Margaret Moore - [Maiden & Her Knight 03] (16 page)

Connor jumped to his feet, finally demonstrating that he was more tense than he acted. “He has news of Allis.”

Her eyes wide, the woman’s anxious gaze went from Connor to him and back again, and she turned so pale, Alexander thought she might swoon. “Allis?” she repeated in a whisper.

“She is well, he says. He also claims that he is Rennick DeFrouchette’s son.”

The woman glided toward them, her movements as graceful as Lady Allis’s. “Rennick never told me he had a son.”

“My father did not speak of me,” Alexander said. “But seeing me, do you doubt it?”

It was immediately obvious she did not. Again, a look of utter revulsion came to the face of the person regarding him.

Then he learned he was indeed looking at Lady Allis’s sister, for her expression darkened and her eyes flashed with a familiar ire. The woman gathered her skirt in her hand and marched toward him, the tassels of her girdle swinging and her expression as determined as that of an armed opponent who was about to engage him in single combat. “I don’t care if your father was the king. I want to know what’s happened to my sister. Where is she? Have you hurt her?”

“She is unharmed and where you cannot find her. There she will stay until you have delivered twenty thousand marks into my hands.”

Both of them gasped. “Twenty thousand marks?” the lady whispered incredulously. She exchanged a doubtful look with Sir Connor.

It troubled him, that look, both the uncertainty and the seeming … intimacy … of it. If
he
were Lady Allis’s husband, he would pay anything to get her back, no matter what he had to do, or who he had to beg. “I am sure you can afford it, or have friends who can help you. You had better find the money somehow, for I will have a portion of it—a small recompense for what
you
have stolen from
me
.”

Connor drew himself up and the look he gave Alexander was full of loathing and disgust. “You are indeed Rennick’s son, for just like him, you would get what you want through a woman rather than your own merit.”

“What do you know of my merit?” Alexander demanded, his fists curling as he struggled to restrain his outraged pride, which had been battered countless times. “Thanks to you—and your duplicitous wife—I may never be anything but some man’s bastard, without hope of land or title or the means to achieve them.”

“What you have done tells me all I need to know of your merit, or lack thereof,” Connor retorted.

Alexander took a deep breath and forced his emotions back under control. “Think of me as you will. I have been called all manner of things, and whatever you say makes little difference. Just make certain that when I come back in a month, you have the money.”

“A month!” the woman cried.

“I assumed you did not have such a sum handy. Of course, if you do—”

“We do not,” Connor interrupted with grim reluctance.

“How can we be certain that you have her, as you claim?” the woman demanded. “You could have heard that she has been abducted and think to profit from it.”

She was as clever as her sister. “You are very like her, you know, and not just in looks,” he noted as he reached into the pouch tied to his waist and pulled out the braid. It was soft in his hands and seemed like molten gold, and for a moment, he was loath to part with it.

He tossed it to her.

She caught it, then dropped it as if it were a live snake. “Oh, God, Connor, it’s her hair!”

Sir Connor gathered her in his arms and held her close as he addressed Alexander. “Now that you have delivered your message, go.”

Again, something was too intimate here, too close for a mere legal relationship.

Alexander tried to ignore his troubling suspicions. Whatever was between Sir Connor, his wife and his sister-in-law was no concern of his—except that it might prove that neither Sir Connor nor this woman had the right to look at him with such scornful disgust. “You two seem very … loving.”

They broke apart. “Would you deny me the comfort of a brotherly embrace?” the woman charged as Sir Connor took another step back. “Considering how cold-blooded your sire was, perhaps you would.”

Was that guilt in the man’s eyes? Had Oswald been wrong about Sir Connor’s devotion to his wife? Maybe, then, Sir Connor wouldn’t pay.

Then he would not have to bring her back to Bellevoire.

But what then?
his mind argued.
She will be sold, for Oswald, Osburn and Ingar will have their money
.

Therefore, regardless of what he might prefer, she must return. He must make them see that a terrible fate awaited her if they did not pay. “What shall I tell my companions when I return? Will you pay, or shall we sell her to the Norsemen?”

The woman blanched. “Of course we will pay.”

Sir Connor came to stand behind her. “Lord Oswald is behind this,” he said with sure and firm certainty.

How had he known?

“If you want to keep her safe, pay the ransom,” Alexander said, not willing to discuss Oswald’s part in this. “In the meantime, you will give me the loan of a horse so that I may return and tell her you will pay. Neither you nor your men will follow me from here, or the lady will suffer.”

“The
loan
of a horse?” Sir Connor queried with open disdain.

“A horse is not part of the bargain. When I have gone far enough, I will set it free to return to you.”

“A fine morality you have, DeFrouchette, that allows you to keep a woman but tells you to return a horse.” Sir Connor came closer until he was nearly nose to nose with him. “Take the horse and send it back, if that enables you to think you are not a dishonorable rogue. And you will have your money, but know you this, you lout: a worthy opponent would have challenged me directly. A noble warrior would have offered to settle this matter man to man. A man worthy to be a knight and lord of an estate would not have sought his vengeance in a woman’s pain.” His lip curled with scorn, as if Alexander smelled of something foul. “Now get out of Bellevoire and take your convenient morality with you.”

The confrontation Alexander had dreamt of, the meeting that was to be such a glorious triumph, was over—and he had never felt so petty and ashamed.

After DeFrouchette had gone, Connor took Allis gently in his arms. For a long moment, he simply held her, feeling her tremble, knowing how difficult these days had been for her.

They had been terrible for him, too. Guilt gnawed at him every waking moment, and he had thought a thousand times of all the things he might have done differently the day that Isabelle had disappeared.

Allis nestled her head against his chest. “At least we know she is well. You did believe him when he said he hadn’t hurt her?”

Connor took her hand and led her to a chair. “Yes, I did.”

“I have never heard so much as a whisper of Rennick’s son.”

“No, nor I,” Connor replied as he sat opposite her. “Still, I don’t think he was lying about that, either. He was too much like the man, in looks, and in evil.”

Allis’s eyes welled with tears. “And now he has Isabelle, but he thinks he has me.”

Connor pushed himself out of his chair and knelt in front of her, taking her hands in his. “I was so glad you realized that he must continue to think that! Otherwise, who could say what he might do to her? He might very well sell her as he threatened.”

A tear slipped down Allis’s cheek, her pain adding to Connor’s own. “I wish he
did
have me.”

“I don’t,” Connor replied as he brushed the tear away with the pad of his thumb. “You’re with child, Allis, and don’t forget that Isabelle is clever and brave. Of all the women I can think of who could endure what has befallen her, it would be her—or you.” He gave his wife a comforting smile. “Men always underestimate her. I did. I daresay this fellow has, too. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if she walked into the hall tomorrow, told us she’d clouted her jailer on the head and climbed down a tower wall.”

Allis tried to smile. “She might.”

Connor’s warm grip tightened, and he spoke with even more assurance. “There is more to give us hope. Although he would not admit it, I saw the truth in his eyes when I asked him about Oswald. That miscreant
is
involved in this. We know more now than we did before.”

Gleda came out of the kitchen, a tray bearing two goblets in her trembling hands. She handed one to Allis and one to Connor. Her hands were shaking so much that she spilled some of the red wine onto Connor’s fingers. “Oh, forgive me, my lord!” she cried, wiping it off with her sleeve. “It’s just that I’m that upset. I thought I was seeing a ghost!”

“So did I,” Allis said as she sipped her wine.

Tucking the tray under her arm, Gleda nodded eagerly. “Aye, just like his father, wasn’t he? With the black hair and those blue eyes, and the height of him.”

“Tell me, Gleda,” Connor said, as he toyed with the bottom of his goblet, “you were here when Rennick DeFrouchette was master. Did you never hear talk of a son?”

She shook her head. “Not a word, but then, it wouldn’t surprise me. A lustful man he was, and…” A look passed over her face and she fell silent a moment. “We wondered, some of the women, why he never fathered any children here. We thought, maybe, you know…” She gave them a meaningful look.

“That he could not?” Allis asked.

Connor glanced at his wife. They knew that Rennick DeFrouchette could indeed father children, for they had seen that coloring and that build and those eyes in another man—Connor’s own brother, Caradoc, or half brother, if the story told by their old nurse was true. She had said that Connor’s mother had been raped by a squire named Rennick DeFrouchette and Caradoc was the result. Connor believed it, for the resemblance between the late baron and his brother was too strong to be denied.

Nobody at Bellevoire, except Allis, knew of this relationship—not even Isabelle.

After Gleda had gone, and before the servants returned to their tasks, Allis said, “What about his mistake? What if he finds out he has Isabelle, and not me?”

“I don’t imagine he lingered to talk to anybody in the village or castle, and when he returns, we will have the money, so his error will not be of such grave import, even if he does learn of it then.”

“I can ask some friends of my father to lend us what we need to pay the ransom.”

“And we can ask Caradoc, too. Speaking of Caradoc—” Connor fell silent and glanced at the maidservants who were filing into the hall. They, in turn, glanced at their lord and lady, then away.

“Come to the solar,” he said, rising.

Allis nodded and followed him. The solar was on the second level of one of the inner towers, a smaller, much more private place in which to talk. After taking possession of Bellevoire, Allis had set about removing all evidence of the baron’s former occupation, especially here. The walls had been plastered with a mixture of lime, water and sand, and then painted in a pale blue, like the sky. The furnishings were of new oak, the light shade adding to the airy feeling Allis had tried to impart to this chamber, which also had a larger window than most of the buildings in the castle. The chairs sported cushions stuffed with goosedown covered in silk the color of jewels: sapphire, emerald and amber. A large chest, painted in those same colors and holding the records of the estate, stood behind the trestle table where Connor sat to study the rolls and lists of tithes and services due. Now, in the afternoon, a mellow golden light filled the room and warmed it.

“I’ll ask Caradoc to bring the money himself,” Connor said the moment he closed the door behind his wife.

Too anxious to sit, twisting the ends of her girdle around her fingers, Allis asked, “Are you thinking Caradoc should meet this half brother of his?”

“Not exactly.” Connor walked toward the table, then leaned his hip against it as he regarded her with grave concern. “Allis, are you truly well?”

“I have been better, but I am not ill.”

His expression grew even more grave. “Then you will be able to manage if I leave for a little while?”

She dropped the tassels of her girdle and stared at him. “Leave?”

“If Oswald is involved, as I truly believe he is, there is one person who might know where he would hide a captive.”

Allis’s eyes widened with comprehension. “Auberan,” she breathed, naming the other villain involved in the traitorous conspiracy with Rennick DeFrouchette and Lord Oswald. He had also been stripped of his titles and estates save one far to the north. He had been banished there rather than executed, a rare act of benevolence by King Richard, brought on in no small part by Isabelle’s request for mercy.

For a time, Allis had feared there was some deeper bond between them than charity on Isabelle’s part; fortunately, Isabelle had made it very clear that there was not. “For Isabelle’s sake, Auberan might tell you—if he is not involved in this, too,” she said.

“He may be. Either way, I think I should ride north and seek him out.”

Allis rose and put her arms about her husband, pulling him into her embrace. “I would rather you went at once. Whether this young DeFrouchette has noble aspirations or not, I cannot and will not trust him, and I will not believe Isabelle is safe until she’s here again. If there is a chance Auberan knows anything about where Isabelle may be, we must not delay.”