch her old servant.

“Choose your enemies well, milady. ’Twould do no good to put a friend in that role.” She arched her brows and nodded, then left quietly.

With a low, frustrated groan, Aleene dropped onto her bed. “I cannot leave now. I cannot,” she wailed into the scratchy wool coverlet. She had to stay. She had to try and right the wrong she had started with her marriage to a Norman spy. Oh, but she did
want
to go. She did. She longed for home, longed to hear the waves as she slept and feel the salt air on her skin.

“We are leaving, Aleene.”

Aleene looked up to see Robert standing in the doorway. She stood and slowly pulled the rough kirtle over her head. Turning away from him, she fingered her heavy hair. Berthilde had left a veil for her on the table by the window. Aleene felt a bitter smile curl her lips as she lifted the material, then anchored it to her hair. Just a few short weeks ago she would have never dressed so, not caring that her shift was wrinkled, that her veil was askew, her hair unbrushed. And to do it all in front of a man. Aleene turned again, her eyes searching out Robert’s in the wavering shadows.

“You have taken everything I value.” She hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but it didn’t matter.

“Perhaps it shouldn’t have been.”

“But it was, nonetheless.”

Robert advanced on her, and Aleene stiffened. He stopped just short of touching her. “I wish to give you all that I have ever valued.”

“And that is what I should hold dear? Such a high-handed attitude, my lord.”

Robert cocked his head to the side, his eyes never leaving hers. “I would hope that we would not fight over every small word, Aleene. I love you, and I want only to give you everything you always deserved to have.”

Aleene blinked, then brushed past him rudely. She did not turn around as she said, “I shall fight you, Norman, be sure of that.”