Authors: Sarah Hegger
“How can I fix this?” he asked her sleeping form. “What demons can I fight for you to make this right?”
Her body burrowed close to his warmth even as she folded into a tight ball.
He had seen women abused by soldiers and knights alike. He had looked on their pain and their stubborn will to overcome and felt useless, like a great, hulking beast in the face of their fierce and damaged fragility. He had tried to cleanse from her skin any memories she might have. Never had he felt more powerless than he did, watching her sleep and knowing these were not his demons to battle.
Her eyes opened suddenly. “Guy?”
“Aye, Helena.” He touched the satin skin of her cheek. “I am here.”
A tiny smile curled around the corners of her mouth and she closed her eyes. “You are here,” she murmured.
“Always, my love,” he whispered, but she was asleep again.
Helena woke to sun streaming through the casement. Her casement, in her chamber, which meant she was at Lystanwold. Safe.
Guy sat on the corner of the bed farthest from her. He looked exhausted. Harsh lines carved the grave strength of his face, the skin beneath his eyes shadowed.
“Good morning,” he whispered.
“Good morning.” She returned his greeting. “Did you sleep?”
He nodded, a lie. She’d woken several times in the night to find him by her side, watching over her. She had been able to sleep, just knowing he was there.
Helena sat up. “The babe?”
“She and Rosalind are resting,” Guy assured. “They will leave as soon as they are well enough to travel. Crispin knows of a convent hard by Lystanwold.”
“Rosalind stays,” she said.
Guy’s eyebrow rose sharply.
“She stays for as long as she needs to.” She braced for an argument.
“Hungry?” he asked, instead.
“Aye.” She was starved.
He must have ordered the food earlier, because it sat on a chest at the foot of the bed. He placed a trencher beside her and poured himself a cup of ale.
“Who was the man with us? You seemed to know him.”
His face registered a moment of surprise. “You do not know whose life you saved?”
“Nay.”
Guy gave a short laugh. “You saved Henry FitzEmpress, Maude’s son.”
Helena choked on her bread.
Guy rose to pat her on the back. “I cannot think why Ranulf kept him, unless it was as a bargaining tool,” he mused. “Henry thought as much. He will ride straight for his army.”
“There will be no end to King Stephen’s rage if he discovers what we have done.”
“Aye,” Guy agreed, his lips set in a grim line.
“Once more this family has committed treason.”
“More than you know,” Guy replied shortly. “You must rest,” he added as she finished eating. “But there is much I should tell you first.” He drew a deep breath. “I am afeared I have lost Lystanwold.”
As he haltingly explained, Helena’s anger grew, some small part of her glad she’d been the one to kill Ranulf. He had forced them to lose everything. Even dead, he would cost them all.
Nay
. She had given Ranulf enough of what was hers.
“Lystanwold is mine,” she started, then altered her vow. “Lystanwold is
ours.
Until somebody arrives to forcibly remove us, it will remain thus.”
Ranulf would not win in death, any more than he had taken in life.
“Helena . . .” Guy struggled. “The king has accused me of treason.”
“The king has more than you to concern him right now,” she responded tartly. “And when he is done in the south, I will see him set straight.”
Guy chuckled. “Aye, my lady, that you would. You would set a king straight.”
“You also need to rest,” she urged with a touch of her usual asperity. As a small smile played around the corners of his mouth, Helena patted the bed beside her.
He carried the empty tray to the door and returned to stretch out beside her.
Helena rolled onto her side and traced the dark circles beneath his eyes with a finger. He had the strength of a plough ox, this knight of hers. Even now he would deny his own exhaustion.
Helena stroked along one of the lines bracketing his mouth. “‘Tis over, Guy,” she murmured. “I am alive, you are alive and Ranulf did not defeat us.” She scooted closer to him and laid her head upon his shoulder.
With a tiny hesitation, he brought his arm up to press her closer to him. The smell of him wrapped around her; man, sandalwood and the faint trace of steel. This was now her place. She took a short moment to relish the sense of belonging.
“Guy?”
“Uh?” His chest rose and fell steadily, his breath stirring the hair at her temple.
Beneath her ear, his heart thudded, strong and true. He had become her constant and her safe haven. “You did not fail me.” His body stilled beneath her. “In truth, it is I who have failed you.”
“Nay . . .”
“Now is not the time to speak, Guy.”
His gruff bark of laughter was loud against her ear.
“I must say this, before I lose the desire to do so. I have not been a very good wife to you.”
His chest rumbled as if in protest and she hastily continued before he could interrupt her. “I made a poor choice in Colin and even at the end, I would not see his treachery.” Rosalind had taught her that much. “I hated Rosalind and now I think her one of the strongest women I have ever met.”
She sniffed and blinked away the tears. “I have an evil temper and I do not consider other people when I am in one of my rages. I charge forth with very little consideration for how it affects those about me. And through all of this, you have been kind, endlessly patient and my rock. Roger did you a disservice when he made you pull him through that casement. I believe that I am spoiled and wilful and headstrong.”
He remained silent.
“Guy?”
“Helena.” He stroked the length of her back. “I am finding my words.” A few long seconds went by. “You may be all those things and worse, but I do not care. I do not see the good as separate from the bad. I merely see you and all of this makes you my love. And I do love you, my wife.”
“Oh, Guy.” Her tears spilled freely onto his tunic. “You do not say much, but what you do say is very worth hearing.” Helena raised herself up until her face was above his. “Good.” She stroked his chest, a warm glow spreading through her body. “I am not sure how it happened, but I am certain that I love you, too.”
As Guy tightened his arms around her, she whispered now as she had once before. “Show me.”
Doubt crowded into his beautiful face. She understood he feared to hurt or frighten her, but she needed this. “Give me a sweet memory to replace the other.”
Slowly, he sat up. Cradling her face between his large hands, he touched his mouth to hers.
Helena sensed the restraint in his touch and wrapped her arms about his chest. Opening her mouth beneath his, she kissed him.
Tentatively at first, he responded.
Helena tightened her arms about him. “More,” she whispered.
“As my lady asks,” he murmured, and took control.
Chapter 32
Summer waned at Lystanwold and news reached them slowly. War raged again around Wallingford. Henry had rejoined his men safely. If Stephen knew of them at Lystanwold, he didn’t send any word. The waiting weighed on Guy. Accustomed to action, this constant state of uncertainty was hard for him.
This was their keep and they would hold it, come what may.
Guy spent his time with his horses and training Geoffrey. Although Ewayne won their wager, the lad walked straight and tall—and not too often into some mischief.
As the winter closed in, a group of travellers confirmed that peace had been signed at Winchester, naming Henry, son of Empress Maude, the king’s heir. A small tendril of hope took root in Lystanwold. Would Henry remember fondly those who had aided him in his escape?
Christmas brought the news that Du Basson was attempting to put Rosalind aside for another. Rosalind was most vocal on the subject, but both Guy and Helena had learned to listen with half an ear.
Rosalind spoke often of her sons and her desire to see them again. Du Basson and his mother were refusing her any right to see her children, but Crispin had taken up the challenge on Rosalind’s behalf. In the meantime, her babe flourished, resembling Rosalind strongly, but with a glorious crown of bright red hair. If anyone thought it laughable that Rosalind remained at Lystanwold with her bastard child, they certainly never said so in the presence of Sir Guy or Lady Helena.
Spring that year was especially sweet, for it became clear that a new child would be expected at Lystanwold.
October brought with it cold, blustery weather. The harvest was safe and Helena saw to the business of preserving enough food for the winter. As her time drew near, she wanted to be prepared before the babe made an appearance.
This day, Helena pickled onions in the cold room. She seemed to want the sharp bite of the tiny white bulbs all the time. More than once Guy complained to her that he could smell onions in his sleep.
“My lady.” Willie skidded to a halt, narrowly missing a barrel of apples. He’d had a growth spurt over the summer and was now all legs and arms going in different directions. “Knights,” he gasped, trying to catch his breath. “An armed party, spotted from the ramparts. Flying royal colours.”
Jolted, Helena put down her pairing knife. This could mean anything. With trembling fingers, she laid aside her pinafore and smoothed her hand over her growing belly. Royal colours could be the news they had so long awaited. She had half convinced herself that they could continue in this manner forever, far removed from court and out of the king’s view.
“Where are you going?” Willie called from behind her.
“To see,” she replied.
“But Sir Guy . . .”
A tremendous crash followed in her wake as Willie stumbled over his own feet.
Guy stood on the ramparts with Ewayne. The climb robbed her of breath and she rested a moment with her hand against the wall. Both men frowned as they saw her.
“Helena,” Guy growled and took her arm.
With a grimace, Helena waved him to silence. He fussed so over her and the babe.
Ewayne glowered at her from beside Guy. “I am well,” she snapped at both of them. “Who is it?”
“We are not sure.” Ewayne focused on the distant party. “Should we bar the gates?”
“Nay. Let them come.”
Helena opened her mouth to argue. Guy gave her a flat stare. “You should not be here.”
Ignoring him, she followed down to the bailey to greet their visitor. She wouldn’t be lounging on her bed when the fate of Lystanwold could be decided.
His hand beneath her elbow almost raised her feet from the ground.
“I can walk,” she snapped.
“You should be resting,” he grumbled in her ear.
“Only if you rest with me.” Helena threw him a bright smile.
His expression stayed stern, but Helena recognized the sparkle in his eyes.
A shout from the ramparts caused them to look up. Ewayne hung over the wall, waving his hands and yelling. Helena strained to hear what he was saying. She had never seen the older knight so excited.
“Lady Nell!” A grin split Ewayne’s face. “Look.”
Helena stepped across the bailey, Guy trailing her. The knights were just emerging onto the green. A pennant snapped smartly in the wind, the Royal standard. And beside it was another flag.
“Those are—” Helena squinted to see better.
“It cannot be,” Guy muttered.
“It is.” Helena grabbed his had and squeezed until he grunted in discomfort. “Guy, it is. Those are Roger’s colours.”
The knight in the lead raised his helm. With a shout, he spurred his horse over the green and clattered across the drawbridge. Guy pushed Helena behind him as the destrier slid to a halt in the bailey.
Always so protective of me
. Helena moved to beside him.
Lystanwold’s people poured in from all about as Roger tumbled from his horse, a huge grin on his face.
“Well met, Nell.” Roger held out his arms and Helena almost fell into them. He hugged her tight to his burly frame and then released her. “Oh ho,” he chuckled, dashing away moisture from his eyes. “I see you have grown some since I saw you last.”
“You are alive,” Helena marvelled, catching his weather-worn face between her hands. He had barely changed, appearing healthy and strong.
“Of course I am alive, niece.” He planted an exuberant kiss on her forehead. “You did not think they would catch me, did you?”
He turned to Guy and clasped his arms. “You have been busy, Sir Knight.” He clapped Guy on the back. “You have won and lost Lystanwold since I was here.” He tucked an arm about Helena and snuggled her up against his burly frame. “I bring a writ from King Henry.”
“King Henry?” Helena gaped at him.
“Aye, and God be praised he is king at last.” Roger held the parchment out to her.
Guy pressed close to her side as she read. “‘You are granted the Earldom of Lystanwold, which is to be combined from this day with Dartmoore,’” she whispered. She could scarce believe it to be true.
Roger swept an elegant bow. “My lord.” He beamed at Guy.
“But you are the earl,” Willie said to Roger as he sidled into view.
“Not anymore.” Roger gripped Guy’s arms. “I am with King Henry now. And I have been promised a much bigger title.”
A smile spread across Guy’s face. Helena glowed with pride. Never had Lystanwold had such a deserving earl.
“Ah, me.” Roger clapped his hands together. “I was forgetting. I have a letter from the king. For you, Nell.” He presented the missive.
Slowly she opened it and read aloud,
“‘A debt honoured to a lady who taught me never to take lightly the strength of her womanhood. H.’”
“Aye,” her husband snorted from beside her, “but he still owes me a horse.”
Afterword
I would like to extend a quick apology to all history buffs. While Henry was definitely in England at the time the novel takes place, there is no mention of him having ever been kidnapped by an evil baron and held to ransom. Then again, there isn’t any evidence that he wasn’t.