Alinor (67 page)

A little silence fell. Ian had been reasonably sure that it was the king's men who held Kemp against him. He had guessed that the castellan had refused to resist unless the mercenaries were sent inside the castle. The first castellan had depended upon the king's promise to send men to attack Ian's force from behind. Why John had failed, Ian was not sure. The men may have been engaged elsewhere; the king might have been in one of his slothful periods when it was simply too much trouble to write a letter. The reason was not important. The second castellan had learned a lesson from the taking of the first keep and had yielded. He had been put out, of course, but had suffered no other harm. Obviously, the third wanted better assurance from John than a promise. Ian hoped the mercenaries had told the castellan they were leaving and had given him a chance to yield. He hoped they had not merely turned on the garrison of the keep and slaughtered them.

"I did not think you in any real danger," Salisbury said softly, looking aside. "I would have sent you word if I thought―"

"You were quite right, William," Ian said quickly.

"What is it you wish us to do, Lord Salisbury?" Alinor asked.

"I would like Ian to go where the king's power does not run or is not strong. Not for long, Lady Alinor. I have some influence with my brother, but I need time. I am sorry to say it, but John will be— He will not be pleased by Ian's escape or Llewelyn's easy victory over Gwenwynwyn. I believe, and Ian agrees with me, that John hoped for a war in Wales that would weaken both Llewelyn and Gwenwynwyn so that―"

"Yes, I see that, and I see that he would blame Ian for the failure of that plan also."

"Alinor," Ian warned sharply.

She shook her head at him. "I do not blame the king for that. It is reasonable enough to wish to see those you think may become a danger to you weakened, and it is only a human thing to set the fault where already you do not love. He cannot blame you, my lord," she said to Salisbury, "because he loves you. Llewelyn is his daughter's husband, and is necessary to him, although he would prefer Llewelyn to have less power and to be more obedient."

She stopped speaking abruptly as a servant came in with the basket that had her clothing, and gestured for it to be carried into the bedchamber. Salisbury looked at her with gratitude. He had not expected her to take so tolerant a view, but she did not smile. She met his eyes purposefully and then, as purposefully, glanced toward the doorway. Thus, the earl was not particularly surprised when, instead of continuing the discussion, Alinor suggested that she and Ian dress so that they could all go to Mass and then break their fast. Salisbury did not hesitate but went at once. Alinor's glance had not been lost. He believed she wished to be alone with her husband to convince him to seek safety.

Ian made no protest at the abrupt termination of the conversation either. He had far less reason than Salisbury to expect such sweet reasonableness from his wife on the subject of King John. Thus, Alinor's desire for privacy was quite apparent to him also. He followed her quickly into the bedchamber, noting she still had John's letter clutched in her hand.

"We will go to Ireland," Alinor said abruptly. "It has long been planned for you to go there, that is well known."

"So that my face may be saved and all men will not know that, cowardlike, I flee an unjust anger," Ian rejoined hotly. "I will know. Why should I flee? I have done no wrong."

"I was not thinking of you, Ian. You have rated me harshly enough for trying to protect you that I would not urge safety on you now," Alinor said most untruthfully. "You have said also that you are a man grown, and it is true, and when there is danger you will know how to protect yourself. But Geoffrey is not a man grown. It is him I fear for. Ian, look again at this letter. Look at the meaning under the words. Think what that —that venomous worm was hoping, nay, urging Lord Gwenwynwyn to do. Think of the terms Gwenwynwyn offered Sir Peter—yes, I have spoken to him already, and he has confessed the whole. Never mind that now, except that I do not think Sir Peter was lying to save himself."

Ian did not need to reread the letter, nor had he forgotten the terms Sir Peter described. Gwenwynwyn had understood the king. Of course, he was no fool. His purposes would be better served by keeping Owain and Geoffrey alive, and he had tried to arrange that, but John's intention was nonetheless clear. Ian followed the track of Alinor's mind easily enough also—except for not seeing that she was using Geoffrey as a lever to move him. Even if he had seen it, that would have made no difference. Wherever they were in England, John's hate would follow Ian and Geoffrey would die with him.

"But why?" he breathed sickly.

Alinor understood the question. "Because Salisbury loves the boy, and the love grows. And John is such a man that he cannot bear for Salisbury to love another." Color rose in her face. "As you know, my lord, I, too, have a jealous nature."

Ian dismissed that. Alinor might be jealous, but she was not foul. It was herself she had torn apart. She had not meant to hurt him, nor had she sought to find out who "the woman" was so that she could hurt her.

"Can it really benefit Geoffrey, to run with him?" Ian mused, as much to himself as to Alinor.

"Yes," she replied. "In two ways. The first you know —Geoffrey would be out of reach. The second is that Salisbury will not say his name with praise every other moment."

"Nonsense," Ian exclaimed, almost laughing. "That is a woman's way with infants. Salisbury has other interests and other children."

"They are too young. Mark my words, he will return to the king, meaning to speak well of you and will rave of Geoffrey's perfections—how strong in arms he has grown, how tall, as if you had pulled him up by the hair―"

"If he does so, John
will
have both of us executed only to save himself from death by boredom—and I will not blame him."

Although he was laughing, Ian was also thinking over past idle-hour conversations with Salisbury, which certainly did seem to center on Geoffrey. Of course, the topic was of absorbing interest to Ian also, and much of it was frankly practical—how much Salisbury was willing to pay for clothing, arms, horses, and the like. Yet there, too, was a hint Alinor was right. Salisbury was willing to give far more than Geoffrey needed and far more than Ian thought it healthy for a boy to have.

Ofttimes extra gifts came from the father—a second, exquisite lute, even though Geoffrey had professed himself delighted with the one Alinor had given him on Twelfth Night, a fine horse, a purse of gold "to buy such little comforts as others might not think of." Ian had removed that from Geoffrey's hands and written Salisbury a sharp note of reprimand for sending gold to a boy just on the ripening side of manhood when he was on a battlefield where he could spend it on nothing but whores—and unclean ones at that.

Ian remembered begging Salisbury to be more reasonable and not destroy Geoffrey's sense of values, and he remembered the answer he had had. Geoffrey would not need to worry about such things. His grandfather's estates had already been secured to him through a special charter from the king—not only the daughter's portion, but the whole—and much of Salisbury's own property, since Ela's enormous estates would be more than sufficient for his legitimate children. Another reason in that why John might wish to be rid of Geoffrey. Because Geoffrey was illegitimate, Salisbury was not his son's heir. The property would revert to the crown if Geoffrey died.

"All jesting aside," Ian said after his thoughts had run their course, "I begin to agree with you. But distance will not mend matters if Salisbury does not mend his ways."

"You may leave that to me," Alinor suggested. "And do not fear. I will say nothing of the king." She paused, studying Ian's face. "My lord, my love, what troubles you?" she asked after a moment.

"A curse on this life and on him who makes it impossible for me to taste a moment's joy without tears to follow," Ian said bitterly. "I have found you only to lose you again."

"How lose me?" Alinor asked fearfully.

"Perhaps lose is too strong a word," Ian corrected himself, "but I am tired of sweet letters instead of a sweet woman abed."

"But I am going with you!" she exclaimed. "And do not begin to argue with me about taking a woman to a land all at war. Isobel will be going to William. I can stay with her. We can all even go together. If you do not take me, Ian, I will follow you—and that will be more dangerous to me. In this, I will not obey you."

"I thought you feared Ireland."

"I do, but not for myself. I told you that before. I swear I am not a witch, Ian. I do not have foreseeings, but when I think of you alone going to Ireland, such a black terror comes over me as I cannot describe. Yet when I think we will go together—that is different."

"Is it, Alinor?" He studied her face, which was lifted to him, and the eyes were clear, the complexion healthy. "And Adam and Joanna?" he asked.

Then she paled. "Not the children! You and I—that will come to a good end. There will be trouble, but not such as courage and caution cannot mend."

"But Alinor, we cannot leave Adam and Joanna unprotected. Ireland is not far, but it is not a day's ride, either."

"While you and I are together, alive, out of reach, and young enough to breed, the children are safe. There is no profit in harming them when more seeds may be planted and come to fruition. Adam, moreover, can go to Robert of Leicester, who is well able to protect him. Robert has written to ask for him, his oldest squire being knighted and having left. Adam is a little young— eight, but Robert is the right man to understand Adam's wild humors and still teach him to control them—and Adam is very willing to go. At first he did not wish to go. He thought you would be more at home, and he wished to be with you."

"And I, too, wish―"

"Yes, but it is not good for either of you. You love him too much, Ian. I have seen you sweat with fear when you knocked him down—and even I could see he was not hurt. Robert is right for Adam, and Robert's wife also is right. She is like Isobel, not stupid, but very gentle. I am too strong. It is not good for a boy to have a masterful mother as he grows older."

"But Joanna―" Ian began hastily.

He agreed too much with what Alinor had said about herself and her son to make any remark that would not hurt her. Since she saw it herself, he need never tread on that delicate ground. To his surprise, Alinor suddenly smiled broadly.

"I shall send Joanna to Lady Ela."

"No!" Ian roared. "She is your daughter, but I love her. I will not have it! I would sooner have her spout prayers and repentance and resignation at me than have her another Ela. She will return fluttering her hands and holding her head and her side and―"

Alinor shook with laughter. "Oh no, she will not. You do not value Ela as I have come to value her. She is too wise to teach a healthy mare like Joanna the tricks of a frail bird. And she is clever, Ian. You do not know how clever, and I will not tell you. She does not tend her men and her flock and her fields as I tend mine, but that Joanna knows already and, God willing, I will have some years more to teach her. Ela can teach Joanna what I never could because, of a truth, I dare not go near King John. She can teach the child the ways of the court, and with Ela there and right under Salisbury's eye, Joanna will be safe enough."

"Safe for now," Ian said uneasily. "Yet I am not over-happy that she should go to court. She will attract the king's eye and, even now, all unripe as she is, Joanna is beautiful."

"There may be a little to fear in that, but not more than in her going to court as, say, Geoffrey's bride and striking that lecher's gaze in the full beauty of her womanhood."

Ian shifted from one foot to the other. Alinor watched him as, without speaking, he pulled off his bedrobe and reached for the shirt she had laid out. He shook his head at Alinor when she moved to help him, even though she could see some of his motions pulled at the new set of stitches and caused him pain. Hurriedly, Alinor dressed also, distastefully aware that her clothes were dirty and stained and not particularly becoming. She fastened the veil of her wimple and turned to see Ian, his face very still and quite expressionless, start toward the door.

"Ian," she cried softly, "beloved, what is your discontent? I have hurt us both through unadvised silence. Do not you now fall into the same error."

He looked at her blankly for a moment, then lifted his eyes and looked over her head. "My discontent is in myself, Alinor, not in you—except that you have offered me something I desire so much that I cannot trust my judgment on whether it is a good thing or a bad thing. Are you really willing to come to Ireland with me—after all you have said against going? Is what you propose really safe for the children?"

"Yes, of that I am certain. I swear all will be well with Adam and Joanna, barring plague or some accident that is truly in God's hands," Alinor assured him fervently.

"And the other?"

"I am perhaps a little afraid," she replied slowly, "but―"

"Then why do you insist upon coming? As you said yourself, it is a country all at war. Why―"

"I can give you many reasons," Alinor interrupted. "I can tell you how it is less safe for me to be here where John might take me by stealth. I can explain that it would be wise for me to show myself on my Irish estates. I can suggest that if we were more together I might conceive an heir to your lands, which would add to the safety of Adam and Joanna as well as to our joy."

She paused, and Ian saw with considerable surprise that she was blushing hotly.

"Do you want the truth?" Alinor asked.

"Yes, I do," Ian insisted.

Alinor bit her hp. "I am coming because I am jealous," she said passionately. "Simon told me that Irish women are very beautiful. I am not going to let loose a face like yours among them. To couple a whore to satisfy a need is one thing, but I know you do not like whores. To woo an Irish lady is something else again. In Ireland I intend to be by you, to abate your lust and to watch what you do."