Hot Summer's Knight (17 page)

“No, I…” she nibbled her lower lip, something he’d noticed she always did when she was worried.  “One moment you were kissing me, and touching my leg,” she blushed, most prettily, he thought, “and the next, it wasn’t you above me, it wasn’t you kissing me.”

He sat on the log next to her, and took her hand in his.  She made no move to draw it away.  Whatever had possessed her so completely had now vanished.

“Who was it, then?” he asked.

“
What
was it, I think the question should be.”  She shuddered.  “Something black and foul smelling, huge and strong, pinned me to the ground.”  She leaned against him.  He could feel her trembling.  “And Gareth, it hurt me, so badly.”

Tears ran, unchecked, down her cheeks.  “Gareth, it hurt so much!” she repeated.  She was weeping openly now.

He held her while her tears saturated the front of his tunic, stroking her hair, feeling her heart beat against his.

“Hush, my love,” he whispered, “I’ll keep you safe.”  Eventually she gave one last, great, shuddering sob and looked up into his face.

“Gareth,” she whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Berenice.”

“I wanted to…” she hesitated, “back there, before it happened, I wanted you to…”

“Hush, my love, other times will come.”  But he knew there wouldn’t be, there couldn’t be, not now.  He’d allowed his self-control to slip one time too many.

Berenice’s strange outburst had saved her from him.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

They found Berenice’s headdress not far from the patient horse.  She dampened a corner of it in the river, and washed the tears from her face.  Combing the tangles out of her hair with her fingers, she wound it into a knot before pinning her headdress securely over the top of it.

“How do I look?” she asked Gareth.  She was making her best attempt to smile, but Gareth could see she was still shaken by her strange experience.  What had it been?  A demon of the forest?  He’d heard of such things in peasants’ tales, or stories told around campfires on the Russian steppes, but never had he experienced anything like it.

He took her hand in his, and together they walked the long, winding path to the ford, downstream from the monastery, where he carried her over the river.  Then they followed the path she’d taken weeks before, through the small, friendly wood, and back to Freycinet.

They discussed the coming fair, and what would need to be done before tomorrow came.  Despite the warmth of her hand in his, there was a distance between them.  Gareth no longer pressed for any contact other than the touch of their hands.  Logic had prevailed, and despite his hopefulness in the forest, he was forced to admit the impossibility of their situation.

When they came within sight of the castle and the preparations for the fair, he released her hand, and let her take the lead.  As they walked through the gates, she was once more the Lady of Freycinet, and he, her humble servant, leading her horse.

They were greeted by the sight of two dozen fully armed and mounted men.  Somewhere near the centre of the mêlée Berenice could make out William and another man, a man who was dressed entirely in black.

William saw her and called out, “My Lady, we have a guest!”

Leaving Gareth to take care of the horse, she strode forward, calm and self-possessed.  In that moment, he was proud of her.  She was every inch an aristocrat.

He passed on the horse to one of the stable boys, and unobtrusively stayed behind her.

The black-garbed stranger was watching her approach.  He was older than Gareth by perhaps a decade, and solidly built, but fit.  His arms and shoulders were those of a fighting man, and by his garments, he was a member of the nobility.  He was watching Berenice as though he would devour her.

Count Fulk de Betizac had arrived.

Gareth’s hand moved automatically to the dagger at his waist.  His sword was safely stored in William’s trunk, but he wished he were wearing it now.  He looked around at more than twenty well-armed, trained fighting men, and felt a coldness in the pit of his stomach.  How could their farm boys possibly best this lot?  Now the time had come, and Berenice’s safety depended on the success of his plan, he felt an uncharacteristic nervousness.

He watched the Count’s extravagant bow, and Berenice’s gracious curtsey in response.  He heard her words of welcome.  Her face was pale, her mouth a tightly compressed line.  Gareth wanted to tell her he was here, right behind her, protecting her.

Strict laws governed behavior towards guests, and he knew she would follow them to the letter.  He wasn’t surprised when he heard her call to Esme, and asked her to arrange for the Count to be bathed by the women of the household.

“Please accept my apologies, my Lord Count.  My women will bathe you after your journey.  My husband is absent, and I feel it would not be appropriate for me to fulfill that particular duty, even to so honored a guest as yourself.”

“Of course, my dear,” said the Count, appropriating Berenice’s hand and tucking her arm possessively beneath his.  “Perhaps another time.”

Berenice asked Esme to prepare the old Lord’s chamber for the Count’s use while he stayed for the duration of the  fair.  Gareth was surprised at the anger, rising like bile inside him.  The Lord’s chamber was, by rights, his, just as Berenice herself was.

Gareth knew the Count’s men would sleep on the rushes in the hall with the lowest of the servants, but the thought had no pleasure in it.  He wanted them out of the castle, so the Count’s support would be more difficult to muster when the time came for him to strike.

“My Lady,” he said, bowing respectfully, “may I make a suggestion?”

“Of course, Gareth.”  She was surprised to see him there still, but not displeased.

“Perhaps the Count’s men would find more comfort in a marquee in the field outside the castle walls.  Temporary accommodation has been set up for visitors.”

“Who is this man?” interrupted the Count.

“This is Gareth, my troubadour.  He has traveled far, and has a great deal of knowledge on many useful subjects.”

Gareth liked the ‘my’.

“So a troubadour runs your affairs, my Lady?”  The Count’s lips were smiling, but his eyes were locked onto Gareth’s over the top of Berenice’s head.  Gareth had fought the heathen Magyar, who were said to sacrifice captured children to their dreadful gods, but he’d never seen such malevolence in anyone’s eyes.

“Not at all, my Lord Count,” replied Berenice, “He’s a useful advisor, nothing more.  Do you not have people whose opinion you value?”  She smiled sweetly, and the Count had no choice but to agree.

“My Lady, you must meet my captain.  I, too, have my advisors.”  He beckoned one of the men forward.  He was tall, far taller even than Gareth, larger than some Vikings he’d known.  “Allow me to introduce Sir Gilbert.”

The Count smiled, exposing rows of rotten teeth, while the giant bowed awkwardly to Berenice.

“My Lady,” he mumbled, and retreated to stand among his men.

There’s a story there, thought Gareth, and no love lost between master and captain.

Berenice deftly extricated herself from the Count’s grasp.

“My Lord Count, if you will excuse me.  There’s much still to be done before the fair opens in the morning.  My women will take care of your needs.  I’ll arrange for a marquee to be erected to house your men.

“Come Sir William, Gareth, Esme.”  She clapped her hands sharply.  Her friends fell into formation around her, William to her right, Esme to her left, Gareth bringing up the rear.  Together they walked purposefully to the Lady’s tower, leaving a glowering Count standing in the middle of the courtyard.

Gareth took perverse delight in slamming the tower door behind them, before following the others up the stairs.

When he reached Berenice’s room, Esme was holding her.  Gareth closed the door of the chamber.

“The Lady’s had a nasty shock,” said Esme.

“I think we all have,” said William.

“I didn’t expect the Count to come here, bringing half his household, and practically move in,” said Gareth.

“You knew about this?” asked Berenice.

“A little,” replied Gareth, “I’d heard rumors.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?  William?”

“We didn’t want to worry you,” answered Gareth.

“Worry me?  Worry me?” she shouted.  The color was rising in her pale face.  “Don’t you think I was the one with the most right to know?  Count Fulk hasn’t set foot in this castle since I was a child, and he comes here now, less than a year since my father’s passing.  Do either of you have the slightest idea what his being here means?  To me? To the valley and everyone in it?”

“Yes, we do.”  No-one in this room understands that better than I do, thought Gareth.  Esme and William were looking at him, waiting for him to speak.  Tell her, they were saying, tell her who you are, it’s not too late.

“Well then?”  She was shaking, she was so angry.

They were all looking to him for a plan.  “We keep his men out of the castle as much as possible.  You treat him, as I know you must, as a guest, and we persuade him to leave as soon as is polite.  Esme stays at your side always.  William and I won’t be far away.”

“I’ll sleep up here tonight,” offered Esme.

“I’ll set two of my lads to guard your door,” put in William.

“That’s it?” asked Berenice, her voice a little calmer.

“Some of the men from the villages will be here tomorrow.  We weren’t expecting the Count to arrive this soon, or for his intentions to be quite so obvious.  All we have to do is to get through tonight,” answered Gareth.

“What use will the extra men be?  They’re not soldiers, they’re farmers,” said Berenice.

“We’ve been teaching them a few things over the summer,” answered William.

Berenice glared at William and Gareth in turn.

“You’ve been training my men without my knowledge?”        

“Yes, my Lady,” answered William.  He bowed his head.

Berenice made an inarticulate sound of rage in the back of her throat, and stalked to the window.

“Well, if that’s the only plan we’ve got, we’d better get on with it.  Esme, find the least attractive and strongest women in the castle for the Count’s bathing.  We don’t want any unwanted orphans in nine months’ time.  I’ll wait here while you organize the bath and his room to be made ready.  William, stay here with me a while, I have some things I wish to discuss with you.

“Gareth, you suggested a marquee.  Would you please organize it.  I’ll give you some coin.  The traders are sure to want too much - make sure you strike a good bargain with them.”

A pouch was thrust into his hand, and William ushered Gareth out of the Lady’s chamber.

“We’ll look after her, lad.  Don’t you worry.  Just get those men outside the castle walls.”

True to her word, Berenice stayed in her room, but from the constant stream of people to and from the tower door, she was never alone.  The Count’s men were ensconced in a large tent amongst the fair people, where they could carouse to their hearts’ content without endangering any of the castle women.  The Count was installed in Berenice’s father’s room, after being ritually bathed, Gareth heard, by Marie the Laundress and some of the other women.

The evening meal was the next time Gareth saw Berenice.  She and Esme entered, according to custom, after everyone else had arrived.  She wore the deep blue dress trimmed with gold which was only brought out for special occasions.  Her veil was a snow white frame for her face, which was composed, serene even.

She walked with Esme to the dais.

Fulk chose that moment to make his own entrance from the Lord’s tower.  He strode the length of the hall as though he were the Lord already, followed by his giant of a captain.  When he reached Berenice, he bowed his flamboyant bow once more.  Taking her hand, he led her to her seat.  He seated himself in the Lord’s chair.

“My Lord Count,” said Berenice, in a calm, clear voice, “That’s my husband’s place.”

“And where’s you husband now, my Lady?” answered Fulk, making no effort to move.

The hall was silent.  All eyes watched the couple at the high table.  Gareth seethed, longing for his sword again.

“My husband departed for the Holy Land, my Lord Count.  He defends Jerusalem from the heathen.”  Her look would have withered a weaker man.

“Well, he’s not here now!”  Fulk made no effort to move.  “Bring food!”  He thumped the table with his fist.

The servers were startled into action.  Trays of food were brought in from the kitchen.  Pewter plates were laid in front of Berenice, Fulk, William and Fulk’s captain.  Esme had discretely joined Gareth at a lower table.

“You do not sit with your mistress?” he said to her quietly.

“I’m not entitled to.  When there are guests, I never sit with her.”

Esme’s explanation surprised Gareth, distracting him temporarily from the current problems.  She could only mean she was not a free woman.  No wonder she’d repeatedly refused Gilbert’s offer of marriage.

He turned his attention back to Berenice.  Fulk had refused an offer of a plate and a cup for himself, and was intent on sharing with Berenice.  She was protesting, insisting he be treated as the honored guest he was.

Once again, she lost the argument.  Fulk made a great show of spearing the choicest pieces of meat for her with his dagger, and raising them to her lips.  Even though he knew she could not refuse the Count’s offer, Gareth raged, and made a move to rise from his seat.

Esme’s hand on his arm, and her soft voice, saved him from what could only have been disaster.

“What do you think she’s feeling, Gareth?” Esme asked.

Berenice’s face was pale, and her hand shook a little as she accepted the chalice from the Count.

“She needs your support, Gareth.  She doesn’t need you to start a fight with the Count.”

Gareth settled back into his seat.

“You’re right,” he answered, his fists clenched, out of sight, beneath the bench.  If he fought Fulk now, in this peaceful setting, the ramifications of his actions would bring more harm than good to Berenice.