Lady At Arms (33 page)

Slowly, she got to her feet. As she wiped at her soiled skirts, she felt the dagger’s hilt where it was hidden in the top of her hose.

“Do not exert yourself, Lady Lizanne,” Philip said. “I will want you alert when you come to me.”

More laughter.

“Bernard,” Philip called, “put her with the others.”

Lizanne wanted to resist the large man who gripped her with such force she winced, but common sense bade her cooperate. To infuriate Philip further would only bring her closer to the time when he would attempt to violate her. And the best place for her now was with the others. Hopefully, they would discover a way to free themselves.

While the camp was hastily erected, the hands of all the captives, with the exception of the two women, were firmly bound behind them. Then they were corralled together into a pen constructed of ropes wound around a grouping a trees. About the perimeter, Philip set a good number of guards. He was taking no chances.

Knees drawn up beneath her chin, Lizanne sat next to Lady Zara, on whose right sat Sir Walter. All around them were Ranulf’s and Gilbert’s men.

Several times during the past half hour, Lizanne had tried to talk with Lady Zara, but the woman was too preoccupied with following her second son’s progress about the camp. Thus, Lizanne turned her thoughts instead to finding a means of escape.

“So alike,” Lady Zara finally spoke, voice filled with sorrow, “yet so different.”

Lizanne looked at the woman who appeared much older in the flickering light of torches. “One good, one evil,” Lizanne said.

Lady Zara closed her eyes, nodded.

Lizanne touched her arm. “He has not yet spoken with you?”

“Nay, he spurns me, though me must know I am his mother.” She was quiet a long moment. “Tell me more of this Philip. What does he want with you?”

Though it certainly did not take Lizanne’s mind off the threat of the miscreant’s violation, she acquiesced, starting at the beginning and ending with her final confrontation with the man at King Henry’s court.

Lady Zara touched the largest of the two swellings upon Lizanne’s face, causing her to wince, then edged nearer her daughter-in-law. “You must not give in to him.” Her voice was
 
but a whisper. “Do you still have the dagger Ranulf gave you?”

“I do.”

“Good, and I have mine.”

Lizanne startled. “Have you?”

Lady Zara nodded. “We must needs be wise in this. Do you think you can use yours on Charwyck when he comes for you?”

“Aye,” Lizanne said without hesitation.

“And could you make your way back to Chesne?”

Having paid attention to the course Philip set, Lizanne was familiar with her surroundings. “I could.”

“Then listen well. You must get to Ranulf and lead him—”

“I shall need a horse.”

Lady Zara shook her head. “’Tis not likely you will be able to obtain one without being caught. Nay, you must run. I know you can do that.”

Lizanne nodded.

“Ranulf cannot be far,” she continued. “No doubt, he has divided his men, and they are this moment scouring the area. When all is quiet, I will see that the ropes are cut from our men. If we have surprise on our side, mayhap ’twill be possible for us to escape as well. Otherwise, it is up to you.”

“I will bring Ranulf back—and Gilbert.”

Lady Zara placed a hand over Lizanne’s. “You are my daughter now. With a mother’s protectiveness, methinks I judged you too harshly. For this, I apologize.”

Lizanne smiled, her tongue too clumsy to reply.

“And for the pain my family has inflicted upon yours,” Lady Zara continued, eyes glimmering with tears, “I beg your pardon. Had we but known…”

Lizanne squeezed her hand. “You could not have. ’Twas a cruel deception played on both our families.”

Lady Zara summoned a small smile that returned a measure of youthfulness to her face. “He loves you.”

Lizanne blinked. “Ranulf? He told you this?”

“Not in words, but I have seen it in his eyes.”

Lizanne drew a deep breath, looked out across the camp. “Methinks you are wrong, Lady Zara. Your son but desires me.”

“’Tis you who are wrong, Daughter. Never did Ranulf feel toward his first wife as he does you—or any other woman. Do you love him?”

“I told him as much before we left for the village.”

“How did he respond?”

“He did not.” She sighed. “Forsooth, I did not give him the chance to.”

Lady Zara opened her mouth to say something, but closed it when the captives began to murmur amongst themselves.

Her second-born son approached.

With a suddenness that startled Lizanne, Ranulf’s mother gave her a fierce hug. When she drew away, Lizanne felt the sharp, cold steel of the small dagger Lady Zara had slipped beneath her hand. “’Twill better serve Walter,” she whispered, then turned toward Darth.

When he came to stand over them, he stared at the woman who had birthed him, his jaw set in a hard, thrusting line.

It was Ranulf, yet not him…

Panic skipped through Lizanne as she peered up at that face, terrible memories beckoning her to come play with them. Swallowing convulsively, she lowered her gaze to his booted feet and concentrated on getting her breathing under control even as she concealed the second dagger in her shoe.

“So, ye are the woman who bore me,” Darth finally said.

Lady Zara pushed to her feet. “Aye, and you are my Colin.”

He laughed. “Colin. Better than Darth, methinks. Noble.”

“You were stolen from me.” Lady Zara’s tone was apologetic.

“And now I am returned to ye, Mother. Rejoice in the miracle that has brought us together again.” He shifted his gaze to Lizanne, nudged her with his booted foot. “I never finished with ye, wench. Mayhap when Lord Philip is done, I might have another taste of yer sweetness.”

Bile rose as Lizanne met his stare. “That would first require that you remain conscious.”

He stiffened, but forced a laugh. “I shall. And mayhap ye will as well.” He took hold of Lady Zara’s arm. “Come, we have much to talk about, Mother.”

Immediately, Sir Walter gained his feet. “Nay!” he shouted and ran forward though his hands were bound behind his back.

Darth swung around. A dark smile splitting his features, he slammed a fist into Sir Walter’s face and sent the smaller man backward.

Sir Walter’s men lunged upright and surged forward.

The guards raised their weapons, but the captives did not stop. However, it took but one arrow through the chest of the man nearest Darth to squelch the uprising.

Lady Zara cried out and struggled to free herself from her son’s hold, but without success.

Having scrambled to her feet, Lizanne ran and knelt beside the fallen soldier.

Moments later, his lids lowered and he shuddered out his last breath.
 

Hands clenched upon his chest, she felt the burn of tears as she stared into the still face of one of the two who had guarded her during those first days with Ranulf. Little more than a dozen words had passed between them, but she felt his death straight through.

And then came anger. She thrust to her feet and crossed to where Sir Walter sat, a number of his men gathered around him. Bound as they all were, they were unable to offer aid. Thus, Lizanne stepped over them, made a space for herself, and knelt beside Ranulf’s most esteemed vassal.

“Evil,” Walter croaked, his broken nose gushing blood.

“Lie back.” Lizanne pressed her hands to his shoulders. When he resisted, she put her full weight behind her and lowered him to the ground. Then, lifting the skirt of her bliaut, she wadded it and pressed it to his face to stem the blood.

“You and I are quite the pair,” she said a short while later when she helped raise him to sitting and saw both his eyes were blackening.

Sir Walter looked past her to search out the area beyond. “I will kill the miscreant if he harms one hair upon her head,” he growled.

Not for one moment did she doubt him.

“How could you?” Zara demanded. Clasping her hands hard in her lap, she shifted on the fallen log so that not even her skirts touched the man who sat beside her.

“Had ye lived the life I have,” her son said sharply, “ye would not find it so hard a thing to do.”

“’Tis wrong—in the eyes of God
and
man.”

“I am not my brother,” he said gruffly, “though I shall soon enjoy all manner of the life he has had these many years while I toiled in the fields.” He grinned. “’Tis only fitting that I now become the baron of Chesne, is it not?”

Fear gripped Zara more tightly. “What of Ranulf?” she asked, willing herself to meet those dark eyes. Now that she looked close, they were not really all that similar to Ranulf’s. The color was the same, but the emotions expressed there were as unlike Ranulf’s as day was unlike night. Summer unlike winter.

Colin—though it seemed he truly was this Darth—looked to the campfire. “Ranulf,” he spat. “Philip has plans fer him.”

“Then he will try to kill the man who is your brother,” Zara said, knowing better than to phrase it as a question.

“If ’tis not him, it will be me.”

Zara felt her face begin to crumple. At long last, she had her second son, knew him now to be a grown man, and he was cruel. If it would gain him the barony, he would take Ranulf’s life. He would take from her that which she held dearest.

She dropped her chin to her chest.

A hand that, surprisingly, had some of the warmth of Ranulf’s, fell to her shoulder. “No harm will come to ye, Mother.” His voice was almost gentle.

She lifted her head and looked at him through tears. “’Tis not for me I grieve. ’Tis for Ranulf. And you. That you could not have loved each other as ’twas meant to be. That your heart is so cold and ways so cruel.”

He glowered. “Had ye toiled as I have all my life, worked till yer body screamed in agony, neither would ye look so fairly upon this world.”

Despite what he was, her heart ached for him. “What was it like, Colin?” she asked softly.

He sneered. “Never enough food to eat, so ye had to steal from another to fill yer belly. Ever too much work to be done, so ye never could get enough sleep. Always too cold or too hot. Always saying ‘aye’ to the lord no matter what he asked of ye—”

“Is that why you attacked the Balmaine camp—for Philip?”

“Aye, he promised me a share of the dowry wagons and my own plot of land did I do it fer him.”

“And you did.”

“I am no fool!”

“Did he give you what he promised?”

A muscle leapt in his jaw. “I failed him. He gave me naught but blood upon my back.”

“And you think he will give you Chesne?”

Her son’s eyes narrowed to suspicious slits. “I will not fail him this time.”

A chill passed through Zara. Though it was not truly his fault he was the way he was, her second son was evil. It was Philip Charwyck’s—and Mary’s—fault. “Tell me about Mary,” she said.

“The hag is dead.”

Zara stared at him, something telling her she did not want to know the answer to the question that rose to mind. Still, she had to ask. “How did she die?”

As if suddenly uncomfortable, he shifted on the log. “She fell. Fell and broke her neck, methinks.”

Zara drew a deep breath. “Tell me you did not do it, Colin.”

He wet his lips, shrugged. “I would think ye’d rejoice in knowing she is dead. She did steal me from ye.”

“That she did, for which I do not know that I can ever forgive her, but I would still have the answer to my question.”

His face twisted into an ugly mask of hatred. “When she tried to stop me from leaving with Philip—cried that I was her son and owed her for all the years she cared for me—I pushed her.” He spat upon the ground. “I was angry. After all, ’twas her deception that caused me to suffer all these years.”

Zara longed to return to her tears, to shout at the injustice of it all. Not only was her son a thief and a ravisher, he was a murderer. He was so different from Ranulf that the only thing the brothers had in common were their looks, and even that had been corrupted by the different life her second-born had led. She had only ever known such great sorrow when she had been told of Colin’s death nearly thirty years past.

“Ye are disgusted,” he said.

She shook her head. “I am saddened for the life you were forced to live, pained that you seek your brother’s death so that you might obtain all that is his. Have you no feeling for Ranulf?”

He gave a shout of laughter. “Think ye he would welcome me at Chesne? Nay, he seeks my death as surely as I seek his.”

“’Tis not true! Ranulf has said no such thing.”

“He need not say it fer it to be true.”

“He is not like that.”

“What of his wife? Ye are telling me he would not seek to avenge her honor?”

“There was naught that occurred between Lady Lizanne and you. She stopped you—do you not remember?”

“Aye, well I remember, as I remember laying low her brother, though I did not lay him low enough. And for that, I gained two dozen stripes across my back.” He grunted. “I should have severed his head from his neck. Had I to do it again, I would not make the mistake of leaving him or his sister alive.”

“Do not say that!” Zara exclaimed, still harboring hope she might find some way to set her second son on the right path. “It is not too late, Colin.” She gripped his arm. “Help us escape Philip Charwyck, and all will be dealt with fairly. This I vow.”

He pushed her hand away. “Fair would be to take my life for the crimes I have committed, and I do not wish to die. Nay, Philip will secure Chesne for me, and then I will have what is rightfully mine.”

Zara nearly pointed out that it was not rightfully his, but it would only rouse him further. “Philip will see you dead, Colin. It is not only Lady Lizanne he desires but Chesne. He is not the kind of man to settle for a woman when there are riches to be had as well.”

“Ye lie. Chesne will be mine!”

Zara shook her head, the reserve of love in her heart for this unknown son beginning to shrivel. He was of her body, but not of her soul, as much a stranger to her as any other.

“If Ranulf dies,” she said, “so will you, for Philip cannot allow you to live knowing what you do about him. You have only one chance to save yourself. Aid us.”