LordoftheKeep (17 page)

“I erred in first love.” Her voice dropped from frantic
anger to whispered sadness. “I have erred in my second love, too.” She tipped
up her chin, defiant again. “Well, my lord, I will not err again. I refuse you
your satisfaction, save this—I never knew passion with William because he
sought only his pleasure, never mine.”

Gilles stared at her as she turned away.

Could she be telling the truth?

She left him with a bang of his chamber door—left him to
cold, coarse sheets. Her words ran like a litany in his mind.

Second love
…
second love
…
love
…
love
.

A knot of ice lodged in his chest. She had loved him. His
eyes burned with tears he denied, as he’d denied their love.

Chapter Fourteen

The next morning, Mark Trevalin roused Gilles from a
restless sleep. His head pounded as if he’d had too much ale.

“My lord, I beg leave to disturb you. The village…I fear
‘tis in flames. The smoke is everywhere!”

“
Mon Dieu
!” Gilles rolled from the bed. “Summon the
men. Saddle the horses.” He snatched at his discarded clothing. In moments, he
was striding through the hall, looking neither left nor right as he called for
his horse.

Roland caught up with Gilles near the stable yard as he
talked to the village lad who’d originally sounded the alarm. “What is it?”
Roland asked, gasping for air.

“A thief, likely one I trusted William to string up, has
fired an abandoned cottage. These damnable winds have cast the embers to
others. The village is in turmoil. Again! Order all the men available to help
carry water from the village well. I want to see to the matter myself.” At that
moment a groom arrived leading the mare Gilles favored for short rides. He
swung into the saddle. “Trevalin will see to the gathering of the men. Attend
me, Roland.”

“Is there fear of the fire spreading?” Roland asked, looking
up to Gilles.

Though Gilles’ hair was tied back with a leather thong, the
high winds tossed the loose strands about his brow. That brow was deeply
furrowed with anger. “With my luck of late? Be sure of it.”

Roland’s horse was brought forward. From the vantage point
of his saddle, he saw thick smoke billowing skyward.

Gilles’ mount thundered over the drawbridge, Roland on his
heels, and scattered people who barely had time to escape the hooves. They
swung off to the west, toward the plume of smoke rising beyond a cluster of
cottages.

As they neared the conflagration, their mounts sidled and
reared in fear.

Gilles slid off his mare and soothed her until she quieted,
then he turned her reins over to a stout man who hurried to assist him. Roland
ran after Gilles through the frightened clusters of people passing buckets of
water. They aimed to soak the thatch of the roofs of the nearest cottages
threatened by the flames. The fire, larger than Roland had anticipated, made
him swallow hard. His mother had died in a fire.

Gilles pulled off his mantle and offered it to a woman who
stood and stared, tears running down her face. She shivered in naught but a
shift. Her feet were fiery red. He spied Roland and turned her over to him.

“Find a woman to care for her. We need you here.” Gilles
disappeared into the swirls of smoke that enveloped one end of the lines of
people who fought the flames.

Roland felt the woman quiver in his arms. He looked down and
saw what Gilles had seen. The woman must have walked across one of the patches
of burning hay. Her feet looked painful, though the woman seemed oblivious.
Roland looked wildly about until he saw an old woman.

“Grandmother. Take this poor woman. She’s in need of care;
her feet are burned.”

“Aye. Mistress, come with me.” The villagers nearby surged
forward and offered their help, glad to be of some assistance rather than just
standing and watching their homes burn. The lines of men passing buckets made
little headway. The winds were too strong.

Gilles strode out of the smoke, his face streaked with
grime, and spoke with Roland. “There’s little help for that end of the village.
We’ve soaked the thatch here, and we can but hope. Most surely, the gods are
punishing me.” He shook his fist at the azure sky overhead. “Where are the
rains now?”

Then he was engulfed by a throng of panicked people. He
promised all shelter at the keep and help for those burned. He soothed and
calmed. He shepherded the people away from the lines of men passing buckets. He
issued directives to the able. Finally, he and Roland joined Trevalin where he
stood with a line of men who were trying to save the alehouse. “I’ve assigned
tasks, more to keep the idle busy and panic down,” Gilles said to the men, “but
there’s little to be done.”
And little to return home to.
He sighed.
“I’ll stay until the fire is out.”

* * * * *

Word of the devastating fire’s consequences raced through
the village, over the drawbridge, and into the keep. Emma hurried to join the
crowd in the bailey to hear news of the village. As villagers once again
thronged to the keep in an age-old seeking of shelter, as they would in a
siege, Emma searched their faces for friends. Widow Cooper, hair windblown,
soot on her plump cheeks, trudged in her direction from the inner bailey.
Alone.

Waving frantically, and unable to breach the throngs of
people, Emma caught her friend’s attention. “Thank God you’re well.” Emma
clutched the kindly woman to her breast when they finally found a way to each
other.

“Aye. I am. But others were not so fortunate.” The widow
swept her hands down her skirts, spotted with soot.

“Your son? The children?” Emma asked, her eyes searching the
crowd again. She would never have admitted it was Gilles she sought.

“The young ones are settled in the chapel. Eating their
‘eads off. My boy’s fine. Able, ‘e is, and thus Lord Gilles has set ‘im to
fight the fire. There’s a one!”

“Who?” Emma took the widow’s arm and lead her through the
masses of people toward the hall.

“Why, Lord Gilles. Other nobles would ‘ave let the village
burn and sent their steward to assess the losses, with a mind on taxes to cover
‘em, too, no doubt.”

Emma tried to keep her voice even and calm. “Did you see
him?”

“Aye. I was close enough to touch ‘is ‘and if’n I’d so
desired. There’s one not too proud to pass a bucket o’ water with ‘umble folk.
God love ‘im.”

How easy, Emma thought, to forgive him in light of the
widow’s report. He’d behaved in an admirable way. It was such behavior that had
made her love him, but he had another side, a dark side, one he’d hidden from
her. Angry words might occur daily in the village, but Emma had elevated Gilles
to another plane. She’d made a god of him in her dreams and in her life. He’d
fallen from grace. She choked back tears of anguish as the widow rambled on
about Gilles.

“Come, help me with the children,” Emma urged the widow.

“Nay. Take me to the kitchens. I’d be ‘appier ‘elpin’
prepare a meal for this vast crowd than watchin’ babes. They’ll surely need
extra ‘ands in the kitchen, don’t ye think? Ye could watch the babes ‘til my
son comes.”

Emma had to agree. She sighed. The last thing she wished was
to bandy words with the widow’s son. Emma left the widow in the kitchens in
Beatrice’s care and went into the chapel to see what she could do. In short
order she was bathing grime from children’s faces and helping to entertain them
while spouses found their partners and groups of adults gathered to tell their
own separate tales of the fire. The villagers seemed sure that Lord Gilles
would come to their aid as promised.

No lives had been lost, so the atmosphere was not one of
great sorrow. The greatest loss, deserving of much mourning, appeared to be a
goodly number of kegs of ale.

She looked about. Smoke wreathed the high beams overhead as
torches burned in the chapel’s wall brackets. The cross at the front mocked
her. She touched the one about her neck. A servant hastened by her with a tray
of loaves of bread which he handed to Father Bernard to distribute. A mother
soothed her crying child. The stink of burning clung to everyone’s clothing and
hair. The widow’s son lay asleep in a tangle of his children’s arms and legs,
Angelique among them.

Carefully, so as not to wake her, Emma lifted Angelique into
her arms. Another would need the space. When she came to the building that
housed the spinners and weavers she found every available space taken. Her pack
hung from a peg on the wall. She lifted it and tiptoed away.

Chapter Fifteen

Sarah removed the bandages from Gilles’ hand and, with
Roland peering over her shoulder, inspected the burns on his palm and fingers.
“‘Tis healing well, my lord, but the leech should see it.”

He shrugged. “He will do naught but bleed me. I am burned
not feverish.” She coated the wounds with goose grease, and then wrapped his
hand in clean strips of cloth. When it was done, Gilles rose and cleared his
throat. “Mistress Sarah, may I have a word with Roland?” He stood indecisively
before the couple. He’d never known their closeness; in truth, had never before
sought it, or realized it was missing from his life—until Emma.

“Aye, but not for long, my lord.” Sarah gave her husband’s
knee a squeeze and slid silently from the chamber.

“Gilles?” Roland hooked his foot on a rung of Sarah’s stool
and pulled it toward him. He propped his feet up and began to pare his nails
with a small, sharp knife.

“Roland, we should seek those villagers tomorrow who are
capable of speaking for the rest. We need to assess how the rebuilding is
going.”

“Aye.” Roland nodded.

Gilles took an apple from the table and took a bite. He
frowned. It was hard and mealy, tasting of ashes, as all he ate did these days.
“I know nothing of thatching cottages. I am better suited to determining
Richard’s ransom!”

“Aye. But you’ll soon learn.” Roland settled back into a
lazy posture again.

Gilles sat on Sarah’s stool after pushing Roland’s boots to
the floor. He was now at eye level with his friend. Roland returned to his
nails, with apparent lack of interest.

A silence reigned. A log fell in a shower of sparks and
fragrant smoke. A child cried out for its mother and Gilles thought of
Angelique. Anguish smote him.

He rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands.
“Emma and I, we have had a falling-out.”

“Tell me something the entire keep does not know.” Roland
snorted.

“
Jesu
. Must you make of everything a jest?” Gilles
turned his anger on his friend. He leapt to his feet and made for the door.

“Gilles, stop. I did not mean to offend you.” Roland also
rose. He stood in stiff anticipation before the hearth. “I have promised Sarah
I would lend you an ear should you broach the subject yourself. There’ll be
domestic hell to pay if I let this opportunity slip by.”

Gilles stood, taut and angry, by the door. Suddenly his
shoulders slumped. He had no other of whom to seek advice, no one whose advice
he valued more, no one to whom he could speak frankly.

“What I am about to tell you, it must remain here. It is not
for Sarah, either.”

“‘Twill be hard to keep any secrets from her.” Roland
sheathed his knife and approached Gilles. “Secrets between husband and wife
foster distrust and make for acrimony.”

“Then only Sarah.” Gilles felt raw and on edge. He felt at
sea, a feeling new to one so used to command. “I know all about secrets.”

“Then sit and tell your tale.”

Gilles strode past Roland and slammed a fist on the sturdy
table, causing goblets to leap and apples to roll. “Angelique is William’s
babe.”

“Never.” Roland grasped Gilles’ shoulder, spun him around.
He saw the stark truth in Gilles’ eyes. And he saw deep pain.

“She believed herself in love, said vows with him.”

“What kind of vows would William offer a woman?” Roland
sniffed.

“The kind that will hasten the lifting of a skirt.”

“What can I say, friend?” Roland gave Gilles’ shoulder a
squeeze.

“Nothing. There’s nothing to be said.
Mon Dieu
, I
have said it all—already—to Emma.” He let the pain burn up his throat again,
had to turn abruptly away to hide his emotion. Bracing his hands on the table,
he confessed. “It ate at me.
Mon Dieu
. It tore me apart. One night I let
my jealousy get the better of me.” Gilles could feel the blood rise to stain
his cheeks.

“Did she wish to hold William to his pledge?” Roland asked.

“I think…not.” Gilles raked his fingers through his hair. “
Mon
Dieu
. I do not know.
Jesu
, Roland. He is but a score of years.” He
whirled to face his friend. “I cannot fathom why she would want my company,
other than the obvious reasons.”

“What are the obvious reasons?”

“My position…William’s rejection of her…my ability to offer
Angelique a better life…” He burned with leashed emotion.

“Mayhap she seeks you because she sees much to admire and
loves you.”

It was Gilles’ turn to snort in derision. “Loves me? Aye,
loves the benefits of whore to the lord of the manor.” He punctuated his pain
with another fist to the table.

“You just called her a whore.” Roland frowned. “Am I the
only one to whom you’ve called Emma a whore? I tell you, I like the wench, and
do not approve of what you would make her.”

Gilles paced the chamber. “I was angry. I called her my
leman when only she was there, but…I was shouting. It is possible others heard.
I made her out to be nothing. when she is everything to me.”

“So…we have the heart of the matter. She took exception,
justly so, and shuns you.”

“Shuns me?” Gilles began to laugh. It was an ugly sound.
“She despises me. Yet I know if I command her to me, she will come.” He again
turned away from his friend and stared into the fire. It burned as they had
burned, but now he had naught but ashes. “I summoned her once. ‘Twas an agony
to have her…nay, she was not there. She inhabited my bed, but her soul was not
there. What use is that—to know she comes only in obedience, or worse, fear?”

“Gilles. Decide how you feel for the wench and act upon it.
It is unlike you to equivocate on any subject.” Roland crossed the chamber and
placed his hand on his friend’s arm. “An apology may be just what is needed. I
apologize for much—whether I am to blame or not. It soothes the womanly spirit.
And, for what it is worth, my Sarah and I believe that Emma feels naught but
contempt for Belfour.”

“Contempt?” Gilles asked doubtfully.

“Aye. The man is relentless. There is more than one maid in
this keep who has cause to despise him for his heartless rutting. Believe your
Emma. If she says that naught is between them…then it is so. She has confided
in my Sarah that ‘tis you she loves. I believe she said some ridiculous
nonsense about you being the very air she breathes, or some such jongleur’s
words fit only for wenches and the jakes.”

Gilles began to pace. “I must speak to her. ‘Tis difficult—”

“Aye—especially since she is no longer here.” Roland stepped
back from his friend’s ire, hands raised. “I only bear the tale.”

“Where is she?” Gilles asked. “I assumed, when I did not see
her about the hall, that she was avoiding me.”

Roland shook his head.

Gilles had thought he had felt the limits of his pain, but
Roland’s words took him to a dark place he did not want to visit.

Emma had left him.

“Sarah says the wench has returned to what she was—whatever
that means.” Roland’s words were lost as Gilles stormed from the chamber and
clattered down the stairs. Men scattered as he ran across the cobbles of the
bailey. He burst into the chatter of the weavers. “Sarah,” he roared. “Where is
she?”

Sarah rose from her place and laid aside her handwork. “Now
you wish to know!” She spoke loudly, near as ever a person might be to
impertinent without the punishment of a whipping. Both ignored the interested
stares of the other weavers. “‘Tis four days, my lord, since she left this
place. Four days. Much harm may befall such a sweet and guileless woman as Emma
in four days, especially in a village half-burned and in turmoil. She said that
by going she made more room for those in need. ‘Twas just an excuse. How could
you have let this come to pass?”

“Consider me suitably chastised,” Gilles thundered. “I
thought I was practicing patience and forbearance. Where is she?”

“You will treat her with care, my lord?”

Sarah’s audacity went unnoticed. Gilles was in a fever.
“Aye. Where?”

“Against the wall. Go east.”

Gilles went to his chamber and snatched up a mantle. He
sought her on foot, thrusting past everyone in his path, unseeing. Snow filled
the air, swirling about him, laying a white blanket over the scars of the fire.

It took him no more than three-quarters of an hour to find
her place. The loom betrayed her to him, though she was not there.

He could pace her hut in two strides. The space was cold. He
touched his fingertips to the stone wall and shivered. In moments, he’d lighted
her brazier. Its scant heat did little to warm him. The thought of her sleeping
here, of Angelique, made him pause. As he fed her small store of sticks to the
meager flames, he sensed she’d returned.

He rose and faced her. She studied him in silence and then
gestured to the gray world outside. Snowflakes clung to her mantle.

“Please step without, my lord.” Her words were calmly
spoken, but were as cold as the winter wind.

“I do not want to talk with you before the whole village,
Emma.” He stood silently by her loom until she shrugged in resignation,
entered, and seated herself on her stool. The space was barely warmed by the
small brazier.

“Your presence will merely confirm what all suspect of me.”

“Then we shall leave the door open so the curious will have
their questions answered.” He flung the door back. A gust of wind threatened
the weak flames of the fire. “Where is Angelique?” He dropped into a crouch
before her, pulling his dagger from its sheath and playing its point over the
beaten earth floor, tracing random designs.

“Is the knife some means of intimidating me to tell you
where she is, my lord?” Emma asked.

“Forgive me, Emma, it is just a habit of mine,” Gilles said,
rising and sheathing the knife. “Where is she?” He hid his real purpose behind
his concern for Angelique. Just being in Emma’s presence robbed him of his
ability to articulate, robbed him of his composure. He felt raw and exposed.

“Safe.”

“Safe? What danger has her lodged somewhere far from her
mother?” Gilles was astounded. “What do you fear?”

“She is safe from your anger.” Emma knotted her hands.

“My anger?” Incredulity streaked across his face. “I mean no
harm to Angelique. How could you think I would harm her, an innocent child? I
have only affection and concern for her. Nay—I would never hurt her!”

“I thought you would never hurt me, my lord. I was very
wrong. There is ofttimes as much harm in words as in a fist.”

A deep flush heated his cheeks as she stared at him. “It is
hardly the same thing,” he said.

“I beg to differ—it is the same thing. When you are angry,
you lash out. Angelique is mine…and as you said, the only thing I have in this
world. I’ll protect her from you and anyone else that may harm her. Promise
you’ll never come here again, never speak to her, and I’ll bring her home. She
will have a safe and contented life here with me, and I with her.”

Only the sound of their breathing pierced the silence that
followed her words.

Never to see Emma or Angelique again.

Gilles cleared his throat and looked away first. “Emma, I
was wrong to lash out as I did. It was a grievous error in judgment. I would
have your forgiveness.”

“Nay, Gilles. I’ll never forgive you. All knew what was
between us. All knew you had me at your leisure.” Emma’s voice broke. “I was a
fool twice. The first time the foolishness was of my own making. Yet I have
Angelique to compensate me for that error. She is my sign from God that surely
He forgave me my foolishness. But I erred again. Only this mistake has no
compensation—only pain and more pain.” Her eyes glinted with tears. “How
foolish I was to degrade myself to be with you, to lie with you without vows. I
had no pride. I pretended to myself that I could put aside the words I’d said to
William, could pretend I did not make my child a bastard in the doing. You
brought me most brutally to my senses.”

Never to be forgiven.
The pain was enormous, a stone
in his throat, a burning conflagration in his belly.

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “There is no forgiveness
necessary. Did you know that I’m referred to at the well as Lord Gilles’
cast-out whore? I do not need to forgive you, my lord, for treating me as one
treats his whore. Your behavior was appropriate in every way. I was beneath
contempt and you treated me thusly. Do not seek forgiveness for acting on the
truth. Just go away and let me be. Never come back. Ever.”

“I can’t promise. I can’t stay away,” Gilles said softly.
His guts burned. How efficiently he’d destroyed her. How efficiently he’d made
his own future a hell.

Emma sank back to the stool and began to cry. She held her
hands stiffly in her lap and let the tears roll down her cheeks. She didn’t
care if he watched. She was defeated. How could she have imagined that a baron
would heed any wish of a weaver? How could she have imagined that a baron would
heed any wish of a weaver? How could she have imagined how bleak life would be
without him, without his love?

“Emma.” Gilles went down on one knee before her. He touched
her bowed head with a tentative hand. “Don’t cry. I never meant to hurt you,
but I must see you.”

All the days of upset congealed into a ball of fury within
her. Each day, just drawing water was an exercise in her defeat. Each walk
through the warren of hovels and stalls that crouched at the castle’s base was
a torture of proposition and lewd suggestions.

Each day was a lesson in a woman’s place beneath the heel of
man. She shot to her feet, the tears gleamed on her cheeks. “You must see me?”
She yanked at the lacing of her gown. “Are you willing to pay me? I could get
tuppence from the mercer for a look at my breasts. Sixpence to lie on my back
for the alehouse customers,” she taunted.