Stuart, Elizabeth (28 page)

One
of the last nights they might ever have.

She
closed her eyes against the darkness, fought the dangerous, sweeping panic that
rose over her in waves. Robert would be ashamed of her if ever he learned her
fears. She was a warrior's wife. She was stronger than this, wiser, too. She
would have to do better.

But
it was so dark tonight, so cold here on the floor alone with only one blanket.
Jocelyn bit her lip with her shivering, pressed the ring Robert had given her
against her cheek. And for the first time she understood what a truly terrible
thing it could be to love.

***

Night
shadows still cloaked the land when the Belavoir party was back on the road the
next morning. The bitter cold had frozen the mud and they went swiftly, the
hooves of their horses making noisy crackling sounds in the ice-rimmed puddles
between the ruts.

Sir
Aymer recognized the men on watch in Leaworth's gatehouse, and they were passed
inside the walls without fanfare. Jocelyn slipped from her mount, not waiting
for the others, and ran swiftly up the stairs and into the hall.

Only
a handful of men were awake when she entered. Most were still sleeping in the
side aisles of the hall or ranged around the raised central hearth. A few
sleepy
servants were setting out pitchers of ale and watered wine on one table with
some leftover bread from the night before.

She
recognized several of the men from Belavoir, but Robert wasn't there. She swept
past the table, saw one of the men gasp and blink as if she were an apparition.

"Lady!
Christ's mercy, where did you spring from?" he gasped.

"Belavoir,
by way of Littleton," she called over one shoulder, already heading for
the lord's solar in back of the hall. "We are weary and frozen and so very
glad to have reached you here."

"Lady,
wait! I'll fetch my lord."

But
Jocelyn had already reached the door. There were no private upstairs apartments
at Leaworth, only the usual first floor storerooms below and the vast open hall
with the lord's chamber partitioned off at the back.

Jocelyn
opened the door. She was surprised Robert was still abed for even on the
bitterest days he rose early. "Robert," she called.
"Robert..."

She
heard a rustle of bedding, the sound of a shifting mattress as someone abruptly
sat up; She reached for the bed curtain and drew it back, found herself staring
into the terrified eyes of a stranger.

Jocelyn
jerked back her hand as if she'd been bitten. There was a woman here. Some
strange woman in Robert's bed!

"What
do you do here?" she snapped, unable for a moment to take in what she saw.
And then the truth hit her, the very stupidity of the question making her reel.

A
wave
of disbelief took her, sweeping her up and over a dizzying, sickening crest,
flinging her down, far down, into a whirlpool of pain. Her eyes swept the
woman. She was young, about the same age as Jocelyn herself, with honey-gold
hair, blue eyes, and a shapely body hinted at beneath the bed coverings, a body
Robert would have been enjoying while she'd lain awake last night worrying for
him.

Jocelyn
stared for a moment, overwhelmed by a bitterness, a hatred so powerful she had
never even dreamed such a feeling existed. "How dare you? How dare you
come here to my husband's bed?"

The
woman clutched the blanket to her chest, far too terrified to speak.

The
polished hilt of a dagger shone dimly on the nearby coffer. Jocelyn snatched it
up, had the point against the woman's throat before she knew what she was
doing. "I asked a question," she hissed. "How came you to be
here?"

The
woman was either too stupid or too frightened to speak. Jocelyn flicked the
knife point. "I... I did but do as my master bade me. I fetched the lord
wine, s-stayed as he asked. Have mercy, mistress! Oh, for the love of God, have
mercy," the woman gasped, beginning to weep. "I but did as I was
bade. That is all, lady. Oh, my lady, before God, I do swear. Have mercy!"

Aymer's
voice came softly from behind them. Jocelyn hadn't even noticed the sound of
the door. "Lady, you can't kill her. You know you can't."

It
was only then that Jocelyn became aware of the sound of excited male voices
coming to her from the hall, of the noise and commotion in the doorway. She
didn't turn around. "I'll do exactly as I wish," she countered
coldly. "Get out and close the door."

"Madam...
lady, we did arrive unexpectedly. In truth we—"

"Get
out, I said! Close the door and wait for me outside." Jocelyn drew in a
steadying breath. She was growing sick to her stomach, sick with an
ungovernable rage, an incredible disbelief, a certainty that she had strayed
somehow into a nightmare.

No,
she couldn't kill this woman. But she wanted to. Sweet Mary intercede for her
soul, for she did most assuredly want to!

Aymer
still hadn't moved.

Jocelyn
swallowed hard, willing her voice not to tremble, her hand not to shake. She
lowered the knife. "I don't intend to kill her," she said. "The
fault lies elsewhere, not with this pretty fool. Now go outside and tell our
men to ready themselves. I'll not be staying here after all."

For
a moment more there was silence. Then the door closed softly as he left.

Jocelyn
stared at the woman. "What's your name?"

"Edith,"
the woman said, still eyeing the knife.

"Well,
Edith, and where is my lord?"

Edith
had managed to stop her sobbing. "I... I don't know. He was gone when I
waked."

"And
have you lain with him before?"

Edith's
eyes widened with horror. "Oh, no, mistress, never! Never before. I do
swear on my soul!"

Jocelyn
nodded, then reached deliberately for the blanket, flinging it back to reveal
the exquisitely-shaped female body she had expected, a body Robert would have
caressed, enjoyed, used in the same way he used hers.

She
forced herself to imagine every sickening image she could call up. It was so
very difficult to believe her husband had grown weary of her already, but she
had to believe it. The evidence was here in living flesh.

Men
weren't expected to be faithful. She knew that. It was God's truth and man's
defense, and any woman who thought differently was in for a great deal of hurt.
Still, she hadn't expected the hurt to be so painful, hadn't expected to have
to deal with it quite so soon. They had been married a month. Merciful Christ,
only a month! And Robert had been within a half-day's ride of her.

Her
eyes moved over the woman again, noting the vivid blue eyes, the torrent of
golden hair. Had Robert played with it, run his fingers through it as he did
hers?

At
the thought, something gave way inside her. Robert had lied. He had lied even
in this small thing. He had said he favored
dark
hair! And with that,
Jocelyn caught up a fistful of the woman's hair, began hacking it off with the
dagger.

It
was all over in an instant. A mass of hair littered the bed like a sea of shorn
wheat, the bed where Robert had lain last night, where he had pleasured himself
with this woman.

Jocelyn
stared at the sobbing, terrified creature on the bed, at the carpet of severed
hair. All at once she was ashamed. She had never so abused her own power, had
never taken out her anger on someone who couldn't fight back. Besides, the
woman wasn't to blame. She was a servant; she would have had no choice if
Robert had wanted her.

Jocelyn
fumbled for the costly ring her husband had given her. She owned little of any
value herself, but this was certainly appropriate. She twisted the ring from
her finger, pitched it down beside the woman on the bed. "For your
loss," she said stiffly. "For the loss of your hair."

The
woman picked up the ring, stared at it and then at Jocelyn as if her mistress
had truly gone mad. "I... I may keep this?" she asked, incredulous.

Jocelyn
was already moving toward the door. "Yes," she responded without
looking back. She wanted to get out, had to get out quickly.

But
outside the door the men were all awake now, waiting for her to emerge. Jocelyn
lifted her chin, moved directly toward Aymer Briavel as if nothing out of the
ordinary had occurred. "My lord is obviously still out... with Sir
Geoffrey, I take it, since I've seen neither of them."

He
nodded, murmured cautiously, "One of the servants said they rode out with
Sir William, the castellan here, and a half dozen men just at daybreak."

Jocelyn
lifted the king's letter from inside her bodice. She had hung it about her neck
as protection from the weather. "Find your lord then and give him this.
I've urgent work back at Belavoir and cannot wait. We must begin making
preparations for war."

Aymer
was staring at her oddly. "I ride with you, madam. My lord would have my
head if any ill did befall you."

Jocelyn
held his eyes, wondering now if that were really true. "I've two dozen
armed men outside and am perfectly capable of getting back to Belavoir without
you."

"But
any man here can deliver this, madam."

She
narrowed her eyes, remembering how outraged Robert had been when he had come
upon her and Aymer together. Now she understood both his suspicions and his rage.

She
suspected that Robert would understand this as well.

"You
deliver
it!" she said acidly. "I think it far more appropriate that way. In
fact, I do order you to stay here, to deliver this letter personally to your
lord."

Then
she turned without waiting for his answer, crossing the room as men scrambled
to get out of her path. She stepped outside, grateful for the rush of cold air
against her flushed cheeks, her burning eyes. She had made fool enough of
herself without this. She couldn't,
wouldn't,
cry!

Aymer
hurried to catch up with her as she went down the stairs. Her escort from
Belavoir was already mounted and waiting in the bailey. The news must have
spread like lightning for all were staring, either at her or too pointedly
away.

A
groom held Jocelyn's mare as Aymer boosted her into the saddle. "Lady, if
you'd but wait a bit. My lord will wish—"

"No!"
It was difficult to retain her composure before all these curious eyes. This
morning's scene would be remembered. It would be talked of, she knew, for a
long time to come. She was only glad Robert had been away. If she'd found him
with that woman...

She
lifted her head, gathered her reins and swung her mount toward the gate. The
saving rage was gone. She was beginning to feel only hurt.

"Lady,
wait!" Aymer called. "Is there any message, anything you'd have me
tell Lord Robert?"

But
Jocelyn didn't answer, didn't dare even look back. She kicked her mare into a
canter as the gates swept past in a hot blur of tears.

***

It
was late afternoon when they came within sight of Belavoir. The day had warmed
just enough to make the roads nearly impassible again, not enough to provide
ease to the travelers.

Jocelyn
rode with her head down, her hands curled within the warm fur of her cloak. She
was cold and miserable and the worst of it was that she knew she had none to
blame for her disappointment this morning but herself.

Robert
had told her he liked and respected her, that he desired her. He had never said
he loved her. In fact he'd made it painfully clear he did not. She was the one
who had loved him too much, who had foolishly broken her heart for a simple
infidelity no man would think twice over.

But
she was still reeling from the hurt, wondering how she would ever reconcile
herself to the knowledge that her husband lay with other women when he chose,
that he would probably have mistresses at all his castles as a great many lords
did.

Brian
had warned her of what was coming and for once her brother had been right.
Robert de Langley wasn't the man to be satisfied with any one woman for long.

"My
lady, there's a man riding toward us from the castle," one of the men
called out. "I don't recognize him."

Jocelyn
was instantly surrounded by a host of grim-faced soldiers, hands riding sword
hilts as they drew their mounts to a halt. She stared up the hill toward
Belavoir. There was something familiar about both the man and the blooded bay
stallion he sat.

"It's
all right," she said wearily, wondering just how much more she was going
to be called on to endure in one day. "You may be at ease. It is only my
brother. He does mean us no harm."

"Do
you know what you're going to say?"

Robert
squinted up the hill toward the dark, forbidding bulk of Belavoir Castle. This
was the first time in all his life he had ever dreaded reaching home.
"No," he said baldly. "What can a man say when he's in the
wrong?"

Geoffrey
didn't respond and they rode on through the darkness. "Is Aymer still in a
pet?" Robert asked at last.

"Aye,
he wouldn't talk much even to me. He'll apologize for his outburst later, I'm
sure." Geoffrey hesitated a moment, then added carefully, "Your men
do like your lady wife, you know, Robert. They've taken to calling her the
Lioness among themselves."

Robert
twisted in the saddle, and looked at his friend in astonishment. "The
what?"

"The
Lioness. It's a term of much admiration and respect, I believe."

Despite
all the grim happenings of the day, the heaviness and worry in his heart,
Robert chuckled. "It fits her," he said. "By the Mass, it does
fit. I only wish she might believe it when I tell her."

He
hesitated, wondering if Jocelyn would believe him about anything ever again. He
had caused her a great deal of hurt—and all for nothing. For a fruitless effort
to distance himself with a woman he couldn't even bed until it was Jocelyn
herself he had imagined in his arms. And the worst of it was that with Henry
rampaging in England, he would have so little time to make this up, to ease a
hurt he had never even meant his wife to know.

He
thought of his enemy, of the dangers he would be facing within a few days. This
would be a personal war, both for him and for Henry. The Angevins had been
trying to rid the world of him for years. He didn't believe they'd succeed,
still he didn't want to ride off and leave his wife with only that last ugly
scene at Leaworth for a memory.

"You'd
best hope she lets you get close enough to tell her anything at all,"
Geoffrey was saying, amusement in his voice for the first time all night.
"Aymer did say in all seriousness that he feared for that poor woman's
life this morning. You may have your lionesses, Robert. I'd not want a woman
like that wroth with me!"

They
were nearing the great curtain wall and the outer gates of the castle. The
drawbridge was already down in expectation of his arrival, but across the
bridge the gates and portcullis were still shut. One of his men hailed the
gatehouse and Robert stared thoughtfully up at the towering blackness of the
walls. "I'd be well served, you know, if she kept me locked outside here
to freeze."

But
the portcullis was lifting, the gates already swinging open. Robert nudged his
mount forward onto the drawbridge. It was a measure of how deeply he cared for
his wife that it was Jocelyn he'd been thinking about all day, Jocelyn he'd
worried about instead of this latest astounding move by Henry of Anjou.

The
Angevin had done the one thing no one had expected, the one thing for which no
one was prepared. In the middle of a winter truce in one war, he had plunged
into another across the sea. It was a brilliant stroke, and one he should have
been expecting.

Robert
frowned as he rode into the bailey, thinking of the difficulties involved in
fighting a protracted winter campaign, the difficulties for him especially
since he had just retaken his lands. Since word of his resurrection had leaked
out, men had been pouring into Belavoir seeking service. He had been expecting
it, had counted on it to swell the thinning ranks of his veterans, and he had
hoarded the coins won in those last raids across the Channel for the sole
purpose of buying men.

Still
he didn't have nearly so many men as he would need and, despite Geoffrey's
tireless efforts, they weren't as well trained as he would have liked.

He
glanced up from his musing, some inner sense calling a warning. The bailey was
darker than usual. Only a few torches burned in the gatehouse. He lifted his
head, narrowed his eyes, listening to survival instincts well honed through the
years.

"Ware,
Geoffrey," he murmured, swinging Belisaire around, easing back toward the
gate where his men were still filing in.

A
soldier stood back from the gate, holding a blazing torch well away from his
face. This wasn't the usual practice at all. His men usually crowded close,
seeking a word, a smile, some bit of notice, when he rode in.

"Well,
Piers, how goes the night?" he called.

The
man coughed, muttered thickly, "All's well, milord."

All's
well... but he had no man named Piers!

With
a sharp jab of his spurs, Robert crashed his stallion into the man, making a
swift and bloody end to the imposter. "We are ambushed!" he shouted.
"Ware, hold the gate!"

It
was only an instant of warning, but it was enough. Cold-numbed hands grappled
clumsily for swords and shields, but his men were able to withstand that first
rush of attackers swarming out from midnight shadows along the walls.

Robert
sent Belisaire careening into the thickest of the group, laying about with
sword and shield, trusting his men to hold the gates as he'd ordered. They
couldn't retreat for they'd lose Belavoir, leaving Jocelyn a helpless hostage.
Still he knew better than to let his only escape route be cut off.

The
fighting surged and swirled and raged all around him. Swords clanged and
screeched together, thudded against leather armor and clanged off chain mail.
Men shouted and horses squealed with rage and pain.

Robert
hacked off a hand grasping at Belisaire's bridle, dismembered a sword arm
thrusting for his stallion's belly. It was difficult to make out anything in
this confusion of darkness and blood, still it sounded as if... as if—

He
squinted into the writhing, whirling darkness and sucked in his breath. Sweet
Christ, they were killing the horses! These men were killing the horses,
putting his knights on foot, then overwhelming them with greater numbers. His
knights had little room to maneuver anyway, while his infantry were spent from
a long, exhausting march in the cold and the mud.

He
glanced up at the grim black outline of the keep in a rage. His men didn't
stand a chance hemmed up here like this, but sweet God in heaven, Jocelyn was
in there somewhere!

Belisaire
trumpted with pain, lashed out as a sword point clipped his flank, as another
laid open his shoulder. Robert loped off another arm, kicked free of his
stirrup and sent a man reeling with a vicious, smashing boot to the face.

Only
a few yards away another horse went down, squealing and thrashing. Robert
fought his way to the knight's rescue. "Fall back," he shouted,
grabbing up his man and carrying him toward the gate. "Fall back. Out...
get out if you can!"

Just
ahead he could see a handful of his men furiously defending the gate. The enemy
were trying desperately to close off his retreat.
"De Langley,"
Robert
shouted, plunging through toward the gate.
"To me! Out... out!"

His
men were hacking their way toward him, streaming through the gate and on to the
safety outside. The fighting narrowed, intensified, as the entire struggle
funneled down to this one narrow hole in the wall.

Robert
swung from the saddle, sending his stallion galloping through the gateway and
out. He deliberately took up a position in the worst of the fighting near a
hacking, slashing demon he recognized as his second-in-command.

"Robert,
get out!" Geoffrey shouted. "It's you they want. Get out! Now, before
you go down!"

Robert
beat back a man with his shield, hacked at three others who were trying to
catch him about the waist. Geoffrey was right. There were far too many men
here, and they were focusing their efforts on him. "Fall back!" he
shouted. "Back!"

Gradually
Robert and the handful of men still with him inched their way from the
deathtrap the bailey had become. Only the most desperate and vicious of
fighting got them safely through the gate and back across the drawbridge.

"Robert...
God be praised!" It was Aymer who grabbed him first as he came off the
bridge. Then more of his men were crowding close, reaching out to touch him, to
speak a word, as if they wanted reassurance he was still flesh, as if they
couldn't quite discount the legends.

They
stood together in the darkness staring grimly across the moat at Belavoir's
walls. "Robert, she wouldn't..." Aymer hesitated. "In truth the
lady Jocelyn was angry this morning, but I swear she'd never—"

"No,"
Robert said abruptly, forestalling a defense that was completely unnecessary.
"She wouldn't."

***

They
made camp outside in the cold as best they could, treating their own cuts and
bruises, sending the more seriously injured by wagon to Harclay. Robert slept
for a time, but at first light he was up and staring at the shadowy walls of
Belavoir in a bleak and silent rage. One of his worst fears had come to pass,
and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

Geoffrey
brought him watered wine and some bread to break his fast. "Have you
thought any more on whom it might be?"

"Have
I thought on anything else?" Robert countered. "It could be anyone
who supports Henry. Chester, I suppose, he's treacherous enough to murder me in
the dark. Though if I were a betting man, Geoffrey, I'd put money on my own
dear family by marriage."

Geoffrey
didn't respond and Robert took a long drink. "Judas, I do pray it's
Montagne! I'll not have to fear so for Jocelyn if that be the case. Besides
being his own flesh and blood, she's worth more alive to the man than she is
dead. He has only to wait for my death to regain all he's lost and more."

"Wait
for your death, or arrange it?" Geoffrey asked quietly.

Robert
took another long drink, thought of that frantic letter from Stephen, of a
grim-faced young man with
reddish hair and eyes like flint, a man he had almost killed once with his bare
hands. "Either," he responded grimly.

"My
lord, they're opening the gate!"

Robert
swung to his feet, hastily following his man to the edge of the camp. A wave of
relief swept him. It was Brian Montagne riding out onto the drawbridge.
"Well, brother mine," he shouted, "is this the way you mind a
treaty?"

"That
treaty is no longer binding," Brian called back. "Your liege lord and
mine are now at war."

So
the Montagnes had declared for Henry. Robert wasn't all that surprised.
"You turn your back on your rightful king and support the Angevin? I wish
you joy of this moment then, for you'll never live to see Henry crowned."

"I
think I will. It's you, de Langley, you who may not live to do so."

"That's
in God's hands, of course." Robert couldn't quite resist a taunt.
"However, you did fumble your murder attempt last night. What a shame. I'm
sure you'd have won the Angevin's everlasting gratitude and favor."

"Oh,
I think Henry will be grateful enough when he hears I hold Belavoir for
him." Brian laughed. "And all because you can't manage your women.
What a joke it will be about the camps. The key to the west handed over by a
raging, jealous wife. The vital fortress of Belavoir lost because Robert de
Langley couldn't keep his cock between his legs."

Geoffrey
stiffened, but Robert ignored the remark. "And just where is your father
in all this. Does Montagne leave a boy to hold Belavoir?"

"You'll
find out whether I be man or boy soon enough. But as for my father, he is gone
with the earls of Chester, Hereford, and Cornwall, with Colwick and Pelham and
a host of others to support Henry."

Robert
frowned. Here was grim news indeed. Men of weight were going over to the
Angevin. "Stephen is king, Brian. Henry will be beaten as he was twice
before. And if I find at the end of all this that you've hurt my wife in any
way at all there'll be no place on God's earth for you to hide from me!"

Brian
laughed again and swung his horse toward the gate. "Look to yourself, de
Langley! You're the one most apt to be doing the hiding."

Robert
stood, clenching his fists, watching the cocky young man disappear inside
Belavoir. "He's lying!" Aymer spat from behind him. "You don't
believe a word of it, do you?"

Robert
turned. "You know my lady, Aymer. Do you really think if Jocelyn had
turned over Belavoir for hatred of me, she wouldn't be up there right now,
flinging her defiance in my teeth for all to hear? God's truth, she might have
come at me with a dagger herself yesterday, but she would never do such a thing
behind my back!"

He
swung around, staring grimly at Belavoir's thick walls. "The hell of it is
that I can do nothing to help her. We couldn't get inside there by force were
we numbered a thousand times greater than we are. And Montagne will be watching
for tricks."

Geoffrey
frowned. "What are we going to do?"

"Break
camp," Robert returned. "Gather up what men and supplies we can from
my other manors and head south to meet Stephen, get ready to face the fight of
our lives."