Mystique (12 page)

It occurred to Alice that he just might be able to assist her. “What I am in need of is some information.”

“Information?” Fulk slipped the knife back inside his tunic sleeve with a businesslike flick of his wrist. “That won’t be any problem. I frequently sell information. Ye’d be surprised how many people wish to purchase that particular commodity. Now, then, just what sort of information do ye seek?”

Alice plunged into the tale she had concocted for the pie-sellers and peddlers. “I am searching for a handsome troubadour who has long brown hair, a small beard, and pale blue eyes. He favors a yellow and orange tunic. I heard him sing earlier and I wish to listen to some more of his songs but I cannot find him in this crowd. Have you seen him?”

Fulk tilted his head to one side and gave her a shrewd look. “Are ye in love with this troubadour?”

Alice started to utter an indignant protest and then caught herself. She gave what she hoped was a fluttering sigh instead. “He is most comely.”

Fulk snorted in disgust. “Ye be not the only lady who thinks so. By the teeth o’ Saint Anselm, I don’t know what it is about troubadours. They all seem to have pretty ladies swooning at their feet.”

Alice stilled. “Then you have seen him?”

“Aye. I’ve seen yer fancy poet.” Fulk lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. “His tunic is very pretty, just as ye said. Always favored yellow and orange meself.”

“Where did you see him?” Alice asked eagerly.

“Last night he entertained a group of knights around one of the campfires. I, uh, happened to be nearby at the time and overheard him.”

“Is that when you stumbled upon the lost dagger?” Alice asked politely.

“As it happens, it was.” Fulk was not the least chagrined by her deduction. “Knights are a careless lot, especially when they’ve had too many cups of wine. Always losing daggers and purses and such. Now, then, how much will ye pay me for finding yer handsome troubadour for ye?”

Alice fingered her nearly empty purse. “I have only a couple of coins left. I suppose the information is worth one of them. Mayhap two if you’re quick with it.”

“Done.” Fulk grinned again. “Come with me, m’lady. I know where to find the troubadour.”

“How is it you can be so certain of that?”

“I told ye that ye weren’t the only female in love with him. Last night I heard him tell a certain blond-haired lady that he would meet her today while her lord takes the field in the jousts.”

“By the Saints,” Alice muttered. “You are, indeed, a fount of information, Fulk.”

“I told ye, information sells as well as anything else and there’s not nearly so much risk involved.” Fulk turned and set off through the maze of stalls with a jaunty swagger.

Alice tossed aside her uneaten pie and hurried after him.

Fifteen minutes later she found herself on the outskirts of the fairgrounds. She glanced back uneasily as Fulk led the way around the old stone wall that surrounded Ipstoke Keep. They had left the crowd behind. She was alone with Fulk.

She followed him up a gentle slope of rising ground. When she reached the crest she glanced back once more. She discovered that she could see across the tops of the tents and banners all the way to the distant jousting field.

A throng of spectators had gathered to view the melee. Even as Alice watched a great shout went up. The sound of it was carried toward her on the breeze. Two opposing groups of knights charged toward one another from opposite ends of the field.

Alice winced as they slammed together. Several horses and men went down in a fearsome tangle. Armor glinted in the sun and horses flailed. Alice found herself searching for a familiar black banner but it was impossible to identify Hugh or any of his men from this distance.

“This way, m’lady,” Fulk whispered. He rounded one of the ramshackle outbuildings. “Hurry.”

Alice told herself that Hugh was much too clever and too skilled to get hurt. Knights of his caliber thrived on mock combat. She shuddered. Her father had been no different. Sir Bernard had spent a great deal of his life in northern France seeking the glory and wealth to be had from the endless round of tournaments. Bernard had sought something else as well on those journeys, Alice thought wistfully. Escape from his responsibilities as a husband and father.

She had only scattered memories of her father. Those memories were sprinkled across the years like so many bright beads from a broken strand.

Bernard had been a handsome man with a hearty laugh, a curly red beard, and vivid green eyes. He had been loud and boisterous and full of enthusiasm for the hunt, the joust, and, according to Helen, Alice’s mother, London brothels.

Bernard was gone a great deal of the time but his visits
to his manor were wonderful events in Alice’s childhood. He swooped down upon the household with presents and stories. He scooped Alice up in his arms and carried her through the great hall. While Bernard was home it seemed to Alice that everything, including her mother, glowed and shimmered with happiness.

But all too soon Bernard would set out again for a joust in some distant place or an extended trip to London. Many of Alice’s memories from her early years included scenes of her mother crying after one of Bernard’s frequent departures.

The family had seen more of Bernard for a time after his son and heir was born. Helen had been radiant during that period. But after Benedict was permanently injured in the fall from his horse Bernard had gone back to his old habits. The trips to London and northern France became frequent and prolonged once more.

As the years passed, Helen responded to her husband’s lengthy absences by spending an ever-increasing amount of time at work on her handbook or mixing her herbs and potions. She grew distant from her children, seemingly obsessed by her studies.

In the later years Helen no longer greeted Bernard’s brief visits with glowing happiness in her eyes. On the positive side, Alice thought, her mother no longer cried for hours after Bernard’s leave-takings.

As her mother secluded herself for longer and longer periods in her study, Alice gradually took over the myriad responsibilities of managing the household and manor. She also assumed the task of rearing Benedict. She feared she had not been a great success in her efforts to be both mother and father to him. She had been unable to make up for the pain that Bernard’s careless rejection had caused. The silent resentment in Benedict’s eyes whenever his father was mentioned still made Alice want to weep.

But the knowledge of just how badly she had failed had not struck home until she managed to lose Benedict’s inheritance.

“M’lady?”

Alice pushed aside the melancholy memories. “Where are we going, Fulk?”

“Hush.” He waved frantically to silence her. “Do ye want them to hear ye?”

“I want to know where you’re taking me.” She walked around a sagging wooden storage shed and saw him crouched behind a stretch of thick foliage.

“Last night I heard the troubadour tell the blond-haired lady that he would meet her down there in the bushes by the stream.”

“You’re certain?”

“If he’s not there, ye don’t need to pay me,” Fulk said magnanimously.

“Very well,” Alice said. “Lead on.”

Fulk plunged into the greenery that hid the stream from view. Alice picked up her skirts and followed cautiously. Her soft leather boots were going to be ruined, she thought.

A moment later a high, keening cry stopped her in her tracks. She grabbed Fulk’s arm.

“What was that?” she whispered, horrified.

“The blonde, most likely,” Fulk muttered without any show of surprise.

“Someone is attacking her. We must go to her aid.”

Fulk blinked and then stared at her as though she were mad. “I don’t think she’ll be wantin’ any help from the likes of us.”

“Why not?”

“From the sounds of it, your fancy troubadour is plucking her harp string quite nicely for her.”

Another high, feminine scream sounded in the distance.

“Plucking her string? I do not understand. Someone is hurting that woman. We must do something.”

Fulk rolled his eyes. “The troubadour is tumblin’ her in the tall grass, m’lady.”

“Tumbling her? As though she were a ball, do you mean? Why on earth would he do that?”

Fulk groaned softly. “Don’t ye comprehend, m’lady? He’s makin’ love to her.”

“Here? In the bushes?” Alice was so shocked that she tripped over a twig and nearly fell flat on her face.

“Where else?” Fulk reached out to steady her. “They
can hardly use her lord’s tent, now, can they? And the troubadour doesn’t have one of his own.”

Alice felt herself grow exceedingly warm. It was unsettling to realize that this boy who was no older than Benedict knew a great deal more about such matters than she did.

“I see.” She tried to sound casual.

Fulk took pity on her obvious embarrassment. “Do ye want to wait here until they’re finished?”

“Well, I suppose so. I certainly don’t want to interrupt them.”

“As ye wish.” Fulk held out his hand. “I’ve fulfilled me part of the bargain. If ye’ll be so kind as to pay me now, I’ll be on me way.”

Alice frowned. “You’re quite certain that it’s Gilbert the troubadour who is with that lady?”

“Take a look over there.” Fulk nodded toward a bright patch of yellow and orange cloth that lay on the ground beneath the drooping branches of a tree.

Alice followed his gaze. “That does look like Gilbert’s outer tunic. And I think I see his lute.”

A hoarse, masculine groan reverberated through the greenery just as Alice handed Fulk the last of her coins.

“From the sound of things, yon troubadour is playing his own instrument now. A horn, I believe.” Fulk’s fingers closed tightly around the coins. “But don’t fret, fine lady. I heard him tell the blond-haired lady that he was good for more than one tune.”

Alice frowned again. “I don’t believe that I comprehend—”

But Fulk had vanished into the shrubbery.

Alice hesitated, not certain how to proceed. She had intended to confront Gilbert when she found him and demand that he surrender her green stone. Now, for the first time she wondered if he would even admit to possessing it. What would she do if he simply denied all knowledge of the stone?

And then there was the awkward business of Gilbert’s blond-haired lady. What did one say to a man and a woman who had just finished making love? Alice wondered. Especially when that love was clearly adulterous.

Alice was forced to conclude that Gilbert was far bolder than she had realized. In having dared to seduce a married lady, he risked castration or even death at the hands of the woman’s husband. A man who was willing to dare so much for passion would likely laugh at Alice when she asked him to return the green stone.

It occurred to her that things would have been much simpler at this juncture had Hugh accompanied her. He would have had no qualms about challenging Gilbert.

Trust a man to be fooling about on a jousting field when there were more important matters to be dealt with, she thought, irritated.

Another husky groan startled her. This one seemed louder than the last, as though it were approaching some peak or hurdle. It occurred to her that she had no notion of how long it took to make love. Mayhap Gilbert and his lady would emerge from the bushes at any moment. They would see her standing there looking quite foolish.

If she was going to act, it had to be soon.

Alice took a deep, steadying breath and marched determinedly toward the pile of discarded clothing. When she reached it she saw at once that Gilbert had left not only his lute but a small canvas sack next to his tunic.

The sack was just the proper size to carry a large stone.

Alice hesitated once more and then reminded herself that Gilbert had stolen the crystal from her. She had every right lo take it back.

Stealthily she opened the flap of the sack. An object approximately the size of the stone lay inside. It was swathed in an old rag.

With trembling fingers Alice lifted the heavy object out of the sack and eased aside a portion of the dirty cloth. The familiar dull sheen of the strange, clouded green crystal winked at her. The crystal’s flat, wide facets caught the light but they did not reflect it very strongly.

There was no mistaking her green stone. A surge of satisfaction went through Alice. It was not an attractive chunk of crystal, but she found it fascinating. She had never seen a stone or crystal quite like it. She sensed it contained secrets, although in the short space of time in
which it had been in her possession she had been unable to reason out what those secrets were.

A hoarse shout from the vicinity of the bushes made Alice start. She leaped to her feet, stone in hand. Then she heard Gilbert’s voice.

“When I sing to your lord’s men at the campfire tonight, my sweet, you will know that the lady in my song is you. Will you blush?”

“Of course, but who will see in the shadows?” The woman laughed. “You are indeed a rogue, Sir Troubadour.”

“Thank you, madam.” Gilbert chuckled. “I shall sing of your alabaster breasts and milk-white thighs. And of the honey and dew I found between those lovely thighs today. Your lord will be none the wiser.”

“You had best pray that my lord does not recognize me in your poem,” the lady said dryly, “else you will surely find yourself deprived of your fine lute.”

Gilbert laughed uproariously. “There would be no pleasure in the chase if there were no risk involved. Some men prefer to take their sport on the jousting field. I prefer to take mine between the soft thighs of their ladies.”

Alice hesitated no longer. Clutching the rag-wrapped stone, she fled. She could only pray that Gilbert would not hear her footsteps on the soft ground.

She had not gone far when she heard his angry shout. She knew that he had just discovered his loss.

Alice ran faster. She did not think that Gilbert had seen her.

She was breathing hard by the time she reached the stone wall of the old keep. She ducked behind a small wooden shed while she paused to catch her breath. In another few minutes she would be safe amid the fair crowds, she told herself. Gilbert would never be able to find her.