Lady of Fire (11 page)

Eleanor was totally unprepared for her first real kiss. Her eyes flew open in astonishment and then closed tightly as she savored the feel of a man's mouth on hers. His body was strong and warm against hers and he was making her feel giddy all over again. He still smelled of Gilbert's strong lye soap and it was a far headier smell than perfume. She allowed her hands to creep to his shoulders, feeling the muscles that lay beneath the soft material of his tunic. He was not so big as Roger, but he was a well-made man.

"My lord Henry," Roger spoke coldly from the doorway, where he seemed to loom larger than life. "I would not raise my hand against you, but, by all the saints, I will if you do not take your hands off Lea." Eleanor jumped guiltily, but Henry did not move.

Roger stepped forward with his fists clenched. "I did not bring her out of Fontainebleau to see her dishonored."

Henry stared hard for a moment at his liegeman. Finally he released Eleanor and stepped back.

"Roger—" Eleanor put out a hand to her brother.

"Go back inside. Gerda awaits you by the door."

She could tell by his tone of voice that he was extremely angry with her. "Brother," she cried out, "it was not as it seems—I was sick!"

"Aye. Go inside."

She would have tried to say more, but Henry nodded. "Leave us, Demoiselle, and I will explain to your brother."

Roger could accept everything was as Henry said it was. Gerda and the boy had confirmed just how ill Eleanor had been. Still, he had been unprepared for the way he'd felt when he'd seen her in Henry's arms. He did not doubt her innocence, but it rankled him even in reflection to watch her response to another man. For one very brief moment he'd wanted to kill his lord. And he'd wanted to tear her from Henry and drag her off to his own bed. Jesu! If she wanted to learn of a man, he wanted to be that man.

"Roger." Henry came into the small chamber they shared. He raised his hands in supplication and then dropped them. "What can I say? She is very beautiful and I have ever wanted her, but I meant her no dishonor tonight."

"I believe you," Roger answered tiredly. He sat down and pulled off his boots. "My lord prince, I am weary and I would sleep." He pulled back the curtains and eased himself into the bed without even removing the rest of his clothing.

Henry stripped and crawled into bed next to him. Like Roger, he had mixed feelings about his brief moment with Eleanor. She'd awakened old feelings within him and he felt certain sadness that she lay out of his reach. He spoke the truth when he told Roger that he meant her no dishonor—he had long known that he could not take her to wive. And she was obviously too fine a lady to be any man's leman.

Roger lay stiff and awake at his side. Henry turned away and tried to wriggle a niche for his body within the feather bed. After several attempts to get comfortable he gave up. "I cannot sleep," he muttered, "if you have to lie there like an affronted virgin, Roger." There was no answer. Finally Henry turned on his back. "I value your friendship and your service more than I want the girl." With a sigh he added, "And I'll still help you get her out of Rouen." When Roger still did not speak or move, Henry threw back the covers in exasperation. "God's teeth, man, I know not which is worse—trying to sleep with you when you toss and turn all night or when you lie awake still as stone!" The bed behind him began to shake with suppressed laughter in spite of Roger's anger. "Pray, what is so amusing?" Henry demanded in exasperation.

" 'Tis surely the first time I have ever been called an affronted virgin."

Henry lay back down, sighing. "Aye, and I am heartily sorry, my friend. Once you have your sister safe, 'twould be wise to find a husband for her. The Demoiselle is overripe for one as it is."

"I intend to—without Gilbert's blessing."

"Jesu!" Henry breathed as he remembered the feel of Eleanor in his arms. "I would that I could be the man to take her—I envy the one who does." When Roger made no comment, he sighed again. "I think I should press on to Rennes tomorrow, lest Gilbert hear of this."

"Aye, I think it best," Roger agreed, "and I think I'll go with you. The longer I am at Nantes, the greater risk of betraying my plans."

"But I thought you escorted her to Rouen."

"Let Gilbert do it—the less I am in her company before we flee, the better it is for everyone." He could sense Henry's disapproval. "Surely little enough can happen if they keep to the duke's roads."

"I don't know," the prince answered slowly, "for too many consider my brother weak, and, your pardon for saying it, I'd sooner send my sister in the company of an old woman than with Gilbert."

"Sweet Mary!" Roger swore softly. "Who dares to interfere with Belesme's intended wife?"

"Thing is—not too many know of the contract," Henry reminded him.

"Then let Gilbert tell them," Roger snapped irritably. "If you have no wish for my company, I'll ride to mine own lands, but I cannot stay here."

"Please yourself." Henry shrugged. "Ten to one, I am an old man for worrying, and you are right. Certes, you are welcome enough to ride with me."

Considering the subject closed, the prince rolled over on his side and went to sleep easily. Roger lay staring into the darkness for a long time, thinking of Eleanor and trying to sort out his troubled thoughts. All of his hopes were dependent on his ability to get Eleanor safely out of Rouen, and he dared not chance betraying himself or her. Yet the more he found himself in her company, the harder it was not to give himself away. The scheme was mad enough as it was without the risk of further complications, and so much depended on its success. Slowly he slipped into that half-conscious state where the mind wanders at will. Eleanor came to him there, her dark eyes laughing, her dark hair spreading over him like a silken curtain shimmering against his bare skin. Her mouth curved into a soft smile as she bent for his kiss, and her skin was warm to his touch. With a groan, he forced himself awake. If all went as he planned, soon enough Lea would be with him in the flesh, and they would have a lifetime together.

"I will not fail thee, Lea, I swear," he half-whispered in the stillness of the night.

Eleanor climbed to her father's solar, drawn by the sound of quarreling voices. Her heart pounded uncomfortably as she realized Gilbert and Roger argued over Roger's accompanying her to Rouen.

"Aye—leave me again—desert me!" Gilbert shouted. "What use are you to me when I dare not depend on you?" Red-faced, he turned away, muttering,"! acknowledged you, yet you serve me not."

"Nay," Roger answered coldly, "you forget—'twas you who deserted me at Ancennes, and left me and my men to die in your cause. Thirty of my best perished while you ran, Gilbert. Talk not to me of desertion."

Both men became aware of the white-faced girl at the same time. Gilbert gestured at Roger while speaking to her. "He leaves us—the whore's son leaves us!"

Ignoring him, Roger moved to Eleanor, his blue eyes softening perceptibly. "I have to go, Lea, but I will see you again in Rouen. Nothing has changed except that I ride with Henry now."

"Aye—he cares more for his highborn prince than for me!"

"Lea, you understand my meaning, don't you?"

"Aye—nay—" She shook her head in disbelief. "Nay, I cannot face Rouen or Belesme alone."

"Lea…" He possessed her hand. "I cannot speak here—come down with me ere I leave."

Behind him, Gilbert continued venting his anger, gibing, "I give you and that Saxon whore a home and this is how I am repaid—she takes herself to a convent and you give me naught!" When he realized that his words were having little effect, he raised his hand to strike. "Listen when I speak!"

Roger dodged as he spun around. "Hit me, Gilbert of Nantes, and, afore God, you can feel the weight of my hand."

"Bastard!" Gilbert spat out.

"Aye," Roger agreed calmly, "and all I have become I owe to myself and Lea. Do not cry to me of what you have done for me."

"Lea—'tis always Lea," Gilbert growled. "Did you come this time because I asked or did you come for her?"

"For Lea."

"Art a fool." Gilbert sneered. "For once she goes to Belesme, I doubt you'll ever see her again."

"What kind of father are you?" Roger's voice was low and contemptuous.

"And what kind of brother are you? Aye—think you I have no eyes, boy?"

"Gilbert—" Roger frowned warningly.

"Oh, aye, I know—I was blind till now, but now I can see," Gilbert growled. "You would lie with your own sister."

Behind them, Eleanor gasped at her father's accusation. Roger whitened, his jaw twitching with the effort of controlling himself. His fist clenched involuntarily and he stepped toward Gilbert.

Thinking he and her father meant to come to blows, Eleanor pushed between them. Slowly Roger mastered his temper and lowered his hands.

"Pay him no heed, brother," she pleaded, "for he knows not what he says."

"I know," Gilbert persisted. "Aye, I know."

"Lea, I cannot stay here now even if I would. You can see it will not serve. I ride with Henry as far as Rennes, then I am for mine own lands. I will see you again in Rouen"—his eyes met Gilbert's over her head—"before the betrothal."

"Roger… please!"

"Nay, Lea—do you come down with me or not?"

She knew defeat. Whatever he and Gilbert had quarreled about before she'd come up, it had decided him. Nothing she could say would change his leaving Nantes. Bitterly she turned on her father. "Papa, I would have not believed your mind so foul—see what you do?" Roger was already on his way down the steps. "Papa, you sicken me."

"Ask him what he would have of you, daughter—ask why he plays the fool for you."

"Because I am his sister," she answered over her shoulder as she went after Roger.

"Art the bigger fool, Eleanor, an you believe that."

"Roger, wait!"

She found him standing at the bottom of the winding tower stairs, his handsome face creased in concern. She reached for him only to be clasped firmly by the elbows and set back.

"Brother, do not leave me! I cannot face Count Robert alone!"

"Lea, I have to." His grip on her elbows was almost painful.

"Is it because of last night? I swear we were both innocent, Roger, and naught else has happened."

"Nay, 'twas not that—though I am glad Henry leaves."

"Then…?"

He looked at her upturned face with her dark eyes glistening with unshed tears and was nearly unnerved. She was beautiful, loving, and trusting—and God willing, she'd be his one day.

"You heard Gilbert," he answered finally.

"But—"

His hands slid down to her hands. "Lea, I am still your man, bound to you by oath, and nothing ever changes that. I swear I will not let you go to Belesme as long as there is breath in my body." His blue eyes searched her face for understanding. "I still meet you in Rouen and we will escape from there, but so much depends on the secrecy of our plans. Robert would not hesitate to destroy me if he even suspected—you know that."

"Aye," she sighed heavily, "and you risk much for me."

"And for myself, Lea." He released her hands and bent to quickly brush her lips with his. "Let us look forward to an adventure together."

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Eleanor sat her saddle uneasily, weary from the plodding step of the horse beneath her as her party made its slow progress toward Rouen. Each passing mile lowered her already faltering spirits as she drew nearer her inevitable meeting with Belesme. At her side, Margaret chattered incessantly while Adelicia gamely tried to follow her conversation. Behind them, some thirty sumpter horses carried Eleanor's bride-things, a treasure of clothing, jewelry, plate, and furniture that had nearly beggared the people of Nantes. Gilbert might care little for his eldest daughter, but he'd give Belesme no cause for complaint.

Given Roger's still puzzling departure from Nantes, Gilbert had wanted to send to Belesme for an additional contingent of men-at-arms to guard them across Maine and Normandy, but Eleanor had managed to dissuade him. She feared that the hated count might take it upon himself to come in person to escort her to Normandy's capital.

Roger—something clearly ailed him, but she was unable to determine to her satisfaction just what it was. She'd seen his anger that night in the courtyard, and that anger still stung. He'd been right, she supposed, about Prince Henry, but it hadn't seemed so at the time. She knew she should not have let him kiss her, and she must have looked wanton to both men. Unconsciously she hugged herself as she remembered the feel of Henry's arms about her and the strange sensation of his mouth on hers. It had not been an unpleasant experience—in fact, she rather liked it. Idly she wondered if Roger had ever kissed anyone like that. Fool, she chided herself, he must have, for he was nearly three-and-twenty and a man, after all.

A lone rider approached ahead and then veered off without exchanging the customary greetings. Since they were about three miles from Mayenne, Gilbert observed him anxiously before signaling to Bernard de Moray, his captain, to intercept the intruder. They neared Fuld Nevers' stronghold and Gilbert had no wish to draw his attention. The stupid and savage Fuld had allied himself with Belesme during the recent quarrels with Nantes, and his savagery was well-remembered by the people of that city. Cursing Roger for his absence, Gilbert watched his men pursue and lose their prey. Nervously he ordered his scanty column to draw more closely together.

A cloud of dust formed on the horizon shortly after de Moray returned. An early count by the sharp-eyed captain confirmed Gilbert's worst fears—at least forty armed men lay in wait ahead. And above them the hated red-and-black pennon of Nevers waved in the wind. Panic seized Gilbert.

"Sound retreat!" he called out even as he whirled his own mount and made for the ford they'd crossed less than a mile before.

It was the last thing de Moray wanted to do. Protecting a fleeing pack train was nearly impossible, and flight would be the sign of weakness that whetted Fuld's blood lust. Like Belesme, Fuld preferred to chase and corner rather than to stand and fight. De Moray watched with sinking heart the movement of the men on the horizon—Gilbert's flight was bringing them forward.

"Cut loose the pack animals!" De Moray yelled to his men. To Gilbert he called out, "The Demoiselle! We must save the Demoiselle!"

"Nay—let Belesme come for her," were Gilbert's parting words. "She'll be his soon enough, anyway." Gamely the captain attempted to draw his men behind the now-fleeing girls. "Mayhap the pack animals will satisfy them!" he told Eleanor as he urged her to speed.

It was a futile hope. Seeing the sumpter horses abandoned, Fuld accounted them his already, and his attention was devoted to securing Gilbert's head now. He signaled his men to go for the retreating escort.

Knowing his case hopeless, de Moray had the choice of standing to fight with his men in disarray or surrendering to almost certain death at the hands of the violent and unpredictable Fuld. But to fight could result in death to the Demoiselle and her sisters. Cursing the fate that gave him a craven master, he made his decision.

Suspecting Belesme's possible complicity in the attack, de Moray shouted to Aymer de Clare, Eleanor's young cousin, "Ride for the FitzGilbert! If you find him not at Rennes, seek him until you do."

It was an awesome responsibility for the boy scarcely into his teens, but Aymer nodded. He rode Fireleaper, a gift from his brother Walter, and the horse was by far the swiftest there. If any of them could outrun Fuld's men, it would be Aymer. He cut away and dug his spurs in the big black. The horse reared and took off as though pursued by the Devil.

To Eleanor's complete horror, de Moray then dismounted and awaited Fuld's approach with his sword extended hilt-first in a gesture of surrender. When the other men of Nantes would follow him, she tried to stop them.

"Nay, let us fight!" she cried to rally them. One by one they followed their captain's example. When she could see it was no use, she spurred her own horse and prepared to flee alone. Old Erlen, a household knight since her childhood, caught her bridle and held on in spite of her raised whip. "Art cowards all!" she screamed in frustration.

Erlen winced but did not release her horse. "Nay lady"—he shook his head sadly—"we die to save you."

In the weeks that followed her capture, Eleanor learned to pray for survival. Bestial, cruel, stupid, and capricious, Fuld Nevers terrorized her with threats of ravishment and death, while at the same time he sent to Gilbert his demand for one thousand marks, ransom. In the first three days, most of her men had succumbed to his torturing and their heads now hung over Fuld's gate—old Erlen, Giles de Searcy, William Perichal, Stephen de Perigny, to name but a few. But thus far she had not seen Bernard de Moray alive or dead.

The workings of Fuld's tortured mind made it impossible to reason with him. From the first, when she'd tried to make him understand that she was to be betrothed to his overlord, he'd refused to believe her, and he'd beaten her severely for lying to him.

Fuld's greed seemed to know no bounds, either. He'd confiscated all of her bridethings and strutted around wearing much of her jewelry himself, while his slatternly wife, Blanche, squeezed her filthy body into Eleanor's gowns. That they were inches too tight and inches too short seemed to make little difference to the indolent Blanche. As an afterthought and a sop to his liege lord, Fuld had sent the ever weeping Margaret and the still-defiant Adelicia to Robert of Belesme for ransom. He reasoned it was cheaper than parting with any of Eleanor's treasure; and besides, Gilbert was slow to ransom his girls. With his limited powers of reasoning, Fuld expected his lord to be pleased with the offering. Belesme was not, and his message enraged Fuld.

Eleanor had feared for her life when she had read Belesme's message to him. It had been an effort to say the words aloud, but since she was literally the only person who could read and write in the whole of Nevers' stronghold, it had fallen on her to decipher the words for her captor. It was tersely worded, Belesme's message, but it was to the point: Release the Demoiselle of Nantes and all of her belongings to Belesme or be forsworn. Fuld had beaten her again after the reading, first saying she was lying, and then saying she was a witch who would come between him and Belesme. Finally he came to curse Belesme for what he perceived to be greed—the count meant to steal his ransom, he reasoned. Eleanor gave up any further attempt at explaining anything to Fuld. And Fuld, from the safety of a stone-walled fortress, decided to defy his liege lord.

Days had turned into weeks without any word from her father, and Fuld grew surlier than before as he waited. He felt the ransom was due him, and it rankled that the girl's family had not chosen to pay. With each passing day he increased her humiliation, forcing her to serve Blanche in her chamber and him at his table like a village girl, and making her sleep in a narrow closetlike room cut into his chamber wall. Eleanor reflected bitterly that the lowliest servant at Nantes was better-treated than she. Yet, despite the frequent beatings and the threats, she survived. Sometimes she felt that only the rigors of Fontainebleau could have prepared her for this.

It was hot and damp the third week of June, and the air lay over the keep like the steam that rose from the kitchen kettles. Eleanor wearily brushed back a damp strand of straggling hair that escaped her braids and set about straightening her corner of Fuld's chamber. It was a nearly impossible task, given the housekeeping of the whole place. The entire castle needed freshening, she decided as she wrinkled her nose at the smell of the room. Winter rushes, strewn about to give warmth against a stone floor, still lay rotting in summer's heat, and the musty odor of them commingled with the malodorous mound of Fuld's unwashed clothing to give the place a nauseating closeness. In contrast, the rush carpets at Nantes had long since been removed and the floors swept clean and rinsed with limewater in preparation for warm weather. And certainly the clothing there was kept washed and repaired and neatly stored away.

She turned her attention to her cot and its age-yellowed sheets. It was a disgrace to expect anyone to sleep in such filth, she muttered to herself, but how could she expect to get anything better when Fuld and his lady slept on dirty bedding themselves? It was a wonder they were not overrun with vermin. The whole fortress was a pigsty as far as she had been able to tell—about the only thing that did not stink was, oddly enough, the garderobe. Fuld Nevers must surely have the only keep where the air was cleaner in the privy than in the courtyard or the family's quarters.

Someone yelled from the vicinity of the outer wall, and curiosity compelled her to look out the slender arrow slit that served for both light and ventilation. Men could be seen running up the steep cut out steps in the wall to look where a sentry pointed. Before long, even the loathsome Fuld joined them. She could not see what they saw, but she could tell by Fuld's gestures that he had unwelcome company. He lumbered down, shouting out orders, and made his way across the open yard toward the tower where she stood. Too soon, she could hear him coming up the stairs.

He lumbered into his chamber, effectively blocking any way out. Spitting into the filthy rushes at her feet, he came to a halt less than a foot away. He gestured toward the arrow slit where she'd watched.

His face broke into a hideous grin, his blackened teeth showing against sallow lips. "The Bastard," he announced succinctly.

"Wh… Roger?" She could not believe her ears—her brother came to her aid.

"Aye, FitzGilbert camps across the river. My men have recognized his standard, and outriders have seen him."

She could not say anything for a moment as his news sank in. Roger had come—Roger lay less than a mile away. She tried to hide her elation and waited.

Abruptly Fuld moved away to rummage through the contents of an old chest. Without looking up, he asked, "You can read—can you write enough that any can understand it?"

"Aye." Her mouth went dry. Did Fuld mean to treat with her brother for her release? Her hopes were shattered with his next words.

"You will write to Belesme for me and offer him the FitzGilbert's head for the taking. Then mayhap my lord will forget his petty quarrel with me." He rubbed his hands together in anticipation of solving all of his problems at once. "Aye, many's the time I've heard him say he wanted the Bastard's head on his gate."

"You think to make him attack Roger?" she asked incredulously. "Nay, he would not dare!"

"Fool!" Fuld spat again as he turned back around. "My lord of Belesme dares anything! He knows no fear," he boasted.

"Nay, he would not attack my brother when he expects to wed with me."

"Lying slut!" Fuld slapped her across the mouth. "I listen to no more of your lies."

" 'Tis the truth!"

"You read his message," Fuld growled, "and he said nothing of any betrothal. I am his vassal, and I would know of it. You lie, Demoiselle. Besides, Belesme would not have Gilbert's blood in his sons."

She winced at the painful reminder of her father's well-known cowardice. To her, it seemed that all men must call Gilbert of Nantes craven and without honor. "Mayhap Count Robert wants the wealth of Nantes for his sons," she countered.

"Pfaugh! 'Tis his for the taking anyway." Fuld appeared to have found what he searched for. "We waste time. Demoiselle—today you write Belesme as I tell you."

"And if I do not?"

"Then your head will hang over my gate with the rest."

It was a persuasive argument. It did her little good to defy Fuld if she did not survive to see her brother again. She nodded.

There was no ink or vellum to be found, but Fuld managed to come up with some poorly sharpened pens. "Does no one even keep household accounts here?" she asked incredulously when he presented them.

"Nay. My steward sickened and died from eating rotten eels, and I sent the puling priest away long ago."

When he finally assembled everything to his satisfaction, she did not know whether to laugh or cry—he provided cloth dye and a piece of smooth wood. She almost wished she could be present to watch Belesme read it.

Fuld stood over her and gave her his message, repeating it several times until he was satisfied with the sound of it. And when she'd finished writing it, he'd made her point out each word to ensure she'd done as told. Finally satisfied, he'd dispatched his messenger to Belesme.

Robert sent no written reply to Nevers, but Fuld did not worry. Confident that Belesme would not pass up this chance to take Roger FitzGilbert, Fuld continued preparation for the squeeze maneuver. He and Count Robert would come at the Bastard from both sides, with Belesme cutting off any avenue of retreat at the river. Together they would crush him—then Gilbert would have to ransom Eleanor.

Roger appeared unhurried in his siege preparations. His catapults and mangonels were rolled near Fuld's walls and positioned, pitch vats were built, and large rocks were collected, but little else was done. Fuld watched the leisurely preparations with glee. "The fool thinks he has all summer!" he joked to his captains.

Outside, Roger directed the digging of a drainage ditch to be connected at the last to Fuld's, and did his best to keep his men busy enough to prevent their fighting among themselves. Occasionally he let them lay waste to the rich fields that surrounded Nevers' stronghold, but he kept them away from the villages that lay below the castle. And, like Fuld, he waited. The castle was stone and nearly impregnable, with thick walls and solid towers, a rare fortress for the area. If it were to be taken, it would either be a long and slow process of gradual starvation, or a weakness would have to be found. The best thing Roger had going for him was Fuld's unpredictability—the man's vanity could well lead him to make mistakes.