Lord of the Mist (28 page)

But Durand knew de Warre would never release his sons.

“The king will hang us all together, I imagine, when he
learns we’re gone.” Luke adjusted his mantle closer about his neck.

“Did you know the ravens are gone from Ravenswood?” Durand watched
Luke and Penne exchange a glance.

Penne cleared his throat. “This damnable rain set us back
but a few miles, else we would have had Cristina on the road and been back to
Ravenswood ere John discovered we were gone,” Penne noted.

“The boys would still have been hostages,” Durand pointed
out. He dug in his saddle bag and drew out the Aelfric which had caused so many
difficulties in their lives.

“What need have you of that?” Luke asked.

Durand turned the book about in his hand to be sure the
oiled cloth in which it was wrapped protected it still. “It was the source of
all this trouble. I thought, as it is so valuable, it might serve as a bribe.”

Penne shook his head. “To a heathen such as de Warre?
Never.”

* * * * *

Durand’s sons were brought to her in the hall within an hour
of her arrival. Adrian, at ten and five, showed all the markings of a handsome
man. Save his vivid blue eyes, he was enough like his father to bring a huge
lump to Cristina’s throat.

Robert was still a gangly, awkward boy of ten and two, and
resembled his mother with his softer blue eyes and light, golden brown hair.
His features were still childlike, and Cristina could not imagine what had
shaped de Warre that he could so mercilessly hang someone so innocent.

The boys did not bow to her, but she was not a fine lady to
be insulted by their omission. Nay, she was now a king’s mistress and deserved
no such respect.

“Thank you,” she said to de Warre when they were escorted to
a table far from hers.

“They’re quite well, as you can see.” De Warre’s hand was
hot where he pressed it to her back as he led her to a table at the fore of his
hall.

“When do they leave?” Cristina asked again. The many who sat
at the tables were curious about her, their gazes following her every step.
They were de Warre’s men or other young boys being trained as knights. Their
glances were as wary as those of Durand’s sons.

De Warre lifted his hand and one of the servants hurried
away. “We shall have some music to celebrate your arrival,” de Warre said. “My
minstrels are not as talented as the king’s, but you’ll not be disappointed, I
think.”

“When will the boys leave?” she persisted.

“Mayhap you would give me your opinion on the entertainments
I have planned for John’s arrival on the morrow.”

“On the morrow?” She dropped her goblet, and the wine
spilled across the table to drip to the stone floor.

De Warre snapped his fingers. A serving boy rushed forward
to clean up the mess. “Aye. ‘Twas in the king’s message. I was to prepare for
him. I’ve been waiting for such an honor since he last visited, and can now put
to action some fine plans. You shall certainly add something sweet to end the
entertainment.”

The king was coming on the morrow? What had become of his
plans to sail to Normandy? Then she heard the drumming of rain on the roof
overhead. It must be the weather, she thought. She had expected to have several
months before the king claimed her.

“When will the boys leave?” she asked again.

De Warre rubbed her hand. “In a few days. They’ll want to
see the king and enjoy the festivities, will they not?”

Cristina suddenly understood. The boys would never leave.
And now she was another hostage to Durand’s cooperation. She forced herself to
contain her fears of betrayal. De Warre must not know what she was thinking.

“What’s the nature of your entertainment?” Cristina asked
hastily.

De Warre leaned forward with avid enthusiasm. “A mock battle
to honor John’s prowess in war. He shall be greatly pleased.”

Or heartily annoyed, since his own war plans were in
abeyance, she thought.

“And when John is pleased, he likes something sweet at the
end of an evening.
That
part of the plan eluded me, but here you are,
and now all is complete.” He pressed her hand and smiled.

* * * * *

Luke kept watch on the road whilst Penne and Durand argued
over a means of breaching de Warre’s gates. He opened his eyes wider and shook
his head. He must be dreaming.

“Penne. Durand. Look!” He pointed to the road.

“Oriel,” Penne cried.

Durand abandoned his vantage point overlooking the castle
and strode to the small hillock on which could be seen the greater part of the
road. “
Jesu
! And who’s that with her?”

The men mounted up and angled their way through the trees to
the road. Durand hissed a warning. “Wait in the trees until they draw near lest
there be some trickery in the offing.”

The women appeared to be completely alone. Nona and Oriel
both screamed when the men emerged like phantoms from the wood.

Penne snatched Oriel’s reins from her hands and, without
ceremony or word, hauled her horse along behind him, into the safety of the
trees.

Nona waited in the road—alone. Neither Luke nor Durand
claimed her. She turned her horse and followed Oriel. Within moments the five
of them found themselves back in the hollow where the men had lain.

“Explain yourself!” Penne demanded the instant Oriel’s feet
hit the dirt, but gave his wife not one moment to speak. “You, who are with
child, risk your health! For what?”

“How did you guess?” Oriel threw herself into his arms. She
clung to his neck and kissed his cheek.

“A husband knows,” he said. His arms went around her and
with a sheepish look in his friends’ direction, he patted her back.

Nona rolled her eyes. “Let me explain, my lords. We knew you
were going after Cristina and thought you might need our help.”

Luke tucked his gloves into his belt and threw his mantle
over one shoulder. “You, lady, are mistaken. We need no help from you. When you
are rested, you will return to Ravenswood ere some harm befalls you.”

Durand watched Nona’s face set into stubborn lines. She was
just what Luke needed. “What made you think you could aid us, my lady?” Durand
asked her. “And what will John think when you’re no longer too ill to wed, but
well enough to dash about the country?”

“Oh, my maid is putting it about that Oriel has caught my illness,
and I left orders that only my maid may tend me. My chamber will be avoided
lest we have the plague.”

Durand acknowledged the sense of that with a slight bow, but
doubted the ruse would stand up for more than a day or two.

Nona continued as she tugged off her gloves. “This maid of
mine makes love to Laurentius’ groom. It seems he heard some gossip that the
king has no intention of exchanging Cristina for your sons.”

Durand felt no surprise, only an inner chill.

“So,” Nona said, taking a seat on a fallen branch. “We’re
here to help you.”

Luke snorted in derision. Penne was too busy kissing his
wife to pay them any mind.

Nona lifted her chin and impaled Luke with a haughty stare.
“And women can ofttimes go where men cannot.”

Durand stared down at the silent fortress. The gates were
shut. The rain had diminished to a light mist.

Durand nodded. “I believe, Lady Nona, you are the answer to
our prayers. Thankful I am you’ve arrived, for I was about to despair of ever
seeing my sons—or Cristina—again.”

An hour later, Durand had outlined a plan for the women to
enter de Warre’s castle and determine the whereabouts of the postern gate. Once
they had the information, they were to open it, if possible, or leave
immediately.

Oriel hooked her arm through her husband’s and tried to
reassure him. “We’ll not be harmed, my love. De Warre knows us not. We’ll be
just Nona and Oriel, sisters lost on the way to the Abbey at Ludgershall,
seeking shelter for the night. We’ll certainly be warmer there than out here.
You men must trust us.”

Durand rose hastily and left them.

“What did I say?” Oriel asked the company.

“Nothing amiss. ‘Tis just you have asked the impossible.
Durand trusts no one,” Luke said bitterly.

* * * * *

Cristina sat at de Warre’s side for the evening meal. She
did not need to see shackles on Durand’s sons to know they—and she—were
prisoners. Did Adrian and Robert understand their status had changed from
fostered sons to hostage ones? Two large men accompanied the boys to the hall
and sat on either side of them as they ate.

She had her own guard in de Warre, who touched her arm each
time she shifted in her seat. His constant references to the king’s pleasure
turned her stomach. The row of charred partridges before her did naught to
tempt her appetite either.

“Might I seek my bed? I’m exhausted from the journey.” She
smiled her warmest smile at her host.

De Warre plucked up her hand and kissed the back. Her skin
crawled as if a serpent slithered up her hand. “As you wish.” He directed a
sullen girl to take her to her chamber.

Once out of de Warre’s sight, Cristina cast off her fatigue.
“Can you show me to the jakes? And, if I may say, you have very pretty skin. I
have a fine cream that would bring out the rose bloom on your cheeks.”

The girl flushed and smiled tentatively. By the time they
had walked to the jakes, they were the best of friends. Cristina’s next
request, that she be shown about the castle, was quickly granted.

As the serving girl shared the castle secrets, Cristina
shared her mother’s directions for removing freckles and adding shine to hair.

* * * * *

“We need to put some of our anger behind us,” Luke said to
Durand as they watched the women make their way to the castle. Penne, who stood
a bit aside, gnawed his thumb in anxiety for his wife’s safety.

“How?” Durand strode to his brother and stood inches from
him. “How do I put aside a betrayal?”

“No one
here
betrayed you.” Luke did not back away.
His words were heated. “I’m not Felice’s father any more than Penne is.”

“How can I know that?” Durand was tired of the whole
business. It sapped his energy that was better set to rescuing the woman he
loved.

“You
do
know that! You know me! Has a lifetime of
brotherhood meant nothing?” Luke gripped his sleeve.

Trust the history you have with a person.
Durand heard
Cristina’s words as if she was there at his side. Grief that he might never
hear her again swept over him.

“Cristina said much the same thing.” He placed his hand on
his dagger. His fingertips traced the raven’s head. “She also said sometimes
one must make a leap of faith.”

“Marion and I kept each other company whilst you were gone,
but I never touched her. I have never lain with a married woman—ever. Their
husbands have swords.” He gave a lopsided smile.

Durand could not respond to the levity.

“And Penne,” Luke pointed to where their friend was chewing
his thumb bloody over his wife, “he can see no farther than Oriel’s
fingertips.”

“Then who fathered Felice?” Just saying the words aloud
further lanced the wound. “Am I left with only the king as suspect?”

“Marion had no love of John,” Luke said, but Durand watched
his gaze slide away.

“What do you know?” Durand demanded.

With a sigh, Luke answered. “I only know Marion much loved
to flirt. She was lonely, and lonely women sometimes stray.”

Nona and Oriel reached the gate, ending Luke and Durand’s
discourse. In moments, as Nona had predicted, the gate opened and they rode
inside.

Luke put out his hand. “Know this. I pledge myself to your
service at any time or any place, save this—I want Nona. And we’ll take Felice
from your care, if that is what you wish.”

How had he doubted his brother?

“You’re welcome to Nona.” Durand clasped his brother’s hand.
“But Felice is mine.”

Cristina paced within the silence of the king’s richly
appointed apartment. Might he ride through the night as de Warre hinted? She
shuddered. Quickly she looked through the few herbs she had brought. If she was
careful and clever, she might postpone the consummation of her folly.

But first she relieved the engorgement of her breasts. As
the milk flowed, so did her tears. Had Felice accepted Rose yet? She dearly
wished for Felice’s happiness, but had to stifle jealous desires that the babe
miss her.

Next she pummeled a few leaves into a paste. They would
blend well with water and raise a rash within a few hours.

Finally Cristina lay on her pallet in the anteroom to the
king’s chamber. Her bed was thinly stuffed with straw. John’s was draped in
silk, tied with gold cord, his mattress stuffed with goosedown. She prayed she
would never know its softness.

A tentative scratching at the door set her heart to drumming
in her chest. But it was only the serving girl, Maud, who’d shown her about the
castle.

“Miss,” Maud said, “there’s two in the hall that looks like
fine ladies, but they’re cold and might need a bit o’ yer care.”

Cristina nearly fainted when she saw who sat in abject
misery in the corner of the hall, their mantles soaked, their hems bedraggled.
She strode quickly to them ere the men who still lingered at their ale and dice
might accost her.

“Come,” she whispered with scarcely a look at them. She
hastened down a gallery, then out into the kitchen gardens.

Luckily Oriel and Nona followed without demur.

The women walked in the light rain among the rows of
vegetables, safe from even the cook’s gaze at this late hour.

“What possessed you to come here?” Cristina demanded.

“We had to deliver a message to the men,” Nona said.

“What men?” Cristina asked, but knew the answer.

“Durand, Penne, and Luke. They came to rescue the boys and
you, of course,” Oriel finished in a rush.

Nona took Cristina’s arm. “The king does not intend to
exchange the boys. You, too, are now hostage to his whims.”

Cristina bowed her head. “I am a fool. What must Durand
think of me?”

“Oh, I imagine he will rail a bit, but in truth he loves you
too much for one of his truly splendid tirades.” Oriel gave her a quick hug.
“Now we must find the postern gate and let them in.”

“Impossible,” Cristina said, “the king and his men are due
here on the morrow. You cannot expect to use the gate.”

“On the morrow? What should we do?” Nona asked Oriel.

But ‘twas Cristina who answered. “
You
will do
nothing. Seek your beds and leave at dawn. When the king arrives I’ll demand he
keep to the bargain we struck.”

Nona shook her head. “Now that is folly! We must find
another way, Cristina. Durand’s sons depend upon us all.”

“Let me think on it.” Cristina walked about the garden and
pondered her fate and that of Durand’s sons. She knelt and plucked a few leaves
of mint and nibbled their edges. The scent cleared her head. “I have it,
ladies.” She smiled. “‘Tis like this mint.”

Oriel and Nona looked blankly at her.

Cristina explained. “This mint appears harmless, but if left
unchecked will take over a garden. ‘Tis the appearance of harmlessness we need.
And who appears harmless? Why women, of course.”

Nona cocked her head. “Explain, please.”

“Here is my plan. I know ‘twill work,” Cristina continued,
pacing before her friends. “On the morrow, at dusk, de Warre has planned a mock
battle to entertain King John. Surely there will be great confusion and men
dashing all about. Even if ‘tis orderly, the king’s attentions will be on the
battle. Could not a few extra soldiers join in? A few extra soldiers who have
gained entrance as harmless women? And I know a way to obtain suitable garb for
our men.”

Nona clapped her hands, then slapped them over her mouth in
regret of the noise she made.

“I’ll send a serving girl to you with all the men will need.
But please go early in the morn and remain hidden. If the king sees you he’ll
know something is amiss,” Cristina warned.

Nona took her hands. “We’ll do as you say, but keep safe,
Cristina. Durand loves you very much and is as much out on that hill for you as
for his sons.”

“You will wed him knowing…” Cristina could not finish.

“I will wed but one de Marle. And he is not Durand.”

With that Oriel hooked Nona’s arm and hurried her into the
shadows. Cristina stared after them. Nona loved Luke? She did not want Durand?
Joy filled her, then slipped away. If their plans failed, the king would have
his way.

* * * * *

Durand waited impatiently for the women to return as dawn
broke over de Warre’s castle. The day was gray and looked as like to rain as
not. When the women emerged from the castle gates, he felt a moment of elation.
Soon he would have those most precious to him in his arms.

But the news Nona and Oriel brought sent him into momentary
despair. They would not be able to use the postern gate. A king’s arrival
always heightened defenses.

“Don’t look so long-faced,” Nona said, tugging open the
straps on her saddle bags and pulling out a tied bundle. “Oriel and I have
brought you the means of entering de Warre’s castle without suspicion.”

Durand laughed when he saw what she held.

* * * * *

An hour later, Nona stared at the men with a finger on her
chin. “You make most unattractive women—save Luke, and he looks like a tart,
not one of the king’s laundresses.”

Durand checked their weapons, concealed in what he hoped
would be mistaken for the common baggage of women. He gathered his heavy skirts
into his arms that he might mount Nona’s palfrey. “I do wish whoever wore this
last had bathed more often.”

Oriel tugged Penne’s headcovering lower on his forehead then
skimmed the back of her fingers on his cheek. “You are all quite nicely
smooth-cheeked now, but you, Durand, will not look so in a few hours.” Penne
kissed her fingertips and climbed clumsily into the saddle.

Luke hesitated a moment before mounting his mare, his eyes
on his brother.

Durand spoke first. How clear all seemed to him now after a
night of vigil over de Warre’s fortress. The walls of doubt within him were of
his own making.

“I do trust you, Luke. And you, Penne. I must beg your
forgiveness for doubting you. ‘Tis my nature and not easily controlled. But
henceforth I vow to try. Now.” He nodded in Nona’s direction. “Kiss her quickly
and let us be gone.”

Luke held out his arms. Nona glanced at Durand, then turned
to Luke. She stepped into his embrace, and Durand knew she had been there
before. Her unkempt look the other morn now needed no explanation. He sighed.
There was much he did not know…or had ignored.

* * * * *

The women were condemned to await the outcome from the
hollow. They were not capable of controlling Durand’s or Penne’s warhorses, so
escape by horseback was impossible should they be discovered. Luke had brought
his favorite mare instead of a destrier, and so with that mount, and the
women’s palfreys, the men had made their way to the castle gates.

Durand had a terrible moment as the guards inspected them,
but found easy entrance when they said they were the king’s laundresses come to
see to his linens ere he arrived.

Laundresses were not blessed with the attention as were
servants. The men were left to their own devices, which allowed them to carry
their baggage themselves and thus conceal their weapons and mail within a
convenient distance of de Warre’s lakeside battle.

Men and women servants ran to and fro in preparation for the
king’s arrival. On the shore of de Warre’s lake, small fishing boats were lined
up and painted to look like the galleys of war.

As directed by Nona, the men, heads down, hastened to a
place a warrior would not likely go—the kitchens.

Cristina sat in the corner, stirring something in a bubbling
pot. Durand walked to her side and leaned over to sniff the mixture. “It smells
like a summer garden,” he said in a whisper.

“‘Tis a soothing cream for the chapped hands of de Warre’s
laundresses,” she said with no sign she knew who he was, but her hand began to
shake. “I’m making it in exchange for your garb.”

“Take us somewhere private.”

With a nod Cristina directed a small girl to stir the
lotion. “Pour it out when ‘tis cooled.” She pointed to a row of clay pots.

Cristina led them from the kitchens to a ramshackle building
behind an abandoned dovecote. She dug in a pile of old straw and drew out a
sack. Within was a mix of mantles and tunics in both John’s and Philip’s
colors. “You will need mail, helms, swords—”

Durand snatched her into his arms. She answered his kiss
with the intense passion and love of her heart. Tears ran down her cheeks. “I
so feared you would despise me,” she whispered lest Penne and Luke, who hovered
in the shadows, hear her.

Durand squeezed her tightly and kissed her brow. “Why did
you do it?” His words were gentle, not angry.

She stared up into his silvery gray eyes and touched the
hard, cold torque beneath his women’s garb. “I could not have you—”

She did not finish. He stopped her words with his lips.

Luke hissed like a cat with a mouse, breaking their embrace
in an instant. Her heart pounded.

“You need not worry about our weaponry,” Durand said, his
voice suddenly rough. “Our horses were heavily laden with baggage, as ‘tis
fitting for vain women. We have what we need.”

The men stripped their gowns and, as Cristina kept watch by
the entrance, donned the garb of John’s soldiers.

When they were ready, she held out a mantle to Durand and
helped him pin it closed.

“If you are able,” he said, “tell my sons I’m coming.”

“They have guards,” she said. “But I’ll try.”

He touched her cheek. “Where will I find you?”

“Don’t worry about me,” she said lightly. “I’ll keep my eyes
on your sons, and when you effect their rescue, I’ll follow.”

“I’ll not leave it to providence.” He wrapped his arms about
her.

“You will,” she insisted, squeezing his waist. “I may not be
able to leave the king’s side. You must take your sons when you have the chance
and go!”

“I’ll not leave without you.”

Each touch of his lips chipped away at her resolve. But he
must leave when the chance arose. “What is this?” She turned his attentions,
placing her hand over something lumpy he had concealed beneath his clothing
just above his heavy leather belt.

He covered her fingers with his. “The Aelfric. It might
serve as a bribe, and after all the trouble it has caused, I’ll not let it out
of my sight.”

“We must go,” Luke insisted, pushing past them to peer from
the entrance.

Durand kissed her. Quickly. Hard. “I love you.”

“And I you.” She held him close, sure it would be the last
time.

“Durand, now!” Penne urged.

Durand cupped her face. “If you don’t break away from here
by this time on the morrow, I
will
be back for you!”

* * * * *

There was no mistaking the fanfare of an arriving king. The
midday meal had ended an hour before, and Cristina wished she had indulged in
the roast boar and savory cheeses. Her stomach ached with emptiness and fear.
Would the king come directly to his chamber or give de Warre an audience?

She slipped into the king’s tub. If need be, she would sit
there all day until he came to his chamber. It must appear she had used this
selfsame water. She shivered in the cold water as she could not afford to waste
the hot water buckets steaming by the hearth.

Her heart thundered in her chest. “I will bear it,” she said
to herself. “I will.” But her knees were weak.

Boots and men’s voices could be heard on the steps, John’s
among them. Cristina called out to the serving girl, who mended a deliberately
torn shift in the other room. “Maud, come help me add more hot water to this
tub; the king comes.”

Maud ran into the room. “I’ll do it, miss,” she said. In
moments the tub was steaming. Durand must never know her plan. If he did, he
would surely have one of his splendid tirades.

Her body trembling, she shook her wet hair to lie in a
tumble about her shoulders, then stirred the seductive paste of herbs and oils
into the hot water. “The king will greatly enjoy this scent,” she said to the
maid.

“Aye, miss,” Maud said just as the king opened the door.

He froze in the doorway. Cristina dropped into as respectful
a curtsy as she could and still remain fully covered by the length of linen the
maid discreetly held before her.

“Be gone!” he ordered Maud and his own manservant, who stood
behind him.

Cristina trembled. Her wet hair and the drops of water on
her shoulders would point to her having just bathed. “Sire!” She feigned a
blushing-maiden stance. “Forgive me. I was just indulging in a bath.”

“Please, Cristina.” The king bowed as if to his queen. “Our
bath is your bath.” He walked toward her. Only the tub and a drying cloth stood
between her and dishonor. His heated gaze raked her scantily covered breasts
and hips.

“The water is still hot, sire,” she said, frightened by the
tremor in her voice.

He drew his fingers through the scented water. “‘Tis as the
women say: you are mistress of all that grows.”

“‘Tis naught but simple lavender and oil of bay.” With a
sweep of her hand, she indicated a beautiful silver bowl on a nearby table.
Other, more important ingredients had no odor.

“Come.” He beckoned her near. Her relief that he only
expected her aid in disrobing almost buckled her knees. She acted the maid
while fighting to keep her wrap of linen in a decorous position. When he
settled with a sigh into the warm, seductive water, she crossed her fingers and
prayed the king would not blame the bath for the rash he would surely have in
several hours. She prayed he would see her unblemished skin and exonerate her
for what he was soon to experience.