Lady of Fire (24 page)

"Clemence!" Walter called from the high table to where Roger sat. "You are Breton, are you not? Aye—come to my chamber and tell me of how Count Alan does."

"Aye, my lord," Roger managed respectfully. He was tired himself now, but still welcomed more time and more wine before he sought his bed. He'd been surprised when Walter had put him and Eleanor in the same chamber, but then realized that there was little else that could be done without explanation. A few hours of drinking with Walter might possibly ease the tension of sharing a room again with her.

Strange how the revelation of his birth and his desire for her had changed things between them. He could sense her inner turmoil when he watched her, and he knew part of her regretted the loss of a brother while another part was intrigued with him as a man. It would take time, but he was confident now that he could win her if he had the patience. He'd promised to go back to what they'd always been, but both knew it for a false promise. He'd seen her body, felt her response to his, and knew her capable of loving him with a passion that could match his own. If he could but wait a few more weeks, she would be his.

"Richard." He felt Walter's hand on his shoulder and realized that he'd not been paying attention to his host. He nodded and rose to follow de Clare to his chamber.

"All's done as you asked," Walter told him after the door was closed. "Helene has begged Curthose to save me from financial disaster, I have applied for a permit to leave my own port, and I have written to Henry. Now all we can do is wait." He took a seat at a low table and motioned Roger to sit while he poured two cups of sweet Aquitaine wine. "My cousin—how does she fare?"

"She's tired but well enough, I think."

"Have you thought what you are going to do with her when you reach England? 'Twould be better to take her back to Fontainebleau."

"She was miserable there, Walter. I would not do that to her again."

"But what happens in England? Do you want to be tied to your sister for the rest of your life? Belesme will come for you, and well you know it."

" 'Tis my intent to find her a husband."

Walter raised a skeptical eyebrow. "At Rufus' court? Without Gilbert's blessing? Nay—who's to have her when 'tis known Belesme wants her?" He leaned forward and stared at Roger. "You can tell me—would Prince Henry still wed with her?"

"Mayhap he would."

"Jesu!" Walter breathed. "She could be Queen of England."

"Nay, I think in the end he will realize that the risks are too great. He'd have to stand against Belesme to take her, and she cannot bring him anything now. Besides, he truly likes her—he knows she could not be happy surrounded by his bastards. Constancy is not in him, Walter."

"I know. 'Tis said he's got FitzAlan's daughter with child this time."

"So I have heard."

"We wander," Walter reminded him as he poured yet two more cups of wine. "The question is, what happens to my cousin?"

"She will marry."

"But whom?" Walter persisted. "One of Rufus' courtiers? Most of them fawn on him."

"I am thinking of taking her to Harlowe."

"De Brione's keep? To what end, Roger?" Walter fixed him with a slightly befuddled gaze. "You've never been much out of Normandy, have you? I did not know you knew the man."

"I've been to England before, but only to London with Henry."

"Harlowe's old—too old to take a young wife, anyway."

"Do you know him?"

"Aye, we deal together sometimes. He's rich and powerful—he has the wardship of several ports. He's kind enough, I suppose, but hardly a man I'd apply to for protection of a girl. He's a widower and, by all accounts, he's not interested in another wife."

"My mother's family is from there."

"Oh. Aye—I see—you have hopes of help from them." Walter rested his chin in his palm and studied the dregs of his wine. "Have you thought that Saxons are not strong in their own land?"

"Leave it to me. If you can but get us across to England, I can take care of Lea."

"You know, Roger, one would think you and my cousin shared the womb before you were born, the way you stay together." Walter drained his cup and leaned back. "Aye, I can remember visiting Nantes when she could barely trip behind you in the courtyard. Is it always to be like that?"

"Always." Roger smiled.

"A pity you two are related by blood," Walter mused aloud, "for you have the strength to hold her. Aye, she could do worse."

"You forget I am bastard-born."

"So was the Conqueror. You have done well for yourself with the Condes and a few other rewards from Old William's family. Men look up to you, Roger FitzGilbert."

Roger emptied the contents of his cup and rose unsteadily. "We are drunk, you and I, Walter, and we talk nonsense. Let us seek our beds."

"Well, we've naught to do until we get answers, and you are too closemouthed even when drunk to tell me your plans." Walter lurched to his feet and clapped Roger on the shoulder. "I meant what I said—I should not be ashamed to be related to you."

The rushlights that lit the tower stairs sputtered and smoked as Roger made his way carefully up the narrow, winding steps. No one was about, since even the servants had relocated once Walter and his family had moved to his manor house. Carrying bread, cheese, and a skin of Walter's best wine in his arms, he had to push the handle with his elbow and kick the door open with his foot.

The room was dark except for a sliver of light that followed him through the door. He set down the food and stepped back to the top step to loose a light from its ring. Using it to ignite a branch of candles on an iron stand, he then threw the rush torch into an empty brazier, where it popped and crackled in the grate. Eleanor still slept undisturbed, her head cradled the same as when he'd left her. Her hair lay dark against a silk pillow. Jesu, but she was beautiful!

He unrolled his pallet and spread it near the door before moving to a bench to remove his boots. Apparently the light disturbed her because he could hear her change positions. In spite of the silence in the room, he was intensely aware of her presence, and he wondered if there were enough wine in the world to make him oblivious of her. He untied his chausses and let them drop to the garters that held them before he bent to the task of unwrapping the finely stamped leather bands. He stood to pull off his long tunic and his shirt and laid them aside on a bench. It was hot and he was tempted to sleep as he was used to, without clothing, but the thought that she might get up stopped him. Instead, he shrugged into a clean, dry shirt from his pack. It came to mid-thigh and made him feel ridiculous, but he wore it as proof of his good intentions.

"Roger?" Eleanor sat up sleepily and peered across the dimly lit room. "Is that you?"

"And just how many men come creeping to your chamber at night, Lady Eleanor?" he asked with mock severity.

"None—and you should not either."

"Are you afraid of me now? Jesu, Lea, but we've shared pallets in inns and in the woods. Look, I have already laid my pallet over here."

" 'Tis not that—'Tis just…just if it became known we are not of the same blood, 'twill be said I am your harlot. Aye—Walter would force you to wed with me."

"Then let us shout it from the tower—the Demoiselle and FitzGilbert are not of the same blood!"

"Shhhhhh—Roger, are you more than a little drunk?"

"More than a little—aye, you could say that."

"Do not jest with me!" She flung back the covers and slid her bare feet to the floor.

"Lea…"He caught her shoulders and forced her to face him. "I am not jesting with you. Walter put us here because he hides us as Sir Richard and his lady. We cannot risk discovery now."

"I cannot share a chamber with you!"

"God's teeth!" He gave her a disgusted shake. "Two days ago you stood naked in a church and offered to lie with me, Eleanor of Nantes. Jesu, woman! You give me no peace!"

"Roger,
Henry
comes—what is he to think?"

"Henry—Henry comes," he mimicked. "Henry will pay no attention, I swear, but if you want, I can confess the whole to Walter and ask him to witness a marriage between us."

"Nay!" She seemed to recoil in alarm. "Roger, I cannot wed with you! Nay—nor with anyone else! I am accursed, brother. You were there—you saw it."

"What in Mary's name do you speak of, Lea? Mayhap you should go back to sleep and wake again."

"I don't know," she evaded miserably. "Roger, I know not what ails me. I am sorry for being so cross." She moved to the window and peered out into the starless night. A cool breeze now blew in, bearing the scent of fresh rain. Her thin shift billowed out from her body.

"I know what ails you, little one," he spoke softly from behind her. "And I would help you."

"Men! 'Tis as Adela says—you have the same answer to a woman's problems."

He could see the faint outline of her body through the thin material and his resolve to be noble was fast deserting him. His fingers touched the back of her shoulders, sending a rush of shivers down her spine. "I would not listen to Adela, love," he whispered as he dropped a light kiss on her neck. She jerked away as though burned, and spun to face him.

"Don't do that!"

"Why?"

"I don't know!"

"Lea, you make it hard on a man when your body tells him his touch sets you on fire and your mouth tells him to stay away." He moved closer and reached for her. "You cannot forget, can you?"

She could not meet his eyes and looked away. "Aye, I've thought of little else since then." His hands touched the side of her face, his thumbs pressed into her cheekbones as he deliberately tilted her head back and lowered his mouth to hers. She closed her eyes. "Please…"It was little more than a whisper.

"Shhhhhhhh."

Fire seemed to course through her veins and warm every part of her body when their lips touched. Arms that used to hold and soothe now inflamed with their strength. A low moan rose in her throat as he pressed against her. Abruptly he released her and stood staring with eyes that glittered in the moonlight. She caught at his arms for support and exhaled to master her emotions.

"Wed with me, Lea."

"I cannot—you know not what you ask!"

" 'Tis the last time I ask." He dropped his hands and pulled away from her. "I thought you loved me."

"I do—I always have, Roger—but not like that!" She watched him reach for and draw on his discarded chausses. "Where are you going?"

"To sleep with the other poor knights in the common room."

"Roger, please do not be so angry with me! Please do not leave me!" Her face crumpled and her hands clenched as she lost control. "Please—you are all I have—do not leave me!" Sobs began to rack her body and words came pouring out in gasps. "I am afraid! Can you not understand? What if we came to hate each other one day? My father hated my mother and would have put her away! Mayhap he poisoned her! Roger, what it I cannot bear sons for you? What if I cannot bear at all?"

"Lea, I am no Gilbert, and I resent your lack of faith in what I feel for you." He sat to pull on his boots. "I have reached the point where I cannot be hugged one minute and pushed away the next."

"And I have not done so! Brother—Roger—it has been but three days! Can you not let me get used to the idea that we are not related before you ask for more?"

"Aye," he sighed. "I have waited years, but now I push too fast. I am sorry, Lea." He stood and pointed to a table near the bed. "I brought you food and wine—drink some to calm yourself. I shall be back in the morning." He managed a wry smile. "I can give it out that we have quarreled as most couples are wont to do."

"Nay—listen to me! Roger, I'd give you what you ask if I thought I could make you happy!"

"I am easy to make happy." He stooped to roll up his pallet.

"Wait!" She caught up to him and clutched his arm. "You do not understand! I've loved you all my life!"

"I am not going far, Eleanor—I'll be back early." He picked up the bedroll and pushed past her for the stairs. Behind him, he could hear her crying so hard that she could not catch her breath now. By the time he cleared the first landing, the sobs were coming in great whoops that tore at him. He stopped and sat to clear his head.

It was not fair, what he'd done, and well he knew it. In wanting her, in pressing her, he stood to lose what he wanted most. Lying with her was important, but so was having her safe. What if she refused to go to England now? She needed time to accept him as a lover. Cursing himself for a fool, he heaved himself up and made his way back.

Henry sent no messenger, choosing instead to arrive in person at Walter de Clare's fortress outside Dieppe. A string of red-draped packhorses followed him through the gates and drew up in Walter's courtyard. Eleanor jumped to the window with unusual agility and then turned back guiltily to where Helene sat cradling her second daughter. If Helene had seen anything amiss, she gave no sign.

"Lady, Prince Henry comes!" Eleanor announced excitedly.

"Walter was expecting him." Helene handed the babe back to a nurse and smiled at Eleanor. "Would you come down with me, Joan, and greet him for yourself?"

At first, Eleanor had not liked the quiet Helene, but in the week and a half since her arrival, she had found the lady to be rather sweet-tempered and gentle. In fact, Helene had bade Eleanor to attend her, and had given her many of her own clothes she'd worn when carrying her daughters. Walter himself had been up earlier to visit his wife and play with their baby girl. He seemed to have a real affection for Helene in spite of the fact she'd borne him no sons, and he obviously loved his daughters.

Surprisingly, Lady Helene made little or no mention of Lady Joan's apparently imminent lying-in, and treated the girl nearly as an equal. Only at dinner, when seating was determined by rigid custom, was Lady Joan separated from the lady of the castle. And even then, it seemed that the fare at the lower table was little different from that on the dais.

Eleanor followed Helene out into the courtyard and watched the lady make her obeisance to the prince. After he greeted the rest of the assembled officials of Walter's well-run keep, Henry turned to Eleanor and took both her hands in his.