Stuart, Elizabeth (34 page)

An
odd chill lifted the hairs along the back of her neck, and she knew as sure as
if someone had whispered the name in her ear. "You are Anjou," she
said breathlessly, and then she sank to a deep, instinctive curtsey in the
grass. "I ask your protection, my lord."

The
duke smiled and stroked his beard, eyes riveted on something just past her
shoulder. She didn't dare turn to see what it was, didn't dare take her eyes
from his face for an instant.

"And
you," he said softly at last, "you must be my lady de Langley.
Despite this odd reception, madam, you are indeed most welcome to my
camp."

Jocelyn
was overwhelmingly aware of how disheveled she must appear. Her dress was torn
where that man had grabbed her. She was dusty and sweating and her hair was a
dark, tangled mass across her shoulders. And Henry was staring at her, his
smile of satisfaction sending her stomach sliding to her feet.

This
was the man who held Robert's life in his hands, the man she so desperately
needed to impress!

"You've
all heard her," Henry announced loudly. "Lady de Langley asks my
protection. And how can any true knight fail to heed so lovely a lady... and in
such obvious distress? You have it, of course, madam. You may rise."

Jocelyn
hesitated. The duke was obviously enjoying himself for any number of reasons
she couldn't even begin
to guess at right now. But she was trembling, knew if she stood she would
likely fall flat in the grass before all.

"I'm
afraid I cannot, my lord," she said boldly. "I've been in the saddle
since dawn chasing the fleetest courier I ever beheld, and now I've been
coursed through your camp like a hare. I fear if I stand, my knees will
buckle."

Henry
threw back his head with a laugh. Then he was striding swiftly across the grass
toward her. "Ah, how can such a small slip of a woman create such an
uproar?" He held out one hand. "Come, lady, I'll help you to your
feet."

She
reached for his hand, almost winced at his power as he grabbed it and swung her
up. She was close enough now to see his eyes. Flint-gray they were, and just as
sharp, the eyes of a man who knew power well and enjoyed the knowledge.

"I'll
help you," he said again. "I've some sympathy with your plight,
madam. Brothers can be difficult as I know well. My own has made war on me, and
I shall have to cage him sooner or later, I expect. No doubt you would like to
do the same."

At
such an obvious hint, Jocelyn glanced around. Brian was standing just a few
yards away, his long scar standing like a fresh wound against the sudden
chalk-white of his face. "Yes," she said loudly. "I should like
that very much."

The
Angevin grinned, the boyish look suddenly reminding her that he was only some
two years her senior. "Ah, family love. We shall have to drink to that, I
expect."

He
shouted for wine and the brief impression of boyishness vanished, for there
were a half-dozen grown men stumbling over themselves in haste to obey. He
turned back to her. "Come, lady, you were calling for Leicester. He's off
on an errand for me just now, but I doubt he'll grudge us the use of his
tent."

His
eyes moved over her slowly, with such obvious interest Jocelyn felt it to the
ends of her toes. She had seen that look in Robert's eyes oft enough. It was a
look of excitement and attraction... and in this man's eyes it made her blood
run cold.

Something
of what she was thinking must have shown. "You are right, madam," he
murmured, giving her an odd sideways smile, "but I've learned not to
meddle, at least with some men's wives."

And
then he was dragging her with him to Leicester's tent, and Jocelyn had the
oddest sensation that she was being swept along on a whirlwind, that she had lost
all control.

They
entered the tent as pages and servants scrambled before him. The duke would
have a stool for the lady de Langley, food of some sort, water and towels for
washing the dust of travel.

"Ah,
and here is our wine," he said, as yet another man hastened into the tent.
"It's from Aquitaine—some of my wife's best vineyards. I had it brought
over for myself and my friends. You'll like it, I think."

Jocelyn
had seated herself, washed her hands and her face with the water the hurrying
servants brought. She longed to put her clothing to rights, to brush and redo
her hair, but she took the wine goblet the duke held instead.

He
was looking her up and down, and that same sensation of danger quivered along
Jocelyn's nerves.

"I've
heard much of you," he said abruptly.

"And
I you," she returned.

He
grinned and drank. Jocelyn drank as well, studying him, not knowing what else
to do. "There were four loyal men who came with me," she began at
last. "We were set upon by your men, and I would know if mine are living
or dead. We did travel under a flag of truce," she added sharply.

Henry
shouted another order and a servant rushed off to find Robert's men. Jocelyn
drank wine and waited. The silence became intense. She longed to ask after
Robert, to launch into the plea she had rehearsed for so many miles. But
something about this man held her back.

Henry
paced before her like a restless cat. He prowled Leicester's tent picking up
items and rearranging things, unable to hold himself still. At last he halted
and stared at her. "You've not asked after your husband," he snapped.

Jocelyn
matched his stare. "I suspected you did know why I came."

He
grinned at that, padded back to her stool on his sweep about the room. "To
beg me to let him go perhaps? Do you think me that foolish?"

Despite
her thundering heart, Jocelyn forced herself to smile at this man who hated her
husband, who had tried to kill him for years. "You're the last man in the
land I would call foolish, my lord. I'm here to see Robert myself, to make sure
he is recovering as you wrote." She hesitated, held his gaze. "And,
yes, my lord, I've come to ask for his life."

He
took her up quickly on that. "His life is in no danger from me,
madam."

Jocelyn
didn't say a word, only sipped her wine and thought of a burned-out abbey and
stared. Did he mean that? Or did he just mean that Robert was already dead?

Suddenly
Henry was laughing. "You do have the strangest eyes, madam. I'd been told
that, you know, think I would have recognized you even if I hadn't seen your
brother snarling behind your skirts. I hear from Leicester that you are no mean
chess player. I should like to play with you..." he said, lifting his
eyebrows archly. "Chess, that is."

Jocelyn
didn't blink. She was beyond being shocked, beyond exhaustion almost.
"Certainly, my lord. I look forward to it."

To
her amazement, Henry turned and pulled a chessboard and pieces from one of
Leicester's coffers, shoving bread and cheese from the table a servant was just
setting up.

"You
mean
now?"

"Certainly.
Why wait?" And then he caught himself, stared back at her, frowning.
"But of course you're hungry. You need to eat. We could wait a bit, I
suppose."

Jocelyn
rose to her feet. This man was insane, he had to be. "Yes, I would like to
eat, but first I must see after my husband's men. We will play after that if
you wish."

Henry
waved a hand dismissively. "Anyone can see to them. I'll send my own
physician if you like."

Jocelyn
shook her head. "That is kind of you, my lord, but I need to see them
myself."

Henry's
eyes narrowed, chilled. Jocelyn saw one of the servants pale and begin edging
away.

"But
I wish to play
now,"
the
duke said softly... warningly.

Jocelyn
held his gaze. If she bent this time he would only bend and push bend her
again. And too much bending, she sensed, would be disaster. "Just a short
while ago, three men were ready to give their lives for mine. They are good
men—or were—and have served my husband faithfully for years. I owe them and him
the courtesy of at least seeing if they are living or dead."

She
lifted her chin, added with just a hint of defiance, "I do have little
enough, my lord, but what I have I will fight to protect. You, of all men,
understand that, I would think."

Henry
was still staring, eyes still narrowed, but he was beginning to smile again.
"Come then, madam. I'll go with you myself so that none dare molest you.
We will find these men you so wish to see."

She
held his eyes. "The man I most wish to see is my husband."

She
had caught him completely off guard, something that happened rarely, she
suspected.

"So
you shall, lady... eventually."

The
disappointment was bitter. She bit her lip to keep from begging.

Henry
lifted the tent flap and she passed before him and out into the gathering dusk.
"I understand now much I have heard of you, madam," he muttered.
"And you are of much finer stuff than that other, that Marguerite."

Jocelyn
glanced up sharply, but it was too dark to see the duke's face. And then he was
striding off at so rapid a pace she had almost to run to keep up.

"It
is your move, madam."

Jocelyn
glanced at the man across from her, then returned her attention to the
chessboard. She and Henry had been at this game well over an hour and she was
almost screaming with the strain. They were in Leicester's tent, a host of servants
and squires and lords ringed about them— for propriety, Henry had remarked with
that odd sideways smile. She frowned and moved her bishop.

Henry
moved a piece swiftly in return, for he played chess as aggressively as he did
all else. "Do you know your brother is wanting you burned alive for a
witch?" he inquired.

Jocelyn
didn't look up. She had learned already that Henry tracked fear like a hound.
"My brother wants many things," she said, studying the board.
"We have yet to see if he'll get any of them, my lord."

"He
wasn't particularly adroit in his choice of attack. My own Angevin ancestress
was reportedly the daughter of Satan," Henry said. "Being of the
devil's brood myself, I do not fear witches, madam."

At
that she did look up. "I'm no witch, sir. If I were my brother would have
far more serious maladies to contend with than a single cut to his face!"

Henry
grinned appreciatively. "I have ears, madam, many ears in many places. It
is said in Stephen's camp that Sir Brian did trick you, drug you, that he
ambushed your lord in the dark within the walls of his own keep. Is it
true?"

"Yes."

Henry
leaned back, all his overwhelming energy at rest for an instant "I will
tell you a secret. I do not like your
brother, madam. I do not like liars and
cowards who plot and connive and rumble about in the dark."

"We
have much in common then, my lord."

Something
flickered behind his eyes, changed in the set of his mouth, but Jocelyn
couldn't read it. "I think so," he said. "More than you know,
madam."

Jocelyn
stared at him for a moment, then turned her attention back to the board. They
had found Robert's men and, miraculously, none had been hurt. The three had
been quickly overwhelmed and taken alive for spies. Henry had ordered them set
free at once. Free—with a half-dozen men set to watch.

She
and Henry had been cautiously testing and circling each other since then, and
she was now nearing exhaustion. She was rapidly losing the ability to match
wits with this man, beginning to think she'd been foolish ever to think she
might. Besides it was late and she hadn't seen Robert. She was beginning to
wonder if she ever would.

She
reached for a knight, changed her mind and picked up her bishop again. There
were few pieces left still in play. The duke had captured her counselor and all
of her pawns. He had her nearly hemmed in, but there was one obscure move that
might gain her freedom, that might even put his own king in danger.

She
saw the move, ignored it, moved her piece in a more conventional way. This was
a man who wouldn't like to lose.

Her
king was quickly under attack and quickly taken, and Henry was exclaiming in
pleasure over his win like a boy. "You lose, madam! You lose! I wonder
what you owe me? I'll think on it."

Jocelyn
glanced up. "I wasn't aware we were playing for stakes."

"Oh,
I always play for stakes. Someone should have warned you of that." He
grinned. "Where is the excitement in playing if there's no risk, no prize
to be won? Ah, yes! I have it, I think." He shoved back abruptly and
stood, all resemblance to a boy vanished. "Out! Everyone out... now!"

The
room cleared as if by magic.

Jocelyn
held herself very still. There was no one save
the two of them. Not even a page
stood within sight or hearing. Her heart thudded unsteadily and began to race.
She'd been a fool to let herself be trapped like this, but what else could she
have done?

She
rose carefully to her feet, keeping the table between them. Henry was watching,
obviously aware of her thoughts, just as obviously amused. And in that moment
Jocelyn hated him with a violence that was almost overwhelming. For his power
and his pleasure in using it, for all he had done to Robert. For this farce he
had put her through tonight.

He
smiled, murmured wryly, "Your brother was a fool to let you get anywhere
near him with a knife. I would never make that mistake, madam." Then he
turned his back deliberately, moving to a side table and pouring two goblets of
wine. "I do like you, Lady de Langley, only do not tell your husband that.
He might take it amiss."

He
moved toward her, put both goblets on the table beside Leicester's empty
chessboard. "I've not been very kind to you today, have I?" He sent
her a swift, sudden smile. "But you are about to forgive me, I expect,
about to give me what I want. This is what I ask of you, madam. All I ask. Make
him want to live. Make him want to live more than anything else on this
earth!"

Jocelyn
blinked in surprise, wondering if she were more weary or he more drunk than she
had supposed. But Henry had already turned in that abrupt way he had toward the
tent entrance. "Ah, yes, here you are. My lord de Langley, I've a surprise
for you tonight."

Robert
ducked inside the tent looking just as stunned and disoriented as Jocelyn felt.
She cried his name and started forward, but Robert was already turning to
confront the duke. "What's the meaning of this? What's my wife doing
here?"

Henry
was smiling, obviously enjoying what he had done. "Your lady will tell you
everything, I expect. Now if you'll excuse me, I believe in these moments that
two is far better than three. I need not tell you that your guards will all be
stationed outside. Discreetly, of course."

The
duke nodded toward Jocelyn. "Lady, you do look
weary. Don't
let him keep you up." He grinned again. "At least not all
night."

And
then he was gone.

"Robert..."
Jocelyn moved forward, reaching for her husband, sobbing his name yet again as
he dragged her into his arms.

"Christ!
Oh, sweet Christ, I've longed for you, Jocelyn. I've longed for you though I'd
rather by far be dead than to have you here now. This is my nightmare and my
sweetest dream. Judas, madam, how did he take you? How do you come to be
here?"

Jocelyn
leaned into him, content to be in his arms, to see that he was alive and so
obviously well. "I came with the courier the duke sent to Stephen's camp.
He wrote to tell me you lived, that you'd been sorely wounded but were—"

"Sorely
wounded!"

Robert
pushed back and gripped her shoulders, staring at her in amazement.
"Scratches, that's all. They killed Belisaire. That cur Chester did have
them slay my horse, and I will kill him for it if I can! That's how they took
me. I wasn't wounded."

"But
the duke said—"

Robert's
face paled with sudden understanding. "Bait," he interrupted softly,
his fingers tightening against her arms. "That son of Satan did but bait a
trap. And God help us both, for you took it!"

Jocelyn
shook her head in bewilderment. "But why? Why would the duke want me? I'm
of little value. He already holds you."

Robert's
hands dropped away from her shoulders. He spun away in a bitter rage. "He
holds me, yes, but he cannot make me dance to his tune." He paused, added
softly, "At least he wasn't able to... before."

Jocelyn
closed her eyes. She was beginning to feel quite sick. "And what is it he
wants you to do?"

"Forswear
myself. Betray Stephen and ride out openly with him for all to see. He has come
to believe that I could be of more use to him alive than dead. And I will not
do it, madam, will not ride with that son of a whore and the
devil! I'll not
betray the king nor the vows I did swear before God!"

Jocelyn
remembered the duke's smile of satisfaction as she had knelt to him in the
grass.

He
had been expecting her.

"I'm
sorry, Robert," she managed to get out. "I'm always saying that to
you, it seems. God help the man who is cursed with a fool for a wife!"

And
suddenly Robert was behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders and turning
her to face him. "It doesn't matter," he murmured. "Weil think
of something. At least we'll have some time together this way, and I'm glad of
that." He traced his knuckles along her cheek, almost as if he couldn't
believe he was touching her. "Besides, I can't fault you. Had our
circumstances been reversed, I would most certainly have come to you."

Jocelyn
turned and kissed his fingers, closing her eyes with the intensity of the
pleasure as his hands dropped, cupped her breasts, slid possessively about her
waist.
If
she died tomorrow, she didn't care. At least she was with him now.

He
bent his head, found her mouth, and the magic flared between them again. It was
urgent, irresistible, and Jocelyn leaned into him, opening her mouth wider,
taking him deeper, wanting to be a part of him always, not caring beyond this
minute so long as he loved her now.

The
kisses were long, deep, drugging. Somehow Robert had snuffed the lamps and
Jocelyn was out of her tunic and shift, was helping him off with his hose. And
then they were naked together in the soft summer darkness on Leicester's cool
sheets. Was it sin to want so badly, love so deeply? Was it wrong to need one
man so desperately that nothing else mattered at all?

Robert
moved over her, kissing her, worshiping her body, whispering her name. She
wrapped her legs around him, aching for him to take her in that incredible way
he had, a way that left no doubt at all as to who possessed her, body and soul.
Then he was inside her, hot and rigid and tight, making her cry out with
pleasure, straining and shuddering and emptying himself deep inside her.

Then
came the hush as the world whirled and reeled and
settled around them.
"Before God, I do love you, Jocelyn," he whispered against her bare
shoulder. "I never knew it was possible to love a woman like this."

Jocelyn
smiled. She had him now, knew she had all of him—body and heart. "Even a
woman who loses your castles and runs headlong into traps?"

She
felt the low rumble of his chuckle against her belly, against her insides.
"Especially a woman like that."

He
reached to stroke her cheek, to angle her face so that he could kiss her again.

Jocelyn
kissed him, tightened herself around him.

There
was nothing better than this.

***

They
slept for a time, still tangled together as if they feared, even in sleep, that
someone might drag them apart. And sometime deep in the night Jocelyn awakened,
tense and listening. It came again. A word so soft she couldn't make it out,
laughter, the hushed tread of footsteps.

Robert
rested his chin against her shoulder, drawing her back against his chest.
"The guards are changing, love. There's no danger."

She
lay for a moment, listening to the sounds of the night, orienting herself. And
despite the dangers they faced, it seemed little short of a miracle that she
lay in Robert's arms now.

"I've
become so accustomed to that, I almost missed the sound these last two days
they've held me up at the castle."

"Are
you always so carefully guarded?"

"Always.
And always with Henry's own Angevin guard." Robert chuckled, and the sound
curled soft and seductive against her ear. "The duke was a bit
disconcerted when all his own English troops cheered me as Chester was dragging
me down the road from Tutbury. Thank God for Leicester. Ranulf wants my lands
so badly, I think he'd have killed me and called it an accident if Robin hadn't
stayed within sight. Even
after
Henry made it plain he wanted me
alive."

Jocelyn
shivered and pulled his arms tighter around her.

"But
enough of me, love. I'm well, as you see. Henry has provided the best of food,
wine..." He chuckled
again. "Now women. But tell me what happened, how you came here." He
kissed her neck, nuzzled her ear. "I meant to ask earlier but was
distracted, as I recall."

Jocelyn
leaned back in his arms and told him about her brother, the duke's rescue, even
that hellish game of chess. But she didn't mention the bit about witchcraft, or
the hungry look in Henry's gray eyes.

Oddly
enough Robert raised the subject himself. "I've no idea what will happen.
Henry is treading warily for now. He still hopes to sway me with bribes and
sweet words. Just beware of him, love. The duke is a man with large appetites
for riches, power, women, all things men crave. Don't be alone with him if you
can help it, and don't trust him... no matter what he says."

He
hesitated, continued carefully. "And don't let him touch you, even if he
hints it would influence my treatment. It wouldn't. I know him and know that it
wouldn't. I say this not because I doubt your honor, sweetheart, only because I
fear you do love me too much."