Stuart, Elizabeth (10 page)

He
smiled, but there was something about the smile that was odd, forced.
"Don't be afraid, madam. I assure you I shan't cut your throat."

With
the words, he slid one hand beneath her hair. It was large, powerful, the
fingers curling about the nape of her neck with a tension she'd never been
conscious of before. His thumb rested against her pulse point. She knew he must
feel the surging rush of her blood.

With
a major effort of will, Jocelyn held herself still. She focused her eyes on his
chest, on the dried blood staining his hauberk. Whose had it been?

With
a last tug of her hair, his hand fell away. He drew the dark severed lock
across his palm, measured it against the spun silver of the one beside it.
"Strange. With the same sire that the two of you should be so
different."

All
her life Jocelyn had been measured against Adelise; all her life she had been
found wanting. "Same sire, different dams," she whispered.

"Is
there nothing of your father in you? The castle folk here say not."

Jocelyn
swallowed and stepped away. She needed to get a clear breath, to free herself
from the grip of whatever it was she had just experienced. "He would like
to think not, I imagine. I am far from his favorite child, as I'm certain
you've heard as well."

De
Langley held her eyes. "I've heard it. A point very much in your favor,
you can be sure."

"Not
to the people of my acquaintance."

"Then
you've made the wrong acquaintances, I expect." He started to turn away,
then hesitated. "I must get these tokens off to Montagne. It's time he
learned I'm back from the dead to haunt him."

He
hesitated again, stared at the hair in his hand and frowned. "I know
you'll need to go to your sister, but I would appreciate it if you would do
whatever you can for my man. The wound is a bad one, I doubt there's ought to
be done. Still, if you do have unusual skills..."

Jocelyn
found her voice. "I'll see to him. And any others here who are
wounded."

"I
would appreciate it," he repeated. Then he turned and moved away.

Jocelyn
found the young knight without trouble. There were a more than dozen anxious
men ringed about Aymer Briavel. And his wounds were indeed bad. He had a huge
hacked gash across his shoulder, had taken a blade through the edge of his back
and out one side. The blood loss had been so rapid he had barely maintained
enough consciousness to remain mounted and reach the gates.

Jocelyn
frowned. So that was why Robert de Langley had broken off the fighting. It was
little wonder he had been in a rage when he got back. The wonder of it was that
he hadn't slain both her and Adelise outright.

She
checked the man's bandages, speaking softly with Maude while she did. The woman
was as skilled a healer as Jocelyn had ever seen. She had cleaned the wounds as
best she could then packed them with poultices of crushed willow, yarrow,
sicklewort, and dried moss. She had bound his side and back as tightly as she
dared, but the blood still oozed from both wounds.

"Well,
madam, and what do you think?"

Jocelyn
glanced up. Robert de Langley was bending over her. "I think he's in God's
hands. Have you sent for your priest?"

De
Langley nodded. "I was hoping Aymer might regain consciousness if only for
a few minutes. Enough to speak to the priest."

Jocelyn
shook her head. "He's bleeding still and in the stupor oft caused by such.
I don't think it likely to happen."

In
a matter of minutes, the priest was kneeling at Jocelyn's side. She listened to
the comforting words of the sacrament, watched as the priest anointed the
unconscious man with the holy oil. Then it was over and the men were scattering
resignedly to their duties.

As
the early hours of evening crept by, Jocelyn removed the blood-soaked bandages,
carefully stitching the layers of muscle and flesh back together, packing fresh
poultices of honey and herbs against her work.

She
watched Robert de Langley move about the keep, checking with his sentries,
setting his men to sleeping in shifts. It was obvious he didn't really believe
her father would attack, not after whatever it was he had written on that
parchment. But it was more obvious still that he was as good as his word. The
man left nothing to chance.

From
her vigil beside Sir Aymer's pallet, Jocelyn directed the workings of the
castle folk. The injured men had to be stitched up and cared for, food had to
be prepared.

Sir
Geoffrey came by and knelt for a moment. "How is he?"

"The
same, I'm afraid, though the bleeding is lessening. By God's grace, it's a
clean wound. Nothing inside seemed out of place." Jocelyn glanced up.
"But I've no idea how much blood he's lost. It may be too much."

"A
shame. He's a good man. A good friend. I'll sit with him, lady, while you go
and get something to eat."

Jocelyn
shook her head. "I've sent a woman to fetch me something. I can eat here
as easily as anywhere else."

Geoffrey
nodded and sat quietly, his eyes on the unconscious man.

Jocelyn
stared curiously at the knight across from her. Sir Geoffrey was different, all
of Robert de Langley's men seemed different from the men she had known all her
life.

She
tried to put her thoughts into words. "This knight is a friend, you say.
Lord de Langley said the same. I've not seen such friendships among my father's
men. Is it because you have been through so much together, because your lord is
so... so..." She floundered for words and found nothing appropriate.

A
flush stole over her face, and she added with some embarrassment,
"Actually, I find your lord difficult to describe. He seems a hard man but
not harsh, a good man yet readily capable of things that aren't good. He is an
easy man to fear, yet I find it impossible not to respect him. His men seem to
worship him, yet he leads them out to court death against impossible odds. I
don't understand it."

She
glanced at the dying man and frowned, thinking of the wild fighting she had
witnessed, of what de Langley had said of her father. It was true. Despite her
father's fierce pride, in some respects he was dishonorable. He had taken an
oath years ago to respect and protect the de Langley lands.

But
so had the earl of Chester, so had several of these western marcher lords. When
it came to the getting of lands, there was little pride and no honor. They were
like starving wild dogs here in the marches, snarling and fighting among
themselves for a bit of choice meat, as happy to kill each other as they were
their traditional enemies across the Welsh border.

And
they had little respect for anything, in this world or the next. She thought of
her father's indifference at her mother's death, of his obscene rejoicing when
he'd heard the news of de Langley's horrible end.

Anger
and disgust surged up. "I find myself shamed tonight, sir," she said.
"Shamed by an honor that shifts like the wind, by vows taken for convenience
and broken as readily for the same reason. If I could give your lord this man's
life... if I could give back his wife and his son, his lands and all he has
lost, I would. I swear it. I swear it before God!"

If
Geoffrey was surprised by her outburst, it didn't show. "But you can't,
can you? Nor can I." He smiled, then added gently, "You can't atone,
madam, for that which you haven't done. No man here holds Aymer's injury
against you, least of all Lord Robert. These are hard times. Only our Blessed
Lord knows if there will be harder yet before all's done, if this is the end
waiting for each of us with the next sunrise."

He
hesitated. "You say we are different, madam. Well, perhaps we are. We've
been through things, done things, most men won't see or do in their lifetime.

"You
say my lord is a hard man and that is true, but sweet Christ, he's been forced
to be. We all have! I tell you this, though, and you'd do well to remember my
words. Robert de Langley isn't the man to shift with the wind nor to think lightly
of his vows. What he says he will do."

He
hesitated again, sought for a lighter tone and found it. "And as to the
reason men still follow him, why I can only say that he has the gift of saying
the unbelievable and making men believe, of attempting the impossible and oft
times pulling it off. There's a magic in Robert de Langley, madam. We follow
him because we can't help ourselves. And not a man among us would have it any
way else or any other man as our lord."

Jocelyn
struggled to return Geoffrey's smile. "I'm surprised you've not made him
king." She offered the words in jest, but the man across from her seemed
to be seriously considering them.

"There
are many who think England would be a great deal better off, but Robert is
Stephen's man, body and soul. He's taken homage of Stephen and sworn to uphold
him as king. You could rip him apart limb from limb and he'd not go back on
that."

He
glanced up, sent her another smile. "But enough of this, madam. I've
things to see to now, else it's me that'll be ripped limb from limb." He
rose to his feet. "Send for me if you've need of anything, if there's any
change in Aymer."

Jocelyn
nodded. "Would you do something for me now, sir?"

"If
it's within my power, most certainly."

"Will
you see that food is sent up to my sister and her woman? Ask whoever takes it
up to tell her that I am helping out with the wounded. That I'll be up
later."

"I'll
be most happy to take care of it personally, my lady." Geoffrey grinned.
"I'll go at once and see what the lady desires."

Jocelyn
smiled. "My thanks, sir."

He
bowed. "Ah, my pleasure, lady."

Jocelyn
watched him walk away. Geoffrey moved quickly across the floor and soon
disappeared into the shadowy well at the base of the stairs.

"Any
change in Aymer?"

Jocelyn
looked up. Robert de Langley was standing a few feet away holding two wooden
bowls. "The same I'm afraid, though no worse."

"I
suppose I should be thankful for that." He squatted and placed one of the
bowls beside her, then settled himself on the floor, cross-legged. "Your
supper, madam."

Jocelyn
widened her eyes in surprise. "When I sent for food, I didn't expect you
to bring it."

He
shrugged. "I was hungry. I was coming to check on Aymer. It seemed the
simplest thing."

Somehow
Jocelyn couldn't imagine her father or Brian doing anything of the like.
"I've noticed you do that often —the simple things—even if they aren't the
ways of a lord. Your men, too. I was amazed they helped with the swine."

He
drew his dagger, began methodically slicing up the fresh pork in his bowl. He
lifted some into Jocelyn's bowl to accompany her beans and bread. "Living
the life of an outlaw is a humbling experience, madam. My men have learned to
work if they want to eat. You'll find few jobs beneath our dignity. Especially
if it has to do with the getting of food. It's difficult to pretend to a
knight's pride when your stomach is rumpling so loudly you're afraid your
enemies will find you just from the noise."

Jocelyn
watched Robert de Langley eat. There was nothing frightening or awe-inspiring
about the legendary Norman Lion now. Yet in an strange way that inspired even
more respect.

They
finished the meal in silence and a servant fetched them two cups of ale.
Jocelyn had noticed de Langley had no squire, that there were no young men in
training among any of the knights in his service. She asked him about it.

"I
sent them away. There weren't many left anyway. The way my men and I have lived
these last years was no way for boys to grow up. Besides, the risks were too
great, the fighting too vicious. I've watched too many children die."

Jocelyn
thought of the son he had lost, of the three boys who had made it safely inside
the gate this afternoon and of what he had risked to make it so. "Is that
why you went out to meet my father today?"

He
shot her a hard look. "Don't make it something it wasn't. I wanted to
fight your father. Those boys were just an excuse. The whole keep is making me
out to be a hero." He frowned. "I assure you, madam, I'm not."

"I
suspect you'll have trouble making the boys believe that."

"Those
boys had a beating from one of my men and then such a tongue-lashing from me
they're probably all wishing they had met their fate."

He
took a slow sip of ale, then sighed and leaned back against the wall. He stared
thoughtfully at an empty pallet a few feet away. "Madam, I'm at least
two-parts asleep right now and will be good for little come the dawn unless I
catch some rest for a few hours. Can I trust you to see to Aymer, to wake me if
there's any change, good or ill?"

She
nodded.

He
lifted his eyebrows and smiled. It was thoughtful, slightly mocking, yet warmly
intimate for all that. A smile she'd no doubt she would still be calling up
come the winter of her life.